When they buried Fred, George stood at the back, not participating in the procession or the burial. He was draped in black like everyone else but his face was closed off, warning anyone who approached him that he didn't want to speak. Each of the Weasleys spoke briefly, sorrow in their voices, but George didn't. He stood alone.

It hurt less this way.


Seven months later, he gathered the courage.

"Will you come with me?" he asked Angelina, who lived with him in their flat above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The silence had been deafening; he wasn't accustomed to the quiet — there had always been some noise. Whether it was Fred laughing, Fred snoring, even Fred's breathing — no matter what, there hadn't been a single moment where it was noiseless. After his twin had — well, after he'd gone, George couldn't bear living alone. He'd asked Angelina to move in with him and she'd accepted.

"I will," she told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Let me get dressed and I'll come."


It was snowing lightly when they Apparated onto the Hogwarts grounds; the grass was dusted with gleaming white crystals. Snowflakes clung to Angelina's dark hair. The December air was ridden with a chill.

"Thank you," he said, releasing her.

Angelina just looked at him. At twenty-one, she looked every bit the Quidditch captain she'd been, fierce and commanding, but now that was tempered by gentleness and maturity. She was gazing at him with all the words neither of them could ever express.

No wonder Fred had loved her.

"Let's go," he said; he was glad she hadn't made him go when he wasn't ready. Angelina took his arm and they trudged through the snow.


Fred's gravestone had a light coating of white snow on it but beneath it, the marble gleamed. George brushed away some of the snow, knowing it was futile; the snow would cover it again in minutes.

The inscription carved into the stone was short. Laugh till the end. It paid homage to the last few seconds of life, but George hadn't been the one to choose the words. He hadn't wanted any part in the funeral, which was strange to some people, but everyone he knew and loved understood. They understood that it wasn't easy to watch someone who shared your face, your features, and everything else in the world being carried down the aisle. They understood that George couldn't bear watching his twin, the one who'd been joined at the hip with since birth, being buried.

But what was ironic that in Fred's last moments, they hadn't been joined at the hip.

The grief had withered over time, but the guilt hadn't.

"Fred…" he murmured. His name alone was enough to convey a thousand unsaid messages. I'm sorry. I should've been with you. You shouldn't have died. You had so much to give…

Next to him, Angelina took his hand in her, intertwining their fingers, and giving it a comforting squeeze. She silently lent him her support and it meant the world to him.

He wasn't George Weasley anymore. There couldn't be a George without Fred. There was no Gred and Forge without Fred.

Tears stung his eyes and Angelina, sensing his agony, turned and pulled him into a hug. It was cold, but she was warm, and it was everything.

He wasn't George without Fred, but he could be George with Angelina.


"Thank you," he said afterward when they were at home. They weren't cuddling or doing anything amorous — they were just simply watching the snowfall from the comfort of their sitting room. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Of course," she said, and leaned her head on his shoulder. George turned his head to look at her, affection swelling in his chest as he heard her breathe.

She could be the one to fill the hole in his heart.


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Assignment 8 - Divination: Oracles - Task 2: Oracle Bones - Write about visiting a grave.