When I Get Married
George couldn't sleep.
Deciding it was useless to lie restless for hours on end; he snuck out from under his covers and made his way to the window. There, he jumped up onto the ledge where he sat on the windowsill, his eyes directed at the twinkling stars.
He couldn't wait to marry Angelina; he'd been rearing to get on with the plans the moment she had said yes so many months ago. They were happier than ever, she helped in the shop sometimes, and he went to every single one of her Quidditch matches.
But one thing nagged at his mind as he went to bed the night before their wedding. And 5 hours on, no closer to sleep, it was still playing in his mind.
He hadn't even remembered about it until his mother came to visit for some last minute arrangements in the afternoon. It was just to check that everyone had their robes ready and washed (Molly was terribly excited) when Ron had said it.
"Mum, stop it, why we even need such fancy clothes I'll never know, now hush or I'm going to stun you and not wake you up until after it's all over"
George opened the window to let the cool breeze rush around his face, comfortingly cold. His head cleared a little but he was still haunted by that voice.
He had forgotten about it completely until this evening.
As he watched the stars sparkle in the midnight sky, his vision swam and he saw his long dead twin stood before him, tugging at his collar, irritated by its extravagant buttons at Bill and Fleur's wedding. He sighed and his voice was clear in George's ears as he moaned,
["When I get married, I won't be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I'll put a full Body-Bind curse on Mum until it's all over"]
Fred never did get married. He never got to tell mum to bugger off and let the guests where their pyjamas if they wanted like he'd said he would.
George pressed his head against the glass of the window, despite the fact this meant he was now hanging out of the window on the second floor of a house. Then again, George had never been aware of health and safety. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes would never have been set up if either he or Fred had ever understood those rules.
If there one thing George couldn't get rid of his regret for, it was that he hadn't even been with Fred when he died. He would have felt marginally better if he had been there in Fred's last minute on earth.
He could never get over seeing his body, having not been forewarned of what he would see.
He was the first of the Weasley's to know excluding and Ron and Percy.
He had been walking through the hall in search of his family when he caught sight of red hair and had nearly thrown up as he turned to see his lifeless form.
Fred's body was cold by the time George hugged him fiercely, trying to force life back into him through strength of mind.
But Fred never woke up despite George's pleading and crying and screaming and yelling and cursing and begging and sobbing and hitting of walls until his knuckles broke with the force.
By the time the rest of the family arrived, George was dry of tears. He refused to let anyone heal the injuries he'd inflicted on his hand. It felt like a last gift to Fred to let the split skin bleed freely, bruise until his entire hand was purple.
So now he always had a reminder of that day, from the fact the knuckles on his right hand were crooked as they'd set without being fixed by a Healer. He'd never told Angelina that was where it came from. He doubted he ever would. It was private, something between himself and Fred.
And he could still remember Bill and Fleur's wedding, the fond memories tainted with regret.
Needless to say Fleur had plenty of cousins, all as attractive as herself and some even nicer people too. He and Fred hadn't wasted any time in capturing their attention.
George rolled his eyes at the night as he remembered how much more outgoing Fred always was than himself. He had had to physically drag George over to Marguerite, the twin sister of his own beautiful Veela girl, Belle.
Then of course there was the unforgettable Yule Ball date with Angelina, the woman he would be marrying in less than 9 hours.
The moment she had said yes to his proposal, George had headed straight to Fred's grave and placed 30 galleons on his grave and hidden them so there they would stay.
It was as they made their way to school by carriage, plotting their first prank they had began discussing Angelina Johnson, whom they held parallel affection for.
Fred, in that moment, made a bet with George, 30 Galleons, (Fred was positive) that like their bet that Ireland would win though Krum would catch the snitch, that he would date Angelina, but in the end, she'd marry George.
George never told anyone about that bet, he was the only one that knew about it or the pile of gold that now rested on his brother's grave. Only Lee Jordan, his best friend and best man for the day a head's events.
So Fred had taken Angelina to the Yule Ball, and they had dated. Yes, Fred Weasley did indeed date the marvellous Angelina Johnson for a fair few months.
And now she was marrying his twin.
Fred won the bet.
George smiled, wondering what Fred was doing right now. He could imagine him sat with all the Marauders, soaking up the glory of being in the presence of the greatest men that ever lived.
He liked to think of Fred like that, still happy after death, still smiling.
It had been hard to accept that at first. He couldn't get past Fred's blank face in death to imagine he could be happy after his life was over. It was almost cruel to think that way.
But Harry had been there. Harry had helped him through, had told him things he wasn't sure he'd even told Ron and Hermione. Actually, Hermione probably knew, but he wasn't as sure about Ron.
So George knew all about Harry meeting his parents and Sirius and Remus using the Stone. Knew all about how Sirius had told him dying was 'easier than falling to sleep'. And that had helped George, to know Fred was ok, that he was out of pain and away from suffering.
Every now and then, he got the feeling he could feel Fred watching him. It was the same sense he would get when Fred was alive, and they'd finish each other's sentences off, or when one would know exactly what the other wanted to do.
It was a sort of prickle in your head, that connection between twins flaring up. And George still felt it when he would have a particularly spectacular idea for an invention, one his twin would be proud of. Or when he was at his happiest, closest to normal again; like at a family reunion, or snuggling with Angelina on the couch late into the night.
So George knew that Fred understood.
He knew he was happy for him, even if he couldn't explain why.
And it was that that let George get through the days.
Let him accept he'd see Fred one day, and Fred would be ready when that day came.
And Fred would smugly introduce George to his friends the Marauders.
And Fred would laugh and smile and joke and play and prank and fly and sing and shout and be happy forever.
But Fred never did get married, George did that, and he didn't even tell mum to bugger off in Fred's honour. Didn't even tell the guests to wear their pyjama's like Fred wanted to.
Because Fred didn't get married.