Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
My Little Brother
By: ChoCedric
Harry Potter couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed in Ron's room, thoughts going a mile a minute in his head. The most horrible combination of emotions were churning inside him, those at the forefront being grief and guilt. Fred, someone he thought of as family, was gone forever, and he felt it was entirely his fault. If the Weasleys hadn't fought with him, they'd still have a member of their family, and the end of the war would have brought happiness for them instead of this all-consuming sadness.
After a few minutes of continuously trying to sleep, he decided to get up, because he didn't want to bother Ron. He quietly slipped out of bed and put some clothes on. He then walked out of the room and went down to the Burrow's kitchen.
But as he walked in, he realized he wasn't alone. Sitting in the kitchen, his head on the table, was the last person he thought would want to see him.
"Hello?" the other occupant called in a small, croaky voice thick with tears. "Harry, is that you?"
Harry's mouth gaped open in shock. How on earth did George, in his state, know who was there?
"I know it's you, Harry," George continued softly. "I can tell by the footsteps. And I know you would have a hard time sleeping tonight."
After a few seconds, Harry finally mustered up all the courage he had and whispered, "George ... George, I'm so sorry."
As he said this, scenes of Fred's burial earlier that day entered his mind. George had acted stoic all through the funeral ceremony, even being strong enough to give the eulogy, but at the burial, he had finally lost it. He had held on to Mrs. Weasley and screamed, screamed for his twin. "Fred! No, Freddie!" he had shouted, and Harry could have sworn his heart was literally severed in half. "No, Freddie, noooooooo! I want my brother! I want my brother!" He had refused to help with throwing dirt on top of the coffin, still shrieking for the other half of his soul.
It had taken an effort, but he had finally calmed down, acting lost and subdued for the rest of the day. Harry hadn't been able to look any of the Weasleys in the eye, even though Ginny had told him again and again that none of this mess was his fault. But God, the guilt was tremendous, a heavy weight pressing on him more and more as each hour passed.
"Harry." George's voice pulled him out of his morose and guilt-stricken thoughts. "Harry, look at me."
Harry slowly turned to face George, and saw that his head was now off the table. His eyes were red and puffy, but he was looking at Harry in a way he'd never expected George Weasley to ever look at him again. He had a tender expression on his face, not the angry one he'd been looking for.
"Listen, Harry," he said quietly. "I'm sorry you had to see me act like that today. I should be the one apologizing, not you. I knew it was very uncomfortable for you to see me like that, and I knew it would add to your guilt complex."
"What?" Harry whispered, staring at him open-mouthed.
"What I'm trying to say," said George, still looking at himn dead-on, "Is that Ginny is right. None of this is your fault. None of this family blames you, and I don't blame you. Look, did you put a wand to our head and tell us we had to fight?"
"No, but Voldemort only ..." Harry started.
"Don't start that again," George said. "You might think that Voldemort came to the school only because he wanted to finish you off, but it could have been anyone! You were an innocent victim in all of this. You didn't ask for that monster to come after you when you were a baby, did you? You didn't ask for him to chase you all through your school years, did you? Face it, Harry. Even if not for you, he would have gone after anyone who stood in his way. And we fought WITH you, Harry, not FOR you. We fought to make this world a better place for everyone living in it. And Fred ... Fred would not want you beating yourself up about this. That's the last thing he would want. He would've been proud to die fighting for this world." He sniffled a little bit, wiping a few tears from his eyes.
Harry felt his own eyes fill. "Are... are you sure?" he muttered.
"Positive," George answered. "we all care about you, Harry. How could we not? How could I possibly blame the one person who gave Fred and I the means to achieve our dream?"
Harry came a little closer, standing a few feet from George now. "Are you going to continue with the shop? I can always help you if you want," he said softly.
""Yes, I will, because I know that's what Fred would want. And as for you helping? That would be great, but please, don't do it out of a guilty conscience. It's. Not. Your. Fault," George said, accenting each word deliberately. "Do it because you absolutely want to. Come here, Harry." He held out his arms.
And slowly, Harry travelled the last few steps to George, and the next thing he knew, he was in his arms. He couldn't help but let a few choked sobs escape as he received a hug from his big brother. "I thought you'd hate me," he whispered, not sounding at all like the boy who had defeated Voldemort a week ago, but instead sounding like a lost child.
"I could never hate you," George whispered back. "I may have lost a brother, but I gained one as well. I love you, Harry."
And as Harry held on to George tightly, both of them crying softly, for the first time in a week, he felt that everything was going to be okay. The wounds from the war were still open and bleeding, but with time, they would heal.