All Things Once Beautiful
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters; they belong to the all-powerful JK Rowling. The poem belongs to Conrad Aiken, one of my favorite poets EVER. Enjoy and R&R!
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,
—They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
-"Bread and Music" by Conrad Aiken
George stepped into the shop, their shop . . . his shop. It had been five months since he had stepped through the doors, five months since he had allowed himself to remember. . . Fred. He let his now cold fingers linger on the doorframe, letting them remember too-the cool metal, the way it had felt all brand new. He let his eyes wander and drink in the familiar sights. There was the first sickle they had ever made, framed over the cash register next to a picture of himself and his twin, both waving madly at Lee Jordan who was behind the camera. He caught sight of the stand of Hair-loss Hats, the last product he and Fred had worked on together. He was overcome, overcome with grief for the loss of his other half, anger at the whole world for taking Fred away, and the sheer pointless injustice of it all. He collapsed onto the floor, burying his head in his hands. How stupid, he thought, how stupid to think that he was well again, how stupid to think he could go back.
"Here George, up you get," a gentle voice urged him, hoisting him up to his feet by his forearm. It was Ron, Ron who had proved himself beyond measure over the past five months. He was following a strict (and overly thorough) study schedule Hermione had sent him, preparing for his NEWTs along with running the shop and generally looking over George's affairs. All of this was on top of nursing his own grief at the death of his beloved brother.
"I-I-I can't d-d-do it Ron!" George sobbed, leaning into his brother's arms.
"Sure you can George, just take one step at a time. You're room is all clean; Mum came in yesterday. You just need to go and rest, reacquaint yourself with your room, alright. Come along." He led George through the store and up the steps to the flat, shouldering George's feather light bags.
Once in his old room, George collapsed onto the bed, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. He grabbed the pillow in his fists and dug his nails into the soft fabric, trying desperately to get a whiff of his twin. "Oh Fred," he moaned. Ron set the bags down softly and quickly left George in peace, batting away at his own eyes. It had been so hard for all of them to cope but none of them could even imagine what George was going through.
He walked into the kitchen, collapsing into a chair in front of the fireplace. He rested his head in his hands and let out a deep, shuddering sigh. Seeing his brother like this was all but unbearable. A moment later the fire sprang into life, causing Ron to jump into the air. It was his mother, looking worried and weepy as usual. "How is George?" she asked anxiously. Ron shook his head slowly.
"I-oh Mum, I don't know if he is ever going to be the same. He just saw the inside of the shop and collapsed. He's in his room now." Ron bit his lip and blinked furiously, willing himself not to go all mushy as he had done far too much in the past five months.
"Oh my poor dear. Maybe you two should come back here; perhaps it was too soon." Ron shook his head.
"Mum, this is never going to be easy for him. I just think, and you know Healer Tillen thinks so as well, that he needs to be busy. He can't have time to sit and stew.
"I know Ronald, oh I know but I just don't want him to be sad!" she sniffed, on the verge of tears.
"Oh Mum, don't cry, don't cry. It will be alright in the end; it just has to be," Ron said, a sense of desperation inching into his voice.
"You're a good boy Ronald, a very good boy to care for your brother so. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't agreed. . ." Molly gushed, gazing at her youngest son with watery eyes. "Well, if it gets too bad, you just floo me or your father. Bill, Charlie, and Percy say you can floo them as well. I know it's a heavy burden you bear." Molly gave him a small, adoring smile. Ron was starting to believe that he was growing up.
"Don't worry Mum; I'll floo if anything happens. I promise."
"Goodnight love."
"'Night Mum." Molly's face faded from view and Ron was once again alone. He could still hear the racking sobs from George's room. His stomach grumbled loudly and he decided he best start on dinner. He and the rest of the family had decided to bring George back to his shop just after closing so that he could have time to steady himself before it opened the next morning. Now he was wondering if it would have been better just to throw him to the lions, so to speak, just let him start cold turkey.
Ron stood and went to the refrigerator. Just like everything else in F-, well, George's flat, it was brand new and shiny. If any particularly desired supply was getting low, it would shout out what the item was to anyone who would listen. Molly had gone grocery shopping the day before so the refrigerator was silent though, Ron thought ruefully, he could've done with the distraction.
He grabbed a bunch of tomatoes along with sausage, herbs, cheese and an onion. The only thing he could make properly was pasta, a recipe Hermione had taught him on one of his several visits to her house that summer. His new found relationship with her was the only thing that had gotten him through the summer. Something between the two had clicked and their old animosity toward each other had dwindled and dimmed. Of course, if either caught the other in a mood, well, they were right back to their old ways but things had definitely gotten better.
Harry, who was still planning on becoming and auror and who had a tie to Hogwarts Ron certainly could not understand, along with Hermione who was, well, Hermione, had opted to go back to school, joining the 7th years along with many others of Ron's year. He thought they were all mental and could not imagine going back to that place, the place where Fred had died. Hermione came to visit some weekends, still having to deal with the mess she had created with her parents. Apparently that much of a memory alteration was something they could not get over quickly. Harry made frequent trips back as well, though they were mostly taken up by talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, and spending time with his infant godson.
Ron grabbed a can of tomato sauce from the pantry and set to work on dinner. He could not seem to get enough of proper food after so long in the wilderness with Hermione's "cooking". Despite what she said, Ron still remained adamant that his mother could have whipped up something fantastic despite the conditions. Ron chopped up the onion with his wand, cursing; he still wasn't great shots at that part. He set the large saucepan on the stove and with a flick of his wand it was hot. He tossed in the onions and they let out a satisfying sizzle. Just as he was about to add the tomato sauce, the fire once again blazed into life. He looked over his shoulder and smiled widely. It was Hermione.
"Hello Herms," he greeted, pouring the tomato sauce into the pan before turning to give her his full attention.
"How's George?" Hermione asked, giving him a sympathetic look.
"Not well, but we expected that. He's still in his room, though after I finish with dinner, I'm going to try to coax him out. It's just so bloody hard for him Hermione. I can't even imagine. . ." Hermione's heart melted at the distraught look on her boyfriend's face. For years, she had suffered under the delusion that he had somehow been born without the emotion gene, but over the past five months, that idea had evaporated.
"Oh Ron, it's got to get better."
"I know; I just wish I could bring Fred back. It seems to be all I can think about these days."
"We all do. . . ." Hermione's voice trailed off for a moment and the two sat in silence. "Well, Ron, I was just calling to check up on you. I had a spare moment. Oh, and how are you coming along on your NEWT prep?" Ron groaned; some things never changed.
"It's fine, a lot of bloody notes though Hermione."
"I know but, well, I think you've got a real chance at getting some decent scores! Who knows, you and Harry both might end up in the Auror office together. If we just study a bit over the break and-" Ron stopped listening, content to just hear that she was rambling on without knowing exactly what she was saying. "Ron, are you listening to me?"
"Wha- oh yeah, holidays, studying, right." Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled at him sweetly anyway.
"Well, I best let you get back to making dinner. I have mountains of work to do. I love you."
"I love you too," Ron replied, grinning. He gave her a quick peck before her head retreated back into the fire, fading into nothingness. He finished the sauce and set it to simmer before retrieving the fresh loaf of bread his mother had brought the day before. Before long, dinner was ready and Ron had two places set at the table with a generous glass of butter beer in front of George's place. He tentatively knocked on the door before opening it. George was at least sitting up though his eyes were red and puffy. "Dinner's ready."
"Not hungry," George replied in a monotone.
"George, you really must eat something. If you didn't Mum would have my hide and if you collapse tomorrow because you haven't eaten anything she'll pull you right back home and you'll be once again under her constant supervision. Is that what you want?" Ron finished, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. George shrugged but got up none-the-less and followed Ron into the kitchen, setting himself down in the chair and gulping down half of the butter beer. Ron set a plate in front of him before sitting down himself. George pushed the pasta around, occasionally taking a bite but he had the far away look in his eyes that Ron had come to recognize as the "Fred look".
"Is it any good?" he asked softly, just wanting to break the silence. George turned his head quickly, his eyes slightly out of focus.
"Yeah, yeah it's good, thanks."
"I know its nothing like Mum's cooking but. . . "
"It's good Ron," George sighed.
"Good. I know it's hard but I can't imagine living under Mum's eye was any good and after. . ." Ron trailed off, not wanting to remember that.
"I hope it will be better than home . . . eventually," George mused.
"It has to be," Ron hastened.
Later that night, Ron went to bed, reminding George that if he needed anything he was right there, just across the hall. Fred and George had always preferred to stay in the same room though they had two in their flat. When their mother came to visit, they called it the spare room but, well when she wasn't there it was what they churlishly refered to as the "shag" room. If Fred were there, he and George could have laughed that Ron was staying in the shag room but now that Fred wasn't there, nothing seemed funny anymore.
George sat down on his bed and gazed longingly at the one across from him, the place where Fred had slept, the place where Fred was supposed to be. He had a Fred-shaped hole and no way to fill it. He ran a rough, cold hand over his face and through his hair. This was something they had known could happen but, truth be told, he had always thought they'd go together for what was one without the other? His eyes roamed around the room, falling at last on a small box in the corner. It looked vaguely familiar but for the life of him, he could not remember what was in it.
He got up and crossed the room, picking it up and setting it on his desk. He pulled off the lid and sucked the air through his teeth; he did remember. It was their forget-me-not box, something they had put together for their family should anything have happened to them. It had their will along with other mementos they had thought their mother would particularly like. There was also the deed to the shop along with all of their business information, a spare Gringotts Vault key and, George's heart skipped a beat, two vials. He lifted them up tenderly. Each had a small label; written on one was his name and the other, Fred's. Inside each vial was a single silvery hair. He had nearly forgotten.
They had decided that a proper goodbye was in order should they kick it so, one night, the night before they went into hiding, they had each separately recorded their thoughts for posterity. With a pang, he remembered that it had been his suggestion to do them separately. He remembered the conversation well, with a kind of haunting irony.
"Why should we do them separately?" Fred asked incredulously.
"Because, well, what if I go and you don't? There are things I'd like to say you know, we aren't just one person. Things happen and-"
"You're not going to die on me" Fred said in a kind of forced bravado. "I wouldn't let you. Now this is ridiculous George. We do everything together."
"Well, this is something I think we should do separately, despite what you say."
"Fine, if that's the way you feel but I still think you're a raving lunatic if you think I'd let you kick it before me." George rolled his eyes.
It had been the truth, he had thought, in the very, very back of his brain, it might happen but he had never thought that he'd be the one left alone. When he had imagined it, it had always been the other way round. He had, after all, already cashed in his free life pass after the run-in with Snape. With shaking hands, he lowered the vial with his name on it back into the box and just stared at the other for what felt like hours. This was Fred's memory. What did it say? Did Fred say goodbye to him like he had to Fred? There was only one way to find out.
He padded across the hall and tapped lightly. Well, clearly this would not work on his young brother so be stepped into the room and gave Ron a sharp poke in the side.
"Gerroff!" Ron mumbled angrily, turning over. George rolled his eyes and prodded him once more; this time Ron's eyes flickered open, a look of irritation playing on his features. "Oh, George," his voice softened. "What do you want?"
"Can you floo Harry and ask to borrow his pensieve; tell him it's an emergency."
"I guess, why?"
"I'll tell you later," George said hurriedly, a kind of manic energy overcoming him.
"I think he's staying at Tonk's mum's place." Ron looked down at his watch. It was around eleven o'clock. Under normal circumstances, he would never have been in bed that early on a Friday but he had a feeling that Saturday would take every ounce of energy he had. He pushed himself up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed, extricating himself from the mass of silk sheets. There were a couple of things about the room that made him suspicious, not least of all the mirrored ceiling but he couldn't think about that at the moment.
He hurried into the kitchen and lit a fire with his wand. He tossed in a small handful of floo powder. "Andromeda Tonks" he stated clearly, stepping into the flames. A small living room materialized in front of him and he caught sight of Harry chatting with Mrs. Tonks. Harry looked up.
"Ron! What's wrong?" Harry asked, striding over to the fireplace and helping him up. Despite the hardships of the last five months, Harry looked much better. He had gained some weight and he just looked healthier in general. He had also grown at least a few centimeters over the summer.
"Nothing's wrong, well, at least I don't think anything's wrong. George wanted me to ask you if he could borrow your pensieve. He says it's an emergency." Harry cocked his head to one side but seemed to decide he didn't want to know.
"Okay, I guess he can use it." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it and drew out a miniature pensieve.
"You keep that thing in your pocket?" Ron asked incredulously, his eyebrows raised. "Why the hell do you keep it in your pocket?"
"I've got a lot on my mind, Anyway, just "engorgeo" it." Harry answered with a shrug. "Is that all?" he asked, holding it out to Ron who took it gingerly.
"Yeah, that's it. Thanks Harry."
"Good luck, I think I'll bring Teddy round sometime tomorrow."
"That would be brilliant Harry. Good night Mrs. Tonks."
"Goodnight Ron and it's Andromeda." But Ron had already retreated back into the flames, whirling back to George's flat. He handed the tiny pensieve to George who took it eagerly.
"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Ron asked.
"Tomorrow, 'night Ron." George murmured, turning on his heal and carrying the pensieve to his room. He closed the door behind him. Once alone, George sat the thing on his desk and drew out his wand. "Engorgeo," he whispered. Once it was to its full size, he uncorked the vial and poured the memory into the pool. He prodded it with his wand and dove in.
He was standing in the store room of the shop and for a moment he thought he was looking in the mirror. But it was Fred, it was his Fred. He felt his eyes prickle. Fred was standing awkwardly behind a chair, fiddling with a loose nail. He cleared his throat and then he spoke, George thought he must be dreaming, to hear Fred's voice again. . .
"Well, I suppose if you're hearing this, I've kicked it, bloody shame, sorry Mum. I don't know quite what to say and I would be saying this with George if he hadn't decided, well, anyway, I just wanted to be able to say a proper goodbye. I don't want any of you to be sad for too long," he let out a nervous chuckle. "I love you all, I hope you knew that. Well, I'll start with Mum I guess.
Mum, I know we had our differences and that George and I were a handful but we loved you, you know, and you were a great mum. Wherever I am, I'll be missing your cooking, bloody hell this is strange, sorry Mum. You gave us-I mean me a great life and I hope you were proud. We really did care what you thought deep down though we never showed it.
Dad, well, what do I say to Dad? Bullocks! Dad, I know you were always worried about not providing us with enough of everything but we never really wanted for anything, not really. You were a great Dad, a bit batty, but great just the same. I still remember that day, one of the best days I can remember actually, when you took me and George to that ice rink when we were seven. I know George remembers too. Well anyway, goodbye and take care of Mum. I know she'll be in a right state. I love you and I hope you carry on and all of that. . .
Bill, well Bill, even though you got all ugly and scarred you're still with a vela so try to carry on. I regret I never got to smell you're flower, get it, smell your-well anyway, you were a good big brother. We-I always looked up to you though we-I often didn't really follow your example per se. You were always very, how shall I put this, cool. Well, if I am dead, you know you're obligated to name your first born after me, boy or girl, okay. Fred or Frederica. Anyway, give my regards to Fleur, lucky bastard.
Charlie, don't get eaten by a dragon. We-I always felt we had a lot in common. You could have passed for mine or George's twin if you'd tried. I hope you're not in too much of a state over my . . . death, weird huh. Just keep on carrying on. Get a nice lady friend and drown your sorrows in Firewhisky for me alright? Oh, and give Percy a good thrashing for me if you see him. It's the one thing I planned on doing before I died. Look after the others alright. I know Bill will be preoccupied with, you know, his "flower". If I am gone and George isn't well, look after him."
George felt a twinge of sadness. It was altogether too strange.
"Percy, you're a bloody idiot! I don't know quite what to say to you though I suppose it won't do for my eternal soul if the last thing I ever say to you is that you're a prick (which you are). I suppose if you're hearing this you've finally made right with the family, about fucking time. Well, despite what you may have thought, and excluding the last couple of years, George and I never hated you. You were just an altogether too easy target. I suppose we loved you." Fred made a disgusted face. "Well if you have come back to your senses, I want you to promise me something; you need to get bloody laid alright. You need someone to loosen you up a bit. I think that, aside from the fact that you're a big-headed, puffed up idiot, has always been your biggest problem. So that's what I want you to do, that's my dying wish for you." At this point, George was laughing and crying all at the same time.
Ron." George's heart sank. "I know we gave you a lot of grief but you're alright. I know you fancy Hermione so just get over yourself. I refer back to my dying wish for Percy though I think you need it just slightly less than he does. I suppose I love you too and I do hope you're not too wrapped up about this whole thing. Please try to keep the rest of the family happy. Though I never admitted it to you, you have a good sense of humor, hell, I even see a bit of myself in you.
Ginny, dear ickle little Ginnykins. My big regret is not having been able to give Harry a sound thrashing. It is my brotherly duty. Out of all of our dear siblings, I always had a bit of a soft spot for you, we all did. You were our baby sister, the one we never thought would come. I hope you stay your snarky self, bat-bogey hexes and all and try not to, not to be too sad. I'd hate it if you were sad and mopey all the time because of me. I love you Gin, well, at least, I suppose I loved you." With a sinking heart, George realized that Fred had not said anything to him, he just must never have believed . . . but then Fred cleared his throat.
"I suppose I should say something to George now. I guess if you're hearing this, I've gone where you cannot go and you were right. If that's so, I'm glad it was me. You'll no doubt be better shots at it than I would ever be. George, Forge, please don't be miserable. I know I would be if I were you but," there was a note of desperation in his voice. "I just don't think I could stand it if you were miserable for your whole sodding life just because I was gone. I wouldn't want you to be sad; I'd want you to move on and continue to laugh and make jokes and just be your normal self, no matter how hard it is. Georgie Porgy, we've been together forever and I know you like the back of my hand so I know that right now you're blaming yourself and thinking it would be a disgrace to my memory if you were to be happy but you're wrong. You're just bloody wrong. It's a disgrace to my memory if you're anything but happy because that's what we always aimed to do. We made jokes and created all of these things to make people happy (and irritate Mum and Percy that is) and it would be pretty damn hard for you to do anything like that if you weren't happy yourself. So I want you to promise me that you'll be happy, no more moping about. I know it will be hard but you must try and if I see you up, or down is probably more like it, anytime soon I won't speak to you for all eternity. Goodbye George, my brother, my twin, my other half, goodbye."
The memory faded and George was once again standing in his room, tears streaming down his face. He felt a twinge of guilt at what he had almost done. He had almost forced Fred to make good on his promise. . . Despite the growing ache in his heart, however, he felt a warmth spread through him. It was like a weight was being lifted and a light was coming in through the dirty windows of his heart and soul. And, for the first time in five months, he knew, knew he would make it through, somehow. . .
A/N: I got this idea after reading Bad Mum's story, Birthdays. My George had a bit of a different experience but if you haven't read hers, READ it. It will make you laugh, cry, do cartwheels; it's that good. Anywho, tell me what you think; I'm dying to know. This is a one-shot though more stories in the same vein may come along. Cheers!