Title: Bridled Grief

Challenge/Prompt: Written for the Wasps' Beater 2 Reserve for season 2 of the Quidditch League Competition (George Grieving, "If I may ask", prompts #14, "You don't tell me to relax!" and #11, jumbled), and for the Favorite Era Bootcamp (#41, Hurt).

Rating: PG

Word Count: about 1300

Characters: George Weasley, Ron Weasley, and Molly Weasley.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is in no way connected to the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling. Harry Potter is owned by her, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Warning(s): Grieving, and I have no idea if this is OOC in any way, unbetaed (I am so so sorry)

It was another thing to know your brother was de-deceased, it was another thing to actually believe it.

George was unable to fully process what had happened. It had seemed that, one moment, Fred was by his side, laughing and smiling his mischievous grin, and the next second, he was part of the numerous bodies flaking the floor of the Great Hall: pale, eyes open, mouth closed. He had asked Madam Pomfrey to please close them; it wouldn't be right, otherwise.

Fred was with him, though. George could feel it. In body, and in spirit. Fred was in every picture frame, every one of Ronnie's laughs, even in the bloody reflection in the mirror. He was doomed to have his brother's face, but to never again have him by his side, physically. Would never be able to plan a prank with him, to view the outcome of that one fantastic joke, to even confuse their dear old mum.

So, George chose to ignore it. To ignore the fact that Fred was never coming home. Though, it hadn't been a conscious. No, it was one his mind had made for him; to spare him the pain, until he was better able to deal with it.

The idea seemed to be lost somewhere. Like one of those puzzles. As if the idea was one of those pieces a younger sibling managed to lose beneath the couch, or beneath their bum. The idea that Fred was dead was just that: a missing puzzle piece. Jumbled within his mind. The visage of his brother's unmoving corpse lost, if only for as long as it took him before he could finally deal with it.

"Fred, come and see this!"

A shattering noise was all that met his ears, and George winced at the noise of the impact. It sounded like a vase, or some other fragile object.

"George?" Ron called, startled. He turned his head, frantically searching the entirety of the shop, eyes widened in an expression of grief and bewilderment. Once he had calmed down, he started again,

"George?"

"What is it, Ron?" George asked, inspecting the broken item. No, not just a vase. A vase with water and flowers within it. Sighing, George straightened up his shoulders and quickly repaired the object.

"Why did you just call for Fred?"

George furrowed his brows, before standing up and shrugging his shoulders, still frowning a bit at his brother's clumsiness.

"Felt like it. Plus, I..." George paused for a long moment, before shaking himself out of his self-imposed silence. "... this new gadget..." Another silence. "...together. Fred would've..."

Ron's entire face seemed to shutter, eyes closed in pain, teeth gritted as if he were biting back something. When he finally reopened his eyes, he just took a deep breath and looked away.

"Okay," he just bobbed his head, throat working to swallow the barest hint of saliva. "Okay."

George walked back to the counter and ducked his head down, fixed upon the newest invention. If only... No.

The door behind him opened and shut, and George just hoped that Ron wouldn't break anything else.

"George?" a voice called, a nearly silent knock stealing into the silence. George grunted, not looking up from his book. When the call came again, George cleared his throat and said, "Yes?"

His mum walked in, closing the door behind her almost as silently as she had knocked. Sensing the somber atmosphere, George bookmarked his page, leaning back in his chair.

"I just wanted to know how you were doing, if I may ask," she sat down across from George. When he glimpsed at her hands, he found both of her knuckles nearly white.

"Fine," he answered slowly, eyes still on her fists. "How about you?"

"Fine," she bobbed her head. "I heard something from Ron, earlier."

George raised his eyes in surprise, then gestured with his head for her to go on.

She took a deep breath before muttering, "He said you had called for Fred, in the shop."

George nodded, averting his eyes from her sympathetic gaze. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Fred's not coming back, George."

He looked up sharply, and was met with the sight of his mother's near-pained expression. She gave a smile that was more a wince, than anything else.

"I know that," he felt a familiar rage coat the words he spat, arms crossed in front of his chest, leaning forward the slightest bit in his seat. A rage he vaguely recalled racing through his veins when... "How could I forget?"

His mum raised an eyebrow, before shaking her head, grudgingly.

"You're right," she sighed, massaging a temple with one of her hands, the other now folded calmly within her lap. "I'm sorry."

Milliseconds morphed into seconds, and then slowly transformed into minutes. The silence was nearly as loud in George's ears as ever, and he wished he had turned on the wireless radio before she had walked in. After a while, his mother reluctantly stood up, walking over to him to peck him on his head. When she left the room, George stood up to blast the radio.

A few months later, when the wizarding world was still coming to grips with the realisation that You-Know-Who was gone, never again to return, George felt his fragile belief in Fred's presence break.

And how he had roared, screamed.

It happened, of course, in the kitchen of the Burrow. Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny had just gotten their Hogwarts' letters, offering a chance to regain their previously stolen year, and just the thought of Fred not being able to share in the happiness, the sharp reminder of the loss, the taste of absolute grief on his tongue...

George stood up, walked out of the room, and broke something. Launched it right at the wall. Hours later, when he went back to repair it, he would know it was a picture of Fred and himself, laughing and smiling.

Soon after destroying what little left there was in the foyer, he sat down, cupped his face in his hands, and cried. Shouted his misery out to the world. How unfair it was that his brother, Fred, his first friend, his companion, his partner, his twin, had been taken from him.

"George?" his mum ran into the room, collapsing next to him. "George?!"

George felt inconsolable, and lost, and that missing piece in his mind had come back without a moment of hesitation, and he just wanted his bloody brother back.

"You need to calm down," she wrapped her arms around him, rocking him back and forth. "Relax, shh, shh."

George trembled slightly, murmuring into his hands, "You don't need to tell me to relax."

Taking that as confirmation that he would do as she said, she kissed his head, rubbing small, soothing circles on his back. Eventually, he felt himself let go, muscles going limp within the warm, maternal embrace.

When he had managed to calm down enough, she pushed herself back and placed her hands on his own. Sighing, George brought his head up and reached up to wipe away a few tears. She shoved a handkerchief in his hand, and he murmured a 'Thank you'.

Several seconds later, she said, "Okay?"

George thought for a few moments, and realised, while the hurt was definitely there, it felt more like a throb, now. He slowly bobbed his head in affirmation.

"O-okay."

"Good," she smiled, standing up. "Now, go upstairs and clean yourself up. Then this mess. And George?"

He turned back around.

"Yes, mum?"

"I love you."

Smiling softly, he said, "I love you, too."

And felt free.

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed this fic :3 Reviews are greatly appreciated!

... and I really would like to know how OOC this is. I feel like I did a crap job. =\