I Got You
He was not sure how he had ended up here, at the local pub in the village, with his brother Percy. All he remembered was agreeing to whatever his mother had been saying without really listening, just to get her out of his room again. Next thing he knew, Percy had appeared, had taken his arm gently and led him away from his room. It was his room now, not theirs, he remembered with another pang. 'I'll probably never get used to that', he thought.
It was way too early for pub-going, just after 4pm according to the clock on the wall. Percy and he were sitting at the bar. For the first time, he realised that Percy was talking to him. He had probably been talking for quite a while, despite George not having noticed. That tended to happen quite often nowadays. George could barely muster up enough energy to manage a nod most days. His family had gotten quite used to it.
"...that we're here we might as well get a pint, yeah?" Percy was saying. George blinked. Alcohol seemed like a good idea. He didn't even know that Percy was familiar with the concept.
"Yeah," George replied, looking for the bartender. He felt Percy stiffen, though, so he turned back towards his brother and raised an eyebrow.
"It's just..." Percy seemed flustered. "Well, it's the first word you've spoken to me since..." Percy gave him a rueful smile and looked away.
"Oh..." George didn't know what to say. It wasn't as if he had had regular conversations with Percy anyway. Even before all the madness, Percy had been the family member he had talked to the least.
"Well, how about that pint then?" Percy said in a falsely cheerful voice.
"Oh thank goodness. I was wondering how long you were just going to sit there," a vaguely familiar voice drawled.
***
George didn't know why he had come back here. All he knew was that he wanted to go some place that contained people who knew him but did not look at him as if he had just lost his twin brother a couple months back. His body carried out the rest of the decisions, and he suddenly found himself in front of the same pub in St. Ottery's.
'Well,' he thought to himself, 'it isn't as if the place did not fit his requirements.'
After Percy had narrowly stopped himself from almost taking Malfoy's head off on seeing him in the middle of a Muggle bar, Malfoy had explained that the Ministry had deemed him unworthy of a respectable job, as had the rest of the wizarding community. Percy had calmed down after that, mostly because Percy had been present at the meeting where the aforementioned decision had been made. Which was a good thing, Malfoy had commented, because even a trace of magic detected around Malfoy would lead him to Azkaban for life.
They had left shortly after that upon Percy's insisting. Malfoy's face had betrayed no emotions as he had watched them leave, but George found that he had wanted to stay longer that day.
He stepped inside now, and made his way to the bar, which was just as non-busy as it had been the other day.
There was a different bartender today, and that made him almost turn around and leave, because this wasn't what he had been expecting. He had walked quite a way though, not having wanted to Apparate, and it had turned out to be more exercise than he had done in weeks and had tired him out. So he decided to not be rude and have a single drink before making his way over to some place else.
He ordered a beer like the previous day, and tried his best not to drink too fast. He was starting to feel the walls close in again, and was just about to give up and get out when he saw Malfoy peep in through the back door.
"Hey," he called out on spotting George. "Back so soon? I'll be right out."
The walls receded a little.
George took a sip of his beer, then another, and then a big gulp. He slammed it down on the counter, causing the other two midday patrons of the pub to look up and frown at him. He waved slightly in apology, looking at Malfoy as he came out of the backroom towards him.
"If you break the bottle you gotta pay for it," Malfoy commented. "Another one of those?" he asked, pointing at the bottle in George's hand.
George shrugged. Malfoy looked at him for a second, and then seeming to come to a decision, he grabbed another bottle from the shelf and began mixing something. Eventually, he placed a glass in front of George.
"Do you mind being my test-bunny? I need the practice," he asked George.
It occurred to George, as he took a hold of the glass in front of him, that even a few days ago, he wouldn't have gone anywhere near a drink prepared by a Malfoy. Now however, he did not care if he died. A part of him felt like it was already dead. It might actually be a relief to die.
Since that was his mental condition, he figured he might as well give the guy some practice.
He downed the entire drink in one go.
"Hey, where's the rush?" Malfoy was looking at him with what he realised, as he coughed his way through the burn in his throat, was badly concealed wonder.
The look turned into badly concealed concern when George hadn't stopped coughing. Malfoy grabbed another glass and this time poured water into it before offering it to George.
He took it with much less trepidation this time, and downed the glass. It helped.
"Better?" Malfoy asked, once he had stopped coughing. George nodded, looking down at the counter. He realised that it had been a while since he had looked at someone's face, and Malfoy looking concerned was one of the things he had never believed he would bear witness to.
The look disappeared as soon as the moment had passed, and the Malfoy smirk was back as he asked, "So? Was that too strong for the Weasel?"
Back to normal, George thought, rolling his eyes.
***
"Hey there, you're back."
"Hey," George replied, settling onto a barstool.
"Oh! He talks! What shall I get you?"
"Whatever, I dunno."
"O-okay. I've been working on this drink," Malfoy pulled out two bottles and starts mixing something. George paid him no attention, lost in his head. Eventually a glass was placed in front of him.
"Slower this time, if you will," Malfoy told him, smirking at the memory of the last time.
That broke into his thoughts, and he rolled his eyes before taking a deliberately slow sip. He frowned at Malfoy.
"This is just Rum & Coke," he told him.
"Thanks for the info, Captain Obvious. It's not like I made the drink or anything."
"When you said 'working on this drink' I thought you were going for at least a Cube Libre or something."
"Yeah, sure, because I've been mixing drinks my whole life. I don't even know what a cube liver is," Malfoy exclaimed.
"It's Cube Libre... Never mind. How did you land this job again?"
"Oh ha ha, I've got a manual and everything. And it was either this or a janitor thing at the dirtiest school in the world."
"Ooh is the posh kid scared to get his hands dirty?" George quipped.
"Alright, laugh at my misery," Malfoy scowled, an honest-to-God pout on his face.
***
George found himself at the pub quite more often than he had expected in the weeks after that. He chalked it up to the snarky banter, not contemplating the 'why's of the situation. He was known for being attracted to trouble anyway.
"Do you, um, follow Quidditch anymore?" Malfoy asked one day, seeming extremely hesitant.
"Uh, not much. Just. Whatever comes up during dinner. Charlie and Ron keep talking about the new season. Apparently they're recruiting heavily because of all the casualties, er," George broke off, because they didn't talk about the war as a rule.
"Oh. They're starting the league games up again?" Malfoy said.
"Yeah, to boost people's morale or whatever."
"Huh. The Ministry's not completely useless anymore then? That's a shame."
"Are you thinking of trying out?"
"Well, I can't. I'm not allowed remember?"
"Oh yeah, that's right. I, uh, forget sometimes."
"Lucky you."
They sat in silence for a while, George sipping whatever Malfoy mixed up that day, Malfoy wiping down glasses with a rag.
"Why don't you try out?" Malfoy asked suddenly.
"What?" George looked at him, shocked.
"Yeah, you were pretty good back in school. You know, for a Weasel," he added in a hurry.
"Gee thanks. How kind of you, Sir Malfoy."
***
"Hello there, stranger," a very familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned around just in time to see his father drop onto the stool beside him at the bar.
"Dad? What are you doing here?" George asked mildly. He still couldn't really muster enough energy for caring about most things these days. His dad popping up next to him at the bar was definitely one of those things.
"Well, I was hoping to get a pint with my son," Arthur replied, smiling. "It was one of the things on my bucket list. You know... things to do before I die."
That made George look up at his father, surprised. It made Arthur smile again.
"And unfortunately for you, you're the only one of them who hangs out at a bar anymore. The rest of them are too busy restoring the wizarding world," he said ruefully, clapping a hand on George's shoulder.
The corners of George's mouth twitched. He had to admit, his father was good. He had felt most at ease talking to his father in the days after the Battle of Hogwarts. His mother had started weeping every time she had laid eyes on him. His brothers had tried to fill in Fred's shoes and suggested pranks and jokes, which had made him feel even worse. Ginny was a little better, trying to talk to him about it. His dad though, was the one that had spoken to him like he normally would have, telling him about the state of affairs and stuff like that, not expecting him to respond. The walls did not seem to close in too much when his dad was around.
"So, what would you recommend?"
George looked at his father, confused.
"I mean about that pint. You've been here a few times, right?" Arthur raised his eyebrow.
"Uh... I dunno," George replied honestly. Thinking about it now, he had never actually chosen his drinks. He had ended up drinking whatever Malfoy had put in front of him. Speaking of, he wondered where Malfoy had disappeared off to. He hadn't seen him since his father had turned up. He looked around, searching for him.
"What do you mean? You do drink here, right?" Arthur asked, looking almost suspicious. "Don't tell me..."
"Don't worry,. I haven't been poisoning your son,." Malfoy reappeared with two mugs of mead, causing Mr. Weasley to startle. He stared at him, looking a little gobsmacked.
"Yes, that's right, it's me. I work at a Muggle bar now. How times have changed. Let's get on with it then," Malfoy deadpanned, rolling his eyes a little. George's mouth twitched again.
"I thought Percy was taking the piss," Mr. Weasley said, now looking mildly amused himself.
"Percy? Taking the piss?" George quipped. "Have you met Percy?"
Malfoy smirked, and George smirked back at him. He looked at his father to share a smile, but was surprised to see his father looking at him with a strange expression on his face.
He suddenly realised that it was probably the first time he had heard George crack a joke since the Battle. The thought made George sober up again.
"I'm gonna leave you guys alone and piss off now,." Malfoy placed the two mugs on the counter before them and took off towards the other end of the bar.
George snorted. "Ever the subtle one," he stated, watching him go.
His father smiled. "I see it's not the drinks but the company that's been bringing you here," he commented.
"Erm... it's not like that, Dad," George said, ducking his head. He took a sip from his mug, just to be able to do something with his hands. Suddenly, the feeling of wanting to run away returned to him.
Mr. Weasley looked at him carefully for a moment but sensing his discomfort, looked away again. He stared at a point straight ahead for a few moments.
"Do you know what the worst part of being a dad is?" he asked after a couple of minutes.
"Erm... I wouldn't really know, Dad," George replied, startled at the change of topic and half-worried about what was coming.
"It is the fact that once the kids start living on their own, the dad starts feeling a little useless, you know?" Arthur said, his voice taking a matter-of-fact tone despite the topic. "You'll always need your mum, but your dad? Not so much, yeah?"
"Come on. That's not true," George said, at a loss for words.
His dad chuckled. "Well, we'll compare notes to see if you're right when you're my age," he said, clapping a hand on his son's back. George was astounded for a second at his father's belief that they would live that long, and then realised where he and Fred had learnt to hope for the best while the war was on. "Now," Mr. Weasley continued, oblivious to his son's recent realisation. "Let's call Mr. Malfoy back and get back to lighter topics, shall we?"
***
George still did not quite know why he kept coming back. It had been three months since that first day he had been there with Percy, and his visits had increased in frequency with time, so much so that he had been there four times a week for the last month, since Malfoy was not allowed to work there Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays when the pub was the busiest.
But he had found that after spending an evening at the pub, ribbing Malfoy and drinking cocktails, he felt like he could face the world again. He did not stay up in his room all the time anymore. He hadn't gone to help out at the Ministry or Hogwarts like the rest of his family yet, but he had taken part in rebuilding the Burrow. He had made small talk with his family, but he had connected a lot more with Harry when he had come over, because he had finally understood why Harry had seemed so angry all the time after Sirius had died.
He was about to enter the pub when he heard someone call his name. He turned around to see Malfoy exiting from the side alley.
"Hey," he called back, keeping his voice light. "Aren't you working today?"
"Yeah, I took an earlier shift for another guy," Malfoy replied. "He asked, and it's not like I have other obligations anyway," he added, letting out a snort.
"Oh." George did not know what to say to that. His routine was thrown and he found that the pint he was looking forward to had lost its appeal.
Malfoy eyed him strangely for a moment, and then asked, "Do you want to go to London with me?"
"What are you going to do in London?" George asked, curious.
"I dunno. Walk around. Not much else to do. I'm banned from Diagon Alley anyway."
They had taken the Muggle train, since Malfoy's Ministry-regulated portkey did not let him go anywhere other than the pub and his home. They had lost their way thrice, mostly because Malfoy had stubbornly refused to take directions. As a result, George did not have a clue where they had ended up.
They were now sitting in another Muggle pub in London(George hoped it was London), quite a distance away from wizarding dwellings. Sat opposite Malfoy at a table, both of them with a beer in hand, George wondered for quite possibly the first time since he had first seen Malfoy in their pub, what he was actually doing. Here he was, sitting in Muggle London, having drinks with a known Death Eater, nobody including himself knowing where he was. He wondered what his mother would say if she knew. Most days she had been happy that George was getting out of the house at all, and she hadn't questioned him about where he had been headed. The couple of times she had asked, George had given vague answers about taking a walk.
He wondered now if he wasn't walking into some kind of a trap. During the war, his senses had been on alert at all times. Even now, he imagined he felt the back of his neck prick sometimes, a feeling settling over him as if he was being watched. He supposed it was a side effect of all the times they'd been on Order missions. Of course, the fact that he had his brother at his back at all times had helped him then. Until they had been separated by a group of trolls, and that had been the last time he had seen Fred.
"Are you going to mope all evening?" Malfoy cut into his thoughts.
George blinked. He hadn't realised his thoughts had become about Fred again.
"I'm not moping," George told him, trying to shake off the residual gloom. "And besides, it's not like you are whooping with joy either."
Malfoy, who had started to smirk a bit, sobered up at that. George wondered what he was thinking about. He turned his head to watch the pub.
"I suppose there's not much to be whooping about," George conceded when the silence started to turn uncomfortable.
"Hmmm," Malfoy said noncommittally. "Other than the obvious."
"Other than the obvious," George conceded.
They sat in silence again for a while, but this time the silence was more companionable. Each was lost in his own thoughts. Again, George broke the silence first.
"Uh, so, I was thinking about trying out for the Chudley Cannons," he said. Malfoy looked at him, surprised.
"That's brilliant," he said, looking genuinely pleased.
"Yeah. I haven't told anyone yet though," George broke off, looking sheepish.
"Why not?" Malfoy asked.
George shrugged, not really having an answer to that. It had occurred to him why he kept talking to Malfoy more than his own family, but the truth was that he was a little scared to find out the answer to that question himself, and he avoided going down that path.
"The Chudley Cannons, though?" Malfoy asked, his voice teasing. "You Weasleys will always be Weasleys, won't you?"
George felt a white-hot streak of - something - go through him. "I knew it," he said. "I knew it would only be a matter of time before you got all Malfoy on me."
Malfoy raised his eyebrow, not really ruffled by George's outburst. "What did you expect? Just because I talk to a Weasley doesn't mean I was going to become one of you now, does it?"
George looked at him, his mouth open. How could he have been such a fool to trust this boy? He looked away, not being able to look at Malfoy's face. He should have listened to Percy. There was no way Malfoy was going to change-
"Hey," Malfoy cut into his thoughts. "I'm only kidding. It's - it's a self-preservation thing," he said, looking away himself.
"Oh."
"I didn't mean to..." he trailed off, still looking somewhere far and beyond George's left shoulder. "I mean, you may not know this, but I kind of used to admire the two of you back at Hogwarts. How you did not seem to really care about what people expected of you..."
George felt his annoyance leave him at the sight of Malfoy then, looking small and uncomfortable and so very vulnerable.
"Huh. That's. Okay then." He felt flustered, not having expected that.
"But... you are a Malfoy though," George said after a second.
Malfoy gave him a look. "Don't tell me you only just realised that," he said.
"No. Well. I mean..." George broke off.
Malfoy's expression turned wary. George regretted that he had thoughtlessly spoken his mind.
"I'm just trying to...understand." George explained. "Why do you speak to a Weasley? You hated us before."
"I did but- "
Malfoy looked like he did not want to say whatever he was going to say, and George understood why that was when he heard the words.
"But not for the reasons you believe."
***
It took almost another week before George could convince himself to try out. He made up his mind eventually, and went to find his brothers.
"Hey, Charlie?"
Charlie startled at seeing George so close all of a sudden. He and Ron had been having some sort of whispered conversation - about what, George did not know - and clearly hadn't noticed George enter. They both looked vaguely guilty when they saw him there.
"George! Um, didn't really see you there, mate. How, er, long have you been standing there?" Charlie asked. George started to ask what they were talking so seriously about, but he decided he probably did not want to know whatever the Ministry had planned next or whose Aunt had passed away, finally succumbing to the injuries, for the two of them were looking quite grave when George had walked in.
"I was wondering if I could borrow your broomstick for a couple of days?" George asked instead.
"Why?" Ron asked, before Charlie could react. Charlie turned to give Ron a warning look.
"Well, because I was thinking of trying out, you know, for the Cannons. And I'm sort of out of practice. And my broomstick, well I have no idea where it is actually."
He was met with silence, and he realised that his brothers were staring at him with identically shocked expressions.
"What?" he asked, starting to feel slightly self-conscious.
"You... for the Cannons?" Charlie asked.
"Why, are they done with tryouts already?"
"No, no!" Charlie nudged Ron, breaking him out of his trance. "It's just... That's brilliant, George! Isn't it, Ron?"
"Of... of course. Um. How... how come you decided to try out, then?"
Charlie tried to kick Ron, but it was too late to shut him up. George wasn't upset, though. He hadn't exactly talked about his future plans with them, or about any plans whatsoever. He sort of understood why his brothers were shocked, and also why they seemed to be tiptoeing around him.
"Well I just thought I'd try out, you know. Um, Ginny's trying out too, right? Is that going to be a problem?"
"No, of course not! She's trying out for the Harpies,; will that be okay with you?" Charlie rushed to reassure him, while Ron nodded vigorously beside him in agreement.
"Um, yeah I guess," George said.
There was an awkward moment there when George waited but his brothers just stood there beaming at him. He cleared his throat.
"So..."
"So?" Charlie asked.
"So can I borrow your broom then?"
That seemed to propel them into action and Ron and Charlie proceeded to not only get one broomstick out but two others as well, and they also managed to dig out their old Quaffle, and the three brothers had a quite serious session of throwing it around that whole afternoon.
***
"...feinted left, and the Keeper - who was shit, by the way. I'm thinking of getting Ron to try out - He completely misread it."
George felt lighter than he had in ages. He had tried out for the Cannons - as a Chaser, he couldn't imagine being a Beater without Fred - and had received a call back for final tryouts, one among ten people to have made the cut. Most of them were expected to join the team, and the rest would be taken in as substitutes, so he had definitely made the team.
He was at the pub now, describing it to Malfoy, who listened to him in silence.
George noticed his silence after a while.
"What?"
"Nothing," Malfoy said, turning his attention back to the glasses again. "That's uh, great. Congratulations."
He was still not looking at George.
"You miss it."
Malfoy sighed. He looked up at George briefly before looking away. He shrugged.
"I mean, I get why I deserve to but, well yeah I do miss it."
"Oh."
Malfoy sighed again. "Well if you must know, flying was something I was actually kind of good at. Not as good as Potter or you guys, but yeah it was something I had enjoyed learning."
George felt weird trying to imagine Lucius Malfoy teaching a young Draco to fly his first broomstick. He didn't want to think of Death Eaters as actual people who went around doing normal things.
"Was.. did your father teach you all to fly?" Malfoy asked, breaking into his thought. George looked startled at the question which was quite similar to what he had been thinking. "It's just, all of you are pretty damn good on a broom, aren't you?" he put in when George continued to look surprised.
"Yeah he did, actually. I mean at least initially, when he was teaching Bill and Charlie it was all him, and then they chipped in with the rest of us. Charlie is probably the best amongst all of us." George thought for a second and added- "Except Ginny - she is really probably better than even Charlie."
Malfoy's usual smirk was rueful. "My dad was too busy acting important back then to teach his only son," he stated.
George was surprised. "But, didn't he buy you all Nimbus 2001s one year? I thought he was an enthusiast?"
"Oh he bought me the best brooms. He just, he wasn't around to actually see me ride it." He shrugged it off. "I actually learnt from my mother. She is pretty awesome on a broom."
"Your mother?"
"Well yeah, she is a Black after all. They're usually good with broomsticks. I'd like to think I got my love of flying from there."
George supposed he wasn't lying. He had known about Sirius's and Tonks's broomstick skills.
Thinking about Tonks made him think about his brother. His and Fred's first broomstick lesson had ended in disaster. They had both tried flying together in secret on Bill and Charlie's brooms, and mid-air George had veered his broomstick into Fred's and they had both toppled off of their brooms onto the ground, George on top of his brother. Fred's wrist had snapped audibly, and he remembered how Fred had ended up consoling a distraught George, who had been hysterical.
He found himself telling the story involuntarily, not aware of his having spoken aloud. As soon as he realised what he was doing, he stopped in shock, staring at Malfoy, who was looking at him, quite an amount of shock on his own face.
It was the first time George had mentioned Fred aloud since...
***
Malfoy peered into the room tentatively. He would never in a million years have thought that he would voluntarily have entered the Burrow. But when Charlie Weasley had showed up at his pub, requesting him to go with him, he couldn't say no. (Not before extracting a promise of not using magic for the entire time he was there, though. He was still on his parole.)
After he had realised he had been speaking about his brother the other day, George had fled. Malfoy hadn't seen him since. That had been a week ago, and Malfoy had wondered what had happened, found himself hoping he was fine and with his family. He had almost made up his mind to contact him through Muggle means, when Charlie had showed up.
"Blimey, it is true then," he had exclaimed.
Malfoy had paid no mind, glad to have a link to George at last. "What happened? Where is he?" he had asked, not bothering to mention whom he was talking about.
Charlie looked a little shocked, but recovered quickly to explain that George had turned up wet, dirty and tear-stained that night after being to the pub. He had gone straight to his room, and had not come out ever since. He hadn't eaten or slept much, hadn't responded to any of them trying to talk to him, and it had seemed as if he had gone back to how he was all those months ago.
"So I'm here to tell you that if you've done anything to cause this, Malfoy," Charlie threatened.
Malfoy held his hands up. "Hey, don't look at me! I didn't cause this!"
"Really? Because all evidence points toward you."
"Well..." Malfoy told him about what had happened the other day. Charlie looked stricken by the time he had finished.
"He spoke about Fred?"
"Yeah. Even said his name."
"He said his name?"
"Are you going to repeat everything I say?"
"But... then what happened?"
"Well he pretty much ran after he realised. I haven't seen him since."
"And you let him?"
"Hey! Do I seem like someone who is good at talking to upset people?"
"But that's the thing," Charlie exclaimed, looking like they've finally arrived at the point he came there to make. "You were the only one who got through to him."
That brought him up short.
"What?"
"Yeah, he hardly talked to us before he started coming here."
"I mean, it was still early back then. He hardly talked to me either then."
"Look," Charlie pulled himself straighter and looked Malfoy in the eye. "I know you probably don't want to hear it, and believe me when I tell you that I don't want to be saying this, but you were the one who got through to him the most. You made him start joking again. Hell, you made him try out for the Cannons! So for once in your life, Malfoy, do the noble thing. Come with me and talk to George. He needs your help."
Charlie had waited there stubbornly for quite a while before he had agreed, and a short while later Malfoy found himself standing in front of George's room, having made little eye contact with anyone on his way there.
"Um, may I come in?" he asked, not really knowing what he was supposed to do here. He didn't get a response. He hadn't really expected one.
"Alright, since the door is open, I'm going to come in anyway."
He entered the room and shut the door behind him. George hadn't looked away from the window he was staring out of.
"So- " he started, but he was interrupted by some kind of commotion on the other side of the door he had just closed.
"So apparently at least one of your brothers don't want me here. That's oddly reassuring."
"You don't have to drink any more wonky Sangrias. I finally got it down correctly."
"Remember that McLaggen character from school? I heard he was trying out for Keeper at the Cannons. Just giving you a heads up."
"I've been at the Weasley Manor for at least ten minutes now, and no one has killed me yet. A personal miracle I think?"
"It's called the Burrow, you posh numpty," George spoke finally. His voice was barely audible, and he hadn't turned away from the window yet, but Malfoy counted it as success.
***
George had been through his entire emotional spectrum in the last eight months and had only reached the happy end of it recently. He still had episodes when he felt guilty to even be alive, but his family and his - well, he didn't know what Malfoy was yet exactly. He was hoping to ask him out tonight - Malfoy never failed to get him out of a funk.
And he had finally found the courage to do what he was doing right then.
"Hey Freddie," he began, feeling silly but also knowing that he needed to do this. "Did you get in alright? I bet the wait was pretty bad. Gotta be a long line at customs around now, what with..." he trailed to a stop, not able to complete the joke. He paused, then tried again. "Sorry I didn't come to visit before, I was..." he trailed off again, his words refusing to roll off of his tongue. He looked around, and tried to come up with things to say. How do you explain what it feels like to miss a part of you?
And then it occurred to him that this was Fred. His twin brother Fred. He never had needed to try and explain himself to Fred - they had always and forever been on the same page.
"So I miss you." He came straight to the point. "And so does everybody else, by the looks of it. Mum hasn't stopped waxing lyrical in a month." He chuckled. "Which is kinda unfair, because whatever you did, I did, and I never hear her praising my 'ability to make every situation lighter'." He air quoted. "And whatever else people are telling about you." He mock glared at his brother's grave. "Well, I would be jealous if I didn't know you would have hated it." He let out another chuckle again before growing a little sober. He walked up to the gravestone, hesitated briefly before sitting down beside it.
"Um, so, I might have done a thing," he continued after a moment. "It's... well you know what it is." He stopped to consider that. "You better know what it is. You better be watching over me, you bastard," he said, jabbing his finger at the gravestone.
"Because if you're not watching over me," he said, more softly. "I'm fucked. I'm well and truly fucked. Stop frolicking with those angels for a second and listen carefully. I'm counting on you, Freddie," he told the gravestone seriously. "I'm counting on you, because I have no fucking idea what I'm doing. And if you take your eyes off of this, I'm gonna come up there and smash your head into... into... well whatever hard surface I find there."
He looked at the gravestone and waited, as if expecting some reaction in return. He sighed after a moment of nothing happening. He turned around and leaned against the side of the stone.
"I miss you, man," he said again. He stayed there for the rest of the morning till Malfoy came to find him for lunch.
***
Malfoy had become a significant part of his life now. His family had been disbelieving at first, wary for quite a time after but had almost (with the exception of Ron, but George didn't quite expect Ron to bend so easily) accepted him now, mostly because all of them had spoken with Malfoy about intentions and tricks and traps. George wasn't supposed to know about most of these talks but his family wasn't as sneaky as they thought themselves to be, and Draco had always seemed a bit dazed and disbelieving after each of these occurrences. He had been grateful, though.
He knew it probably wasn't going to be all sunshine and daisies, though. They were still a Weasley and a Malfoy. There would be words, fights and ego-clashes. There already had been a time when Malfoy commented about their poverty and George couldn't help acknowledging the Dark Arts and they had had a long talk about the Battle eventually, where Draco had admitted to at least some of his mistakes and George had accepted that the other boy had truly changed.
It was Christmas day. Much to Ron's annoyance, Draco had been invited, which meant a magic-free setting up of the tables. He had arrived with an apple pie made by his mother, which Mrs. Weasley had graciously accepted and placed on the dinner table alongside her own Christmas feast. Draco hadn't participated much in the conversation around the lunch table, apart from politely thanking Mrs. Weasley for the meal, but Ginny had made him promise to help in the cleaning afterwards, and that had helped in pulling him into the conversation.
George looked around the table, seeing all the happy faces. His dad, Bill and Percy were discussing the latest Ministry policies about voting rights of Squibs on one end, and Harry, Ron and Charlie were debating Quidditch penalties at the other. His mum and Hermione were tittering over Fleur and Bill's kid. Fleur herself was talking with Ginny, which came as a surprise since he had thought that his sister hated her. He tuned in to listen to their conversation, and found them conversing about babies, Ginny taking her unofficial god-mothering seriously.
He thought about the person who was missing from this family, and he imagined Fred would be looking down on them and beaming at their happiness. 'Miss you, Freddie,' George told him in his mind.
"Thanks for the book about Muggle transport," Draco told George from where he was sitting next to him, taking him away from his thoughts. "It's probably going to come in handy."
"I thought of getting you one about cocktails, but you seem pretty well-educated there already," George commented.
"Thanks to you, mostly."
"Why how kind of you."
Draco grinned at him, and George felt warmer than he had in a long time.
THE END