This is my first Harry Potter fanfic. I've been in love with the fandom from the beginning but I could just never write for it.
I just had to get this out though, because Fred :'(
I don't own Harry Potter. My deity JK does.
I use a mix of the films and books and I don't own the films either
Not my best work but those little plot bunnies wouldn't leave me alone
Enjoy ^.^
Molly Weasley was just finishing up washing the dishes. She normally used magic to do this but today she welcomed the work. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of red and decided to bully her son into helping too
'Fred, dear, could you -' she stopped suddenly, tears filling her eyes, she turned to see her dead son's twin, face contorted with pain, his one remaining ear turning red.
'I'm not Fred, I'm George' he said softly 'Honestly woman, call yourself our mother?' and he pulled her into a hug.
They stayed there for a long time. Grieving together. It was hard to tell who had been hit the hardest by Fred's death. Molly, who had lost her son, or George who had lost his twin. Most would say the latter, as Molly had other sons and a husband to draw strength from. Whereas George was reminded of his loss every time he saw his reflection. Some people who saw him in his shop, who had never known Fred, thought he had lost his mind, as George kept stopping in the middle of sentences, then his grin would fade and he would look to his left, finding no one there to finish, he would mumble the next few words and then go back to work.
Needless to say, the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was closed down soon after the final war. Business was booming with everyone having a cause to be happy and play practical jokes without risking and unforgivable curse in retaliation but George found that his heart wasn't in it. He couldn't do it without Fred. No one else could predict him quite so well as his brother. They had been a fluid team, knowing exactly where to show who and what to say to part them with their Galleons and Sickles so everyone had left happy.
With just the one of him, he struggled. Some customers were left waiting and without an extra pair of eyes there had been a shoplifting. Of course the culprit was caught due to the anti-stealing charm placed on every object in the shop, but had Fred been there to intervene, the little snot-nosed brat wouldn't have gotten near the door with his Extendible Ear.
After almost a month, George had gotten tired of plastering on a fake smile for the customers and waiting for Fred to finish his sentences and he had locked up shop and gone back to the Burrow where Molly had welcomed him with open arms. But he couldn't bring himself to sell the place. Despite the extortionate cost to keep it closed. They had saved some money and After all it had been his and Fred's dream since before they went to Hogwarts. To rival Gambol and Japes and spread their mischief far and wide.
He picked up the Marauder's Map. Harry had given it back to him when he had become an Auror. The map held a lot of memories for the both of them, George knew that Harry would want to pass it down to his children someday but for now George liked to look at it and remember figuring out how to make writing appear, how the Marauders had told them what to do to open the map, meeting kindred spirits in the mischief makers, messers Moony, Padfoot and Prongs. (They didn't like to count Wormtail after the whole Scabbers/Pettigrew incident). The secret passages they had found and used, the people they had managed to sneak up on, the teachers they had managed to avoid. Every time they had been chased by Filch and had managed to disappear behind a statue, holding in their laughter. Everytime they had persuaded Peeves to perform a little practical joke on a Slytherin. He had done everything with Fred. Everything. For a little while, George had hoped that Fred might come back as a ghost. They had often talked about it, both of them haunting Hogwarts, teaching their descendants in the ways of mischief. But he hadn't. He didn't know why. Maybe it had happened too fast. Maybe Fred had accepted his fate and moved on. Maybe he decided that he was ready. Maybe he didn't want to without George.
He had bought his own owl. And he sent letters to Fred. He didn't know what the owl did with them, but she never brought them back, and for that, George was grateful. He liked to hold on to the idea that somewhere, his brother was reading them.
Today was his letter day. He sat down at his desk and pulled his parchment and quill towards him. Dipping his quill into the ink pot, he began
Dear Fred,
I still miss you. I know that I've started almost every other letter this way but the empty feeling isn't going away. I wait for you to come in and announce your next big idea to set gnomes loose in the kitchen or the next product to sell at the shop. My days are boring now and I don't know how to change that. I miss swapping identities for the day and laughing when no one noticed, I miss looking at you to be my mirror. I miss enchanting Percy's Humongous Bighead badge. I even miss just sitting with you. In silence. Those times when we never needed to talk. Because you understood. You always understood and I need that again. I'm not used to being a single person. I don't know how everyone else does it. Because I know different. I know how it feels to be connected. And I don't want to let that go. I don't want to let you go. I haven't sold the shop yet but I'm thinking about it. I can't do it without you Fred. But I can't let it go either. It was always our dream. Now it's just mine. Why did you leave me? Not even a ghost? They we could have been the Holy Spirit. . . get it? Because I'm holey and your … dead.
Tell me what to do. I need you to tell me what to do.
I love you Fred
Your twin always
George
He hoped that Fred wouldn't mind the blotches on the parchment where his tears had fallen. He sealed the envelope and gave it to his owl who took off out the window. He watched her go, his tears silently falling. He still couldn't say goodbye. No matter how many letters he sent, no matter how many times he called his twin dead he couldn't say goodbye. Harry had told him that Fred wasn't really gone. That he still lived inside him. He appreciated the sentiment but he didn't understand. Fred was him. And he was Fred. They were bound by an invisible tether. Only now that tether had been cut and there was no one on the other end when he reached out. And George felt lost. He had lost himself when he lost his twin so Fred might be inside him, but he wasn't around anymore either. He sat down heavily on his bed and jumped up again, he had sat on something hard. A small orange sweet. The kind that had grown Harry's cousins tongue. George chuckled at the memory, the great, fat idiot waddling around, making noises like a choking gorilla. He remembered the trouble they had gotten in for that. He grinned before he could stop himself. He remembered other moments too. Silly little moments that wouldn't have meant much to anyone else, but meant everything to him. Apparating behind their mother, speaking with one voice, the fireworks inside the great hall, teasing Ron over Krum, swapping their Christmas and birthday presents before even opening them, placing bets on the Quidditch world cup, Peeves saluting them as they flew away, perfectly timed high fives. Referring to themselves as Gred and Forge. He hadn't done that since. Both of their knitted sweaters hung side by side in the wardrobe.
'Babbling, Bumbling band of Baboons' he muttered under his breath, smiling despite himself. 'I could always say it faster.' he could imagine Fred protesting to that. He lifted his feet and put them on the table, almost seeing another pair and a grin next to him.
Maybe one day he could re open the shop. After all, everything about that place reminded him of Fred. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He could learn to speak entire sentences, get used to being everywhere at once. He had even asked Professor McGonagall for one of the remaining time turners. He had been tempted to go back to the battle, to say a proper goodbye but he had been warned against it. He would be too tempted to save his brother's life, and in doing so would alter the course of time. His first thought to that had been 'wicked'. He wanted his brother back after all. But in saving his brother, what would be changed? Maybe he would have been killed anyway somehow. Maybe the entire outcome of the war would be different and Voldemort would still be alive and Harry would be dead and they all would have been killed or enslaves. So instead he comforted himself with going back a few seconds to look at himself, looking like his brother. He did this a few times. It made him feel closer. So maybe he could go back to inventing, to laughing to playing jokes. After all, Fred and he were always smiling and happy.
He waved his wand and muttered a spell, watching as a silver wisp appeared and then faded away.
Maybe one day he could produce a patronus again.
So what do you think? Do you like it?
Please let me know
Love Tibbins xx