A/N: George can't function without his twin brother.
Fanfiction Writing Month: October[6124]
If You Dare Challenge - #25 (I'm Alive)
Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #390 (can't mention anyone from Ravenclaw house)
Your Favorite House Boot Camp - #13 (boring), Gryffindor
Disclaimer: What belongs to the Queen belongs to the Queen. I own nothing.
When they finish lowering HIS body into the ground, I scream at the top of my lungs. Everyone turns to me, shocked, but I don't care. "FRED!" I screech, shoving past my parents and my siblings. All I can think is: he can't breathe in there, he'll suffocate, let him out— "FRED!" I push someone to the side and hit another in the face with my elbow, jumping into the grave. "Get him out!" I yell, clawing at the coffin. "Get out, Fred, get up right now!" I swing open the casket and suddenly I am face-to-face with my twin brother. "Fred," I say, and I shake him by the shoulders. "Fred, wake up!"
Someone grabs me by the back of my collar—I think it is Dad. He drags me away from the coffin, whispering, "George, please. Please." He had been the one to pull the family together after HIS death. I hate him because it feels like he doesn't care that he'd ever had a sixth son in the first place.
After a few more minutes of what Percy calls my "hysterical episode," the attendees mutually decide that the funeral will be better off with me in a full Body-Bind curse so that I don't further ruin things. So they freeze me, take my wand away, prop me up against a tombstone, and leave me as HE is buried in the ground. Ginny takes pity on me by the end and unfreezes me, and as soon as she does, I run for Ron, who holds my wand. "Give me my wand!" I roar, tackling him to the ground.
"George, get off!" he shouts back, shoving me. "Get off!"
All I can think is: I need my wand. I have to dig HIM up. I'm shouting unintelligibly, tearing at his pockets, but only manage to poke at my wand before a blue protective enchantment rebounds me away from my brother. Hermione, her brown hair tied back into a messy bun, now stands between us, pointing her wand at me with a hard look on her face. "George—" I lunge at her, and she protects herself swiftly. "George, stop!" Angrily, I keep fighting to reach my wand until Bill and Charlie grab me from behind and pull me to my feet.
They are both taller and stronger than me, so it takes them little effort to pin my arms back and hold me still. "George," says Bill firmly. "You need to calm down."
"I need to get him!" I shout, trying to reach HIM. "Let me go!"
"He's dead," Charlie chokes out, gripping my arm harder. "George, he's dead. You need to let us move on."
He's dead. "He's. Not. Dead!" I scream, letting out a burst of magic that knocks both of them off of their feet and a good five feet away from me. I half crawl, half stumble to the fresh grave where HE lies six feet under, the buzz of magic still lingering in my veins. "Fred!" I screech, spreading soil all over my clothes as I climb on top of it. Then I claw at the earth, sobbing HIS name, telling HIM to come back because I can't live without HIM.
"He's dead, George," says Percy, and he places a hand on my shoulder.
I jerk away. "Don't—don't touch me." My words are obscured by sobs and wails and snot running down my face, but I don't care. I just need to stay here—with HIM—forever.
I remain with my face pressed into the dirt and my hands clenching fistfuls of soil for comfort. They leave me alone then, because I'm not attacking anyone as long as no one tries to touch me.
I keep saying HIS name, over and over, until it becomes one blurred word with no beginning or end. Fredfredfredfredfredfredfredfred…
They try to drag me away from HIM, but I don't let them. I just lay there in the earth and don't move. I can't hear their words and they can't hear mine. Eventually, they leave, expressing that I am an adult and I can get home by myself and I need to calm down and I need time to grieve and I don't need anyone to help me.
They're wrong. I need HIM to help me. I can't do anything without HIM.
I speak to HIM once they're gone, but HE does not answer. Is HE angry at me? HE must be.
Ginny comes back to scream at me. Has it been a long time? "George!" she screeches like a banshee. "Stop being such an idiot! You've made Mum cry, you know that? Are you happy now?"
I'm not listening. I'm waiting for HIM to respond. She continues to rant and rave at me, half screaming and half crying, as I lay in the dirt until Harry Apparates beside her with a crack like a whip. "Gin," he sighs, his shaggy, dark hair covering the scar on his forehead.
Ginny sobs into her hands, turning towards him. "He's still here!" she cries. "It's been two bloody days and he's still here!"
Harry holds her close, wrapping his arms around her and letting her head fall into his chest. I don't know why, but his seemingly calm demeanor angers me. Why is he not crying like Ginny? He strokes her hair, and tears continue to burst from her. "Gin, it's alright, it's okay," he whispers, rubbing circles into her back. "You're okay. You're okay."
"He—he's gone, Harry," she chokes out. "He's gone a-a-and George can't even wrap his mind around it. This—this wasn't supposed to happen."
"I know," he replies gently. "I'm sorry."
She buries her swollen, wet face into his chest and takes shallow, shaky breaths. "I-I-I miss him, Harry. I-I miss him so, so much."
"I know," he repeats. "I know. Let's go home, Gin."
"B-but George—"
"There's nothing we can do for him right now. We can't make him leave."
"B-but he—
"Gin, we can't help him. He has to do this on his own."
She lets out another involuntary sob and allows Harry to grasp her hand. Then, they Apparate and I am alone again.
What did they mean? He has to do this on his own. Do what? I close my eyes. That's not important. All that matters right now is that HE speaks to me. If HE doesn't speak, then I won't. If HE doesn't show his face, then I can't leave. What's the point of speaking if there's no one there to finish your sentences? What's the point at all?
The next person to come and visit me is Dad. With his wand gripped in one hand, he says, "George, it's time to go. You've spent too long here. You need to leave. Come home."
My hand unclenches, releasing dirt. I'm not going to respond.
"George..." His voice trails off. "George, this is childish. Just come home."
I won't. I won't leave him.
"George, you haven't eaten or drunk anything for two whole days. If you come home with me now, then we can let you rest and you can come back here tomorrow. George, please."
No.
"George..."
I. Will. Never. Leave. HIM.
"George, just say something...please."
You. Can't. Make. Me.
"George, I didn't want to do this."
My body tenses up. Do what?
"George, I'm sorry." I don't even have time to understand what he's about to do until I hear the word. "Stupefy."
I wake up in a cold sweat, my sheets soaked. My heart's pounding in my ears, so loudly that I can't hear anything outside of it. I choke down air, barely able to breathe. Have I always awakened this harshly? I stumble out of bed, barely conscious, and almost trip over my own feet as I spot the empty bed next to me. HE sleeps there.
Scrambling to get away from the piece of furniture, I fumble for the door. Why is my heart racing so quickly? I manage to get to my feet, keeping myself upright against the wall, and I stagger into the hallway. "George?" says a familiar, deep voice. A scarred face pops into view, and I recoil in surprise. "George, are you okay?" Bill asks. Bill...Bill...Bill...Bill...George...George...George... "George, hey!" He snaps his fingers in front of my face. I blink.
"George?" says someone new, another one of my brothers. Charlie. "Man, you stink. What—" He stops. "George... your—your pants." I look down. My pants are soaked. It's the sweat. I must have sweat a whole lot.
"George, you..." begins Bill.
"You smell like piss," says Charlie. "Did you wet the bed?"
No... "George, look at me. George!" Bill grabs my shoulders, shaking me into submission. "George..." His voice cracks.
"Here." Charlie raises his wand. "I'll just Scourg—"
"No!" says Bill quickly. "No." He is now between me and Charlie. He glances cautiously at me, and then back to our brother. "Mum," he whispers, "said no magic around George. Too dangerous in his current state."
Reluctantly, Charlie lowers his wand. "Come on," he says finally, putting his wand in his pocket. "Let's get you to the bathroom. Bill will get you a change of clothes, yeah?" He grabs me by the elbow and gently guides me to the bathroom.
He sits me down on the lid of the toilet and moves to turn on the shower. "Just strip, alright? We gotta get the smell off of you."
I think I hear a sound. A voice. Could it be HIM? I tip my head to the side. Come on, I think. Answer me. Answer me!
"George..." He paces around the bathroom, back and forth, back and forth, until Bill comes in with a pile of my clothes in his arms. "Bill," he says, relieved. "You gotta make him take his bloody clothes off. He's not listening to me."
Sighing, Bill kneels in front of me, trying to make eye contact with me. "George, listen to me. We're gonna get the shower running for you, alright? So you're gonna have to take your clothes off. We..." He continues talking. I'm not listening. I almost fall over trying to listen for HIS voice.
Charlie slams his hand into the wall. "This is stupid!" he growls. "He's not a baby! He can do this on his own!" He tries to run at me but Bill blocks him.
"Charlie, just calm down." Bill always was the calm one. "George has been through a lot."
Charlie snorts. "Yeah, we've all been through a lot, but that sure as bloody hell doesn't mean I go and piss my bloody pants." He slams the door behind him, and I'm sure it rings through the entire house.
Bill sighs again. "C'mon, then, Georgie. Let's get your clothes off. Can you stand up for me?"
HIS voice... I can hear it clearly now...
Bill pulls me to my feet, starting to unbutton to my shirt. I barely notice. Soon my shirt, undershirt, socks, and pants are all gone. I'm left shivering in my soaked boxers as Bill turns the shower on. The dark blue fabric stays plastered against my pale skin, reeking of piss. He peels those off and helps me into the shower. The spray of the hot water blasts into my side and it reminds me all too much of blood—
I scream and fight my brother, trying to get out of the spray of blood before I die in it. The blood is everywhere, and clotting over my skin and rushing into my mouth, trying to drown me. I could drown in the blood. Everything is scarlet, everything is bloody... It splashes over the edge onto Bill. I screaming so loudly that the voice in my head, HIS voice, is gone.
"George, George!" Bill cries, grabbing for me. He's been shouting at me for a while now... "George, stop it! What's wrong with you? It's just the shower, it's just water, it's—" He slips on the puddle of blood on the floor, and his head smacks against the floor. He groans in pain.
The door swings open.
"What the bloody hell is going on here?" asks Ron, his face an obvious mixture of grief and confusion.
I scream again. The blood is on him, too, splattered across his face. I back into the corner of the shower, holding myself and crying. I try to scrape the blood off of my skin as Bill speaks. "We were—" He rubs the back of his head. "We were trying to give George a shower. To get the smell off."
Ron looks from me to Bill to me again. "What in Merlin's name were you helping him shower for?"
I whimper. Bill glances my way. "He—" He swallow. "He wet the bed, Ron. After Fred, you know, he hasn't been the same. He hasn't smiled since the Battle. He hasn't spoken since the funeral. He—I don't know what's wrong with him."
Ron's shoulders relax. He moves forward, helping Bill off of the bloody floor. "I'll hold him down. You turn the water on." Then blood spits out of the showerhead, coating my entire body, and I start to scream again.
HE is whispering to me from HIS bed when Ginny comes to visit. "George," she says. I think she has been crying again. "It's time for lunch. You want to come down?"
Shut up, Ginny, I think, my hands gripping the edge of the bed. I am trying to understand what HE is saying. I am trying to pick out words. Shut up, shut up, shut up—
"George?" She moves closer, leaning forward to meet my eyes. Her long, red hair falls forward in the process. "George, can you hear me?" I turn my head in response to her question, looking her directly in the eye. She recoils at the intensity of my glare. "George, come on. You haven't eaten for days. Come on."
Her fingers wrap around my wrist. I don't have enough strength to stop her as she pulls me to my feet. I want to stay. I don't want to eat. I want to stay and talk to HIM. But I'm so hungry...
Ginny leads me downstairs, where the rest of the family is waiting. Mum sits at the head of the table, having a hushed conversation with Dad. Bill and Fleur, who are seated next to Dad, are holding hands and looking tired. Percy, hollow-eyed, mutters something under his breath as he rubs the back of his neck. After him are two empty seats...
I squeeze my eyes shut for a good seven seconds and then open them. Ron sits between Harry and Hermione. I watch as my brother kisses her cheek, and I quickly look away. My sister holds me by my left arm, guiding me to my seat. Soon, I am between the only unoccupied chair. Ginny pulls out the one on the left and sits me down in it. I stare at the one on my right.
"It's nice of you to join us," says Dad, the first voice to ring out to everyone. He seems to be smiling. When I look at him more closely, however, I realize that he is not acutally smiling, but is curving his lips upward. His eyes do not follow.
HE is supposed to sit next to me.
I will not eat unless HE is here.
"It's nice to have you back, George," says Hermione. She sits on the other side of me. She places a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I jerk away.
"Let's eat, then, shall we?" continues Dad. I hate him. I hate them. I hate them all. Why can't they just leave me be?
A chorus of nods respond to his question, and I watch as my family eats and picks at the food. My stomach churns with hunger, but I refuse to eat. I stare at my plate listlessly, at the greasy chicken, warm shepherd's pie, and buttery bread. It doesn't seem appetizing to me.
"George," says Percy. "You have to eat something." I look up. Their plates are empty. How long has it been? I look to my left. Hermione, Harry, and Ron have already left the table. How is that possible? Did I not even notice? Something stabs at my gut. I groan. Hunger...
"George!" My head jerks up. Now, Percy, Fleur, and Charlie are gone as well. Where have they gone? It's Dad who's speaking to me now. "George, just eat something." I look down at my plate. I pick up a handful of the mashed potatoes, staring at it. If HE's not eating, then I'm not eating. "George, I will force-feed you if I have to." I clench my teeth. You. Can't. Make. Me.
Charlie's back in the room. "George!" he shouts angrily, his words like knives. "I'm not going to watch as you kill yourself over Fred! He's dead, don't you get it? He's dead!"
I clap my hands over my ears (ear), smearing mashed potatoes in my hair in the process. I moan, wanting his words to stop hurting so much. Why does it hurt so much?
"Charlie, go back to your room!" shouts Mum.
"I'm not a kid, Mum! And neither is George! You've got to stop treating him like a bloody baby!" He stomps to me, and neither Mum nor Dad stops him. He grabs me by the hair, scooping up a spoonful of the food and shoving it into my mouth. I choked and gargle, but he doesn't stop. Bill holds me down and plugs my nose when I refuse to swallow. Then they push the food down my throat one bite at a time.
Filling my stomach feels so good, but it's a betrayal to HIM. I didn't wait for HIM.
I cough, fighting against them, screaming my head off. The blood. It's on them again. On the spoon, on their faces, on me...
Why is there so much blood?
My throat hurts. My throat hurts a lot.
"Stop that," says Charlie, slapping my hand away from my neck. "It looks stupid."
"Charlie..." said Percy, his tone a warning.
They made me sit with them after dinner. I leave room for HIM, squeezing myself into the corner of the couch so that HE does not have to sit on the floor. HE whispers to me, murmurs in my ear, but the others are speaking so loudly that I cannot hear. I block out their words and focus on HIS. George is the only one that I can understand. I'm straining to hear, making my body as still as possible, wishing that my loud, wet heartbeat will stop so that I can hear HIM better— "George," says Dad. "George, listen."
My eyes focus onto the strands of Dad's sweater, and then on his face. My throat hurts. "You listening?"
I stare at him. I don't care about what he has to say. I only care about what HE has to say. Compared to HIM, they are all dull and boring. Hermione sighs from in the corner.
"George, there's someone here to see you," he says. His hands look like they are attacking one another. "We thought it'd be good for you... to see someone. From Hogwarts." All of his sentences seem to be limited to three word sentences. "He..." He swallows. "Molly, just open the door. Open... Open the door."
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap. I look down at my hands and they are tapping, tapping against my knees. They shake once before I manage to control their movement, gripping my pale, knobby knees. "George," says a familiar voice in a familiar tone. Step, step, step, he's here. I'm staring at his shoes. There's still blood on them from the—
I close my eyes for seven seconds and then open them. My throat hurts.
"George," Lee Jordan gasps. "You—" He swallows.
There's a girl behind him. Angelina Johnson. "You look..." I look up, meeting his eyes. They do not mirror mine. "Thin. Have you been eating?"
I look down again. I cannot stare at them for too long, or my skin begins to prickle, as if a thousand Cornish pixies are biting into my skin. I cannot eat without HIM. I cannot breathe without HIM. I cannot live without HIM. I open my mouth, but I do not say anything. I cannot speak without HIM.
Angelina turns to Bill, the nearest Weasley. "Has he—does he—is he—" Her lips part, bright red. Like blood. Blood...
I close my eyes for seven seconds and then open them.
My scarred brother turns his back to me to talk with my friend. "We have to force-feed him because he won't eat or drink. He hasn't spoken since the funeral. We were hoping you could..."
"Sure," Angelina answers. The unanswered question still hangs in the air.
I clutch my knees, and she comes closer, kneeling before me. "George?"
Fredfredfredfredfredfredfredfredfredfredfredfredfredfredfredfredfred...
"George, you in there? Earth to Weasley, Earth to Weasley..." Her voice isn't as fun as it used to be.
Dad gestures to the rest of the family, and they all exit, except for Ron, who stays in the corner like an unappointed supervisor.
"George," says Angelina, for the millionth time. Each time she says it, though, it's different. She says it to the point where it no longer sounds like word. "George, we know this has been hard... with Fred and everything."
Lee clears his throat. He reaches towards me as if he's going to touch my shoulder, but then stops and falters. "George, this is not what Fred would have wanted for you."
They said HIS name. They said HIS name.
Lee continues, "He would have wanted you to move on with your life. To keep working at your joke shop or to even crack a smile every once in a while. George, Fred didn't..." His mouth keeps moving, his eyes still shattered, but I hear none of it. All I can do is replay the way they said HIS name in my head, like they deserve to say it. Like they could imagine, think, speak HIS name without their entire world shattering.
When Lee's lips paused, showing me just a millisecond of hesitation, I threw myself at him with an angry roar that could rival a dragon's. My fingers wrap around his throat. "Geor—" He said HIS name. He said HIS name. I press my thumbs into his windpipe, my vision hazed red, harder, harder, harder, kill him, kill him—
There are hands scrabbling at my back, fingers scrabbling at my throat, a plea, an order, and then bang! I'm on my back on the floor, my skull cracking against the wood, and my other senses wash over me.
I hear their voices.
A cry of shock: "Lee!"
A desperate plea: "Help me!"
A horrified accusation: "George!"
And then, in a mixture of their tones, I hear Percy's voice, far in the back of my head. "No—no—no!" he screams, his voice not even human anymore. "No! Fred! No!"
I scream at the top of my lungs to block out the sound of his disbelieving cries. Because the picture of HIS lifeless body is forming before my eyes and I want it to go away I want it see something else—I would rather be dead than see this again—
I want HIM here, to finish my sentences. I want HIM with me, to tell me that everything is okay. I want to see HIM, just to know that he is still with me.
Is he still with me?
"George!" Ron breaks my wall of silence and discomfort, his wand pointed at me. The tip of it is pointed at me, still glowing. I recognize now that my entire body is frozen solid. I want to scream again. "What—what were you thinking? You could have killed him!"
He shoves me up against the wall, and now I can see my two friends, one clutching his swollen throat, gasping and rasping for air, and the other rubbing his back and holding him, trying to coax air into his lungs through his injured neck. My friend. My friends. I...
"I told you!" Charlie's back in the room now, his angry finger jabbing Ron's chest. "I told you that if we left them alone that something would happen! I told you!"
"They weren't in here alone! I was here!"
"Yeah, and what a load of help you were! Were you even paying attention?" accuses Charlie.
"Of course!" Ron cries.
It's the kind of back-and-forth arguing I'm used to, but intensified to a dangerous level. "Then how did George manage to get all the way to Lee and strangle him? Huh? How did that happen if you were paying attention?"
"I just—I just thought—"
Charlie's eyes... "What? You thought they would hug or something? You're an idiot, Ron!" His rage holds all the power of a wildfire. It spread throughout the Weasley house, from redhead to redhead without delay. "You think George'll do anything decent in this state? He can't even take a bloody nap without pissing his pants!"
"Cut him some slack, Charlie!" Bill's there, pressing himselves between the two. "George's grieving! He needs time. He lost his—"
"Yeah, yeah, I bloody know he lost his brother," growls Charlie, rough and low. His eyes are flint and Bill's are steel, and when they meet, they throw flammable sparks everywhere. "But so did the rest of us. We're all trying to bloody get over Fred! I can't do that when George's a bloody danger to himself and everyone else!" There are tears spilling over Charlie's pale face faster than he can even stop them, like every word was a hole cut into a soulful of tears, and now they are finally set free. "Fred's gone and George doesn't even know! He can't even begin to understand a world without Fred! He's going mad!"
"Charlie—" begins Dad, always the peacekeeper.
"So either you put him in the bloody hospital, or I will! 'Cause I'm not going to spend the rest of my life wiping his bloody arse until he wakes up one morning and realizes that Fred is dead!"
"Charlie—" says Ginny, her face scrunched up with emotion.
"Not," I say, and Dad turns.
"What was that, George?" he asks me, impossibly calm.
"HE's not." My heartbeat is so loud in my ears that I can barely hear my own words. "HE is not gone."
"Well, there he goes again!" shouts Charlie, and then his entire body convulses in some sort of erratic sob.
They don't leave me alone anymore. Mum, Dad, Bill, Ron, Ginny, Percy... Everyone but Charlie keeps watch over me, even when I'm sleeping (or just lying in the bed with my eyes closed, exhausted but unable to go to sleep). There's always at least two of them in the same room as me, to intervene when I'm screaming so loudly that they clap their hands over the ears (because that's the only way I can get HIS attention) or when I start slamming my head against the wall (because I want all thoughts of seeing HIM lifeless to go away) or when I throw my plate of food at the wall (because I don't want to eat without HIM) or when I wet the bed again and begin to fight taking a shower...
"Not again," Bill groans. "George, we just cleaned you up an hour ago. Did you take another nap?"
He knows I'm not going to answer. The only one I talk to is HIM, and HE hasn't spoken to me in a while. I hope HE is saving up energy for a beautiful, long conversation. I would pay anything for a conversation like that. I stare at Bill's shoes. HE wore those shoes at Hogwarts for a few weeks before Mum got him a new pair. I open my mouth to tell Bill to take them off (I want them; I want everything that HE used to have), but nothing comes out.
"Well" —Bill sighs— "Let's get those clothes off of you, then, yeah? Fleur, love, do you mind...?"
His quarter-Veela wife steps away from the wall. "Not at all. George, are you well with this?"
I don't pay much attention to the way she messed up the question. HE would have laughed. I don't laugh, not anymore. I stare at her shoes next, but no familiarity comes to mind. Fleur takes my silence as a yes (as they always do) and grabs my other arm. Where are they taking me? Where are they— I begin to thrash. "No! No!"
"George, calm down, we're only—"
My elbow slams into something hard, and five long fingers release my right arm. "Fleur!"
"Fide," says Bill's wife, who is now on the floor, clutching her face. Her voice is clouded and nasally now, and there's blood spurting from between her fingers. "By dose, zat eez all. I ab fide." My nose, that is all. I am fine.
It's nearly impossible to understand her now, half due to her accent and the other half due to her bloody nose... I can remember when HE got into a huge fight with Draco Malfoy our last year and there was blood spurting from my nose and HE laughed, telling me that I did good, getting a hit on the irritating Slytherin...
"George!" Bill growls, gripping my arm harder. "You just hit—"
"Eet eez okay, Bill, eez okay," she assures him, climbing to her feet. Her hands are still clamped over her nose. "Do dot worry. I ab fide. 'E does dot dow better, love. 'E does dot dow." He does not know better, love. He does not know.
Bill relaxes, knowing she is correct, and calls out for some help. Hermione is the first one to respond to his call, tying her bushy hair back into a ponytail and entering the hallway. "Bill, is something—" She spots Fleur. "What happened? Fleur, are you alright?"
Again, Fleur nods and tries to explain. Hermione, the most brilliant of anyone in the room, understands and leads her back into her room. Then she joins Bill and goes to my right side in the absence of Fleur, grasping my arm and leading me to the bathroom. "Did he...?" she asks, a silent question.
"Yes," Bill confirms, and then he nods at me. "Come on, George," he says. He looks tired. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" He pulls me up by my arms and helps me to the toilet; this time, I don't fight.
I haven't heard HIM in a while... HE hasn't answered my screams. "George? George!" He's been saying my name for a while now. I slowly raise my head so that my eyes are focused on the freckles of his face. HE has freckles like that. HE has hair like that. HIS face is thinner, though, and scar-free. His eyes are wider than HIS, the lines of his face harsher. "George, you there?"
I don't want to be here. I can feel HIM there, directly behind me, breathing on my neck. I want Ron to shut up and let me... I breathe in sharply. HIS hand is on my shoulder. "Fred," I whisper. Fred... Fred... Fredfredfredfredfredfredfredfred—
"What?" Bill asks. His hands are still on me; one is still grasping my upper arm and the other is on other shoulder to help me balance.
I don't say anything more; I don't want to disturb HIM. I turn around of my own accord. Bill, still confused by my actions, repeatedly calls out my name. And then HE is there, standing before me, smiling, and I run to HIS open arms, wanting to embrace him one last time, wanting to speak with him one last time, wanting to laugh and smile and joke and love him one last time... "George, stop!"
HE turns away from me before I can reach HIM and starts to run down the hall. "Fred!" I scream, my voice scratchy from disuse and full of pure desperation. "Fred, please!"
"Ron, what's going—where is he—George!" Hermione tries to snatch my arm as I go, but I shake her off easily. They are not going to take me away from HIM that easily.
"Fred!" I roar, and I'm downstairs, sprinting through the kitchen, my family standing up as I pass.
"George, where are you—"
"Someone stop him!"
"Hey!"
They can't stop me; I'm already gone. I'm dashing through the front door and I'm out in the street by the time they've pulled out their wands. Adrenaline is flooding through me; I haven't felt energy like this in weeks. I follow HIM across the street, ignoring the freezing cold and icy, slippery sidewalks. "Fred!" I call out, wanting HIM to turn around and talk to me. "Fred!" My voice cracks. Why won't HE listen to me? "Fred, wait!"
I hear the door to our home shut, and someone calls out my name, telling me to wait like I did to HIM, but I ignore them, running even faster. HE is too fast, too quick for me to catch up. I haven't been eating or drinking much at all, and that causes me to cramp up and have trouble breathing before I can reach HIM. I double over, gasping for air, when the exercise becomes too much. To my surprise, HE waits for me. When I start running again, HE does the same, HIS legs flying over the ground until we reach the graveyard. Oh, Merlin, the graveyard... Why has HE brought me here?
HE stops in front of a freshly dug grave and turns to face me. My eyes devour every inch of HIM; every freckle, every bit of skin. And HIS eyes, oh, Merlin, HIS eyes... Before I know it, my cheeks are wet and my body is trembling with every sob. "Fred," I gasp, giddy just from seeing him. "Oh, Fred..."
HE smiles gently, opening HIS mouth. "George..." he sighs. HE opens HIS arms and I fall into them.
"Merlin, Fred" —I hiccup— "I can't do this anymore, please. Come back" —I hold him tightly— "to me."
"George, I can't come back to you," HE says softly into my good ear. "George, I'm not here anymore."
"No, n-no, Fred, you're lying... Fred, come on, come home with me..." I don't know why I'm babbling like this. I don't even know what I'm saying or what I'm asking HIM to do. I just want HIM to— "Stay—stay with me."
My knees are sinking into the damp dirt of the grave. It's HIS grave. HIS. Where HIS body lies beneath the ground, HIS corpse where HIS eyes will forever be focused on one spot... "George, you know, deep down. You know what happened that night, don't you?"
My limbs snap away from HIM as if HE's burning hot and HIS touch burns. "No," I say, and HIS words echo through my head. You know what happened, you know what happened, you know... "No!" I clap my hands over my ears, and I cannot control my tears. My chest aches as I try to stop the memory from coming, as I try to stop myself from hearing Harry's voice, him telling me that there's nothing I can do for HIM, nothing I can do to save HIM, and we leave HIS body under a pile of— "No more, please, n-no—"
"George, you trust me, don't you?"
"Yes." Now that the memory is gone, I'm embracing HIM again, wanting to pin HIM to the ground and keep HIM with me forever...
HE looks at me, HIS eyes telling me everything. "Georgie, I'm dead."
"No, no—"
"Don't talk, Georgie. Just listen. I died during the Battle of Hogwarts; you remember it. You saw my body; you know what happened. I'm not coming back. No magic can bring back the dead."
I don't want to listen to HIM, but HE told me to, so I have to. "Fred, please, please, you can't leave me... I can't live without" —I hiccup, my body tensing— "you, please, oh, Merlin, please..."
"George." HE grasps my forearms and finds my gaze. "You have to let go. I'm dead, but you're still alive. You have to keep living."
He's dead. He's dead, but I'm alive. "No, Freddy, I don't want to leave you—"
"Let go, Georgie."
"Please, please, I'll do anything, kill me, please, take me with you—"
"Let go."
Then I'm sobbing so hard that I can barely breathe and HIS touch is fading and I miss HIM so much that it makes my heart clench and twist and writhe inside my chest. "Fred!" I scream, and my voice is swallowed by the roaring of car engines. "Fred, come back!"
But HE is gone.
And I know that now.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!