"Hermione, please take it careful," Ron said, his face contorting in pain as he attempted to jog up the hill after the curly-haired woman, slipping and sliding in the icy snow despite her lack thereof the same difficulty. Still, he called out to his best friend with nothing but concern in his tone, "You've got to take things carefully!"
Hermione turned around, simply so that Ron could see the roll of her eyes.
"For God's sake, Ronald, I'm pregnant, not disabled," she huffed irritably, unaware of the hand she rested upon her bulging stomach, her cheeks red from the exertion and cold.
Despite the fact that he, personally, was actually in agreement with Ron in this case, George had learned long before that there was no possible way for him to dissuade Hermione from doing what she willed, as she was stubborn when she wasn't pregnant—with child; she was a force of reckoning, and so George, whom was far too used to arguments he wasn't going to win, simply reached out and clapped his youngest brother on the shoulder, shaking his head.
"No point, mate," George said in a hoarse whisper, "Let her tire herself out. I'll simply have to carry her back."
Hermione, whom was not far enough not to hear him, glared at her love.
"I was also not rendered deaf," she snapped at them before she turned around with an angry grunt, continuing up the steep hill, her snow boots pushing through the snow with a small degree of difficulty. The snow was really piling up this season, and even now, it was snowing; snowflakes getting caught in the tangle of hair that cascaded from her thick, sloppily hand-knitted pink hat (courtesy of Ginny). Her hands, covered in thick gloves, were placed atop her stomach, in which George was more than aware that his child developed within her.
George couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head again, this time in amusement.
"My darling," he crooned, earning himself a stiff middle finger thrown over her shoulder, making him chortle.
Ron sighed. "She's going to pop," he argued still.
Ginny laughed. "At this point, that's all she wants," she said cheerily, "The baby is already a week late, Ron."
"Not uncommon," Bill chipped in with a smirk of his own, one arm draped around Fleur, the other supporting the baby Victoire, whose blonde locks were hidden under the thick woolen layers that her loving paternal grandmother had docked her with before daring to allow the baby out of her doors. She gurgled happily, however, apparently more than aware of the happiness of her surrounding family, her hands waving like some sort of marshmallow creature. Fleur grinned happily at her daughter, rubbing her fabric-covered cheek with a gloved finger.
"George an' Fred were weeks late themselves," Charlie chirped from behind Bill, poking at Harry's ass cheekily while the younger wizard carried the toddler Teddy Lupin upon his shoulders, who wore not nearly as many layers as the youngest Weasley in attendance, but still a heavy amount to his godfather's own worrying tendencies. Teddy had his hands wrapped up in Harry's messy bed of hair, which the man hadn't even bothered to cover with a hat, as he'd known his godson would simply just removed the hat and proceeded to tangle his pudgy little fingers in his hair anyways.
"Caused Mum and Dad quite the headache," Percy noted before adding, "As I've been told." He'd come straight from the Ministry to meet them—he'd even left work early for a change. He'd really begun to try harder as of the past few years, when it came to his family, something George really appreciated. He wanted his own little one to have a closeness with all of her—or his, but he was really holding out for a little girl here; he was really in love with the idea of a little girl with Hermione's face—family.
Ron shrugged.
"Still," he contested stubbornly, but didn't continue the thought, as he began to jog after Hermione when he lost sight of her at the top of the hill, slipping and sliding around in the snow that no others had difficulty navigating through, his thick furry, ear-covering hat nearly coated with snow by the time he got to the top, shouting Hermione's name as he went, cursing her all the while. Whilst his anxiety would lead him towards the belief that, perhaps, Ron still possessed romantic feelings for his witch, he knew better. Ron and Hermione had the closeness of siblings with a love to match, and so George knew that any concern he was exhibiting was purely one simply to keep her safe and her baby from harm, which George appreciated more than he let on.
The rest of the clan took their time in their trek up the hill, seeing no reason to rush whatsoever. What they were going to see wasn't about to start moving, anyways.
It was a small tradition that the younger Weasleys had begun only two years before, in the winding days of the calendar year, in which they'd arm themselves with presents and wine and flowers and trek up the hill about a half-mile away from the Burrow, up to the little spot at its top where they had chosen to bury Fred rather than at the spot offered for him in Godric's Hollow amongst the heroes of Gryffindor, as it was a space that Fred and George and all of their siblings had often found themselves to play during long afternoons free of chores. With the Burrow in sight to the south, and the grassy lands over their childhood home all around, it was a place that had been the only logical option. That hill had represented an expansive world, for them; beyond that of their home, bringing to their lives freedom and a chance of adventure—why not bury him there, so he could be in such a place always?
Fred's headstone was simple beyond compare, and yet adequately fit his personality with the inscribing of some of the words of the twins' childhood heroes—of course, the Marauders. George couldn't help but let his fingers drift across the inscribing of his brother's full name that stretched across the top half of the dark grey rock of his headstone, smiling fondly now. He still missed him, every single day, but every single day, that hurt left in his wake faded just the slightest bit. He knew it'd be years, maybe a whole century before the hurt completely faded, but it was just enough now that he could smile despite his sadness. Hermione, whom had, of course, gotten there well before him, put a hand on George's shoulder, having done virtually the same thing; tears in her own eyes as she looked at the grave.
Before long, the little hilltop was crowded with voices; talking at their Fred as they told them about their year, about the happenings of that year, about Dad's promotion at the Ministry, about Mum's newest ranting. All were in various states of happy and sad alike, as they all missed their brother dearly, but all having grown enough to know that they couldn't mourn him forever. It was true that he had been stolen from them far too early, but it was also true that he'd lived for himself a full life already, and, not only that, had loved them as they loved him. They weren't happy that he was gone, really—but had grown to accept it as best as they could, and were making do with the best they could—as they only could, and had almost all their respective lives.
George watched his family with affectionate eyes, watching as Ginny and Harry talked to Teddy about Fred, watching as Fleur and Bill showed the curious little Victoire the headstone of her late uncle, watching as Charlie and Ron laughed together whilst Percy stood awkwardly beside them with a happy grin upon his face—he watched not to see, but to feel, to remember the moment for all its glory and to never let it go. He refused to let his life become a batch of missed moments and forgotten memories—he couldn't afford to; not when he had stories to tell Fred when he, himself, joined him one day, as they all would, in the eternity that would await.
Hermione wrapped an arm around George.
George smiled down at her and squeezed back.
"If he's a boy, we name him Fred," she said. A running reminder between them, as they'd decided not to learn the baby's gender as of yet, preparing themselves with a cache of names for both cases already. If it were a boy, there was not a doubt in either of their minds that their boy was being named for his late uncle. They simply just liked to say it to the other.
"If she's a girl, we name her Fred," he replied.
She wrinkled her brow, smiling anyways. "Fred's not a good name for a little girl."
"We'll make it work," he said easily, grinning before saying, "You know, there's a good chance that we could end up with twins. Runs in the family, if you'll recall."
She groaned, but she didn't seem all too disappointed about it. In fact, she was probably more than happy about it—probably because she was actually hoping for it to happen. "Well, we should probably think of more baby names, then," she said, faking frustration, "Can't name both of them Fred. Wouldn't be right. It'd be downright cruel, I figure."
"No, it wouldn't, I figure," he replied, "But we can figure it out. We can cross that bridge when we get to it." He looked at the grave, and reread the words etched onto the headstone's surface with a small smile. "I wonder how they'll be, with your brains and my humor. Kid'll be the devil of Hogwarts when they get there. Oh, I can just imagine Professor McGonnagall just instantly turning in her letter of resignation just by seeing our kid's name on the page of newborn wizards."
Hermione hummed. "That, or secretly help them with whatever devious act they pursued, as so long as they passed their classes," Hermione mused before adding, "Which they will."
"They'd better, if they got your brains," George agreed with a laugh, "But I'm gonna make sure they remember to have some fun once in a while. Don't want them thinking that studying is some sort of a good time."
Hermione made an indignant sound in response.
"It's a great time!" she argued half-heartedly, too busy laughing.
George mockingly rolled his eyes, lowering a hand down to her bulging stomach. Sure, they were a week late already, but he still figured he had time to figure out the final name—he just knew that he couldn't wait to meet them for the first time; to hold his little child in his arms. The names would come in due time and, in the long run, weren't important—what was important was that they were showered with as much affection as could be, as much as his parents did, and (if there were twins in there), that he help them form the bond that had shaped him so, because, although at times it might've hurt him—it'd been utterly necessary. To have a twin sibling is to have a partner for life; even if they left it—it meant to have someone you loved without question, no matter what the misstep they might commit, and to have someone whom you would know, without a doubt, would support you, even if they weren't even entirely aware that they were.
It was a bond George still felt he shared with Fred, and knew that he always would. It had been tried, and tested, and was still strong, still viable. It would never fade; just like the love he had for Hermione wouldn't, either.
He kissed her on her forehead. "I love you, 'Mione."
She hummed. "I love you, George." She placed a hand atop his where it still rested upon her stomach. "And I love you, Little Fred."
George brimmed with pride.
"I love you, too, Little Fred." He looked again at the headstone. "And I love you, too, Bigger Fred."
He solemnly swore he was up to no good, his headstone read for them, and he never did lie about it. And, for that, he was loved. Always loved; forever.
Thank you to all reviewers, followers, favoriters, and everyone who just casually read this story on the DL - hopefully this story was as good a ride for you as it was for me! I'm actually kinda sorry that it's over, but only because this is one of the few responsibilities that I actually enjoy (though, responsibility is not becoming of me, as you can tell by my consistently late/nonexistent updates). Sorry it took so long to finish this - and I'm also sorry for the porn. I hope you enjoy it (my brother is reading this, we all know we enjoy the porn, but when family's reading you kinda gotta apologize, lol).
I dedicate this to the great JK. I hope this is befitting of your characters, and I hope that, if you ever lay your holy vision upon my little fic, you deem it worthy of at least a small smirk of derision.
Much love, and all of yours forever, Kay Gryffin.
(Also, if you're ever on AO3, find me as KayGryffin [no spaces, kids!] Postin' Marvel works there, folks! And, if you get lucky enough, due to far less restriction and assholes with the ability to PM whenever I so much as write that character has possesses a nipple to threaten to have me removed, there may be the possibility of more porn of varying degrees of filth. Gay, Lesbian, Intergalactic, and everything in between [though I highly doubt the Intergalactic, but hey, I did try to write ClaraxDoctor porn] is valid. So go on over, search me up - I'm right there waiting for you.)
