So this is a oneshot concerning what happens to George after Fred's death. It's fairly canon, according to what I've heard J.K. Rowling say about the matter. I just filled in the details, and what I'd like to believe happened. My friend Katerina introduced me to the song "Exile Vilify" by The National the other night while I was writing it, and I thought if fit really well. Listen to it while you read, if you'd like. Anyway, hope you all enjoy the story :).
Well, you lived so much
Have you given up?
Does it feel like a trial?
Does it trouble your mind
The way you trouble mine?
"You ready, George?"
Ron's question seemed to echo a bit in George's mind before finally registering with him. They were standing in a room off to the side of the alter, the entire congregation waiting in anticipation for the ceremony to begin.
He and Angelina had reconnected a few months after the war. The found comfort in each other, a sort of solace. They hadn't immediately began dating, but instead would just sit and talk with each other for hours.
They would talk about Fred, mostly.
It was therapeutic for the both of them, but especially for George. Life without Fred didn't seem real. He sat around in disbelief for days after the battle. He couldn't move, could barely sleep or eat. The apartment he and Fred had shared above the shop began gathering dust. George couldn't bare to stay there - to even walk in the door - so he kept himself locked up in the Burrow. Molly worried he was becoming catatonic. What was the point of living, after all, if half of your life had been taken away?
Molly allowed him a grieving period, but after a few months, she began to push him back towards his normal life. He was still living at the Burrow, but his apartment was still vacant and joke shop was still temporarily closed. Molly would send him on errands, to shop for groceries, or to go with Ron to local Quidditch matches. George went along, but always half-heartedly.
It was one day when he was walking through streets in Diagon Alley on his way to the grocery store that he bumped into Angelina Johnson. Angelina had been Fred's old girlfriend for years, and she always seemed to get along with George so effortlessly whenever the three of them would hang out.
"Angelina," He greeted her with a friendly nod.
"Hey F-" she stopped and her large brown eyes widened even more with shock and apology. "Oh, my god, George, I'm so sorry-"
George winced. Angelina looked like she was about to cry. He realized suddenly that she must have been dealing with her own sort of grief. "It's okay, Angelina. Honest mistake."
"No, no, really, that was terrible," she apologized once more. "I – you must – how are you doing, George?"
"Seen better days," He shrugged. He wasn't in the mood to socialize. He never really was lately.
"Of course," Angelina replied, looking stricken with embarrassment and pain. She took note of his posture and his unstated desire to leave. "Listen, George, if you ever want to get together sometime, I'd love to see you again. I haven't really gotten out much these past few months-"
"Sure," George replied, his tone dull. Seeing Angelina had reminded him of Fred in a new way, if that was even possible. Her presence recalled memories of the times the three of them had shared. It seared a fresh pain into George's heart.
George just wanted to go home. He wasn't sure if he would ever call up Angelina, despite what he had said. He excused himself and apparated home.
Once inside his bedroom, he stood there and looked around. It was too big. Too, too big. He didn't like living alone in here. There was so much space that he was not used to. The room was bare, and he didn't feel like curling up on the bed and sleeping for the afternoon. He suddenly wanted to get away. It was then that he realized he had forgotten to get the groceries. He shut his eyes and apparated back to Diagon Alley.
Only when he opened his eyes, he wasn't standing in front of the grocery store. He was standing in front of the joke shop.
Bewildered, he whirled around, as if to look for some possible explanation. He had never miscalculated during an apparition before.
Slowly, he turned his attention back towards the joke shop. He could still see the shelves stocked with mischief and adventure lining the walls. His eyes flickered to the door, where the "closed" sign glared angrily at him. He felt the inexplicable urge to flip it.
Without reason, he found himself walking towards the door. He felt the key to the shop pressing against the breast pocket of his robes. He hadn't remembered putting it there when he got dressed that morning.
As if being guided, George slowly unlocked the door to the shop and opened it. As the automatic lights turned on, casting a warm glow on the store, George knew this was where he needed to be. He didn't know why he was here, but he knew that it felt right; it was what he needed to do.
He climbed the back steps towards the upstairs apartment, and stopped short at the door. He took a deep breath and then walked inside.
It was exactly as George had remembered leaving it. The small kitchen was still stacked with boxes, prototypes for their new inventions and pranks. There was barely even room for the tiny kitchen table. Despite everything – all the emptiness, the loneliness he had been feeling the past few months – he found a warmth suddenly overtaking his heart.
He walked into the bedroom they shared, their two beds on opposite sides of the room each still a mess. If the kitchen had been a mess, this room looked as though a tornado had ripped through it. Clothes were strewn across the room, their desks were littered with papers and business documents. Nothing was organized. And everything was exactly as George had remembered it.
He walked over to Fred's bed, tentatively sitting down. He noticed Fred's old Gryffindor scarf lying underneath the bed. He picked it up and twisted it in his hands, holding it close. This place was home to so many memories. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. This was the first time since that night that he had allowed himself to embrace his old life – their old life.
"I miss you, Fred," he whispered, his voice cracking.
He opened his eyes again after a few moments, feeling ready to leave. As he stood up from the bed and walked towards the door, his eye caught on a small box lying atop his own bed.
Perplexed, he walked towards it. He remembered every single detail of this room, but he did not remember this box. It was red and orange, with a cursive "G" on top. It came attached to a letter. He sat down and took the letter, slowly unfolding it, not sure what he was about to read.
Sorry I slept in all afternoon, mate! I was up all night and morning working on something fantastic. Anyway, by the time I woke up, you were already gone. I just heard Harry was back at Hogwarts, and the Order is supposed to meet outside the Hogs Head within the hour to fight in the castle. I don't know about you, but it's about time we ended this once and for all. Anyway, I'll make this brief, since I'll presumably be meeting up with you at the castle in a short while.
In the box you'll find a silver sphere. It's not just an ordinary sphere though. I made another one, for myself. The logic behind it is simple, but brilliant (if I do say so myself). It'll allow us to talk to each other, face to face. It's a bit like those muggle devices I was studying, cell phones, only a ton more advanced. We'll be able to see each other and talk back and forth. It can expand to the size of a mirror if you need it to, and then shrink back into a small disk, so you can take it with you on the go. I figured it would come in handy whenever we're apart on business trips, and we need to consult one another concerning deals. That way we can get twice the work done in half the time!
Speaking of which, I'm supposed to leave tomorrow for that business deal in Bulgaria. Perfect timing, right? Just thought I'd leave you this note in case I don't have time to explain it all to you before I leave. Tonight should get crazy.
p.s. – Thought this little device could just be between the two of us? Not for public sale, I mean. It makes it a little more exciting, don't you think?
p.p.s – Thanks for leaving me stuck with the dishes, AGAIN. I tidied up the sink though, for the most part. What would you do without me?
Your Partner In Crime,
Fred
George stared blankly at the page he was holding in front of him. Then, he did something he could never remember doing before. He saw his tear splash down onto the letter. He couldn't fight the stinging feeling in the back of his eyes. He allowed himself to cry, sitting there in the corner of the desolate apartment that was filled with memories, his hands gripping the letter.
He shakily opened the box and lifted the small, immaculate sphere from inside. His own reflection stared back at him, tears silently cascading down his face.
The circle would not show Fred's face now; that was okay, he had not expected it to. He held it in the palm of his hand, clenching it in his fist. At that moment though, he wanted nothing more than to say something, anything, to his brother. He wanted to joke with him, scheme with him, laugh with him. He wanted his best friend to be there with him and comfort him.
Though as he flipped the small sphere between his fingers, a sudden comfort washed over him. He looked down at the silver object, and saw his own face staring back at him once more. It was at that moment he realized that Fred always would be with him. Maybe not in person, but through the all of the memories, through all of their hard work.
After a while, George stood up again. There would be no more avoiding reality any longer.
He looked around the room, back down at the silver circle in his hands, and smiled slightly. He couldn't keep living in depression anymore. It would be a dishonor to Fred, to everything they had ever done together. He could not remember the last time he laughed. All of these feelings had been entirely foreign to him.
And it was right there that George decided he was ready to embrace life again, even if it would only be one step at a time at first. He would start by re-opening the joke shop. Maybe he could even get Ron to help out.
"Maybe I'll even take up Angelina on her offer," he mused aloud, his voice cracking slightly from the crying.
Just then, an exploding snap went off in the corner of the room. George jumped, surprised by the sudden noise. The small debris scattered to the floor, and George couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face. He chuckled, the first time he had ever laughed in months. The exploding snap was one of the first toys he and Fred made when they were both still kids.
He was still smiling as he shut off the lights to the apartment and opened the door to leave.
"Thanks, Freddie."
"DADDY!"
George walked through the front door of the apartment after a long day at work in the joke shop. He was all smiles as his four year old son raced towards him.
"Freddie!" George exclaimed, picking up his ginger-haired, freckled son and whirling him around. "How was your day, kiddo?"
"Great! I read lots of stories with mommy today and then she took me to the park to play…but do you have a surprise for me?" Fred whispered that last part in eagerness.
George laughed out loud. "What is it with you and always wanting something out of me?"
"But dad, it's my birthday!" Fred bellowed.
"It is?" George asked in fake confusion.
Fred looked absolutely in disbelief until his father pulled out a giant basket of candy and toys from the joke shop from behind where he stood. Fred squealed with delight.
"You didn't really think I'd forget, did you?" George asked as his son seemed to dive headfirst into the enormous basket.
"Oh, that's just what he needs, more candy," Angelina shook her head but smiled as she walked into the room, leaning in to give her husband a kiss. "We'll leave for dinner in 10. Be ready!"
George grinned back at his wife and then reached down to explore the goodie basket with his son. Fred's head popped up though suddenly, as if he had just remembered something.
"Dad," he whispered. "I have to tell you something. Come with me."
Fred grabbed his father's hand and took him into his bedroom. He sat down on the bed and gestured to whisper by placing a finger against his lips.
"This morning, while I was looking for some books to read with mommy, I was looking in your room and found this," Fred explained, and held out a tiny silver circle.
George's eyes widened. "You must have really been looking hard for those books, kiddo. That was in the top shelf of my drawer."
"I'm sorry, are you mad?" Fred asked, his voice suddenly small and afraid.
"No, not at all," George said, looking down at the object and smiling. George usually kept the sphere with him, ever since he discovered it in the apartment all those years ago. He was in a hurry this morning and forgot to grab it on his way out the door.
"Let's just go put it back where it came from, shall we?"
"Wait, I'm not done," said Fred, still holding the sphere. "When I found it, I looked at it, and…"
"And?"
"Well, I saw your face in there. Well, I thought it was you. But you see, you said your name was Fred. Just like me."
George just stared at his son. "What…what else did Fred say?"
"He said it was an honor to meet me, and that he liked my name."
"Was that all?" George asked his son, barely believing what he was hearing.
"He said to tell you hello, too," his son said. "He said that he's been happy for a long time now, and that he's glad you are, too."
George cleared the lump that had been building in his throat. He knew his son wouldn't make something like this up. He reached down and picked up Fred, hugging him fiercely.
"You know what, Freddie?" He said, setting him back down on the bed. "You keep the sphere. Consider it a birthday present from your uncle."
Fred looked a bit confused, but smiled nonetheless, happy to have the magic silver circle.
"George!" He heard Angelina call from the other room. "You ready?"
George smiled as he answered back, watching Fred examine the sphere with curiosity.
"Yeah. I am."