Written for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition and The Houses Competition
Position: Seeker
Prompt: April: Teddy Lupin, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Horace Slughorn.
House Hufflepuff
Category: Standard
Prompt: An old broomstick
Word count: 1,140
There were plenty of times when being a twin was the most wonderful thing in the entire world. Of course, like any other thing, there were also times when being a twin was one of the most annoying things in the world. Such times most notably included those where one identical twin was being addressed via the name of the other identical twin.
There were times when this made for grand jokes and laughter. There were times where this made for rather awkward conversations (a romantic interest yelling at a twin who was not dating them, for example). Having a twin meant having someone constantly on your side, for if no one else could tell them apart, at least they could. Or at least, they thought they could. After living together for the entirety of their lives, could they ever be entirely sure of who they were as individuals?
To the rest of the world, they were Fred and George Weasley. They were not Fred Weasley and George Weasley. You could not have one without the other. Until you could. Until one died and left the other alone in a world that had never been so quiet. George was never the same after his partner had left him.
It was understandable. His entire life, he had had someone next to him, learning the same things he was learning, playing the same jokes on people. They were a team. They had been a team. Now he was alone and there was no way that anyone could ever replace or lessen his loss.
Angelina tried. She tried so very hard, and George loved her for it, but a wife was not the same as a brother and most definitely not the same as a twin. He continued working on their dream, continued making products for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and bringing joy to other people who had lost their loved ones in the war.
What else could he do? He had no desire for anyone to feel the pain he was feeling, and if he could brighten up their days, then he would do so. It was sometimes said that the saddest people had the brightest smiles. In every single depressed person, there was a desire to save others from the same pain. That was the only thing that kept George going some days.
He sometimes thought he heard Fred's laughter in the wind and would desperately want to join him in the afterlife, pranking all their ancestors. But if he did that, he would be causing Angelina the same pain that he was going through. And that he was determined not to do. George sighed (as he tended to do quite a bit nowadays) and leaned against the old broomshed that contained various relics of his past.
Inside the shed were the brooms that he and Fred had flown on during their Quidditch games at Hogwarts. Inside that shed were the brooms that had crushed Slytherin so very many times and had let them escape from the tyranny of Dolores Umbridge. Flying had always been fun. With such a big family, it had been easy to have mini Quidditch matches, and the Weasleys had spent many a day out in the field behind the Burrow playing Quidditch together.
It didn't happen much anymore. They were down a player. Bill and Charlie were off in other countries, continuing their work and trying to forget and move past the war. Ron was happily married to Hermione and working alongside Harry as they tried to make the world safe as Aurors. Ginny was the one who played Quidditch the most, as she was a professional player now after all.
The memories that had been dredged up just by leaning on the slowly decaying wood made George want to see the brooms that had held so much joy in them. He heaved himself off the wooden wall and proceeded to unlock the shed with a quick Alohamora. There they were. The brooms that he and Fred had had over the years. Even a few old brooms from Hogwarts that they had smuggled out at one point.
George stood in the doorway and stared at them all neatly stacked in their shelves. They were still at the moment, but he could feel their magic buzzing at his presence, begging to be used. He grinned slightly. Brooms would never change, always wanting attention. Bypassing the newer models that were in the shed (Ginny's old Firebolt was currently residing there), he made his way to the very back and found the brooms he was looking for.
The Cleansweep 5 pair was slightly quieter than the others in the shed. They had aged and were well over ten years old now, their magic slowly dissipating as they sat unmoving. Still, he knew they were happy to see him and feel his own magic once more. For a moment, his hand hovered over the broom that he knew to be his. Then, at the last second, he instead clasped his hand around the one that had belonged to Fred.
He had come here to get lost in memories, to feel as though his brother was still with him. What use was riding his own broom? He could do that any time, but perhaps if he rode Fred's, he would feel a little closer to his missing half. The broom hummed in his hand, and a soft grin grew on George's face. It was as though Fred was beside him, grinning back and getting ready for a round of practice flying.
With a whoop of uncommon joy, George jumped onto the broom and flew out of the shed (causing quite a few brooms to tumble onto the floor from the draft). He took to the skies as though it hadn't been a few months since he had ridden a broom and let out yet another rare sound as he soared above the now tiny speck of a shed.
George continued to laugh as he swooped up and down, side to side, twisting around himself as he let the wind carry away the constant burden of sadness he carried. If he closed his eyes (which he did), he could imagine he was flying in line with Fred, both of them grinning as they tried new stunts that would give them an edge in Quidditch the next time they played.
He realised then that although his brother had died, he still remained behind in memories and laughter. Wasn't that what he had been doing for so long? Bringing laughter to others via the things he made in the memory of Fred? Grinning from ear to ear, George turned the old broom down to the ground and attempted the rather dangerous manoeuvre of a Wronski Feint. He was having fun and that was absolutely marvelous.