Hello! This is just a little Georgelina fic. I typed up. Please enjoy and thanks to Greg-Chan and Marie E. Brooke as well as her alternate self, Jay-Chan. By the way, my writing IS NOT as cheesy as Twilight!
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the last line and characters and basically everything.
In the dark, dank shop, a lone figure wanders aimlessly among the seemingly endless shelves of boxes, their neon colors hidden by a thick layer of dust. Once in a while, the tall, lean figure stops, frozen, as if lost in the bright past, occasionally leaning down and fingering a couple of items that are strewn carelessly across the floor. The shop is muddled with shadows, despite the bright sun outside. The figure walks carefully over to the blinds and peers cautiously through the gaps. Wincing at the bright sunlight, he pulls back and snaps them back shut so that the cool shop is bathed in comfortable darkness once more. Again, he goes back to wandering the abandoned shop, looking at old boxes with bright labels. Puking Pastilles! one spells out in faded lettering. The figure smiles sadly at the battered box, overcome with strong memories. Memories from before… From the happy times that weren't riddled with nightmares, tears, and guilt. The figure shakes his head and drops the box, leaving it lying on the grimy floor. He slumps and examines the chipped counter. Swiftly, he hops around so that he stands professionally behind, facing imaginary teenage customers. But those times were no more. There weren't many smiling teenage faces anymore. Everybody had lost something or someone during the war. Everybody, including him.
The figure slowly slides to a seat on the floor against the wall. As he sits there with his eyes like empty pits, a flurry of movement from underneath the counter catches his eye. He leans over and grabs the slip of paper that flutters in the soft breeze. His breath hitches as he stares at the faded colors. It was a still clear picture of the first day the shop opened. Surrounded by family, friends, and customers, stood the figure, grinning, with his brother next to him. The two identical smiles wide, happy, and satisfied. The figure lays a trembling finger tip of his brother's face. A face identical to his own. The same face that haunted his dreams. His shoulders began to shake with anguished sobs. The sobs are full of pain, longing and guilt. Guilt because he wasn't there to save him, wasn't there to jump and claim the jet of green light. Longing to be with his twin. Pain of being torn from the other half of him. The figure sits there, sobbing in the dark and dusty shop for hours. Clutching at the photograph until it was full of wrinkles and creases. Sobbing until a flash of bright sunlight made him look up from the photograph.
"George?" a timid voice rings out. "George? Are you here?" The figure freezes, recognizing the voice. Still, he does not move from his crouched position. The shadow of a tall girl comes into his view until he sees her beaten up white trainers. Until she is so close that he could see her hands trembling. "Oh, George," she murmurs, her voice soft. She crouches down until she is face to face with the broken half of the Weasley twins. The remainder. The left-over. "Come on. Let's go someplace else," the kind voice says softly. George slumps and allows himself be helped up and hugged.
"A-Angelina," he croaks.
The girl pulls herself out of the embrace and steps back so that they are facing each other, eye-to-eye. "Yes, George?"
George swallows. "I miss him," he mumbles, but those three words unleash a flood gate inside of him. "I miss him so much, Angelina. And I see him. I see him dying. I see him staring at me with those glassy eyes. I let him die! I could've saved him, but I didn't! I killed him! I killed my own brother!" he sobs. Angelina stares back into those broken eyes, holding in her own tears.
"No you didn't!" she cries out, her voice raw with despair for her grief-stricken friend. "No! Fred died, yes, but it wasn't your fault, George! It wasn't anybody's fault but that horrid Death Eater's! He died fighting. He died a hero, and he died happy, reunited with his family, and laughing."
George looks up. "Laughing in the face of death." He spits out the words bitterly. "That sounds like my brother."
Angelina lets out a humorless laugh. "Do you remember, George? When during the Yule Ball, Fred stole us a banquet from the kitchens, and then we spent the rest of the night in the Astronomy Tower, telling jokes and laughing. Do you remember that, George?" Angelina asked.
George nods slowly. "Yeah, and then after, he conjured up flowers and levitated them all around. But if you touched one, you would grow a patch of hair where you touched it."
"Yes, yes!" Angelina says. "I remember you accidently touched one with your ear and had to go to the hospital wing to get it removed."
A brief smile flits across George's face (A surge of hope rises up in Angelina's chest; he had smiled for the first time in months) before vanishing. "Yeah, I remember that I had to tag along with you guys because no one went with me, so Fred took pity on me," he mumbles. Angelina looks at him sadly, but says nothing to console him. "Angelina?" George whispers. "Did you - did you, um - didyoulovehim?" The words tumble out in a rush.
"What did you say?" (She knows exactly what he said.)
"Did you love him?"
Angelina swallows. "Yes," she admits, "and it hurts to lose him. It's like there's this kind of empty feeling in my chest - but not really, because it's still there, you know? But," and her voice is lowered and holds a very, very cautious tone, "it also hurts to see you, because you're so much like him but still not enough like him. And then I see him next to you, laughing and grinning and I just...I just feel like...like letting it all go, you know? Because he's still there even though he isn't. Does that even make any sense? And, well, it makes me hate him. I k-know it's wrong, but I can't help it! I-I-just can't!" Her eyes are brimming with tears. "Why did he leave us lonely and sad? Why, George?" Her voice cracks with each spoken word and she starts to sob, high-pitched wails that echo across the room, and throws herself against George.
George stands, frozen, for once being the strong one.
And lets himself remember.
"Fred?" George asked in astonishment as his twin danced in the moonlight back to their room.
Fred spun around to face his brother. "Can you believe it, George?" he said brightly. "I got a girl to go out with me! Angelina Johnson of all girls!" His eyes turned misty.
"That's great, Fred!" He cracked a smile (telling himself that it's a real smile, that you are going to be happy for your twin and that it was hopeless to hope, because Angelina was never going to like you anyways).
[-]
"George," Fred whispered as they prepared to fight another Death Eater.
"A little busy right now, Fred!" George whispered back. Fred ignored him, just like a good twin always does.
"Hey, if something happens to me, promise that you'll take care of Angelina," he said. George glanced up into this brother's face. Dead serious. For once.
"Bud, nothing's going to happen-"
"Just, if something does happen, promise me, George," Fred said solemnly.
"Fine, I promise, but nothing's going to happen. I swear," George answered before turning back to the battle.
[-]
George shook his head. He couldn't. But Fred's words still hung in the air: "Take care of her…" George knew what he was going to do.
"Hey, Angelina," he whispered. Angelina's tear-streaked face looked up at his. "D-Do you love me?" he asked before rushing on, "I know that it's probably way too soon and I'm probably being a huge jerk just by asking that, but, Fred-" suddenly he was cut off.
"Yes, George, I love you," she whispered, before leaning in to kiss him. George's eyes widened, still, even while he was kissing her back. He grinned that sarcastic, trouble-maker grin of his and looked up at the crooked picture of him and his brother on the wall. I promised you Fred, and right now, I'm keeping that promise.
"Hurry up, Fred!" George called to his son as he made his way through the tangled crowds of nervous parents and hyper kids. "We don't want to miss the Hogwart's Express, do we?" he called over his shoulder to a small boy with shocking ginger hair. The boy's eyes widened and he hurriedly finished tying his trainer to rush up to his father's side.
"Dad," the boy murmured. "I'm scared."
George looked down and grinned. "Hey, you're Fred Weasley. You're my son. You're the best prankster there is! You're going to be just fine." His son smiled the same crooked smile that reminded his parents so much of the boy he was named for.
"Hey! You two trouble-makers! Wait up!" a feminine voice rang out. The father and son duo froze and nervously turned around to see a tall woman with a hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised. "Now, what did I tell you about rushing ahead?" she asked.
"That it's dangerous and that we might get lost, killed, or injured," George and Fred muttered in a monotone voice.
The woman smiled. "That's right. Oh, come here Freddy, I'm going to miss you." Fred folded into his mother's arms as his father stood protectively on the side.
"Alright, enough of this gush and mush, now Freddy, I want you to tell me of one idea that you have right now for a beginning of the school year prank," George said, smiling mischievously.
"Well, I think maybe to blow up the toilets, feed my teachers a sleeping potion, or to give the Slytherin's bunny tails?" Fred said with a matching grin.
The woman just shook her head smiling as she jabbed her husband in the side with her wand. "Oh, you two are going to give me a heart attack. George Weasley! You might try to be a better influence to your only son!"
"But I am!" George smirked, "I'm teaching him how to be a true Fred Weasley." With that, the train whistle blew, and so after a few more hugs and kisses, Fred Weasley Junior hopped onto the train that would take him away to the great Hogwarts School. "Angelina?" George asked. "Are we good parents?"
"Well, we are different, but I'd say yes. We're teaching him to be the man that he was named for," Angelina smiled before pulling her husband in for a kiss as they watched the steam trail away into the sky.
George stared up at the smoke, grinning.
Freddy, am I keeping my promise? How are you? I don't know if you can see me, but I have a beautiful son that looks just like you. No, I'm not calling you beautiful. His name is Fred Weasley. Every day, he reminds me more and more of you. I miss you Freddy. I miss my other half, I miss Forge, I miss my partner in crime. I love you Freddy. Have fun up there, and never stop pranking. When I join you, let's bring back the good ol' times. I've kept my promise, Freddy. I'll never let you down.
And with those final thoughts, George and Angelina Weasley walked hand in hand back to their car. All was well.
What do you think? I was told that it was cheesier than Twilight and that I should put a warning label. (Thanks so much Marie E. Brooke) I was just hurt that my writing was compared to Twilight, no offense to you Twilight fans out there. I do respect your opinions, except if you like viola more than violin. I mean, come on people! Just joking...
Anyfish, please review! How do you like my oneshot? Yay. Now I must go back to studying music theory. I completely forgot how to identify cadences. Oh well. Bye!