Dear reader,
Thanks to drop by. The story was inspired by the song "heaven was needing a hero" by Jo Dee Messina. Feel free to hear it while reading. I wrote it within the last four hours as I couldn't sleep. As I'm no native speaker feel free to correct any grammar issues. Please rewrite!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. But I do own the plot of this story! Please don't use/translate/continue/... it without asking me first. Thank you. Any similarities to other stories are accidentally as I can't read every HP-fanfiction to make sure this one.
Heaven was needing a hero
It was very late as Molly Weasley contacted her second daughter and hopefully "soon-to-be" daughter-in-law through the Floo Network. Hermione sat on the couch of her small apartment and read a very huge book. Obviously she hadn't noticed her yet.
"Hermione?" she asked softly to not scare her to death. Nevertheless, the girl turned her head in shock and pulled out her wand – a protective reflex she still hadn't given up although the war had been over two years ago. The next moment she realized Molly's head within the fireplace. "Molly! It's nearly midnight! I..." The younger woman tried her best to calm herself. Molly interrupted her. "I'm sorry to scare you, my dear. But I'm afraid you're the only person I know who could help me." She smiled a comforting smile. "I know it's late, but may I ask you a big favour, sweetheart?"
Hermione nodded and made herself comfortable in front of the fire. "George, again?", she asked Mrs. Weasley. The older witch sighed desperately. "He's still at some pub drinking himself into delirium. At least, that's what I'm thinking." Hermione made a worried face.
She knew, George tried his best to go on after his twin brother's death, but every time the pain grew unbearable he drowned it in alcohol until he forgot everything. First no one had noticed the young man's problems as everyone had been too occupied with their own traumatic after-effects of the war. But last year around the anniversary of Fred's death Hermione had found George in some Muggle bar drinking one glass after another 'til he was too drunken to even recognize her. It was the first of too many nights, she found him in some corner while he tried to forget his dead second half. Of course she had to tell Molly, but she made the older witch promise to never let his son know that she knew.
"Could you please go after him? I thought he got better within the last weeks, but at dinner Ron and Harry had dropped some silly remark about how George had lost his humour since Freddie's death..." Molly grimaced with pain as she remembered the awkward situation and tears shone in her eyes. Obviously the two hadn't grown to respect other people's feelings and ways of grieving, yet. Hermione silently cursed her best friends. By now they should have learned to not mention Fred in front of his twin.
"Of course, I'll go search for him." She instantly rose and started to go into her bedroom to change. "Thank you, dear! I owe you," Molly shouted after her. Hermione turned around once more. "You know, you don't." She smiled sadly. "Go to bed, Mrs. Weasley. I'll make sure that George will be ok." Molly sobbed. "Thank you. Good night, sweetheart. Be strong!" She waved goodbye and vanished into the fire.
Hermione sighed deeply and stared thoughtfully at the point Molly's head had been moments ago. She'd need a lot of strength. She changed into jeans and her favourite pullover, grabbed her purse and wand and left her flat.
The next hour she searched every bar, she'd found him once, but still a second hour went by until she finally tracked him down at some deserted Muggle bar. As expected George sat in the darkest corner of the small grotty pub. A huge amount of empty bottles and various schnapps glasses stood in front of him. Hermione sighed deeply and made her way to his table.
"Hello George," she said with a soft, tired tone in her voice. He didn't look up, but murmured something like "'lo, Mione." She noticed his nearly comatose state, took his arm and tried to pull him up. "I think, we should go home now. You had enough for today, don't you think?" George grabbed her hand to stop her. His desperate sigh made her heart clench. "'tis never 'nough...," was his slurred answer. "Never'nough t'forget 'em." His head fell on the tabletop. His free hand buried in tousled red strands.
She gave up making him go and took the seat beside him. "You shouldn't forget him, George." He looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Why?" His voice was rough and barely audible but she knew what he said. He always asked the same questions. She tried to smile but the sadness made it really hard. "He'd be gone forever if no one remembers him." George laid his forehead back on the table. "Why'd he go anyway..."
Hermione remembered Fred's final moments during the battle of Hogwarts. Tears started to burn in her eyes. She could still hear his last words; still see the smile in his face as he realized Percy had made some silly joke. The next second he was gone. Lifeless. Dead. She sobbed. "I don't know. I ... really, I don't know why." She tried her best to regain her composure. Be strong – Molly's words rang in her ears. She whisked away her tears and took George's hand. He didn't react.
"Look at me, George," she whispered. He slowly raised his head. The pain and despair in his face made him look way too old. His eyes were empty, lonely, hopeless. "He died to make sure there is a future worth living. He wouldn't want us to waste it. He would want us to be happy – to live life at its fullest. He would want you to be proud of him." George removed his hand and glanced angry at her. "Maybe. Thanks to this war, we'll never know!"
Hermione sighed. "Wouldn't you want him to be happy if he'd been alive and you'd be dead? I would want you – my family – my friends to remember me with a smile." She thought about her parents' buried corpses. They wouldn't want her to mourn but to go on and find happiness.
"I'm sorry, Mione," George whispered and wiped away another silent tear. She hadn't realized that she was crying. "Sometimes I forget, I'm not the only one mourning. You lost your parents within this sodding war." She smiled half-heartedly. "They died to protect me... Maybe... maybe heaven needed them more than I do." George nodded dewy-eyed. "It's the only conclusion that makes at least some sense. Heaven needed them." He straightened his back and signalled the waiter to bring two schnapps.
He lifted his glass and asked her to take the other one. "George, you shouldn't drink another one. You're already sodden!" she protested but took the glass anyway. He ignored her comment and raised his voice: "To Fred, to your parents and all the other fallen. May heaven value them as the heroes they were!" "To the war heroes," Hermione answered, hardly able to speak, and both of them gulped down their drink. Afterwards they sat in silence, staring nowhere.
"George? I think we should go now." Her voice was even softer than before. He nodded and rose from his chair. He paid his bill and started to totter towards the door. Hermione grabbed his jacket and followed him quickly. "Wait! You forgot to put on your jacket. It's cold outside." He stopped instantly and turned around a shaking smile on his lips. "Right." She helped him to dress and took his arm as they went out on the street.
The fresh air hit him in the face and made his sodden state even worse. Hermione tried her best to lead him into an empty sideway. As no one saw them she apparated them into George's flat above the store. He collapsed onto the floor.
"George!" her voice sounded shrill and full of fears as she dropped beside him. "Please, don't," she whispered helplessly expecting the worst. The next moment he grabbed her neck, pulled her down and pressed a hard kiss upon her lips.
He tasted like stale alcohol, salty despair and something Hermione knew was his own breathtaking taste. She couldn't help but respond to his demanding mouth. She didn't remember why they'd started to comfort each other like this but it made their loneliness disappear. George mourned painfully but drew her even closer to his body. He kissed her cheeks, her nose, her forehead while tears ran down his face. "Thank you," he whispered sleepy. "Thank you for making me nearly whole again."
He'd never needed an explanation. Fred had been his partner and friend – his second self. The bond between them was stronger than anyone could imagine. And the loss of it would never be cured. Somewhere within the last encounters she'd fallen in love with this broken man. She kissed his lips goodbye and freed herself from his embrace. It was time to go home.
Hermione cast another glance over the now sleeping red-haired, closed the door behind her and spoke some protection spells. Tomorrow he wouldn't remember anything, neither her soothing words nor their desperate kisses and embraces. She held back the tears. Maybe someday he would realize he loved her too. Maybe he wouldn't. But she'd always be at his side until heaven needed another hero.