Whole
By SpamandToast
Summary: After book 7 George figures out what it means to be whole. Massive spoilers for the end of Deathly Hallows. Just to warn ya. But I think it has a happier ending because while I loved the final book, I did not like how the Weasley twins were handled at the end, if you know what I mean.
Life goes on. Or at least, people tried to carry on because after all, what choice did they have? Death was just one more part of life-part of the adventure. Maybe. But if that were true, then why did Mum cry every time she thought she was alone. Why did Dad throw himself so heavily into his work, as if he alone could rebuild the wizarding world in a day?
If death was just one more part of life, then why wasn't he allowed to die?
The grave was on the top of a hill. It was always sunny up there. Unless of course it was night or storming or cloudy. Today it was bright. Almost as bright as his brother's smile.
Flowers covered every inch of the grave. Most were put there my himself or Mum and Dad, but some came from complete strangers, wanting to show respect to those who fell, seeking out the nearest available grave. He had seen them. A sea of faces looking dour and pensive, completely ignorant that their frowns were the last things his brother would want to see.
So George smiled.
It was a nice tombstone, really. Simple, polished gray granite charmed against weathering. People had offered donations so the family could afford a much nicer white marble, the popular choice for those who died in the War. Surprisingly, Mr. Weasley had given George say on his brother's resting place.
He had refused. It didn't feel right. His brother would have agreed with him. They weren't meant for white marble and sappy prose. They weren't meant to be heroes. But fate didn't give them much choice in the matter, now did it?
Fred Weasley
April 01, 1977 –April 28, 1999
Beloved son and brother
Died giving his life for Muggles and Wizards
A true hero and friend
Well that was a load of rubbish, wasn't it? How could people be expected to do anything but frown and cry when they read that? George could have told them how much his brother would have hated to have that above him. That is, he could have told them if he had been capable of saying anything.
A quick flick of the wrist changed it, making it as it should be. Still a bit too serious, perhaps, but even his brother would agree that it was fitting. That taken care of, George raised his wand one more time and with a loud pop, was gone.
Apparating had always been easy. This was probably the trickiest apparation George had ever tried, but it was far from difficult none-the-less. He would never be able to forget how far down the coffin was, or the position of his brother's body as he lay so very still. They were images that were forever scarred upon his mind, as physical as the gaping hole on the side of his head.
There was his brother right underneath him, smiling just as he had when he was alive. Feeling a bit crowded, George took a moment to expand the coffin enough there was enough room for three. Then he took the time to look at his brother.
His brother smelled. He wasn't rotting yet, though. Had Mum and Dad spelled him so that he wouldn't? His twin was completely white, bloodless and still. His flaming red hair stood out bright against the somber image of the face. It contrasted with the red of the Quidditch robes his brother had been buried in. The same robes George himself wore now.
They were still identical but there could never be any mistake which twin was which. Not while George continued to breathe. And of course there was the ear. Would it be so wrong to desecrate his twin's body so they could be identical once more? It's not like he would feel it...
"I'm sorry it took me so long," George said, while stroking his brother's limp hair. "Everyone's been taking turns on suicide watch. Can't even take a piss without someone there making sure I don't drown myself in the privy.
"The shop's been taken care of, so you don't have to worry about that. Your will was plain enough. It'll never be as good, of course, but at least people will be able to keep on laughing."
Tears sprung to George's eyes, but he pushed them back. This was no time to cry, not with his brother smiling like that. He had always followed his twin's lead, and this was a poor time to stop doing so.
A half a second more to look, and George's smile matched his twin. It wasn't so hard to mirror an image when it was coming from your own face.
George idly toyed with the flask in his hand. The air would run out soon if he was down here too long. That kind of death did not suit him at all. By his own hand would he end it now; his own hand or not at all. With one last glance at his brother, George downed the potion he had prepared over a week ago.
There was more than enough room for George to lay down, to let his posture also imitate the one next to him even as his face did. But George couldn't do it. Instead, he snuggled up against his brother's cold, unyielding body. He lay his head against the thin shoulder just as he had when they were children who had just shared the same nightmare. Only this time, the shoulder was stiff. And there was no arm wrapping around him for comfort.
Time slowed with George's breathing. It was a harsh sound to hear when buried six feet under in a coffin, and it came as a relief that it was beginning to stop. His soul watched as darkness began to encroach upon it, and George welcomed that darkness. Wearily, he closed his eyes.
A month after dying, George could finally let himself rest.
It was Hogwarts, and yet, it was not Hogwarts. George stepped into the darkened courtyard, looking out at the pale moon, setting in the west. Shadows flickered in and out along with ghosts, wandering eternally, warning the living of regret's high cost.
"Took you bloody long enough," came George's voice off to the side.
George turned around slowly, wanting nothing more than to see but needing to savor the moment. There was his brother, his Fred, leaning against the wall, smirking at him.
George wanted to retort, to tell Fred that if he didn't want to wait then he should not have died without him. But he couldn't. Seeing his brother, filled with life (or was it death?) before him was George's undoing and the past month of grief washed away.
He ran to his brother, knowing his brother would spend the entire afterlife teasing him for it, and not caring. He flung Fred into his arms, clasping his twin tightly. George would not let go of his twin, not again. "Fred," he whispered.
Tears sprung into his eyes, and this time, George did not hold them back. They flew freely from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and leaving shimmering trails in their wake. Fred returned the fierce embrace for it would seem he missed his brother just as much. Never apart, the Weasley twins, at least, not until this past year when saving the world somehow became more important than saving each other.
Finally, Fred pulled away. George was left yearning one more for the contact, but content that at least his brother was back at his side, where he belonged. "I hate to ruin this happy moment, but you have to know. You're not dead."
George's joy shattered and threw itself on the rocks of despair, leaving George feeling numb, his body heavy. "What?"
"Sorry, mate. Not yet. You can go back."
George could go back? Live again? It wouldn't be bad, really, but only if... "What about you? Do you get a choice?"
Fred's smile disappeared, but only for a moment. Then the smile was right back where it belonged on both their faces. Together. "Sorry George."
"Then I want-"
"-to stay here. But you can't-"
"-go back. You have no idea what it's been like-"
"-being alone? How much time has it been anyway? It'll get-"
"-better? Easier? No it won't and you know it. There's no one to-"
"-finish your sentences. No one to laugh or cause trouble with. No one who-"
"-really understands me. I can't spend my life like that, living alone. We belong-"
"Together," they both finished. "I'm just saying," Fred continued. "That you have to understand what you're getting into." Fred's smile was gone again. George knew without looking at his brother, because he was not smiling either.
"George, please look at me." George complied. When had he ever not done as his brother asked? George looked up and saw his own face, shining with love and worry.
"We are different people, George. I know it's been a lot more fun pretending we're not, but you are George and not Fred. You have the right to live your own life. Apart from me. I'll keep waiting here for you."
Different people? True, they weren't the same. There were minute variations. And the ear, of course. But in spite of all that; in spite of their two bodies, Fred and George shared the same heart and soul. Did Fred really think that George could just venture back to the world of the living and go about his life by himself? With half of himself missing?
"Do you want me to leave?" George finally asked.
Fred looked like he was going to say just that. But he didn't. Fred could hide many things as easily as the Marauder's Map, but never from George. George could not think of a time where Fred had even tried.
"No," Fred whispered. "No, I want you to stay. But I don't want you to end your life because of what I want."
His twin failed to remember that George had always wanted what Fred wanted. Had Fred really stayed in this place for a month, refusing to move on or become a ghost? All so he could be here when George finally came, so they could go together? It was a long time to be alone.
George absently reached up to the left side of his face. Where his ear used to be. Where his ear was. George's fingers roamed all over the soft flesh, probing to discern if it was really there.
But it was. No longer did a few inches of flesh separate the twins. Here they were the same. The way it should be.
George was whole again.
"Let's go, Fred."
Fred studied George carefully and noticing the ear himself, smiled and nodded. Fred tossed a broom at George. George rose into the ear, right next to his brother. But before they could leave Hogwarts behind forever, George turned back for one last glance. He though he saw a speck watching from the diminishing shadows in the courtyard. "Give 'em hell for us, Peeves," George yelled, laughing all the while.
Fred just shook his head and with that, the twins streaked off across the Forbidden Forest before turning east, soaring towards the rising sun.
Lilies tumbled from lifeless fingers to the ground as an unearthly wail traveled on the wind. Mr. Weasley embraced Mrs. Weasley, turning her away from the sight as she sobbed into his shoulder. Tear's also fell from his eyes and his heart tried to cope with the tight pain at yet another loss. Two too many.
Yet his tears were running down a smiling face. He missed his boys. Losing them had ripped away a piece of him that would never return. Never had he done anything so difficult and painful as when he lowered Fred's body into the unforgiving earth.
He wanted them both back. Mr. Weasley would gladly give his own life for it. Yet he also knew that he was crying for himself. And for the world that so desperately needed his twins.
The Weasley's needed the twins. Without them there was a hole in the Burrow – a silence that permeated even the loudest of moments. Yes, Mr. Weasley needed the twins. But the twins, Fred and George, they needed each other.
He led Mrs. Weasley back home, to the Burrow. Tomorrow they would confirm that George had gone to be with his brother. Tomorrow they would tell the rest of the family the sickening news. Tomorrow they would find comfort in the knowledge that Fred and George were together and happy. Tomorrow they would consider the newly formed words on the tombstone.
Today they would grieve for the sons they had lost.
Fred & George Weasley
April 01, 1977 – April 28, 1998
Mischief Managed