Double or Nothing
Chapter Thirty- Five
Reality
I'll be your beacon through the darkest nights
I'll be the wings that guide your broken flight
I'll be your shelter through the raging storm
And I will love you 'till forever comes
Goodbye's the saddest word I'll ever hear
Goodbye's the last time I will hold you near
Someday you'll say that word and I will cry
It'll break my heart to hear you say goodbye
'Till we meet again…
Until then…
Goodbye
Goodbye's the Saddest Word- Celine Dion
Dedication: This chapter, and entire story, is dedicated to….you, if you have stuck with George until the very end 3
xxxXxxx
George stared into the fire, letting the warmth of the flames wash over him. He was perched on the centre of the couch in the living room, surrounded by his family. His father on one side and his mother on the other, rubbing his back affectionately and stroking his hair.
He was shivering and at the moment was very grateful for the blanket over his shoulders. He had failed to remember that it would be freezing in the snow and, in amongst all the action and hurrying he hadn't even felt the cold much. He did now, it had come rushing at him in one single wave.
Percy was sitting in the overstuffed armchair across from him and Ron perched himself on the arm, Harry and Hermione on the floor in front of them. Someone, George guessed Percy started to speak but was interrupted as Fleur floated in, her belly preceding the rest of her, Bill behind her balancing the heavy tray of cocoa.
"Here, sweetheart…" Molly held out a mug to George who smiled slightly and took it, allowing the warmth of the vessel to warm his hands.
Once all the cocoa had been accepted and Bill had seated himself on an ottoman, Fleur on his lap, Arthur cleared his throat.
"Are you sure you don't want to tell us, Georgie?"
His son looked up tiredly and shook his head "I'm sorry, Dad. I really…I can't."
"It's alright…you don't have to, my boy…we're just glad you're home…" Molly sniffled slightly and held her son close, squeezing his arm gently.
George hissed and pulled away, regretting doing so at once, but he couldn't hide that wound forever, slowly he pushed up his right sleeve, exposing the skin of his arm.
Hermione gasped, clapping her hand to her mouth and self-consciously touching her own arm whereupon was carved the filthy word "mudblood".
Molly snatched up his arm at once "Oh my boy! Who did this to you?"
"Not to mention everything else…" Ron muttered quietly.
George winced and gently pulled his arm back, taking his mug in both hands once again.
"I don't know. I honestly don't."
He hid his face in his cocoa for a moment and lowered the mug slowly, shrugging the blanket further and closer around him.
"Look, I'm alright, really. I know I don't look it…" His eyes met Bill's for a moment and he continued "But I'm alright. I just don't want to talk about anything-"
There was a knock on the door then that shattered the atmosphere in the room. Arthur got up to answer it, though reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire.
The rest of the family lapsed back into silence and all seemed intently focused upon something on either their mug or the cocoa therein. That was, until a steely voice that belonged to Arthur sounded from the front door.
xxxXxxx
"What are you doing here? Get out of my house, and take him with you!"
Arthur gritted his jaw firmly at the two people that greeted him, one a woman with a crocodile skin handbag clasped in her talon-like nails, the other a tall, grey haired main.
"Barnabus Cuffe, Mr Weasley, editor for the Daily Prophet." A deep and unfamiliar voice replied. "I have come personally to offer my condolences…"
"I shouldn't have to tell you what a real honour this is, I assure you." Rita crooned, her plastic like lips curling upwards into what was more a sneer than anything else.
"Condolences? What on earth for?" Arthur frowned, glaring at Skeeter all the while.
The editor looked rather taken aback at this and spluttered in shock "Wh-Why? Because of the loss of your son of course! Terrible news really, absolutely awful!"
Arthur stared at him for several seconds before clueing in and sighing, seeing a perfect opportunity.
"Ah yes of course…" he stood to the side to beckon them in. "Won't you come into the living room?"
Rita Skeeter brushed past him with a smug smirk on her face that she was clearly trying to pass off as pity.
Molly shot up from her position on the couch as the party entered the room.
"What is she doing here?" She demanded of her husband who winked at her and nodded at George on the couch.
The editor had removed his hat and coat and looked around solemnly at all the Weasleys.
"I must express my deepest sympathies…you all must have been through some very hard times indeed…" His green eyes alighted on each of the Weasleys in turn before passing George, looking at Molly and then doing a grand double take.
"I'm sorry, but what was it you said you were here for?" The balding, red haired man beamed, clapping a hand on the other wizard's shoulder.
The man whirled around to stare at his reporter.
"You published a story that said he was dead!"
George blinked and gaped rather untactfully "You said I was dead? Who told you I was dead?"
Rita Skeeter pointed a deep red fingernail accusingly at Percy.
"He told me…" She scowled "I'll print a retraction…"
"You bet your life you will!" Her boss glared at her, drawing himself up to his full height and turning back to the Weasleys "Imagine, printing a story claiming wrongly that a boy is dead! How much pain you might have caused!"
The look on Rita Skeeter's face was priceless and even George, who was staring at Percy, couldn't help but snort with laughter. Hermione had literally doubled over in a fit of giggles much to the shock of her very awkward boyfriend.
"I said I'll print a retraction!" Rita snapped, slightly fearful of the editor, he did after all have the power to end her job.
"And as soon as it has printed, Skeeter…" Cuffe threatened "Get your things together and LEAVE my paper!"
"You're firing me?" At the rather annoyed look on her boss' face Skeeter wisely closed her mouth, looking positively furious. With that she turned and whirled from the room in a flurry of crimson.
Barnabus Cuffe sighed and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
"I do apologize…she will be dealt with accordingly." He turned back to George who was still gaping in shock and nodded.
Grasping Arthur's hand firmly, the editor of the Daily Prophet smiled grimly.
"Pleasure, I'm sure. Now, I must leave I'm afraid."
Bowing respectfully to Molly, he turned and swept from the home in a sweep of emerald robes, leaving the front door open wide behind him.
The room was silent for several moments but for Hermione's attempts to stifle her giggles, to little avail.
George was still in disbelief about the whole ordeal and finally shifted his eyes from Percy.
"So…what just happened?"
xxxXxxx
He hit the pillow with a mercifully soft thud and sighed. Finally, after all these long months, he was back in his own soft, warm bed after having spent so long in the bath he thought for sure he would either drown or turn into a merman.
George closed his eyes for but a moment and groaned to himself. A sudden thought struck him and he, rather reluctantly, rolled from the bed and padded barefoot over to the mirror on the side of the bedroom door.
He leaned in and examined his face in the dim light. His eyes had still not, and were still far from regaining their lost light. Slowly he trailed a finger down the long scar that reached from the underside of his chin to his collarbone. Now his skin was clean and smooth he could really see the extent of the damage, bruises covered his face, the worst of which was the yellowing one alongside his right eye. Looking down, George gently pressed on the stiches, wincing slightly; his skin was far more purple, black and yellow than white now and down his side the faint evidence of his bullet wound was still visible. That was to say nothing of the vast amount of scars over him. He knew he would carry many of those, including those on his arm and neck, for the rest of his life and then some.
George's dim eyes shifted to the right of the mirror to the two pictures that, with the aid of a permanent sticking charm, he had put up. One was a photograph of the twins fast asleep and three years old, one of them slowly sticking a thumb in his mouth. The other photograph was one of Fred, eighteen years old and grinning sleepily up over a mug of what was presumably coffee.
Steadily George allowed his fingers to trail over each photograph in turn, smiling softly and genuinely to himself. Finally, dropping his hand he turned around, looking firmly at the wooden floor.
"Fred? Are you here?" He wasn't really expecting a reply and so was taken aback when one did come.
I never left you.
George allowed another genuine, albeit small, smile to cross his features.
"You'll stay with me then?"
You know I will.
Fred's voice was shaky, as though he were about to cry and yet George could hear the smile in his tone.
Letting his gaze wander temptingly back to his bed, George collapsed onto the mattress, wriggled beneath the covers and was asleep in moments.
xxxXxxx
After what felt like only minutes of sleep he tumbled out of bed, striking the floor with a groan and jolting awake.
He crawled out from the mess of blankets on his knees and stared, bleary eyed through the small, curtained window, he had slept for hours, it was pitch black now as opposed to the golden pink rays of sunset that had been there when he went to sleep.
George didn't even remember dreaming. He had though, but they were hardly dreams. More like memories.
His sleep had been plagued with fleeting flashes of his life with Fred.
Their first day at Hogwarts. Stealing the Marauders Map from Filch. Their very first Quidditch game. Bewitching Percy's Head Boy badge. George taking the blame for Fred when their Father had discovered the giant spider that was formerly Ron's teddy bear. Fred smuggling his twin a serving of pudding when George was forbidden it. Arguing over Angelina and the Yule Ball. Opening the shop for the first time. Fred's breakup with Angelina. Himself lying half unconscious on a hospital bed in St Mungos with Fred slumped, fast asleep in the chair beside his bed with dark rings around his eyes. Losing his ear….losing Fred.
George groaned and staggered, only half awake into the bathroom, running the cold tap in the basin. Splashing the icy water over his face he shivered as it trickled over his chest.
Slightly more awake he walked, altogether heavily, back to the bedroom. He dropped onto the end of his bed and hid his face in his hands.
"Oh Merlin, Fred…I can't even sleep properly."
He waited, but no reply came. "Boy…you do have selective hearing…"
George sighed and reached down to the foot of his bed where he had dropped his pack. Pulling it up to him he set it on his knees and reached inside, grasping around for what he searched for.
He found it and withdrew his hand, the envelope in his grip. Silently he opened the unmarked envelope and slipped the letter out…
Georgie…
xxxXxxx
Just our secret…our last secret.
I love you, little brother…
Fred
George dropped the letter into his lap and sniffed, he had done it, he had done what Fred had asked him to and all that evolved from that. He couldn't help but wonder if Fred really meant what he had written, would he have survived as long as George had their places been reversed? Would he have become a complete recluse as George had for some time, dependent on alcohol to get him through the next day?
He stopped those thoughts as quickly as they came to him. That was not helping much. Unable to help himself, George read the letter again, and then again a third time, this time reading every word with a kind of sadness. The last thing he had from Fred, there would be no more.
He returned the letter to its home in the envelope and carefully hid it away in his nightstand. No one would take that from him.
On an impulse, and though he did not know why, George pulled a bottle of ink from the drawer, along with a quill and parchment. With a new determination about him he grabbed a stray book lying on the floor entitled "From Egg to Inferno: a Dragon-Keeper's Guide". Charlie had given it to Fred as a birthday present a few years back, the night after it had been promptly tossed on the floor and not moved since.
Balancing the book on his lap to pose as a desk for the time, George spread the parchment over it, dipped his quill in the levitating bottle of ink and poised his hand to write.
Write what? What was he even doing? George had no idea whatsoever and without realizing it, his hand began to move of its own accord.
Freddie,
I did it, Freddie…I finished what you asked me to and more besides. I'm home now, thankfully, and I don't think I'll ever leave my bed again after this letter. I can't sleep though, not without dreaming either horrible things or…well…other things.
I don't even know why I'm writing this. It's not like you'll ever read it…and if you're reading over my shoulder at the moment, stop it.
I don't for a moment believe a word of what Dad, Bill or even you say, I'm not ever going to be alright. Not really.
Blimey, I'll tell you something. Even if you were alive we wouldn't look the same anymore, and I know that the last time I said that, you moved out. But it really is true this time, you should see.
Skeeter got the sack tonight, or last night, whenever it was I don't even have any kind of perception of time anymore. Apparently Percy told her I was dead, which is rubbish and I don't have any idea whatever gave him that impression.
Hell…what am I doing, Fred? Why am I telling you all this? It's not like you don't know…stop reading over my shoulder…I know you are. I think I just need something to say. Hell, I feel horrible, which is saying something now. Least I'm not puking again, ey? Haha…that was pathetic.
I miss you man, and if you were here you'd be telling me to shut the hell up and stop being so soppy, but it's true. I do miss you, terribly so.
I just know you're up there shouting and screaming at me to live for the both of us. But how can I do that, Fred? I may be doing better but I'm still only one half, I'll never get any better than that. You gotta help me.
Just please, don't be like the rest of the family and force me to be happy and smile all the time, in time maybe I will learn to laugh again, but the reality is, I'm never going to be alright again. We both know that. Because every day, I'll see your face just by looking in the mirror... and I'll hear your voice just by using my own. I'll always ask myself, why you instead of me?
That's never going to stop, so don't try and make it.
I'll always miss you, Fred. But there is one thing that bothers me…when you speak to me…are you really there? Or is it all in my head?
I love you big brother…
George.
He dropped the quill and wiped away the tears that were freely falling down his cheeks and onto the parchment. Reading over the letter slowly, George could barely even read parts of it, his tears had smudged the ink terribly in places.
He stopped half way through and got up in a rush, kicking his chair over in the hurry. Trying to choke back the sobs he didn't want to let come, George hurried back into the bathroom. Running the water he clenched the sides of the basin as the sobs fought their way through his defences. Great heaving, wracking sobs to the extent he could barely breathe.
He splashed his face which helped less than he thought and it was a good fifteen minutes before he could compose himself enough to let go of the basin, finally shutting off the running water.
Finally George looked up into the mirror, seeing nothing but Fred's distraught face. At the risk of sobbing again he left the small bathroom in a hurry and gingerly picked up his letter from the table, folding it twice over each other.
Slowly, almost surreally he walked heavily back into their bedroom, crossing directly to Fred's bed and sat down slowly upon the freshly made covers. His hand was trembling violently as he slowly reached over and slipped the parchment beneath the dusty pillow. He had done it.
And, as he slid from the bed onto the floor, burying his head in his arms, Fred spoke.
Of course this is all happening in your head, George! But that doesn't mean I'm not real.
xxxXxxx
So Ms Rowling,
Here is a song (story) I wrote for you,
Cause I'm grateful for all that you've taught me,
And inspired me to do,
You showed me good triumphs over evil,
And you taught the whole world how to read,
So thank you Ms J.K Rowling…
Thank you so much for Harry…
For Jo- Riddle TM
That's it….you guys…have been invaluable to be, absolutely invaluable. If it weren't for many of you this story would not have gone beyond a oneshot. I love you all so, so much 3
I'm incredibly sad that Double or Nothing is over, it took me so long to let George go and I actually haven't at all. I grew so very, very attached to him and to the whole Weasley family, particularly Bill. I will most definitely write more and more, I have already began on my next project, a series of oneshots so keep your eyes peeled for that! I won't tell you more yet though!
Thanks guys! Really. 3 3 3