A/N: Hi all!

This comes from the same universe as my other story, The Unexpected Seventh Year, but you don't have to read that to understand this one. It can definitely stand on it's own. Although, if you wanted to read my other story, you can... I won't stop you ;)

As always, I own nothing but my own imagination. I'm just grateful J.K. Rowling provided us all with a story that has kept going in our own heads years after the last book was published.

Let me know what you think :)

The Joke Is On Us

x-X-x

It had been two and a half months. Two and a half months since life as he knew it had eneded. Two and a half months since he had felt whole. Two and a half months since the Battle of Hogwarts. Two and a half months since he had seen the other half of his soul lying on the floor of the Great Hall.

Two and a half months since Fred had died.

George sat wallowing on the couch in the flat over the store. He'd barely left that spot in days.

He was currently drowning his sorrows in a bottle of muggle beer. He couldn't even remember the last time he had been sober.

He knew his family was worried about him. They had tried to help, it was true. At one point, Bill had gotten so frustrated with him that he had charmed the door of George's flat so that bottles of firewhiskey, mead, and goblin wine exploded when they crossed the threshold. Unfortunately for Bill, George had found the loophole. Bill had conveniently neglected to incorporate muggle alcohol into the spell.

George knew they meant well but they simply didn't understand. No one understood.

A hesitant knock sounded on the door, drawing George back into the present.

George groaned. He knew his family was worried but how did they not understand that he wanted to be left alone. He needed to be left alone. It was the only way he knew to deal with his new reality.

Heaving himself off the couch, George made his way unsteadily to the door. Bracing himself on the table beside the door, he reached for the handle and threw open the barrier to the outside world.

"I told you to leave me alone!" George practically yelled as the door swung open. "If I want to be pissed, it's none of your –"

George stopped short when his brain began to process the fact that, rather than a red-haired booze-monitor, there was a dark skinned woman with a look of fear flitting across her features. In his alcohol-induced state, his brain struggled to catch up.

"Angelina? What – er, what are you doing here?"

"I, uh," the girl said, her eyes darting back down the stairs. "I'm not sure."

His mind may have been fuzzy but George had known Angelina a long time and he could tell something was wrong. The fear and uncertaintly written on her face was like a bucket of cold water, allowing the fog in his brain to begin to clear.

"Angelina, what's wrong?"

"I'm not even sure I should be here right now," Angelina said taking a step back away from the door. "I don't know if I should tell you. I don't know anything anymore." She sounded so lost, George knew he couldn't let her go.

"Listen, you came here for a reason. It's obvious there is something wrong. I may be pissed off my arse but I can see that you need to talk to someone and you came to me. So why don't you come in. Even if you don't tell me, you can at least have some company while you decide."

Angelina appeared to hesitate before finally nodding and stepping through the open door.

George gestured for her to have a seat and mentally cringed at the sight of his sitting room. Every flat surface was covered with empty bottles – firewhiskey, mead, muggle concoctions. His gait was unsteady as he rushed in front of her to pick up some of the bottles. Simply vanishing them wasn't an option. He didn't really trust himself with a wand right now.

"Listen, George –" Angelina began but halted when George held up a hand.

"Give me a second," he said, heading towards the kitchen.

Once inside, he began muttering, "I know they must have left some. Please say they left some. Just where did they put it?" Glancing back through the wide doorway, he saw Angelina standing awkwardly in front of the couch. He could tell whatever was wrong was serious and he knew he needed to sober up, and quickly, before he could be of any help.

"Somewhere in this bloody kitchen is a vial of bloody hangover cure, but where did they leave it?" he mumbled, throwing open cabinet doors in his search. Finally, in the cabinet above the sink, he hit the jackpot – a small vial of dark green liquid. He quickly uncorked it and drank it. It landed like lead in his stomach. He grimaced when a firework-like sensation spread across his body, settling in his head. When the feeling dissipated, the effects of the alcohol were gone and his mind was clear.

Returning to the sitting room, he silently gestured Angelina towards the couch where she finally sat, although her back remained rigid. George sat at the other end of the couch, turning to face her.

"Okay, Ange, I'll remember our conversation now. What's wrong?"

Angelina looked down at her lap but didn't speak. The silence stretched out and George began to think she had changed her mind about telling him when she finally took a steadying breath and blurted out, "I'm pregnant."

Now, Fred and George may never have been suited for academia, but, after seeing their success with Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, no one could ever doubt their intelligence. But when Angelina said those words, George was sure he had no brains at all. That, or he was still drunk. Because, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why Angelina was telling him of all people.

"Uh, Ange, I hate to break it to you but I'm not the father," George said, a hint of humor underlying his words. In return, he managed to get a small smile from the girl across from him, although her eyes remained full of sadness.

"No, I know."

"Then why are you telling me? Or better question, why are you so worried about telling me?"

Because, George," Angelina said slowly, her voice serious and her eyes never leaving the red head's, "the baby's father is Fred."

x-X-x

Three days later, George stood on the floor of the joke shop, looking around. Everything was covered in dust, shelves knocked over, merchandise thrown around the room. Not a soul had set foot inside since the death eaters had raided the place a few days after Easter.

For the last few days, George had been in a fog, stunned by the news his twin, who he missed so desperately, was expecting a baby. After Angelina's announcement, he had been speechless. He had bene so shocked, he couldn't even crack a joke.

George hadn't even realized Angelina and Fred were dating and he felt a huge sense of betrayal that Fred, the one person he was closest to in the world, had kept such news from him. Angelina had tried to explain, telling him that they hadn't really been dating. Just a night here or there, alone in the same safe house, talking over a cuppa or some firewhiskey. They had only slept together because of the looming threat of the war. Neither of them knew when the end would come and they had both gotten carried away, trying to feel everything and live life while they could. But to George, none of that had mattered. George had still felt like Fred had been keeping secrets from him.

Now, though, after he had had a few days to wrap his head around the news, he realized that the fog of war had clouded everything back then. He couldn't blame Fred. There had been more important things for the two to talk about when they'd been together. And trying to blame a dead man was pointless.

Finding out Fred was going to be a father had finally awoken something in George that had been in a state of hibernation since that fateful day in May. He knew that no matter how betrayed he felt, how lost he felt, Fred was up there somewhere, looking down on him and feeling ten times worse. Fred would never forgive him if he buried himself at the bottom of a bottle for the rest of his life. He would never forgive him if he let their joke shop, their dream, fall apart just because they could no longer do it together.

He knew he needed to pull himself together and start living again.

Looking around one more time, he sighed, thinking about all the work he needed to do to get the place back up and running. Maybe I can get my brothers to help, he thought as he turned to head out the door. Taking a deep breath, George headed towards an aparation point and quickly turned on the spot.

He reappeared on the outer edge of the Burrow. He crossed through the wards and headed towards the door, steeling himself of the onslaught of his family.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, a hush fell over the room. Ten pairs of eyes turned to look at him, making him doubt himself and want to turn and leave and instead find the nearest bar.

Thinking of Fred, he stood his ground. Forcing a small smile onto his lips, even if it couldn't reach his eyes, George looked around at his family.

"Hey, guys."

His mum was the first to recover, rushing over to envelope George in a hug, tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, Georgie."

"It's okay, mum," George said, patting her on the back.

"It's good to see you here, George," Bill said, coming over to give George, and by default their mum as she still hadn't let go of George, a quick hug.

"Thanks, Bill," George said. Looking down at their mother, he looked back at his brother. "Help?"

Bill laughed softly and carefully pried Mrs. Weasley off of his brother and took her back to the couch and Mr. Weasley.

"Thanks for coming, George," Harry said, coming over once the red-head was freed.

"Happy birthday, Harry."

"Thanks. I'm glad to see you looking better."

"Yeah, I don't really know about that," George said, looking around nervously. He wasn't sure he was ready to have this conversation yet. Harry seemed to sense this.

"It's a process. One step at a time. Or at least that's what everyone keeps telling me." Harry paused and looked back towards Ginny, who was standing by the fireplace talking with Ron and Hermione. "You just need to find a reason to get through it."

George followed Harry's sightline. "I see you and my sister have made up."

Harry blushed and quickly looked back at George. "Er, kind of. We're working on it."

"That's good."

"I hope so. At least we can distract each other from everything else."

"Right …" George said slowly. "A distraction." He couldn't help but think about Angelina and the so-called distraction she had dropped on him, which was the whole reason he was pulling himself out of the hole he had been living in. He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around it but there was one thing he was sure of. He needed to talk with Angelina.

x-X-x

A few days later, George was frantically putting away the last vestiges of his nearly three-month long depression. He glanced around his now-clean sitting room, marveling at the change he had made in the past week.

He shoved the last empty bottle under the sink just as he heard a knock on the door. Knowing it must be Angelina, as he had owled her yesterday, asking her to come by, he hurried to the door.

"Hey," he said, ushering her inside. Once they were settled on the couch, they both tried to start talking at once.

"Your place looks a lot cleaner – "

"Listen, I'm sorry about how I acted –"

Both stopping mid-sentence, they grinned wryly at each other. Then Angelina gestured for George to go first.

"I wanted to apologize for how I acted last week. I've been in a bad way."

"It's fine, George. I know I shocked you."

"No – I mean, yeah, you shocked me, but that wasn't it. I haven't been dealing with Fred's –" He found himself unable to actually say the words, no matter how far had come in the past seven days. "Well, I just haven't been dealing very well."

"No one expects you to, George. It's fine."

"Yeah, well, I still shouldn't have reacted that way. I was angry with Fred and I took it out on you."

After overcoming his shock at their last meeting, George had found his voice again and started yelling, his decibel rising with each passing minute. By the time Angelina had given up trying to explain, she had been near tears and George's face had been as red as his hair.

"No, you shouldn't have. But I understood."

"I know you did. You've always been great that way. And I can see why you weren't sure you should tell me, based on my reaction."

"Really, that had nothing to do with it. I mean, sure, I was worried about how you would react. I'm worried about how everyone will react. This wasn't exactly planned. But I wanted to tell you first, before anyone else found out. And now that I'm three months along, I wanted to do it before I started to show. The only problem was I knew telling you would make it that much more real. And I didn't know if I was ready for that. I was still in denial." Angelina's gaze dropped down to her lap.

"Do you not want the baby?" George asked, working to keep his voice steady as the question crossed his lips. Angelina's eyes snapped back up to George, shining with tears.

"No, that's not it at all," she whispered vehemently. Taking a deep, calming breath, her voice returned to normal when she said. "I want this baby. I want it more than I can even begin to comprehend right now. It was grief that had me in denial. This baby will never know its father." Angelina paused, seeming to gather her thoughts. "I don't know if I was in love with Fred. Frankly, it was never really anything more than a wartime affair so I hadn't even had the chance to figure it out. But either way, I loved your brother, just like I love you. You both have been some of my closest friends since our first year at Hogwarts. We have all been through hell and back, several times. Acknowledging that I was pregnant meant I had to finally deal with the fact that Fred was never coming back." Her voice hitched as she said quietly, "I can't even imagine a world without Fred in it."

Without thinking, George reached over and pulled Angelina into a hug as the tears fell from her eyes. Soon, they were both crying, clinging to each other for support. The minutes passed by as they consoled each other. Neither was exactly sure where their grief ended and the other's began. Finally, their tears dried up and they slowly released their hold on each other.

Smiling slightly, Angelina said, "Sorry about that. I seem to cry all the time now."

"You've got nothing to be sorry about. I think I needed that. I haven't really cried since it happened. I've been too sloshed to care, frankly. And I made damned sure I stayed that way."

"So what changed?"

"Your news," he said matter-of-factly. "It made me think. It made me realize how disappointed Fred would be in me. We're jokesters. We made people laugh but I've been a depressing whelp for months.

"I've had a while to think about this and I really think this baby is a gift. A little piece of Fred for us to hold onto. So he will never really be gone."

"Well the news about the baby certainly had a profound effect on me. I can only imagine what it will be like to actually meet my niece or nephew." George's eyes popped open as he sucked in a deep breath. "Bloody hell. I'm going to be an uncle. Fred made me a bloody uncle."

George started laughing hysterically. Angelina looked on in amusement as his laughter grew and tears began leaking from his eyes. When he finally quieted, he wiped his eyes and said, "Blimey, I haven't laughed in a long time."

"I'm confused. What's so funny about being an uncle?"

"Don't you see it?" Angelina shook her head, causing George's smile to grow. "It's his final joke. He knows that in his absence, I'll step in for him. We are two halves of a whole. I can't help but want to fill the void."

"Oh, George, you don't have to," Angelina said, interrupting him. "I didn't tell you so you would fill Fred's shoes."

"I didn't think you did, Ange. But I will nonetheless. I'll be there just the same way Fred should. You know Fred would have been there for his kid and I will be there for him too. Or her. Either way, you've got a partner in crime."

"You don't have to George. I moved in with my mum. She's not too happy with the situation but she said she would help. It's not ideal but it works."

"You don't have to live with your mum, Ange. You should move in here. You can take Fred's room. Plus, we've got an extra room that we use for storage. You can make it into the nursery." George hadn't set foot in Fred's room since that fatal day at Hogwarts but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew they were what he wanted, what Fred would have wanted.

"Oh, George, I couldn't do that."

"Yes, you can. Fred would want you to. I want you to. Because I was serious. I'm here to help. Just imagine I'm Fred. I know, I know, we looked so different. It's hard to imagine. But try," George said, a grin on his face. "Just imagine I've got both ears."

Angelina just rolled her eyes.

Getting serious, George added, "Really, Ange. I want to help. Fred would want me to help. This baby finally made me realize I have to start living again. In a way, it's his gift to us. Giving us something to hope for, someone to love, even in his absence."

Angelina looked at George, trying to read the emotions on his face. Finally, she agreed, "Fine. But I'm paying half the rent."

George laughed and nodded. "Deal."

They sat in a contented silence for a few minutes before Angelina finally looked back at George and said, "I still don't get it though. What's the joke?"

George looked at her as if it was obvious. "This is Fred's kid."

"Yeah. And?"

"And he left us to handle him or her. I bet he's up there, laughing right now, knowing what he got us into."

"Oh," Angelina said, her eyes widening as understanding dawned.

"See. His gift to us is the newest generation of troublemaker. We're screwed."

Together, they both broke into manic laughter, finally understanding that the joke truly was on them.