Another chapter, a bit longer than I'd expected. Please read the A/N at the end, okay?

Thanks so much to my faithful reviewers, MBP, Bad Mum, love you! ;)

So well, here we go again!


9. Saint-like

When George woke up the next morning, he needed a couple of minutes to get things straight again. Some part of him thought that everything had been a dream, the graveyard at night, Alicia, and the falling star. But there was this scent lingering in his shirt, so familiar and yet unknown, and only slowly did the memories come back – them sitting on the bench, his head at her shoulder, or her head at his? He didn't remember, maybe it was a bit of both. And well, it didn't matter anyway.

He got out of bed, yawning, and went over to the window – he had made a habit of looking down onto the street every morning. The view never really changed, though. But perhaps that was what he liked about it, to have something constant, something that remained the same, no matter what happened.

A chilly wind was blowing up an old newspaper on the pavement, hunting it down the street and out of sight.

His gaze fell upon an older couple, a man and a woman, walking slowly down the alley. It was then that he remembered that he had promised his parents to visit them for breakfast. Molly had insisted on having her family around, and no one had been able to turn her down, of course. George knew the reason, but he didn't want to think about it. He had developed a talent for ignoring all kinds of unwanted thoughts. Unfortunately it never protected him from facing the truth.

He dressed up quickly and flattened his hair with both hands, trying to give himself a somewhat decent look. It was difficult to do that without seeing – but if he had to choose between risking to have his mother tend to his hair, or look into a mirror, he definitely prefered the first. It still hurt, and somehow having only one ear instead of two didn't make a difference after all. Intuitively his hand flew up to the side of his head, he could feel the hole underneath his hair, and he wondered if it would ever feel normal. There used to be a time, he reminded himself, when he had gotten used to it. A time of jokes, of daring plans and light-hearted days. And now all that was left was another hole, the one he would never get used to.

Holey… holy… saint-like…

For a moment he was back on the old sofa at The Burrow, feeling dizzy and disorientated, not seeing anything, but hearing Fred's words through the darkness.

"What's wrong with him?"

It hadn't been the words, but the obvious fear in his twin's voice that had made him open his eyes. Neither he nor Fred had known that there would come a day when there would really be something wrong. The kind of wrong that couldn't be fixed with some incantation and a smile and a stupid joke.

George clenched his fists and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate only on the place he wanted to go to. He had been a master at Apparition, and besides the fact that it was unnerving to land at the wrong places, it was also something he knew Fred would make fun of. And he definitely didn't want that.


When he opened his eyes again, he was standing at the door of The Burrow. He quickly looked down at himself. No splinching. He smiled slightly, and in that moment the door opened and his father stared at him in surprise. George realized that it was most probably the first time since what seemed like an eternity that he smiled at home. But if Arthur noticed that, too, he didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled his son into a brief hug.

"I'm glad you came, George", he said.

George didn't reply. He wasn't sure yet if he was just as glad, so he simply nodded.

Side by side they went into the house, where Molly was already waiting.

"George!", she shouted, rushing over to her son, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she backed away, giving him a scrutinizing look. George knew that she fought hard to act normal, and the way she started to fuss about his hair was almost convincing. But her eyes still gave her away – her eyes, that never really met his. In 20 years he had learned that someone's look could hurt you – but now he had to learn that someone not looking you in the eye could hurt even more.

While he was still wondering about that, two figures appeared from the garden, and a second later Charlie and Percy were standing in the kitchen, too. Percy seemed to hesitate, insecure about how to greet his brother. Appearantly he still felt a little bit uncomfortable with his whole family around, and George couldn't blame him. Finally they just shook hands, and both knew that it was okay. Charlie hugged George and held him a split second longer than he had to, muttering with his voice muffled against his brother's shoulder: "You okay, kiddo?"

"Have to, huh?", he whispered, then said in a louder voice, "Don't call me 'kiddo', will ya?"

Charlie grinned and punched George on the chest.

"As long as I'm taller than you, I can call you whatever I like."

"What do you think I should call you, then?", a familiar voice made them turn round. Bill was beaming at Charlie, his look contradicting his mocking words. Even before turning to George, Bill embraced his oldest brother. George couldn't understand what they were saying to each other, but somehow he knew that this was intentional. Bill was pressing his lips a bit too tightly, Charlie was looking too worried, and George decided that it was something only between the two of them. He remembered the day he had turned up at Shell Cottage, and he sighed silently as he thought that Bill was still the hardest to reveal his emotions. If anyone – besides Fleur – could make him feel better, it had to be Charlie.

"Where's Ginny?", Mrs Weasley asked, looking round in the room. "And Ron?"

"Comin', mum!", Ron's voice could be heard from somewhere above. He had to be in his bedroom, and George had the distinct notion that his delay had something to do with the owl he had just seen fly away. There were hurried steps on the stairs, and then Ron was there, cheeks flushed, his lips forming the kind of smile that was so seldomly visible, only appearing whenever Hermione was near, fading quickly when the invisible demons began to haunt him again. For George knew that they did, and Ron wasn't the only one who was still fighting against them. They all were.

"You haven't started yet?", Ron asked in surprise, looking at the table. "Thanks for waiting!" Saying that, he sat down at the table and reached for the toast. "Ouch!", he yelled as Bill flicked his wand at his direction, and a thin silver jet of light hit Ron's hand, making him drop the toast immediately. "What was that for?"

"We are waiting for Ginny, you idiot", George said, chuckling. No matter how much he liked to see his younger brother smile – that look upon his face was even better.

But to Ron's luck they didn't have to wait long. Ginny rushed into the kitchen, her hair tousled, and she had to take some deep breaths before she was finally able to greet her family.

"Sorry Mum, I know I'm late, but there was something wrong with the Flying Bus and…"

"It's okay dear", her mother said lovingly. "Just sit down."

The others followed that order, too, and soon they were eating. But although everybody was talking, something had changed. George couldn't quite define what it was, but there was something Fred had taken with him when he had left. Maybe it was simply the feeling of ease and comfort that was gone, the feeling that had always made the house their home, the place they would go to when everything broke apart. Now nothing was easy anymore, any words could make anyone flinch and get pale, even cry.

"Why didn't Harry come here, dear?", Molly asked her daughter.

"He wanted to visit Ted", Ginny replied quietly, and suddenly everyone was silent. Ron cast down his eyes, and George could only guess that he was trying to hide the sad look that used to creep upon his face everytime the memories flooded back into their lives. He noticed his father and mother exchange quick glances, and the older man's eyes shone suspiciously. He swallowed hard to fight the lump in his throat, but just when he thought the silence would suffocate him, he heard a sound that made him freeze. Ginny was sniffing.

"Excuse me", she choked, her lower lip trembling as she spoke. She stood up hastily, and her chair fell to the floor as she left the kitchen. For a moment everybody just stared at the place where she had sat, and the only sound that penetrated the silence was a quiet sob from where his mother was sitting. Without thinking, George got up.

"George, don't you think…", Bill started, but hushed as George shook his head. He didn't know the reason, but he had the feeling that he had to do this. He just didn't know what 'this' was.


He found Ginny where he had expected her to be. He wouldn't even have needed to hear the steps on the stairs to find her.

"Hey", he muttered softly. His eyes scanned the room for no reason at all, nothing had changed up here. There was the same poster of the Holyhead Harpies on the wall, the same pile of girls magazines on the floor. But change hadn't stopped at the dor of this room, either. Ginny was sitting on her bed, her knees drawn to her chest, and she didn't look at him as he approached her. She just kept staring at a framed picture on the window sill, and George choked as he looked at it.

There they were, smiling and waving into the camera. It had been taken in Egypt, all those years ago, long before everything had started to fall apart. George opened his mouth to speak, but somehow the words he wanted to say didn't come out, and he sat down next to Ginny silently.

"Do you think we'll ever be happy again?", his little sister asked tonelessly, her eyes wet and shiny as she gazed into nothingness.

The question echoed in his head, and it hurt George nearly as much as seeing the tears on his sister's cheeks. He blinked a few times when he felt the familiar stinging in his eyes.

"We'll have to try, haven't we?", he finally said in a raspy, barely audible voice. "Fred wouldn't want…", but he couldn't continue now, and he wiped his eyes furiously. The last thing Ginny needed was her older brother burst into tears. But there was no way to hold them back, and he could taste the salty liquid as it reached the corner of his mouth.

"Damn, I'm so sick of it!", Ginny suddenly acclaimed, getting up from her bed and going over to the window. Her fists hit the glass as she pressed her forehead against the pane, and the photo fell to the floor. "I hate it! I hate it so much!" Her body was shaking, and George watched her helplessly. "I want it to stop, I just want…" Her voice broke as she began to sob, leaning against the window.

"Yeah", said George quietly, feeling the hot tears trickling on his skin. "So do I."

Ginny turned around, and seeing the pain on her face was like staring at a female reflection of himself. He got up and walked over to her, pulling her close as she broke down into his arms.

"If I knew a way to get him back, believe me I'd do it. Even if…", but he couldn't finish that sentence, he hadn't even known that it had existed. And he surely didn't want to think about it, let alone tell Ginny. But she didn't seem to have listened anyway.

"People are staring at me", she whispered into his shoulder. "I can hear them whispering, and they give me that look… and they won't talk to me, but then again they talk about Fred, about Harry, about the battle, how he's such a hero… and they don't understand… they just don't understand…" Her sobs were muffled against his sweater, but her words struck him like a curse.

"I'm sure they do…"

"They don't!", she rejected angrily. "They… they don't know that… they only think about themselves… they don't know that Harry…"

Her voice trailed off, and George didn't push her to say anything else. It wasn't his right to know, not unless she told him. So he waited, and his sister didn't let him down. He could tell that she wanted to talk to someone, that she was hurting in more than one way, more than most of her classmates could ever imagine.

"They don't hear him muttering in his sleep. They don't know how he's feeling – damn, even I don't know exactly how he's feeling!" She let out a shaky breath. "They don't have the faintest idea of how it feels like for me. To hear them saying Fred's name, and then shut up when they see me. To hear them praising Harry for what he's done, without thinking that maybe he doesn't feel like such a hero at all, he's not that tough, he doesn't want to be praised as if he was saint-like…"

George stiffened, and only then did Ginny seem to realize what she had just said.

"Oh George, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay", he forced himself to say. It had to be okay.

"I want it to stop", she whispered. "Everything's so wrong since…"

"Yeah", said George, staring at the black and white picture on the floor, at the broken fragments scattered around it. It would be hard to put the pieces back together. "It is."

For a moment they remained in their embrace, brother and sister, lost in their own thoughts, knowing that they weren't alone with their sorrows.

"Ginny?", George asked softly. "Do you remember how the stars sparkle above Hogwarts?"

"Sure", she answered, her voice sounding slightly surprised. "You see them best from the Astronomy Tower."

George nodded, fighting hard to not let the memories overwhelm him again at the thought of Hogwarts.

"If you ever… feel sad…" Somehow it was nearly impossible to speak now. "Just go up there and… look at the stars." It sounded foolish. But well, he couldn't take back the words, could he, no matter how embarassing it was to tell his little sister to gaze at the sky at night.

"Okay", Ginny simply said, in an almost clear voice. She glanced at him, the tears still visible on her face. "I will."

They parted, still looking at each other. And George could see in her eyes that she needed him just as much as he needed her, someone to hold her when she was losing ground, giving her something neither her mother nor Harry could give.

"George?"

Her voice was getting stronger again, and he was thankful for that, because he didn't know how long he'd be able to find the strength to hold both of them. He looked at her, and she returned it with a mixture of anxiety and sisterly affection.

"When we go to… visit Fred", and at this point her voice started to quiver again, but not as much as before, "when we go there, will you…"

"Yes", George said. "I will."

He would hold her as long as she needed him to. He knew that. He only didn't know who'd be there to hold him when the wind would blow so fiercely between the tombstones in Ottery St. Catchpole on that cold All Saints' Day.


A/N: You know, the day after Halloween is All Saints' Day. I'm not religious myself, but I still like the tradition we have here in Germany. On that day we go to the graves of the persons we've lost and light candles for them. I don't know how you do it in Britain or America, though, but just imagine the Weasley family planning to do exactly this, okay? (Just in case I will not write about it, although I'm quite sure I will.) Oh and Harry will get his part, too, I just haven't figured out when.