This is my new story, lol about Fred Weasley. I found it very difficult to ignore this idea, I personally find it hilarious. But ah, enjoy.
This may seem very angsty but I can assure you it does become more humorous.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, places and names etc etc (all credit goes to JK), only the plot is mine.
Set Post- War in AU.
Things would never be the same again; one event had succeeded in turning everyone's lives upside down. It was hard to enjoy the pleasure of the fact that the war was over, not in light of what had happened to the Weasley's 4th child.
An explosion, initiated by a villainous Death Eater, Augustus Rookwood, had blasted into Fred Weasley, rendering him catatonic; his face lifeless and his breathing shallow; Harry Potter had managed to drag him away from further damage, ultimately saving his life. However, Fred had never regained consciousness since the event, and had been placed in a ward in St Mungo's to await a magical recuperation.
Three months had passed with little or no change to George Weasley's twin, in fact absolutely nothing had changed at all. No matter how much George found himself wishing, praying for a miracle to bring his brother back to him; no amount of potions, nifty spellwork or pure faith had brought him any closer to his desires.
The effect obviously, was that George Weasley had succumbed to a black cloud of emotion, washing over him like a sepia toned photograph, all the colours had vanished. If you were to go looking for George, you would find him in his flat where he had not moved for several weeks now, the stench of unwashed skin and vomit permeated each and every nose that walked into the flat. Sometimes, George couldn't even find the will to go to the toilet, instead opting to sit in his own urine. This was the miserable state of affairs that he had been left in; he could find no amount of comfort from a bottle of liqueur, although he tried at first to drown his sorrows. That was the source of the smell of vomit, when he'd laid down in his own puke and waited for an end.
As George sat in his own filth, barely aware of reality that continued its path into the future, his thoughts inevitably turned to his brother. He refused to forget the sorry situation his brother had been placed in, he refused to give up hope that one day he would return. Nonetheless at the present moment, looking at Fred's all but lifeless body, made him feel hideously sick, punching at every inch of his skin much like an industrial sized hypodermic needle. George was hurting deep inside, and no one could address his pain, only pity him to have lost his other half at 20 years of age.
George imagined the day of his brother's return, like a twisted fantasy of longing, he could picture each and every moment. They wouldn't speak a word of his suffering; it would just be understood and acknowledged. Fred hadn't meant to leave him alone; he hadn't meant to tear his universe apart.
He would smell the same, of really bad aftershave and essence of murtlap, the faint smell of singed hair and toffees. He'd have his best friend back that would just know how he was feeling, and he wouldn't have the need to explain why. To be himself again, George missed that more than anything. He could see the accusations in his Mother's eyes, why Fred and not him? He'd clearly shown he was the twin more prone to harm, he didn't even have both ears for Merlin's sake!
He was incomplete.
George knew what he wanted; he wanted Fred, his Freddie back.
"I wish he was here," was all he could say.
It was hard for Mrs Weasley to see what the war had done to her family, the physical scars, the longing for her little boy to wake up, the longing for her other little boy to talk to her instead of locking himself away from everyone's prying eyes; the emotional trauma of events had reduced her heart to a million fragments of shattered glass. She couldn't help but feel fragile; she needed the support of her husband, who was too wrapped up in his own grief, the support of her sons, unable to talk to her about their feelings, and her daughter who had turned to the physical comfort that only Harry could provide. There was simply no time for disapproval.
The healers said give it time, but Molly was afraid, the longer she waited for her baby to return, the harder the grief would be to bare when they finally told her he wouldn't be coming back.
Many times, she found herself saying, why her? What had she done to deserve so much pain and loss? First her brothers had been taken and now it looked to be her own two precious boys. She feared more than anything that George would give up, and let his pain wash over him and consume him like hungry flames in a towering inferno.
Hermione Granger had spent the last three months drained to the bone, even without being a fully qualified witch she leant her expertise to every issue that arose in the rebuilding of the magical world. She was an invaluable source of logic and common sense that, Kingsley would have been very sad to be without.
However, the world had been devastated virtually to a state of disrepair, where no witch or wizard was able to trust another; it populated the corners of every well-meaning person until it was like an unspoken disease, rife in the wizarding community.
Yet, with a virulent regret Hermione's mind was never far from the casualties that had been suffered much closer to home, especially one man she had come to think of as a brother. Each time she visited his impassive form, tears of bitterness formed in her eyes, they rarely fell but stayed hanging by some invisible force.
It rendered her wordless and breaking inside; to think she hadn't been able to save her friend from his vegetable like existence, or his brother from a fate of distorted misery. If only she had been able to push him out of the way of the explosion, so that he had not hit his head, so that his body hadn't magically shut down in order to protect itself. She wished more than anything she could be able to talk to Fred and tell him how she felt. But angrily realised that she would never be able to have that chance, it had been denied of her indefinitely. It was times like these, she hated fate more than anything in the world, that it could have ripped Fred away from the world, considering all that happiness and laughter he had been key in providing.
Hermione knew what she wanted more than anything, she wanted Fred back, she needed Fred to come back and make everything right again.
"I wish he was here," was all she could say at the end of another struggle, another day without him.
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