A/N: I do not own any of the characters mentioned. No copyright infringement intended, JK is my queen etc. etc.. Set post-war, Voldemort is dead, Fred is dead ~sob~ and George is devastated.
Just so you know, the female protagonist in this story, Becky (first appearence: chapter two) is basically my best friend. This fanfiction is a gift to her as she loves George. It is partly a self-insert, the character Jenny is name after and based off of me. If that puts you off, fine, but don't say I didn't warn you.
Rated T because in later chapters (or maybe not so later chapters) there will be swearing and possible sexual themes. Warning you now. I think that's all. No more A/Ns until I have more important info now. Enjoy the story!
"Not exactly stable, is it?"
"Doesn't need to be stable. If it were stable we wouldn't be able to drop it on a bunch of Death Eaters later."
"True."
"Besides, I'm not gonna be anywhere near it. Dean's springing the trap."
"So in other words you're missing out on all the fun?"
"It would seem so." George looked at his brother, their faces splitting in identical grins. Behind them the subject of their conversation, a wall, teetered on a pile of bricks. Even held up by magic it looked as if it would fall on them any second.
"Fred, with me!" someone bellowed from halfway down the corridor. Fred scrunched up his nose and clapped a hand on George's shoulder.
"See you on the other side, Georgie."
"Be careful."
"When am I not?" Fred grinned, gave his brother a pat on the back, considered hugging him. And then he turned and George watched him bounding off after a group of defenders, dragon skin coat flying out behind him. George fingered the material of his own coat nervously, the sound of war preparations loud in his one working ear.
"Be careful," he repeated, hoping that for once his twin would take care of himself and not be impulsive. He was always the more reckless of the two.
"He'll be okay," Jenny said, appearing beside George and looking after her boyfriend even though he had long since turned the corner. She looked pale and serious, so unlike herself that George quickly turned away.
"He'll be fine," she repeated, tapping her wand against her leg.
"Careful with that or you'll set yourself on fire," George joked a little half-heartedly, working to keep the rising panic out of his voice. For a moment he thought she hadn't heard him, but she nodded. George saw beads of sweat on her forehead and he swallowed, hard, plastering a huge fake grin onto his face.
"Fight hard. Don't die," he said, giving Jenny a brief hug. He was struck by how small she was, how thin. Barely up to his and Fred's shoulders.
"You make sure you're careful too," she said into his chest, and then she was pulling away and the cold air was hitting his body and they were smiling weakly at each other, their mutual worry for Fred passing between them. Noticed yet unacknowledged.
"And, you know, you. Fred would kill me if anything happened to you."
"He needn't worry." She smiled again and turned away as the first sounds of battle reached them.
Later she would remember the last time Fred had kissed her, curse him for lying, saying he'd be okay. She'd wish she had clung to him, not let him out of her sight so he could've been somewhere else when that wall was blown apart. She would look down through blurred vision and the features she knew so well, now unmoving under then enchanted ceiling. She would feel George's arms wrap around her and look up at him, seeing only Fred in his eyes. And he would look back at her, hate her for not being with him, but his own grief would be reflected back at him. He would close his eyes and see her as Fred did. They would hang onto each other, seeking what could not be brought back. They would reach out together and try to pull Fred over to them, because Fred could not be dead. Jenny could not be in a world without him and George could be himself without him.
