A/N: Hey guys. Here's another chapter. I probably won't be updating as much as I'd like, and I know I haven't updated almost at all with my other stories, and I'm super sorry about that. Hope this makes up for that. Besides, this story is almost over...

Please review! Each one means the world to me.

Enjoy!


There were maybe six letters left in the box. George was tempted to take them all out, tear the cardboard menace to shreds, scatter the opened letters all over the room, and hide the few that remained. If he didn't finish, this never ended, right? Fred would never end, and he, George, could continue on with his brother in his ear? Right?

Wrong.

George Weasley sighed. Yeah. Wrong. He had to finish. And when he did, he would put all the letters neatly back in that damn box. And he'd go sit with his wife and kids, his brothers and sisters, his Mum and Dad and let them laugh and smile and hold his hand and pat his head. He would let them know he knew what they had said, show his understanding and love by letting them in, instead of shutting them out. He'd open up again, be the George Weasley that disappeared and died with his twin twenty years ago. George knew that's what he had to do. It was what he was going to do….soon. But not yet.

So close, brother. Only a few more to go.

"Why are you doing this to me?" George whispered. "What's going to happen when I finish?"

Why do you think something's going to happen?

"Because I know you, Fred." George's voice cracked. "I've known you my entire life, and this wouldn't be happening if there wasn't some grand finale lying in store for me."

Geez, you are so melodramatic. What, everything's gotta have a punchline for you?

"We're kind of in the business of punchlines, mate."

Hardy-har-har. Got me in stitches here, George.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Ouch. I remember that. And if I recall correctly, it was your fault.

"Not denying it."

Wow.

"But if I also recall correctly, you paid me back in full about a month later during Quidditch practice remember? Rogue Bludger, my arse."

Hey, it really was an accident.

"And so was mine!"

And then we both spent the first month of second year with bandages around our stomachs and Madam Pomfrey breathing down our necks.

"Yeah." George reminisced. "What a way to start the year. And that wasn't even some of our best stuff, yet, too. We were just beginning, the two of us."

The two of us. You and me against the world, huh?

"Always."

And it was the truth. Growing up in the Burrow, they had really only ever had each other. Sure, Mum and Dad had done their best and loved them more than anything else in the world, but in a family as large as theirs, sometimes, kids were going to be slighted. It was never out of neglect, however. George had never once felt less than blessed or loved or lucky for his wacky, overtly large family. But Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already a handful by the time the twins were born, and then two years later came Ron, and then another year brought Ginny, the much sought after daughter. Seven kids and Fred and George had been stuck right in the middle. Or Fred had, really, being the first one born out of the two of them. And Mum and Dad had given each and every one of them all they possibly could - so it was never a want for things or love and attention that led to them being on their own. Perhaps it was a twin thing - their bond that defined them, even as children.

But as time went on, with Bill's Curse-Breaking career and Charlie's affinity for dragons and danger (and lack of any steady or meaningful relationship, which was always a point of concern for their mother) and Percy's high maintenance and then came Ron, the adventurer, the troublemaker, the introverted boy who somehow became a hero of a war, part of the Golden Trio, and then there was Ginny, who lived up to the fiery nature of redheads and whose temper had gotten her into as much trouble as the twins on a daily basis and who could out-Hex anyone her age. So with all of the chaos that was the Weasley household on a daily basis, Fred and George sometimes had to make do with just themselves. And sure, maybe that started an unhealthy issue of severe codependency. It was a likely explanation for how, whenever one of them was separated from the other, it felt like a cold knife piercing their chests.

Okay, so maybe George still had some codependency issues. It had been twenty years and he was still carrying that knife inside of him, the chill of isolation, despite his family rallying around him. Even now, as he lay in bed next to his wife, George would wake up in the dead of night, reaching for his brother who hadn't been in the bed beside him for half his life now. He would catch his reflection in a passing mirror and forget for a second, already turning to call out to his brother before remembering and the pain would wash afresh over him. A thousand little things every day that had him turning in circles because it seemed that no matter how much time passed, he couldn't seem to function like he used to - when he had Fred.

We're twins. Being codependent isn't all that weird, George.

"It is when you're dead and I'm still codependent. It's not healthy or normal, Fred."

Mate. When have we ever done things healthily or normally? Seriously?

That was a fair point, George admitted to himself. Out of their siblings, he and Fred had always had a tendency for the disgusting, the strange, the stressful, and of course, the unnatural. Nine times out of ten, they made themselves physically sick over what they were experimenting. So yeah, even their hobbies had been a little more than odd growing up. And honestly, George wouldn't have it any other way.

Me either.

George smiled softly at the tone in his brother's voice as he reached for the next letter. It was larger than the others - not by much, but even holding the envelope (which was a pale robin's egg blue) George could tell it was almost double in size. George scanned his mind, trying to remember whose letters he had already read, and who from his past could possibly be left to write to Fred.

Come on, George. Think outside the box.

"Hilarious." George rolled his eyes. "But honestly….I have no idea who this could be. I mean - the letter is huge - I already read Hagrid's. Plus, he at least uses normally sized parchment so it wouldn't have been him in any case. And there's really no one else…."

No one?

A name danced on the tip of his tongue, but George wanted to see the signature for himself. He hadn't spoken to her in almost - actually, George couldn't remember the last time he had spoken to Olympe Maxime - or Madame Maxime in the time he had met her. Merlin…that had been way back when he and Fred were still at school - during that awful Triwizard Tournament.

Despite the time that had passed, and the lack of time George had spent remembering the Headmistress of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, George could picture the giantess with remarkable ease. She had been…a large woman, to say the least. George remembered how he and Fred had gaped, alongside hundreds of other students, at the remarkable size of that woman which left Hagrid standing only at her chest - and Hagrid was half a giant! Madame Maxime must have been half or more than half to have reached the height and girth that she did.

Fleur and Gabrielle were their students, remember?

He didn't, not really. Fleur didn't really speak of her education at Beauxbatons so much, and the Tournament hadn't exactly been a fun experience for her - or Ron, Hermione, Harry or Gabrielle for that matter. People had been hurt - Cedric had been murdered - and Voldemort had risen again, and the year that followed had been a hard one preceding the impending war that came howling after them like a vicious Grimm. Those last two years he and Fred had spent at Hogwarts were dark, and George remembered the feeling of suffocation that hadn't fully evaporated until they had set foot in their new home and business in Diagon Alley.

But that had almost nothing to do with the here and now, with Olympe Maxime's very large letter in his hands. He took care to peel the white seal (shaped like a winged horse) away from the envelope and slid the letter out. In all fairness, it seemed that only the envelope was oversized. The parchment itself was seemingly average, and as he unfolded the letter, George didn't notice any other oddities. In fact, he didn't see anything that might warrant the need for such an auspicious cover.

Maybe it's a French thing.

"Hm." George mused.


Monsieur Weasley,

We have never quite met, I believe. All I know is what my dear Hagrid has told me, and I will say, there is quite a lot. Had you been at Beauxbatons, there is no way you would have ever seen your third year, let alone your seventh with the antics you seem to be always up to. But again, Dumbledore had always been more lenient than me.

Anyways, Fleur wrote to me a few weeks ago explaining what your mother was planning. I do keep in touch with her and her sister now and again, and it is easier now that my relationship with Hagrid has finally come to steady waters. Fleur was one of my favorite students, you know, and the champion chosen for our school. She always was a promising girl.

I had actually often written to Fleur to ask if she would be interested in coming back to Beauxbatons as a guest professor, teach a studies class or two, perhaps on the cultural differences from France to England, or even in Potions, where she was indeed gifted. But every time, she refused. Always thanked me kindly, but still, refused the positions of high esteem which I offered her. And I never quite realized why until she wrote me again.

It is a true blessing to find your family in this world, whether by blood or by your heart. Hagrid and I, we never had a proper family. Our parents, of course, meaning his mother and my father, were giants while our other parents were of the wizarding kind. Now, you must know the general response the world has to giants, so that information was never revealed to anyone, by either of us. And I know it seems foolish - what other normal witch or wizard is twelve feet tall? But still - it was a necessity to ensure our survival. Giants are persecuted and half-giants ridiculed and treated almost as bad as house-elves in the eyes of wizards.

My mother did her best to raise me, but she was so terrified of the repercussions of my heritage that when I turned seventeen, she killed herself out of fear and shame. Despite her kindness of waiting until I was of legal age to take care of myself, it traumatized me into believing that my blood was a curse. Hagrid's father died of natural causes, but with his expulsion and the ridicule, he got for being odd…well, needless to say, neither of us really had the family we wanted. So I never understood Fleur's reasoning for staying in England so long when her friends and family all resided in France. She knew no one where she was, had no safety, no way to comfort herself. She was all alone in a place where she would be the odd one out. But now I see.

She had found her heart's family. I told you, it's a blessing to find it. The family of your heart are the ones you were meant to find in this life and stay connected to forever more. When Fleur Delacour met Bill Weasley, she met her heart family. By extension, that means all of you, as well. I've been told you Weasley's are a rather large bunch, especially now with all of you procreating like rabbits.

I did hear about the wedding, though I, myself, was unable to attend. Fleur wrote to me directly, told me the joyous news and explained that she could not leave her family to teach, nor could she uproot them from their home there in England. And it took me some time to understand. It was my understanding that if her new family loved her enough, they would let her choose her own path and follow suit. Surely….but I had gotten it wrong. She was following her own path - and it was with all of you.

I'm rambling, I know. It's the French in me, to speak eloquently. But I think I've made my point.

You are Fleur's family. Her heart family. The one she found, all on her own, and the one which accepted her. You and your family gave her a life the likes of which she never could have had in France. One of adventure and love. And it is because I adore her that I write this letter to you, Monsieur Fred Weasley, to say thank you.

Merci beaucoup,

Olympe Maxime


George had to read her letter a few times before anything sunk in. It was more about Fleur than about Fred if anything.

In her defense, we never actually had any contact with Madame Giantess. It was the best she could do.

"Yeah," George said. "I suppose. And she did thank you, in the end there. For accepting Fleur into the family, though that's one of your lesser heroic acts, I might add."

I think this was one of my greats. Yours too, George.

"How so?"

We were all pretty nasty to Fleur when Bill first brought her around seriously. Mum was the worst, but we all were idiots. Fleur had to deal with all of us in order to be with the man she loved. I think us accepting her into our very tight-knit family was a huge step. I mean, the girl is part Veela. She can't have many people who genuinely like her because they want to, not because she charmed them.

"We accepted Harry and Hermione…"

Harry was a part of this family the second he and Ron were friends. And you know Mum's a freaking bleeding heart. Second, she knew how bad the Dursley's were treating him, he was like a stray puppy she just had to take in. And this was years before he and Ginny started to have a thing. And Hermione was like another daughter to Mum, again, years before she and Ron even thought of being together.

"So?"

So we never thought twice about them, about how we felt about them. Ron brought two people into our already large family and we accepted them immediately. But the second Bill does the same, we ridicule her. So maybe it was a bigger deal than we thought when we finally put it all aside and started treating Fleur like a sister.

George thought about that. So many people had been changed and affected in the course of his and Fred's lives, many more than he had ever been aware of. Here was Madame Maxime, someone with whom he never had a conversation, writing to tell him how their bringing Fleur into their family was something wonderful. George had never thought it to be anything but natural. She was Bill's wife - and because he had loved Bill with all his heart, and Fred, he knew was the same - they gave her a chance.

Sometimes a chance is what really matters.

"Like the chance you never got," George said. "The chance to live the rest of your life with us? With a family of your own?"

I did get that chance, George. It might have been short, but I got that chance. And you know what?

'What?"

I loved every minute of it.