A/N: Recap: Everyone who we care about is dead. Except Angelina. Angelina is alive. So is George, but I kind of hate him now and wish I'd killed him off. Also, I figured out how to do the line thingy (finally), which I find greatly increases the quality of formatting. Please review. You guys have been slacking off.
Chapter 37
I sit in the Three Broomsticks, hunched over my coffee, nursing a hangover. I have a splitting headache, my eyes are redder than they've ever been, and I have cried the past few days. I was wrong about Fred. If only I hadn't tried to figure things out, Oliver and January would still be here.
They aren't here anymore.
Jesus.
I shut my eyes as tears wet my lashes. I am pathetic, reduced to nothing, crushed beyond recognition. My wife is dead. My best man is dead. My brother is dead. His fiancée is heartbroken and it would come as a surprise to me if she is still perfectly sane.
The past few days have been a blur. I was rewarded with an Order of Merlin, First Class and an Order of the Phoenix, First Class. I got home I burnt the documents when I was drinking. I had made the front page of the Prophet for several days. I hate this. I see where Malfoy came from, trying to kill himself.
I am so stupidly, blindly selfish.
I sip my coffee, barely noticing that it scalds my tongue. I miss them. I miss them so much. This is worse than the Cruciatus Curse. I close my eyes, trying to remember a time when I had Fred with me, when we were perfectly carefree. A dull ache fills my chest, and my vision begins to go black. Vaguely I hear someone yell as I slip out of my chair, pulling my plates down with me. Hot water burns my skin, but I don't care. I'm already out.
I wake the next day in a St. Mungo's ward. Ginny leans forward, anxiety in her eyes. I feel a pang of guilt at how much I've hurt her. She has lost her son. She has lost Fred. I don't want her to lose me as well.
"How did I get here?" I ask. My voice is raspy, like it hasn't been used for several days.
"You fell really hard," another voice, this one belonging to Ron, says. "Had a concussion, out for a day. What happened?"
"I don't know," I say. "Are you... Ginny, are you okay?"
She bites her lip and nods. "I'm okay," she says shortly. "Mum and Dad are here, they went out in the lobby to get some sleep. Percy's out, by the way. He's going to start taking treatment at a hospital here in London! but he's out now." I can see she doesn't want to talk about the miscarriage. I don't press her.
"I'm going to leave here as soon as I can," I grumble.
"But are you okay?" Ron demands, sitting now. "I mean, the past week or so hasn't exactly been fun, has it? Seriously George, your marriage lasted about a week. You can't honestly think you're going to be perfectly fine out there. Are you certain your ready to go?"
I feel tears sting my eyes and cut hot paths down my face. "I don't know," I manage.
"You should figure out," says Ron. "We don't want you getting hurt. We don't want anyone else getting hurt, either. Mum wants you to go to alcohol rehab."
"Tell her it's a no."
"I can't do that."
"Katie Bell came by earlier," Ginny cuts in. "Said she wants to see you when you wake up."
I yawn and stretch. My head hurts. I feel the bump on my forehead. "Is she still here? I'd like to see her."
"Yeah, I'll go get her," Ron says. He disappears out into the hall. I begin to feel nervous about seeing Katie-she'll blame me. It must show on my face, because Ginny offers me a small smile and says, "It'll be okay, George."
I give a terse nod just as the door opens. Katie comes in. Ron stays outside and Ginny leaves, both probably sensing Katie wants to talk to me in privacy. Katie is three months pregnant with Oliver's baby. She doesn't look three months. She doesn't even look pregnant. She's still skinny.
"I'm sorry," I say instantly. The words don't even come close.
Her eyes are red with tears and she just nods. I feel my throat constrict. "He really loved you," I say, choked. "He would ask me what to do when you were fighting, he would ask me how to act around the baby, and he would talk about you all the time."
She squeezes her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"It's all my fault, it's all my fault any of this happened, Katie." My voice dies and I find it again. "He loved you. He loved you so, so much, Katie."
"I don't blame you, George," she whispers. "He-He came to talk to me. Before. He asked me to go into hiding at his father's house, and we fought. We kissed." She shakes her head. "I loved him. Still do, and I never got to tell him, George. I never told him I loved him."
"I think he knew," I whisper.
It would all be simpler if Oliver were still here, if Fred were too. If January never-
My head throbs. "He loved you," I repeat.
"Angelina's worried about you," she says quietly, her voice strained.
"Huh?"
"She's worried about you. Misses you. Misses Fred, too, and Oliver."
"Is she okay?"
Katie shrugs. "She's alive. Bloody hell, she still knows who she is. She's got post-traumatic stress, but she's still sane. You know damn well she's never going to be who she was."
"I'll see her when I'm out," I promise.
Angelina, as it turns out, is in a psychiatric ward on the floor above me. I go to visit her that evening, even though I'm still a patient. I walk past the Healers to her bed, sweep past the curtain, and sit down on the foot of the bed.
Angelina is a mess. Her hair sticks up and is slightly matted. There are dark circles around her eyes. Despite this, she looks better than the last time I'd seen her. The blood has been washed from her face and she looks better fed.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Don't be," she coughs. Her voice, like mine, is scratchy and hoarse. "I'm sorry for you."
I swallow hard. "Katie's okay."
"She's a tough girl," Angelina says.
"I wish it wasn't like this."
"You did us a favor," she says, sitting up, her eyes glassy like she might start to cry. "You saved us, George." She reaches up to touch my face. I tense at her touch. She lets her arm fall away. "You aren't him," she whispers.
"No," I say. No, I'm not him. How many times have I wished that I were in his shoes, that he were alive, that I were dead, that both of us were still here? No, I'm not him.
She falls back on the pillow, limp. "Angelina? Angelina!" A Healer quickly appears, pale, but then quickly assures me, "It's nothing. She's been exhausted. Not eating or drinking as much as we'd like. She'll be okay if we get water into her system." With that, the Healer escorts me out. I want to protest, but it's for the best.
Two weeks later Angelina and I board a train to Hogwarts. The last time I had rode a train I had been with January.
Neville meets us at the iron gate. He mutters an incantation, waves his wand, and then pushes the gate open. "As a precaution," he says. Both of us are silent. It is only a week till Christmas, and snow is falling thick over the grounds. Tears wet my lashes, but I blink them away. I look at Angelina. She is surprisingly composed for something as important as this. Neville leads us up the walk to the castle and pushes open the door to the Great Hall. Hundreds of pairs of eyes instantly turn to focus on us and slowly silence spreads across the Great Hall. Then clapping begins, and a lone figure stands from the Ravenclaw table. Parvati Patil, who must have returned to finish her last year, stands to join from Gryffindor. Slowly, everyone begins to stand, even the majority of the Slytherins. Soon, tumultuous applause is ringing. Applause I don't deserve, applause that should be directed to Oliver Wood or Fred Weasley.
"They, er, many students remember you two, and you've become, well-" Neville sighs. "They're just trying to show respect. They leave for the holidays tomorrow morning."
My head spins. I feel the blood drain from my cheeks, my stomach twisting, dizziness threatening to bring me down as my limbs turn to lead. "Are you okay?" Neville calls distantly. My legs threaten to give way. Angelina grabs my wrist. Pain erupts in my arm, but I don't heed it.
"All right, stop it!" cries Professor McGonagall at the students, jerking me out of my stupor. I take a few rapid breaths of air, the taste of bile on my tongue.
"Are you okay?" Neville asks me quietly. "You look-bloody hell, you look bad."
"Fine."
The clapping has ceased and now everyone is looking at McGonagall as she steps away from the staff table and begins walking down towards Neville, Angelina, and I. It is dead silent, and all I can hear is the echoing of her footsteps. She reaches us and pauses before embracing me. I don't try to hold back the tears. This time they spill off my cheeks.
"I would like to talk to a few students," Neville says, in a loud voice I generally never associate with him. "Miss Lovegood, Miss Parvati Patil, Miss Padma Patil, Mr. Corner, Mr. Smith, I'd like to speak to you privately. Prefects, take your Houses back to the dormitories. Have a wonderful and safe holiday!"
"Members of the D.A.?" I manage.
"Yeah."
Professor McGonagall leads us out. She seems older and frailer than I'd remembered, but maybe headmistress duties had changed her physically. We walk down the grounds, towards Hagrid's hut. He comes out to join us. We keep walking until we come to the graveyard. Many of the students gather at Dumbledore's or Lupin's. I find Fred's and kneel by it, not even pretending that I am not crying now.
Why... Why the hell couldn't it be me?
Angelina kneels beside me. I don't know if she knows about Eros. She has every right to know. After all, she and Fred were engaged. But today is not the day to tell her. I don't have it in me. We cry together. We cry for the things we have witnessed, for Fred and Oliver and January and ourselves.