Written for Round 6 of QLFC

Catapults

Keeper

We had to do April, us Catapults, and I chose George Weasley. There is some Fred in there, but not a lot.

Word count will be at end.

AN: There is also some Drarry in it, but it's only mentioned.

"Hey Gred?"

"Yeah, Forge?"

"We should have a tradition. On our birthday, I mean. We should see how many people can guess which twin is right."

Fred shot George a grin. "I like that idea!" the other exclaimed. "How would we go about it?"

"You know how mum makes us those sweaters every year for our birthday? Why not switch it up; I'll wear yours and you'll wear mine, so they can't tell if you're me or if I'm you."

Fred laughed. "I love that!" He wrapped George in a hug, squeezing. "This'll be the best birthday ever, won't it?"

George smiled. "Yeah, it will."

George gasped and shot up, sitting forward, eyes wide. He ran a hand through his hair, laying back down on the bed. What was that? A memory? Why was he thinking of that now?

Of Fred?

He sighed, throwing a hand over his eyes. He missed Fred; his heart ached so bad for that other side to him, the one who was always there for him. He missed the pranks they would pull, the experiments they would make, the pretending to be each other.

He missed being . . . Forge.

He exhaled slowly, turning his head to look at his clock from under his arm. The time, 9:36, glowed neon green. The words April 1 shone brightly beneath the time and he gazed at the words for a while.

April 1.

His and Fred's birthday. This would be the first year that he hadn't spent their birthday together.

This would be the first year of Fred being gone.

He gave a sigh as he heaved himself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, flicking on the light. He stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself. Where his right ear should have been was nothing; his hair was shorter; there were bags under his eyes; he was skinnier. His lips were chapped and he was pale, almost like a vampire.

His lips quirked as he could just imagine Fred saying, "Gred! Why, you look like a vampire? Wait, you aren't one, are you? Because if so, I wouldn't mind letting you take blood from me, but you know how the wizarding world is. But oh, imagine how much faster you would be!"

He could also imaging Fred saying, "You should take more care of yourself, Gred. You know I wouldn't want you to waste away before you die! I'd find some way to bring you back, then kill you, then bring you back. You know I mean it."

He shook his head, dispelling the voice of Fred from his mind. He started the shower, took off his pajamas, then stepped in. He let the water cascade down his back as he leaned his head against the tiled wall, his ginger hair sticking to his forehead as steam began to rise. Tears prickled in his eyes as his hands clenched.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why? Why did you have to leave me?" He pounded a fist on the wall weakly. "Why? Why? Why?"

He sunk down, fist still against the wall, and cried.

The Burrow looked the same.

He hadn't been home in a year, still grieving with the death of his twin. He knew his mum missed him, as did his dad and his other siblings. He knew they were grieving as well, and knew they respected his wish to have space.

He stared up, looking at the stories that were stacked hazardously but still stood; the chimneys that were all chugging out steam; the yard that was cluttered with things.

He could hear Fred —

"Come on Gred!"

"I'm coming Forge!"

He could hear one of the pranks they played on Percy —

"FRED! GEORGE!"

They both looked up as Percy stormed into their room, hair matted down with blue paint that was dripping down his face, his clothes, and onto the floor. His face smoldered murderously, and he snarled, "What is this?"

The two looked at each other.

Then Fred, ever the reasonable one, went, "What's it look like?"

"It looks like paint!"

"Hey, look Gred, he knows what paint is!"

George snickered as Fred beamed, Percy's face turning as red as a tomato.

"Don't play with me! Why was paint dropped onto me when I opened my door?" Percy snapped.

"It was a prank!" Fred exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "You should know that, Percy, from the way your painted blue." He snickered. "It's a harmless prank, though."

"Yeah, well, wait until I tell mum and then it won't be a harmless prank." Percy gave a smug grin.

Fred's grin faded. "Percy, no, please! You know how mum'll act! You know what she'll say!"

"Then don't prank me!"

He shook his head, making his way to the door. He reached out to knock on the door, hand still raised, and wondered how his family would act. Would they be angry that he hadn't visited? Would they understand why he didn't?

He pulled himself up and as he was about to knock on the door, the opened and he heard, "Well, Arthur, it says he's here —" as wild red hair appeared in his view. The voice dropped off as he and his mother made eye contact.

Then she broke into a wobbly grin as she cried, "George!" and wrapped him in her arms.

He melted into it, sinking into her warmth, as he whispered, "Hi, mum," into her ear. He wrapped his arms around her and just hugged, listening to her crying that "You're here" and "We haven't seen you in a long time".

When they pulled apart, his mother's eyes were red and puffy, and when he started to apologize for making her cry, she just waved him off and said, "Oh, George, it's so good to see you. After what happened, we didn't see you and it worried us . . ." She trailed off and looked at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his feet. "Sorry," he replied. "I just . . . with Fred being, you know . . . I just needed space. And I didn't think that being here would . . . you know . . . give me the space I needed."

His mother nodded. "I know," she said sadly. "We all miss him terribly, but I have no doubt that you miss him more."

He cracked a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

She nodded again. "Well," she said, "come with me into the kitchen. Everyone is already here, even Percy, Charlie, and Bill, and they'll all be excited to see you."

"Even Percy?" he asked as he lead him towards the kitchen.

"Even Percy," she replied.

They made it to the kitchen and he could hear them: Percy was talking to someone about something in the Ministry, Bill was talking to Fleur, Charlie was telling Ginny about the dragons he worked with, Harry was talking to Mr. Weasley, Ron and Hermione were talking to each other about what jobs they wanted to take.

There was only one voice missing: Fred's.

His mother walked into the kitchen, exclaiming, "Look who arrived!" George walked in and it was pandemonium.

"George!"

"Oh my—"

"So good to see you again!"

"We've missed you!"

"Come, come sit," his mum said, pulling out a chair and featuring him to sit. The chair was right beside Harry, who sat besides Draco, who was there for some reason. He sat down, smiling gently at all the ruckus that was caused by his arriving.

"It's good to see you again," he heard from his right.

He looked over to look at Harry, who was looking at him. "It's good to see you, too," he replied. He glanced to Draco. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he asked, "Why is Malfoy Jr here?"

Harry gave a smile. "He and I are dating. Have been for a few months." He gave George a look, then changed the subject. "How are you? And I mean, really?"

George thought for a moment. How was he?

He was empty. An empty shell with just a beating heart but no life. He didn't have his other with him, his other half of the same coin. He felt alone, abandoned, scared. He felt . . . not him. He didn't feel like Forge, or George, without Fred.

"Fine," he lied.

Harry studied him for a few seconds. Then he conceded with, "Alright. But if you want to talk, know I'm here, okay?"

George nodded, and Harry turned to Draco.

He wasn't fine, though.

It was later, when his mum had brought out the butterbeer and the firewhisky, he made his way up the stairs. Up, up, up, he went until he made it to the floor where he and Fred used to stay on. He stood before the door, eyes staring at the sign that had the words Gred and Forge's Room in gold and scarlet.

He traced the words, heart clenching. Then he placed his hand on the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open.

The room was the same as he last remembered it. It was cluttered, with papers and notes thrown all over the room, a section of it portioned off for their experiments. The wall had black scorch marks in that section, from the experiments that backfired. He made his way in and stared at the clothes that were still on the bed, some pushed to the side of the wall. There were books, mostly on potions, stacked along Fred's bed in little piles.

He sat on Fred's bed, running a hand over the scarlet bedsheet. His mind went to his and Fred's first night at Hogwarts.

"Hey Gred?" he whispered into the dark.

"Yeah Forge?" was whispered back.

"I can't sleep."

"Neither can I."

"Can I climb into bed with you?"

"Yeah."

He scrambled out of bed, scurried over to Fred's, and climbed under the covers Fred held. He leaned into Fred as Fred wrapped his arms around him, closing his eyes, listening to Fred's heartbeat.

"Night, Forge," he heard.

"Night, Gred," he replied.

He picked up a sweater of Fred's, running his hands over it. It was a sweater their mum had made for them, red with a stitched F on it. He traced the F, feeling each of the stitches.

He began to cry once more.

Fred was gone.

And nothing was going to bring him back on their day.

[word count: 1724]