Author's Note: Thank you to ChocolateMnMs, ilovefi123, Bookwormiie, Pinkranger888, The Walls of Jericho, and Bellephontfor reviewing! I'm so happy you all liked it! :D So, here's the second chapter :) Read and review please! :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. But I do own this story :)
Summary: After an accident with a Bludger, George has lost his memory. All of it. And Fred is determined to bring it back.
Rating: K+ :)
Once A Weasley
When I'm Gone
'Everything I am, and everything in me,
Wants to be the one you wanted me to be...
...I'm roaming through this darkness,
I'm alive but I'm alone.
And part of me is fighting,
But part of me is gone.'
~ 'When I'm Gone,' 3 Doors Down
Fred only ever left his brother's side to go to the loo. No other reason, not even to eat. Of course, people would sneak him food and such, but he would never go down to get it himself. He jumped at every tiny movement of George's hair or slight hitch in his breathing. Fred merely sat there, sometimes whispering words he hadn't said enough to him or simply combing his fingers through his bangs in a rhythmic pattern. People stopped by when they could to see how he was doing, but so far, after three days, George still hadn't awoken.
It worried Fred terribly, so much so that he started to look as bad at his twin. His own red hair was unkempt and unruly, and his face seemed to have taken on an even paler shade of skin than he'd had before. He was still dusty, dirty and probably rather foul smelling, but Fred never once cared about those things. All he cared about was that he'd be there when George opened his eyes.
Madam Pomfry, however, seemed to think otherwise. "Mr. Weasely," she said in that strict manner of hers. "You really have to go."
Fred gave the woman a bewildered look. "Why?"
"Mr. Weasely, I'm sorry, but I cannot wind up having both of you in here, and at the rate you're going at, you will." She clucked her tongue in a disapproving way as she looked him over. "Go clean yourself up and get a decent meal in you." She wagged her finger. "You will not be permitted back up here until you do."
The blue eyed ginger gaped. She wasn't seriously kicking him out? "But-"
"No 'buts' Mr. Weasely." She all but picked the boy up and dragged him outside of the Hospital Wing, and he was not too pleased by it. "Besides, tomorrow is Monday. You cannot be here all day while you have classes." Her face soften a bit before she added, "I know this is hard for you, but George will wake up when he is ready. There is no need to waste away." And with that, she shut the door, more or less, in his face.
Fred was still in shock. It all happened so fast he didn't realise he was outside until George was no longer in plain view. His throat seized up and he started banging on the door. "Madam Pomfry, let me in," he pleaded, but he got no response. Didn't she realise what kind of things happened when he and George weren't near each other? Didn't she know that whenever anything bad happened to the Weasley twins, it happened when they were separated? When they weren't right beside each other? Could she not see that?
He continued to pester her though, and if it wasn't for his other friend and Commentator Lee Jordan walking by, he never would've left.
"Blimey, Fred, you look terrible," Lee declared immediately, looking surprised to see him in this state. "Where've you been?"
Fred didn't answer, but simply continued to gaze at the door like he was having a staring contest with it. Open up, open up, open up, he silently ranted, ignoring his friend altogether. Lee shook his head and grabbed his arm, yanking him from his reverie and pulling him away. "C'mon mate, let's go. It's lunch time."
Numb, Fred allowed himself to be dragged into the Great Hall and plopped down at the table. He didn't touch the food lying before him and simply stared into space. What if George isn't the same as he used to be? What if George blames me for the accident?
"Oi, Earth to Fred," Lee waved his hands in front of his face. "Say something, mate, you're freaking me out."
But Fred didn't know what to say, so he simply gave a weak smirk and replied, "Something."
Lee rolled his eyes. "Glad to see your sense of humour hasn't been affected." But he sombered up instantly. "How's George doing?"
Fred looked down at his plate and poked at his food moodily. "Still hasn't woken up."
There was a moment of silence as Lee chewed this over before he responded brightly, "Ah, no worries Fred, he'll wake up eventually. He's probably dying right now to get back on his broom, just you see." He leaned back and stretched, plastering a mischievous smile on his face. "No use hanging 'round here, eh? Let's go see what good ol' Snape's up to."
Fred felt saddened to say that he wasn't particularly in the mood. Pulling pranks just wasn't the same without plotting them out with George first. Often, George's input was what saved them from making a mistake on more occassions than Fred would like to admit to. Lee was loads better than most people, but they just didn't have that connection like he and George had. The could read each other's minds and finish each other's sentences.
But still, he felt obligated to muster up his knack for rule breaking and answer, "Why not?"
Lee, enthusiastic about Fred's willingness, all but ran out of the Great Hall and down the corridors for Snape's dungeon. "What'd you reckon we should pull?" Lee inquired. "Dungbombs?"
"Out of those."
"Ah," Lee snapped his fingers. "How 'bout Stink Pellets? We got any o' those left?"
Fred reached into his pocket, grinning a bit, and pulled out a few. "We do."
The dreadlocked boy raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Do you always carry those around with you?"
The familiar twinkle seemed to reappear in Fred's eyes. "Only for emergencies such as these."
Lee snicked as they crept along the walls. "Know where he is?" he whispered.
"Probably still in the Great Hall," Fred mouthed, inching closer. He took out some of his pellets and made to throw them in-
"Don't," came a dodgy voice. "Even think about it, Mr. Weasley."
Fred and Lee whirled around, eyes wide, to find Severus Snape leering down at them. "How did you-?" Fred gaped.
"Next time," Snape walked forward, cloak billowing out behind him. "You might want to be a bit more careful. Fifty points from Gryffindor. Now get out of my sight before I give you both a week's detention."
The two friends groaned quietly as they scampered away. "Did you know he wasn't in the Great Hall?" Fred asked.
Lee shook his head, still looking bemused. George probably would've known, Fred sighed as they headed up to the Common Room.
"Password," the Fat Lady drawled, waving her hand lazily.
"Mimbulus mimbletonia," Fred said dully, watching with little interest as the door swung open.
"Fred!" Hermione cried when her eyes landed on the ginger. Harry and Ron who were sitting beside her, not uncommon for them, whipped their heads around.
They rushed over to him, seeming to ask him a billion questions at once. Like, 'Is George getting any better?', 'Have you been with him this whole time?', 'Has he woken up yet?', 'Is he still alive?' That last one touched a nerve in him.
"George is still bloody unconscious and breathing, now will you excuse me to take a shower?" Fred snapped, pushing past the three of them. He stormed up the stairs, leaving everyone present shocked by his outburst. He felt a little bad for jumping down their throats, but he was just a little high strung. The trio would just have to deal.
The entire half hour that he spent in the shower were stressful instead of relaxing. The more time he spent away from his brother, the more anxious he got. What if something happened while I'm over here? What if he wakes up and thinks I didn't bother to look in on him? What if there is something wrong with him? The more what-if's his frazzled brain conjured up, the more scared he got. Which was an extremely unusual feeling. He didn't normally get scared. The last time, he thought, was when Ginny had been taken down into the Chamber of Secrets. Nearly two or three years ago. And before that, the last time had to be when he and George were seven and George got himself lost in the forest beyond their house and Fred couldn't find him. Other than that, Fred was fearless. Didn't care about threats from teachers, lectures from Mrs. Weasley, - wait, scratch that, Mrs. Weasley was bloody terrifying- Quidditch matches, pulling stunts...nothing. Not even when he wanted to enter the Triwizard Tournament.
But here he was now, quivering slightly with thoughts of his twin's situation. He exhaled deeply as he turned off the tap, drying himself quickly with a towel and changing into fresh clothes. Madam Pomfry couldn't possibly turn him away now.
When he emerged back into the Common Room, he made straight for the exit. But Harry stood in front of him. "Fred?" he said in a guilty tone.
"Yeah?" he responded gruffly, a little peeved that he was blocking his way.
"Look I'm..." he gave him an apologetic glance. "I feel horrible about George. I'm really sorry, it was entirely my fault. If I had only seen-"
"Did you send the Bludger at his head?" Fred interupted.
"Well, no-"
"Then you have nothing to be sorry for," Fred replied firmly, giving him a slight wink to ease the tension and tone of his voice. "Don't worry 'bout it, mate." And with that he clapped him on the shoulder and side-stepped around him, making for the Hospital Wing.
He opened the door and stepped inside, seeing a sleeping George in the exact same position as when he'd left him. It gave him a twinge of happiness that he hadn't missed George's reawakening, but it mostly made his heart plummet.
Fred rushed forward and sat himself down in front of George, watching his deep breathing. Wake up George.
"Mr. Weasley! Mr. Weasley, wake up!" an urgent but ecstatic voice broke through the ginger's foggy mind.
"Whazzamatter?" Fred mumbled, jerking out of his apparent sleep. His face had been propped up on the railings of the bed by his hand, his mouth hanging open. He barely registered that the sound had come from Madam Pomfry before he noticed what she was talking about.
"George!" he cried, leaping out of his chair to lean towards his brother's face, who had started to give the appearance that he might open his eyes.
"Mmmsemenph," George murmured incoherently, his eyelids twitching a bit before he slowly peeked upwards. His arm shot out to block the light and he seemed entirely confused.
Fred, for the first time in his life, could not speak. He simply grabbed George and pulled him into a rib-crushing hug. But George instantly wrenched himself away, looking at Fred like he lost his mind. "Uh, who're you?"
The twin ginger stared at him for a moment before he grinned the first true grin he had in a while. "Really funny, George."
George looked to his right to see who was next to him, seemingly lost. "Who's George?"
Fred rolled his eyes. "Right, we get it. You got hit on the head. Give it up."
"Oh dear," Madam Pomfry breathed. Fred shot her a curious look as George narrowed his eyes accusatorily at him. "He...doesn't seem to remember anything."
"What is going on?" George demanded, obviously frustrated. But he suddenly grabbed his bandaged head, moaned, and fell back against his pillow. Fred whipped his head worriedly to his brother to find him pale and clearly in pain.
"He...doesn't remember a thing?" Fred gaped. "Nothing?"
"George, what's the last thing you remember?" Madam Pomfry asked the boy in the bed gently.
"Why do you keep calling me George?" the ginger snapped. "I don't ruddy know who George is."
Fred's eyes went wide. "Oh dear," Madam Pomfry repeated unhappily. "His entire memory is gone."
It took a full two hours to persuade George Weasley about who he was. He didn't seem too convinced about Fred being his brother until he saw the pair of them in the mirror, one face pleading, the other skeptical. However, he couldn't deny the fact that they were absolutely identical after that.
When they told him about where he was, he actually attempted to get up and leave, claiming that they were off their rocker and he was going to go find someone with a bit of sense. For some reason, Fred seemed to be able to calm him down better than Madam Pomfry. Perhaps it was due to the fact that George now knew that they were twins, whereas Madam Pomfry was just a random person. The two had to demonstrate numerous times with their wands, though, before George even allowed the idea to become an option.
"So, what you're saying is, is that I'm a twin of a family of eight, I'm a wizard going to a magic school, and I lost my memory due to an incident on a broomstick playing a game called Quidditch," George remarked in a deadpan voice. "Oh, and that our little brother is friends with a fifteen year old who's supposed to destroy the darkest wizard of all time just because he's got a wonky little lightning bolt scar on his forehead."
"Er, yeah, pretty much," Fred responded warily. He never quite realised how odd it might sound to someone who didn't remember any of these things.
George buried his face in his hands. "I am in the nut house, aren't I?"
Madam Pomfry gave him a sympathetic look. "This is all very overwhelming, I'm sure."
Fred, worn down a bit, suddenly came up with an idea. "Can't you just restore his memory?" he asked excitedly. "Like when people have the 'Obliviate' spell cast on them?"
The lady shook her head no. "I'm afraid I can't. This is brain damage, and it's not something I can fix. You'll just have to wait for the rest of his memory to return on its own."
"But it will return, won't it?" Fred demanded. He didn't care if he sounded rude; he wanted his brother back.
It scared him a bit when she didn't answer.
"Can I go now?" George interupted, seeming cross. "Or are you two not done talking about me like I'm not in the room?"
"Can you stand?" Fred asked him cautiously, keeping his concerned face on.
"Yes, I can bloody well stand," he retorted, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and launching himself up. However, he swayed dangerously and nearly toppled over when Fred caught him.
"Obviously you can't," he remarked, almost amusedly.
George glowered at him, and Fred couldn't remember a time when he had been this furious with him. It pained him to see it. "I'm leaving," he growled, trying to get away from his brother's grasp.
"And where exactly would you go?" Fred inquired angrily. "You couldn't even remember your own blasted name." He ran a hand through his hair, and his expression instantly softened. "Just let me help you, George," Fred pleaded. "Stop jumping down my throat. I didn't do anything."
George sighed, sitting back on his bed and suddenly looking weak and vulnerable. "You'd be frustrated too if people you didn't know started telling you all these things and you didn't remember a damn thing about them."
Fred winced at his words. People he didn't know. "We grew up together," he said quietly. "We're brothers and best friends and could basically read each other's minds. We pull pranks, scrape a few good marks to advance on to the next year, and annoy the hell out of people. But they love us because we're funny. We're both Beaters on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and we've never been separated for more than a few hours." He looked imploringly into George's face, who had his eyes directed downward. "You know me, George."
The ginger said nothing, playing with his bedsheets and careful to keep his eyes as far away from Fred's as possible. "Come on," Fred finally continued. "I'll show you around."
It was highly unusual for Fred to have to guide his twin along behind him, clutching at his wrist so he wouldn't wonder off or fall or anything. Normally they walked together, side by side. Now, Fred was in the lead, somehow feeling more protective of him than he ever had. He glared at the passer-bys who gave them odd looks, as if daring them to say anything. Which, thankfully for them, no one did. Any remark about their abnormal behaviour would result in a swift kick to the you-know-where.
George seemed incredibly uncomfortable having his hand held by someone who, according to him, he only met a little while ago. Someone who apparently turned out to be his twin brother. However, he figured it was probably a good idea since every few feet he either almost tripped or wanted to go in a different direction to take a closer look at something, his eyes wide with awe. But Fred's hand was always there to tug him back to reality. Apparently he had somewhere specific in mind.
The identical ginger in front of him led him up what seemed like an endless flight of stairs (all of which seemed to move sporadically, scaring the knickers off of George) and up to a large portrait. George gave Fred an incredulous look. "You dragged me up all those steps to show me a painting?"
Fred smirked before reciting the password. His brother jumped horribly, nearly shouting, "Bloody hell!" when the Fat Lady moved and swung the door open. George caught his breath before giving Fred a hard look. "Git."
He grimaced, forgetting how sensitive and distrusting this new George was, before he replied honestly, "Sorry. I'll warn you next time."
George didn't answer and simply walked in, mildly surprised to find a roaring fire and several comfortable-looking chairs on the red carpet. And that there were three younger people pouring over what looked like homework. "Where are-?"
"George!" they all seemed to cry at once, spotting him instantly and running towards him. Fred was helpless to stop them from squeezing the life out of him as their words all seemed to jumble together.
"Alright, alright you lot, let'em breathe," Fred shooed them off. "And before you ask any questions," he continued, seeing Ron open his mouth. Both Fred and George exchanged looks and braced themselves. "He, well...he can't remember anything."
George glanced down at his feet, shuffling them a bit. He really didn't want the whole world to know, but what was he going to do if someone he supposedly knew came up to them and he just stood there like an idiot?
"You mean he can't remember the accident," Hermione clarified.
"No," Fred replied gruffly. "I mean, he can't even remember who he is."
"But that's rubbish," Ron declared, his eyes bouncing between the twins. "Ain't it, George?"
He looked mightily uncomfortable and gave Fred a Who are they? glance. Everyone saw it, however, and simply stared at him with their mouths open. George's eyes turned into slits and said irritatingly, "Planning on catching flies?" He stormed off, going up (thankfully) the right staircase to the boy's dormitory.
Fred gave the three of them apologetic looks before running after his twin. "Oi! George, where're you going?"
"I don't bloody know!" he yelled back, and when Fred caught up to him he found George lying on his back on a seventh year named Terry Silcur's bed. His hands were over his face and he seemed ready to jump out a window.
"George," Fred said softly, coming to sit beside him. "Are you alright?" Stupid question, you prat. Does he look alright?
"No," came George's sad and lonely muffled voice. "I don't know where I am and I don't remember anyone! I barely know who I am!"
Fred tentatively placed a hand on his brother's arm, wishing the sorrow in his twin's tone to vanish at his touch. "Hey, it'll be okay. You're not alone, you know," he assured him gently. "I'll help you relearn everything you've forgotten. Soon, you'll be back to being the same old pain in the arse we all know and love." He grinned at the end of his sentence, happily seeing a small amused smile form on George's face from underneath his hands.
"I don't even know how long that's going to take, Fred." George finally said, his face still hidden, smile vanishing. That was the first time he had acknowledged Fred's name. "I'll only be a burden, and Merlin knows if I'll ever be the same anyways," he finished dejectedly.
"You will be the same," Fred nearly growled. "I swear to you, you will be exactly the way you were before, and if not, I'll die trying." He was not going to give up on him, especially now when he needed him most.
The corner of George's mouth twitched. "Seems dramatic."
"Dramatic's my middle name," Fred laughed, and he was thankful to see George reveal his face again.
"Was I...were we good, you know, at jokes?" George asked after a few moments, sounding uncharacteristically feeble.
"The best," he replied proudly. "We aren't named the Kings for nothing."
George smiled the first real smile Fred had seen on his face, and it delighted him to see it.
"Oh, and by the way," Fred added, hearing footsteps on the stairs. "That's not your bed."