A World Away


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


The first time George tests it he sends all the furniture in the flat back two decades. He isn't sure whether to laugh or burn his eyes out.

He does neither, of course.

The second time he goes back exactly an hour and sits hunched in the shop, watching the Pygmy Puffs trundle around their cage. Or at least, his eyes are on them. His mind is very far away. He can't hear himself upstairs, although he knows he is. It's like he's a ghost already.

The third time he does it properly, Apparates to a Burrow drenched in moonlight thick as butter. He stands outside their doorway for a long time, heart thundering in his chest, but for all his preparation seeing the two of them together still makes him feel sick.

The twins, wriggling together in their shared cot, babbling and giggling.

He can't stop looking at Fred, and gagging on the ash which will one day coat his twin's body.

He can't stop hating his gummy self with all his wasted heart, for his ignorance, for his happiness, the way that they look at each other and smile their toothless smiles.

After a while, he picks himself up with shaking hands, draws a memory light and silver as cobwebs from his temple, and lets it soak into the infant's skin. The baby screws up his face and sobs, unable to understand the horror that George's mind can no longer hold.

Fred, below, whines in sympathy.

George gives the crying baby a shake, and his voice comes out raspy and worn – little wonder, because he can't remember the last time he spoke to someone- and this is the most important thing he will ever say.

"You save him." He says to himself, and little George shoves a chubby fist into his mouth and stares.

"You save him."

So, he stands, finally, weariness hanging from his bones, on a star-striped hill in the darkness. Yellow light spills over the grass and he knows, without looking, that his mother is tending to the crying twins. She will rock them and sing to them and she will never know that another son of hers is just over the hill, contemplating his own death.

Because if it works –and it will work because this is the idea that can't fail- this George, the one who lost himself the night that everyone else was found – will disappear. And all the world around him too.

He knows the risks he's taking, and shoves his home-made Time-Turner deeper into his jacket pocket stubbornly. Because he doesn't care.

He hasn't cared for a long time now. Even if what he's done means the rise of You-Know-Who. The fall of Harry Potter.

His own death.

He laughs to himself, once, and bitterly, and turns into the crushing darkness.


Author's Note: Very well-worn territory I'm treading here, but I bought the Deathly Hallows Part II DVD the other day and it brought up all my old depression about Fred's death. I believe in the re-Fredding, although I am going about it in a rather dark way. More chapters coming. Not going to say a number because it's just going to blow up in my face.

Concrit well received,

Taluliaka.