Chapter Ten

Close and Far

He was following the twin into the woods again.

Although George had seen this before, there was still an alien feel to the dream.

The lonely twin clutched something in his hand, but George couldn't make it out. The trees were tall and old, but the Prewett twin seemed to be following a familiar path. George craved for more, something more to the dream than Gideon or Fabian taking a stroll. He was fully aware that this was a dream, and was half-tempted to wake himself up if nothing more helpful was depicted.

A tree with a face-sized knot.

Suddenly, another image was interspersed with this dream. It was the Stone. The stone flashed up for a mere second.

A birch with a lowered limb.

An old, weathered hand. It was damaged, black, burnt he noticed now…

A thick bush.

A white, marble tomb…

The twin was moving on, moving towards a gnarled, twisted tree stump. He was stopping. Was this important at all?! What did this have anything to do with-

A final, angry flash revealed an image. A shiny, round object- gold with limply fluttering wings. A snitch.

George felt the world of sleep rushing away from under him…

George woke up. Things had suddenly snapped into place.

Of course…

He hadn't paid much attention to the beginning flashes of his previous dreams. An old, weathered hand- a withered hand, really… Dumbledore's withered hand before he died. Seeing the tomb in this dream had finally clued him onto that. Dumbledore had had the Stone. He had worn it as a ring.

George could now picture it perfectly in his mind. To think… the Stone had been right there. If only he had known before; if only he could go back in time and…

Well. What a silly idea. If he were capable of going back in time, he could just as easily save Fred as he could get the Stone off of Dumbledore.

But of course, that didn't matter. The last image of his dream had given him the final answer, the answer that a certain person had not relinquished.

The snitch. Two summers past, on Harry Potter's seventeenth birthday, he had passed around a table a snitch that would not open. Nearly every member of the Weasley family had held it between their hands, had marveled at why on earth Albus Dumbledore would leave his prodigal boy such a perplexing gift. It seemed obvious now; the snitch was just large enough to enclose the Stone.

George had held it in his hands. He had held the Stone, cased within a few inches of gold, in his very own hands.

He continued to piece it all together... So Harry had received the Stone. What was it he had said to Ginny on Christmas Eve?

"…That and the fact that he never had control of the Elder Wand, or any of the other Hallows…"

It was Harry who won the wand. Harry owned that Invisibility Cloak. Now, George knew, he also had been in possesion of the Stone.

Harry had been the Master of the Deathly Hallows, and it was Harry who knew where, at this very moment even, the Stone of Resurrection could be found.

At this point, George didn't even stop to wonder why his dreams hadn't revealed this to him sooner. Nor did he even stop to blink at the other pieces of his dreams, the pieces where the Prewetts seemed to be irrelevantly placed. George did not even stop to glance at either clock.

George simply dressed as quickly as he could. His entire body was near rigid at the fact that he was closer than ever to getting Fred back. His mind thought of nothing else than what he had to do to get the Stone.

I am so close…

That scene was playing through his mind over and over. He held the Stone in his hands and Fred would appear…

It was really happening. He was really going to bring back Fred!

All he had to do was get through Potter.

He was rushing down the stairs madly. The shop already had customers, which meant that he was, indeed, late once more. It didn't matter. It didn't matter that Chrys nearly ducked behind a tower of packages for fear of him, or that Verity glowered behind the register, intent on ignoring him completely.

His moody gloom from yesterday's events didn't even remain as a shadow on his mind. He had one goal and one goal only; nothing else mattered.

"I'll be back!" He knew his voice sounded oddly cheery, not quite spot on. The tangle of excitement and nerves- the joy, the fear- was playing with his vocal chords. As he trotted out of the shop he noticed his hands trembling with eagerness. Or perhaps it was the cold? He had forgotten his traveling cloak, but it didn't matter.

The assurance of the future filled him with embers of confidence. He was warmed by his visions of Fred by his side once more… His heart almost felt like it had its other half back, already.

But he wasn't a fool. He knew there was one, huge obstacle standing in his way yet. He had to get Harry to tell him where the Stone was. Harry had to cave in, first… He began to grow itchy with nerves.

George found himself Apparating- found himself standing at the steps of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

He didn't want to bother with the heavy knocker, but what else could he do?

Perhaps it was just luck, or George liked to think that it was the same force of destiny that guided his dreams, but Harry Potter was, in fact, home that morning and answered the door. And, apparently, he was alone. Now Hermione to silence Harry, no Ron to distract him...

"George?" It wasn't a very welcoming greeting.

George found himself shooting past Harry into the warmth of the former Order headquarters. For a second he glanced around; it seemed like a completely different place from the Grimmauld Place he used to know. The floors were shining, and neither dust fleck or spider web clung to the wall. It held a dark quality that it would probably never escape, but it was spick and span. Kreacher had certainly done a job with this place…

George recovered within seconds, and faced Harry. "You need to tell me about the Resurrection Stone."

Harry's brows furrowed.

"George," He began. "I've already told you that the Hallows-"

"I don't care about the Hallows!" George cried. "I could care less about being a Master of Death, if that's what you think I am chasing down. The only thing I care about is using the Resurrection Stone to get my twin back!"

Harry looked as though he had been hit by a surprise surge of that electricity stuff that Muggles used. He had frozen; his eyes were opening behind his glasses in some understanding. Before Harry could utter a word, George spoke once more, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Harry…" He pleaded. "You don't know what it's like. It's like… my other half is gone. It's like half of me is missing. It hurts every time I look in the mirror- heck, it hurts nearly every moment of every day. I had to go about numbing my entire personality just to keep it at bay! And then I've been having these dreams, and they've been pointing me to the Stone, and it's the one jewel of hope I have left to cling to.

"I need him back, Harry." George was begging, now. He would fall onto his knees if he had to. He didn't care how crazy he looked. He didn't care if he had to bawl like a baby before Harry cracked. He needed Harry to give him real answers, this time. "I need him, and I know that you know how to get to that Stone."

Harry was silent for a moment. George had struck gold, he was sure. Harry's eyes were filled with sympathy, with a tired, painful comprehension. George was too afraid to take a breath until Harry would say something, anything. He was afraid that even the smallest movement of particles in the air would somehow alter Harry's decision.

Thankfully, Harry did speak, before George fainted due to lack of oxygen, as well.

"I know, George…" Harry sighed. "Dumbledore gave it to me so that I could talk to my parents before I had to sacrifice myself to Voldemort."

George was bewildered, and not because Harry had sacrificed himself or whatever, either. "You used it? You actually got it to work? What was it like?"

Harry shook his head. "It isn't what you think, George. I spoke to them, and Sirius, and Lupin. They were there for me when I needed them, but they weren't… back, you know? No one but me could see or hear them, and they weren't quite solid or ghostly, either…"

"I don't care." George shrugged. The enormity of this conversation, of what it meant, was taking over him. He didn't care what they were like- he just needed Fred back. Besides… he wasn't going to 'die'. Maybe that's why they had only come back partially for Harry, because he had been preparing himself for death. He was sure Fred would come back properly for him… He had to, right?

"Dumbledore couldn't get it to work right." Harry was continuing. "I… I turned it three times over my hand, and they came. I'm not sure if that's really the right way to do it, but it worked for me."

"Why wouldn't you talk to me before? Why wouldn't you tell me this before?"

"Dumbledore wanted me to leave it, so that no one could unite the Hallows again. And I… well, I was expecting you to ask sooner or later after Christmas Eve. But I figured if I avoided you, I could stop you from obsessing over it. I can see that it accomplished just the opposite." Harry was eyeing George cautiously. "You don't look well George."

George shook it off. So what if he was a little thinner, if his eyes were a little ringed and tired? Obsessed… Verity had used that word. Lee had, too. Back then he had preferred 'determined', but now he could admit it. He was obsessed- obsessed with bringing his twin back. It didn't matter. After Fred was back, everything would be okay again, so it was all right to obsess a little, wasn't it?

Who cares? He thought. I'm too far in now. I am too close, and nothing can stop me from bringing Fred back…

"Harry, I need to know where it is." George pressed.

At this, Harry looked sheepishly at the ground. "Remember when Hagrid brought me out at the Battle and you all thought I was dead?"

"Yes."

"I was in the forest near there. I was where Voldemort and the Death Eaters had set up camp in there. I dropped it before I got there."

"You mean…?"

"It's somewhere in the forest."

George's stomach gave a dip. In the Forbidden Forest. The Forest was huge.

Is that really going to hold you back from getting your brother? A voice inside him demanded. Pathetic!

The voice was right. He would search every inch of the Forest if he needed to- even if it took years. He prayed it wouldn't; his desperation would kill him by then. But, nothing was too much to bring back Fred…

He told Harry this.

Harry cast him a weary, pleading glance. "George… please. Don't get pulled in too far to this. If you don't find it, or it doesn't work, or…"

"I will find it and it will work." George had no doubts at all.

"George… I know this may sound dumb, but… When you go looking for the Stone, and even if you find it? Please, just, don't do anything stupid. Don't broadcast it out to people. Be careful and be smart about it all, okay? …Loosing one Weasley twin is awful enough."

Did Harry seriously think he was going to kill himself like that bloke from the story? George shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't I know it… And yes, I promise, whatever, whatever…"

Harry almost smiled. Almost. George had made his way back to the door. He had one or two more things he had to do…

"And George?" Harry caught him before he could escape.

"Yes, Harry?"

"If… well, if you do see Fred, could you let him know we all miss him, too?"

George felt his throat tighten. It was really happening, wasn't it? He was going to see his twin again. The fact that even Harry was acknowledging this only bolstered his anticipation. He nodded, and was off.

With each pulse, each breath, George's excitement grew. It was really happening. He was so close; he could practically hear his brother's laughing voice again.

He stopped for quick lunch at some café. He couldn't even remember what he was eating; his mind was so far off. He found himself wandering Diagon Alley, much like a few mornings ago. This time his mind was focused, and was racing so much that nothing else registered. His mind was filled with memories of Fred; it was eager and starved for memories they would soon make together.

When he finally made his way back to the shop, it was nearly evening. The shop was empty except for his two assistants.

Verity met him in a blank tone, "I'm taking tomorrow off, too."

"Sure, sure!" George knew he should probably be a little less… happy around her. But he couldn't help it. Thoughts of Fred and the Stone now controlled his every move. Verity simply scowled before slamming the door shut behind her. It wasn't quite closing time yet, but George didn't stop her from leaving. Instead, he faced Chrys.

"I'm actually taking the day off tomorrow, as well."

Chrys's eyes widened. "Wait, but then who…?"

"You, of course." George answered. "It's been slow lately, and I think you are more than capable of handling it. If there is an emergency, you'll be able to contact me. I'll even throw in a bonus or something."

"Mr. Weasley, I just don't feel comfortable-"

"You are a lifesaver Chrys! You can leave early tonight, too, if you'd like. I think I'm going to close up now. I hope you have a lovely evening!"

Chrys didn't need telling twice. She shut her mouth and averted her nervous eyes before tracing Verity's steps out the door.

A smile was plastered onto George's face. He spent the remainder of his evening composing a letter to one Minerva McGonnagal.

"I'd like to ask your permission to visit the grounds tomorrow morning around 9…" Yes, she'd like that. A Weasley twin asking permission… Who would have ever thought?

"I need some closure to my brother's death, and I feel visiting the place where he fell would…" Closure- as in, his brother's death will be closed after he found the Stone. George would reopen the door to Fred's life.

"Promise I won't be a bother… I also wanted to thank you for all your guidance and support throughout our years…" That might be a bit much. He'd better scratch that last bit. Good old Minerva had never been one for excessive flattery.

He settled for a postscript he thought summed it up, instead. "P.S. I wanted to formally apologize for the mayhem we caused when we were students; especially when we used your one tartan hat as a carrier explosive of Dung Bombs our Second Year. Anything I can do to replace damage we caused over the years would be a pleasure." Tartan: her weak spot.

He filled in a few more sentences, checked his spelling, and sent it off via Post Owl to Hogwarts. If all went as planned, Fred would be back in less than 24 hours from now.

It was thrilling to know how close he was. His mind, his body, his soul had all been tortured these past months- especially this last one. To think he was solving his dreams, repairing all his less physical wounds in less than 24 hours…

He wanted to laugh. At Harry. At his mother. At Percy and Bill and Charlie. At Lee. At Verity. They were all about to be proven wrong. His obsession wouldn't be fruitless. They would love him, adore him, and thank him for bringing Fred back.

More importantly than gaining satisfaction, Fred would just be back. He would be George's magic cure-all… George would be able to face living the right way again- without numbness, without obsession, without pain…

George laid in bed, in the dark, for what seemed like hours. His mind was busy, and his blood was anxious. He was itching with nerves, anticipation, excitement, joy…

And as George finally drifted off to sleep that night, he knew that he was so close to solving it all. So, so close. The only question was… how much farther did he have to go? He decided it didn't matter. He would go as far as he could until Fred was here with him once more…

((Okay- we are back in business! We're getting near the end here, folks! It is also back-to-school time, which means I am in a flurry of last-minute summer essays, so I cannot guarantee daily updates. However, I definitely plan to finish this before the school year begins- so within these next two weeks. I'm interested to know what you all think is going to happen, if you guys are picking up on my awfully placed clues or not… Anyways, your reviews continuously boost my morale, and yet again, I thank you!!))