He's Not Dead
"He's not dead." The voice was bordering petulant.
Percy whirled around. They say that when you're around graves of loved ones strange things can happen, a gateway to the dead some call it.
George walked towards Percy while shaking his head, fed up at the horrified expression on his elder brother's face. He looked petrified.
Percy had almost reached the gravestone when he spoke. "You're- you're back?" It was a tentative question, half hopeful and half scared and George had to give him credit for not running off immediately thinking he was a loony. It was about time he learnt to be brave.
It was funny; Percy had seen George many times since Fred's death but for some reason all sense had flown out of his mind.
You're. Percy always was an idiot. "He's not dead," George repeated dully, swallowing heavily as the words caught in his throat the second time in a way they hadn't the first. He couldn't emphasise 'he's' in the way that would make sense to Percy any more than he could bear to say his name out loud.
Percy's eyes widened in realisation. "George- George- I'm sorry." He held his hand out as if he was going to do something but then he took in George's wry expression and let his arm drop. He was never really that close to his family.
There was crying coming from behind the bedroom to his old door. "Mum?" probed George as he pushed open the door.
Molly sat on one of the beds, sobbing into a familiar green jumper. She hardly looked at George when he entered.
George opened the door fully and strode over to his mum, tugging the jumper out of her clutching hands. "Mum," he said incredulously as he held it up in front of him. "This is my jumper."
Molly kept crying.
As soon as he came into the room, Ginny hid something behind her back. She looked guilty as well as secretive, which was odd because she knew George wouldn't scold her for doing something wrong.
He said surly, "Do you know why Mum's acting so weird?"
"No." Ginny shook her head and spoke in an unusually squeaky voice.
George's eyes narrowed. "What's that, what have you got behind your back?"
A terrified expression crossed her pale face. It only took a few strides for George to reach behind her back and grab the picture that slipped from her fingers. Ginny never gave something up without a fight.
It was of them. Playing in the snow one Christmas, fourth year perhaps, wearing matching scarves and hats and identical laughing expressions.
In a faint and nervous voice, Ginny said, "I found it, I wanted to give it to you, but Dad wasn't sure if it would-"
His family seemed to tread on eggshells around him.
"It's yours," Ginny continued, "You can have it if you like." She scrambled around under her bed and brought out a photo frame. "I got this for it but you don't have to keep it if you don't want to."
George took the frame and carefully laid the photo above the glass, not committing to it, but keeping it all the same. "Thanks." It was the first time that day he believed his own words.
Ron had disappeared from the storefront. Again. He was always vanishing recently and George was pretty sure he wasn't sneaking off to visit a girl. He finally found him in the storeroom, not that is was much of a hiding place anymore.
"Oi, what you doing in here? We have loads of customers out front." If George sounded annoyed it was because Ron kept sneaking off here to deal with stock, but none of it ever reached the shelves.
Ron mumbled something about shelving as he always did when he was caught, but George wasn't having it this time.
He reached over to Ron and hauled him up by the arm. "Come on, people expect Weasleys on the storefront so we have to be there. How else are they going to spot the till if they can't see our mops of hair?" He ruffled Ron's head affectionately. "Verity's too short, not to mentioned brunette. Come on."
Would it be that George was able to drag Ron with minimal effort, but alas, he was born with the brains and his brothers the brawn.
Ron wasn't resisting exactly, just staring forlornly at a box of broken lie detectors that punched you in the face. "But I'm not Fred…" he said in a quiet voice. "It's him people want to see."
"You're not as good looking or funny but you'll do. The shop isn't called The Fred and George Show, as great as that name is, it's Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, so get your Weasley arse out of here and help me, okay? Brother or not, you still have to earn your keep."
Ron took the offered hand and pulled George into an embrace. "He'd be proud. I've looked at the numbers and he'd be really proud."
Charlie was blithering on with some toast about how great Fred was and how clever he was over dinner, and George knew he had tried really hard to make this right, but none of this stuff really mattered. Fred wouldn't care for greatness, he'd just want them to stop moping around and go back to that lively family they once were. Some may say a year wasn't enough to grieve but it had already felt like twenty and George was sick of it.
He placed his hands on the table and stood up suddenly, breaking Ron's speak and addressing his entire family. "He's not dead. He's not gone. I'm not gone." His arms were shaking slightly as they held his weight but he pushed through it. "Fred would have hated this, you all know it. He would want to see you happy even if things were awful – that's why we created Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, to take people's mind off things and do something fun.
"And you don't have to treat me like I'm something fragile either. I didn't die. I lost an ear, not a life. Fred didn't die for me to die with him." And it was with that that George realised what he needed to in order to keep going. "I can live enough for the both of us."