A/N: This is a short story of a moment in George's life after Fred. Read, Review and Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
George had come back to the Burrow today. He had been at his flat above the shop, pouring over papers at his messy desk, when he realized he left an old notebook in his old room. The notebook had some old ideas and instructions for products and potions he never got around to trying. The number of the visitors at the store seemed to be thinning and George felt he needed some inspiration today if he hoped to think up two new ideas by the end of the week.
He flooed to his old home and was greeted by his mother. "Hi George," She said pulling him into a warm hug. He loved his mother's hugs. She always smelt like freshly baked cookies. Her hair was peppered with streaks of white, some she had gotten even while he was still here.
He joked with her, "Mum, the house is empty now but yet your hair still seems to get whiter."
She swatted him with the dish towel in her hand, "George, you never joke about a lady's age."
His father walked up to them with a quirked eyebrow, "George, are you insinuating that your mother is old?"
George grinned at him, "Well, insinuating would imply that I didn't want her to know."
Molly swatted him again while Arthur and George laughed, George trying to escape the sting of the dish towel.
"Well, actually I came here today to get something from my room."
Molly's face darkened but she moved out of George's way. "Go right ahead."
George went up the stairs stopping on the second landing in front of his old door. He took a deep breath. It always hurt coming back here but he felt he needed to today. He noticed the faded banner that was stuck across his door written his and Fred's messy seven-year-old scrawl. "Beware those who enter." Fred had stuck a small addendum to the end, "That means you Percy."
George looked away from the words and pushed the door blindly. He opened his eyes, the familiar feeling washing over him. He could still remember waking up in here every morning.
Mum hadn't touched the room since Fred had died. No one wanted to enter this room after. It had become a shrine in the house in memory of their fallen brother and son. Only George had come in there since then, after all it had also been his room. But George never stopped around often or stayed long. No one wanted to disturb this place.
George walked over to his old bed trying his hardest not to stare at the other vacant cot. He reached under his bed and pulled out a box marked "Gred and Forge". Putting it on top of the bed, he dug around in it, feeling along the bottom for the notebook. Finally grasping its spine, he pulled it out.
There were other things in the box. Other belongings of the twins: mementos, old pictures and failed joke ideas. He paused on a picture of him and Fred laughing with a wet-headed Ron steaming between them. But there was one item George had added to the box after Fred's death.
Taking out the red transparent ball, George rolled it around in his palm. He had made this right after Fred passed on. It had been an idea they had been working on just before the Battle and George had finished it alone. It was meant to be a real show-stopper to reap a lot of Galleons, could even be used in battle, but George didn't want anyone else to get this invention. It was one of a kind.
George took the ball and then threw it onto the bed across from him. The ball slightly opened and soon Fred's form materialized before him. He lay on the bed looking very relaxed with his hands behind his head, one knee bent up. "Oi Georgie, what mischief are we getting into today?"
Tears formed in George's eyes as he heard seventeen-year old Fred's voice again. He looked just as he did that day. The form looked over at him from the bed with a wide mischievous grin but its eyes were hollow. Fred wasn't really there and George had to constantly remind himself it was just the ball before he got sucked in.
The ball was meant to fool friends and act as a decoy for anyone who needed to make a quick getaway. George had only gotten it to be able to say a few phrases and interact with its surroundings briefly. But it was enough for George.
Fred's form rose off the bed and ghosted to the centre of the room, his feet never shifting the items scattered on the floor. The form remarked, "Wotcher, look at the mess in here. Mum will have a fit." The form looked around the room at the floor, which also had not been cleared since that day.
George chuckled but responded sadly, "I doubt she'd be upset with you, Fred."
The form looked at him laughing, "Mum always throws a fit, Georgie."
George rose from the bed and embraced the form, which circled its arms around him silently. George's tears down his cheeks then straight through the form and onto the floor. There was nothing really there to hold, but George could feel it. He felt it every time.
The form whispered in George's ear, "Don't cry for me George. And thank you for everything. Live life for the two of us."
That's when the form retreated back to the red ball and it closed with a click. George was alone in the room again. He wiped his eyes and picked up back the ball. He rolled it around his hand again, contemplating just putting it back in the box and forgetting about it again.
But today, he realized he didn't want to forget about it, he didn't want to forget about Fred, no matter how painful it felt. He pocketed the ball and exited the room with the notebook, closing the door silently behind him.