Assignment: Muggle History, Task 8 - Angelica Schuyler: Write about never being satisfied
George looks down at this kid, this tiny, two-year-old kid who has George's dead twin's name and his dead mother's eyes, and he thinks, how the hell am I supposed to do this?
Angelina was good with Freddie. A natural mother.
George takes him out alone in public and people wonder if they should call the police for kidnapping.
It doesn't help that Freddie looks just like his mother did — dark skin, warm brown eyes, hair as black as the night sky.
He loved Angelina.
He loved her in a way that he thought was forever. He thought the end of the war meant the end of the deaths that they couldn't explain.
But he holds his two-year-old son in his arms and he looks at two graves dug in the cold December dirt, one full sized and one so small, and he doesn't understand how this happened. He took Angelina in for what they thought were Braxton-Hicks contractions and three hours later both mother and daughter were dead.
He's not even crying. He's still just… stunned. Frozen. He feels so lost.
Ginny peels away from the rest of their family and comes over to him, curls an arm around him, and says, "George," her voice soft but fierce.
He can't say anything. The words feel sticky in his throat.
He thought he was done with this. Done losing his entire world in one fell swoop. Done having to start over without the person he loves most.
The war is over. They're supposed to be safe.
He's not supposed to be lowering his wife and daughter into the ground.
"I can't," he finally manages to scrape out, low and wounded.
"I hear the quit in your voice, Georgie. I know. I understand. You want to be done. But you can't. You don't get to."
"You know what she always used to say to me, Gin? When it was the middle of the night and Freddie was crying and I felt like I couldn't take another step? She always used to say, If we do this together, everything will be okay. And I believed her. We could do it. Together. But alone? I can't."
"I know. It takes a hell of a lot more to stay. It feels impossible. It feels like it would be easier to just walk away. But you know what? It's not. It's not impossible. It's just hard. And it sucks. And you shouldn't have to deal with it. But that's life. And you know whatever happens, you've got us."
And George knows she means well but hearing that life is shit and it's not just paranoia making him think so isn't helpful right now, so he's almost grateful when Freddie starts crying and George uses it to make his excuses and go home.
…
George didn't think it could get much worse than staring at twin graves and wondering how to live without his wife, but here it has.
Here it's the middle of the night less than a week after Angelina… died, and just one night after her funeral, and Freddie is crying.
Again.
George hauls himself out of bed, limbs heavy with exhaustion, and crosses the room to the crib against the opposite wall.
He picks his son up and curls his arms around him.
"Shhh, shhh, I know, buddy. I know."
Freddie screams.
George closes his eyes and tries not to cry. He pulls in a deep breath, bouncing vaguely to keep Freddie moving, trying everything he knows to soothe his son.
"Are you hungry, little man?" He summons a peach from the kitchen, carving it with his wand and offering Freddie a piece.
Fred looks at him like he's insane and wails louder.
He tries a blanket. He uses his wand to take the kid's temperature. He tries juice and water and anything he can think of, but Freddie is satisfied with none of it.
And then his screams change.
"Momma!" he wails.
George feels his heart break.
"Oh, kiddo." There are tears in his eyes. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to fix this.
"Mommaaaaaaaaa!" Freddie screams. His toddler lungs are impressive.
"Freddie, buddy, I know you want your momma. I do too, okay. But we talked about this."
George knows that Fred doesn't understand. All he knows is that his mother won't come back.
But he will be satisfied by nothing less than Angelina. He is satisfied by nothing George can give.
"I'm so sorry, kiddo," George murmurs. "I'm so sorry."
Freddie continues to wail.
George doesn't know what he's supposed to do.
All he knows is what he can do, and that's hold his grieving son close to his chest and hope to hell they can make it through this, hope to hell there's a light at the end of this fucking tunnel.
The hole that losing Fred the first carved into his chest hasn't gone away, but it's scabbed over. He can laugh without it aching, which at one point felt impossible.
So yeah, he feels like he's been torn open all over again.
And yeah, he's thinking about the baby girl he never got to meet and all the things she'll never get to do.
And yeah, he feels shattered in so many places he's not sure how all the pieces go together again.
But he's still got Freddie, and Freddie's always going to have him.
And maybe, just maybe, that can be enough.
Auction Challenge: prompt: Single parent; words: 912
April Writing Month: 912
Character Appreciation:Character: Fred Weasley II (Bonus for George)
Amber's Attic: 24. It takes a hell of a lot more muscle to stay than to go.
Showtime: 8. Gypsies in the Wood - word set: lost, paranoia, three, mother
Lyric Alley: 23. Only made it worse but I just can't help
AAA: 21. Wright On - Dialogue: "I heard the quit in your voice."
Make an Easter Basket: Stickers (only need to use three!): (word) sticky, (dialogue) "If we do this together, everything will be okay.", (character) Ginny Weasley
Insane house: Character - George Weasley