George Weasley

Courage is found in unlikely places.

"The Fellowship of the Ring" JRR Tolkien,

By: Blonde Pickle Mule (Bridget)

He was mildly surprised when everything was Red and Gold. Faded Gryffindor hangings clung to the walls, old enough they'd almost fused with the pale stone despite Severus Snape's stay here. In the background silver machines whirred and clicked, one particularly captivating with an orb of silver smoke rising and falling on violet waves.

With a sigh George sat with his back against the Head's desk, eyes tingling with suppressed salty tears. Everything was so bleak, so empty. Every time he reached out there was nothing, just the familiar blackness that rose up to meet him, robbing him of anything and everything. He couldn't feel couldn't think...without him there was nothing. Everywhere he was, George was. That was the way it had always been, the way it was always meant to be. Twins weren't meant to be alone...and yet he was and there wasn't anything he could do to change it. It was as if Fred had taken him into death with him, leaving him with nothing of himself but slow, halting thoughts and tears that seemed to burn through everything else. There was nothing else. Raw emotion tore him up from the inside, an aching feeling building up in his chest as ragged sobs ripped from a tired body that wanted nothing more than to shut down. What was the point anymore, if he was alone?

Alone. George had never been alone before. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth, like a child's first sip of wine. His death was like the blunt blow of an axe, so painful he could barely breathe. Both twins had known the day would come when they weren't under the same roof anymore, but did it really have to happen like this? That Fred would be ripped away from him in a tug so fierce it had brought George's whole world crashing at his feet? When he wasn't crying, in pain or screaming he was numb. He felt nothing but his own pain, saw nothing but Fred where Fred wasn't able to stand.

He wished more than anything that there was someone to reach out to, that could understand. But who could even begin to realise what he was going through? He hadn't just lost a brother- he'd lost a part of himself, they were two parts of a whole. Without a Fred there was no George; that was just the way it worked. The moment he found out his twin was dead would forever be scorched into his memory. There was that single moment of disbelief before a tidal wave of shock and an icy coldness that spread from his heart right through his body. Holding Fred in his arms hadn't seemed real.

Slowly the reality set in. He wasn't a twin anymore, he didn't have a double. He was singular just like everybody else. Did everyone else feel this lonely? There was nobody there to know exactly what he was thinking, to know exactly what he was about to say. George's whole mind felt empty, like it was missing a familiar presence. He felt like a ghost, stuck where he was but not quite there.

The cool wood of the desk soothed his flushed cheeks, a welcome night-time breeze blowing through the busted window. Absently mindedly he picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans, a hollow feeling sinking into his stomach. The stars were out tonight, brighter than they had been for a while. The sky was completely cloudless, leaving miles upon miles of stars and a crescent moon basking in the inky depths. For the first time since Fred's death George felt a semblance of peace. At least something stayed the same in this cruel, unforgiving world. No matter how many times clouds went by you always knew there would be another, no matter how many times the moon changed you knew it was going to do it.

Almost unconsciously as he sat there, George began to pick out constellations. He remembered clearly one evening in August when he was about six years old when the whole family had headed out into the Quidditch field and their parents had taught them about the sky. Fred had liked to trace the patterns and pictures depicted in the heavens while George had preferred to name the individual spheres of light.

Sirius, the dog-star had always been his favourite- smallest but brightest in a massive sea of bodies. He'd always wanted to be like Sirius in that way. George's brown eyes sought the star now, resting his arms across his raised knees. There it was, just as normal as ever. It was nice to have something that didn't change.

Staring at the tiny flickering light, George saw himself in the pin-prick of white light, barely there but just holding on. It reflected everything somehow, all that they'd fought for, everything that they'd achieved. At first it was the resistance, struggling feebly to hold the wizarding world together as it fell to the chilling blackness Voldemort seemed to emit more every time he breathed. Then the light changed to the tiny dregs of hope they'd all felt earlier that day at the beginning of the fight, as freedom had slowly soaked the atmosphere. Then it was balance, trying to be maintained in the whirlwind of emotions that was the end of a war, some drowning in the pain of losing everything, others flying with the euphoria of victory. Most felt a balance of both, feeling both the burning pain and the cooling joy. Last of all George saw himself, struggling to take another breath.

Then he saw Fred, frowning at him in worry in his mind's eye. Struggling to take another breath. His twin would be horrified. George remembered Fred's own personal little motto in life, one he'd lived up to spectacularly. "If you can't laugh George, then you've lost yourself." He couldn't disappoint Fred now. There was a warm swelling in George's chest, the first feeling that hadn't been pain since Fred had died. Fred would never stand to see him looking like this- he'd have done something drastic long before now. And since they were twins and did things for each other, George supposed he would have to do the drasticness for him. Wearily he got to his feet and pressed himself against the windowsill. He was still in pain of course, he wasn't sure that would ever change (or that he wanted it to; it was one thing for your twin to die, but to get used to be alone...) but he had to do this. He had to live- for Fred.

Sirius still twinkled cheerfully down at him from its place in the heavens and George nodded to himself. It was an unlikely place to find courage, a star, but since when had the Weasley Twins ever been predictable? The young man peeled himself away from the window and turned to leave the office, throwing a last glance over his shoulder.

Living- George could do that.