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Disclaimer: J.L Rowling is the proud owner and creator of Harry Potter and all its characters… I own nothing. I just really like to make stuff up about them. Yay.
In which Harry remembers the death of George and finds his own small measure of peace.
Missing Pieces.
I have heard that when one dies, the other will not be far behind - twins, that is. Actual studies show that there is typically an intensified period of grieving, of pain - that it is painful for the remaining twin to live their life. Survivor's guilt is what the scientists call it. But I don't think that anyone who knew Fred and George Weasley would have ever called their bond 'typical'. There was no separating them. Where one went, the other followed. Be it a daring rescue of the Boy-Who-Lived, getting kicked off the Quidditch team, leaving Hogwarts, or running a joke shop - the Weasley twins were one. Not even death could keep them apart. I wonder now, how no one saw it coming. It should have been so obvious. Gred and Feorge. Never just George.
I wonder now, as I think back to the final battle. When I saw the Weasley clan huddled around Fred's dead body, when I saw George cradling his twin's head in his lap... he wasn't crying. Maybe we all dismissed it as shock or as George trying to be tough; or maybe we just weren't thinking. After all, there was a psychopathic, evil Dark Lord trying to kill us all... well, trying to kill me, anyway. It is safe to say that I did not notice him missing in the final confrontation with Voldemort, and I doubt anyone else did either. It was not until the shock had worn off, until those long minutes of stillness, of silence, as we all gazed at the fallen Voldemort; it was not until the cheers finally died down, until we returned to the Great Hall, it was not until we saw him slumped over his brother's head, that we finally came to our senses. It seemed like slow motion to me, as Molly screamed and ran over to George. The rest of the Weasleys soon followed and it was as though George was surrounded by a pool of blood as the red-heads huddled around him. He was rushed off to St. Mungo's at some point... I lost track of him for a while in the chaos and business that ensued.
I would later hear that George had fallen into a coma, and that his body seemed to be rapidly shutting itself down. 'Rapidly' was a week. It took a week for George Weasley to finally escape this mortal coil and join his beloved brother, his twin, his second half. I am amazed that it took so long. I don't know how we could have been so blind; so blind as to not see the death stealing over George's face the moment he saw Fred. Neville, who was battling near George at time the explosion killed Fred, later told me that George had known, had cried out in pain - a terrible sob of loss. I wonder if he felt like a part of his soul had been ripped out. Really, we should have known. How can a person live with only half a soul, half a heart? George opened his eyes in the moments before his death, but he was not awake. I know… I was there. He grinned weakly at the ceiling and whispered, "Thanks for waiting." Then he was gone, the smile lingering on his face. He looked just as Fred had, with a smile in death. I think the Weasleys understood, even Molly, but I don't think they can forgive me for being the one to hear his dying words, for being there with him. It is the way of things, I suppose. That the first time I visited, the first time a Weasley was not by George's side - there are no coincidences. No one could understand George's pain like me... I am half dead as well. The half that was ripped out by Voldemort when he destroyed the Horcrux, the half that was ready to die and be with my parents, Remus, and Sirius... I felt like a ghost moving through this new Voldemort-free world. Maybe I was part ghost when I looked in on George that day, because as the last of George's whisper faded I swore I saw a pale, freckled hand reach down to grasp an identical hand reaching up from George's body.
Now I think I am getting close to all-ghost. The lighting seems golden and hazy, like a summer evening. When George died yesterday I saw what I had been fighting, and why it was a silly thing to do. I sigh as I lie down on my old four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. I have been staying at Hogwarts to help with the aftermath of the battle. It was painful, at first, to be here and have the ghosts of my six years at Hogwarts haunt me with happy memories, but now I am at peace. Fred and George showed me the way in that quite, surreal hospital room. They showed me how to be whole again. I smile as I close my eyes. I can feel my heart slow; my chest is heavy, too heavy for my lungs to expand. I open my eyes again and tears fill them. Tears of happiness. Surrounding me, above me, near me are my missing pieces. They reach out to me and I reach back.
End.
Please R&R… it fills the authoress with joy.
(p.s. the ending is supposed to be vague, though I did have specific people in mind; I leave the 'missing pieces' up to you.)