If anyone's wondering, Fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur means, according to the net, "Fortune is glass; just when it gleams brightest it shatters." I found the quote while searching for something in Latin (since a lot of the spells in Harry Potter come from Latin, and Hogwarts' motto Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus is in Latin). I found it very evocative of how 2nd May was a date to be remembered both because it was the day the war ended (that would be the gleams brightest part) and because it was the day over fifty people lost their lives (shatters). And it also made me think of how Fred was laughing when he died.

That's just my interpretation, but I really liked the quote.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.

Chapter 7

Fortune Is Glass

21st July, 1998

George had no idea why he was here. The castle he'd spent the better part of his teenage years in couldn't be worth the pain it caused to just set foot here. He hadn't come here in over a month – not since the ceremony.

The castle loomed above him, whole once more. That was why he was here – to celebrate. Celebrate the rebuilding of Hogwarts.

It had all been very quick, considering the size of the actual building. It had only taken a little over a month to get the castle back together. That was probably because almost every single wizard who had ever attended Hogwarts had pitched in to help. Lee had described it in length, depicting hundred-year-old witches tottering about fixing statues and straightening paintings as well as kids as young as ten doing whatever they could to help. The way Lee said it, George wondered if he was the only wizard in England who hadn't shown up. Even the Malfoys had "donated" a large sum of money to the cause. Not that they had had a choice; that particular sum of money had been confiscated by the Ministry. The Malfoys had escaped Azkaban, but they wouldn't escape retribution.

If everyone had come to rebuild Hogwarts, then everyone and their dog had come for the official re-opening. It was even more crowded than it had been during the monument to the dead's inauguration. And there – there. Right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, hiding in the shade. Slytherins.

Zabini's handsome profile was what sold them out. Once George had realized that that height and that colouring could only be his, he quickly identified the others. Nott, the Greengrass sisters, and – the nerve of her – even Parkinson had come. Then two more he didn't recognize, two identical twins.

Lee had mentioned that a couple of Slytherins had shown up during the actual rebuilding. But this wasn't a couple, this was an army. Parkinson had wanted to hand Harry over to Voldemort, for Merlin's sake! What were they trying to do – pretend they hadn't been on Voldemort's side? Pretend they didn't have the Dark Mark in their minds if not on their forearms? Pretend they weren't Sly –

"You came," a voice said softly, dragging him from his thoughts. Angelina, quietly tiptoeing around him as usual. Why did he hate her so much for being so thoughtful?

"Maybe I shouldn't have."

"Lee would've kil – cursed you if you hadn't."

Killed. The unspoken word hung between them, begging to be acknowledged. George shrugged it off. "He did say something along those lines yesterday. I think his exact threat was strangling."

Angelina smiled. "Muggle duelling? I'm appalled. But then, his dad is..."

She stopped suddenly, remembering. George almost sighed. It was moments like this that made him want to throw himself off the newly rebuilt Astronomy Tower. Uncomfortable silences that always meant death. Lee's father had been a Muggle (which, he was sure, was what Angelina had been about to point out), and he'd been killed by Death Eaters shortly after his son had launched Potterwatch. No one really knew if there was any connection between the two events, but that didn't stop Lee from going crazy with guilt over it whenever he got drunk.

Since the war, no one George knew was a fun drunk, and going out clubbing had become a preposterous idea.

"Talking about me?" Lee asked brightly, suddenly behind George.

When he wasn't drunk, Lee wasn't bad – almost his old self, except for the dreaded silences and the occasional chewing-outs (like the one that had persuaded George to come today). Angelina was much worse – the worst, maybe, outside of his family. She was too quiet, too sad, too dead.

When Angelina blushed and didn't answer, Lee said, "I'm glad you came, mate."

"Seems like everyone did," George said. "If that is Alicia I can see over there. The whole gang, huh?"

"Minus Katie," Angelina said quietly, and George felt a pang of guilt that he hadn't even spared a thought for Katie since the battle. He knew she'd been injured, but hadn't dwelt on it. Nearly two months after Fred's death, he was still too obsessed with his pain to think about anything else.

"How is she?"

"The Healers... they d – don't know if..." Angelina hiccuped.

"The Healers said that she might never wake up," Lee finished.

"She's in a coma?"

The look Lee shot him could have been anything from pity to anger. "Yes, she's in a coma. Bloody hell, George!" Definitely anger now. "One of your friends for years has been in a coma for over a month and you didn't know?"

"No one told me," George said defensively.

"You knew she was injured. You were there when the... when she was hit."

Yes, and it had been horrible, a spell hitting the wall behind her, the stones crashing down around her, and then having to pull her unconscious body out of the rubble... He'd thought she was dead, but then she'd opened her eyes and smiled at him. And closed her eyes again. And now he knew they hadn't reopened since.

"If you could have brought yourself to care about someone other than yourself for once, you'd have asked about Katie. You... shit, George. She might be in a coma for the rest of her life, and her friend has completely forgotten about her!"

Lee, like everyone else, had started acting differently around George since the final battle. But his change had been in the opposite direction: instead of being quiet and gentle like Angelina, he'd become more rigid. Harsher. George knew he was trying to help, but it sure as hell was pissing him off. George didn't want to be up and about, didn't want to go on like nothing had happened.

"It's not like she cares, anyway," he shot back, thoroughly annoyed. "Seeing as she's unconscious."

Tears welled up in Angelina's eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. And suddenly lost the soothing façade she'd been wearing around George until then. "Insensitive git," she said harshly. "Just because you lost a brother, that doesn't mean you're any more miserable than those of us who've lost friends, sisters, mothers –" she glanced at Lee – "or fathers. You're clinging to your grief because you think you have more a right to it than we do. And you're forgetting everything and everyone else along the way. Do you know what that's called?"

"I don't care what it's called. If you think I'm insensitive, why don't you just leave me alone?"

"Because you'd end up killing yourself, that's why," Lee said tiredly. "Look, George. We know you lost your twin. But you know what? Some of us lost more than that. I lost a father and one of my best friends. Another of my friends is in a coma, and a third might never be able to walk properly again, let alone play Quidditch."

"Funny," Alicia said from behind Lee, making him jump, "I don't recall the Healers saying anything about Quidditch."

George stared. It was her, curly dark hair and all, the same grin plastered on her face. Blue eyes laughing – was she really that happy to see them? Wearing Gryffindor-red robes that were, as always, tighter at the waist than most witches preferred. The only visible changes were the small scar on her temple and...

Crutches. He hadn't noticed that when he'd spotted her earlier. He sifted through his memories and remembered. Alicia had had her right leg crushed in the same explosion that had put Katie in her coma. Once again, George hadn't known it was serious. Broken bones weren't a big deal, but this...

Lee looked taken aback, too. "Alicia! George said he'd seen you, but... I didn't think..."

"The Healers say it's better I walk around a lot, and this is an important event, you know." She shifted, putting more weight on her left leg than on her crutches, and looked at George as though she knew – and she probably did – that he had no idea what she had. "It's paralysed, but we're hoping it's only temporary."

Her gaze was insistent. Since the battle, George found he could class anyone in one of three categories: those who avoided looking directly at him because he reminded them of Fred, like his family, and those who stared at him like he was the tenth wonder of the wizarding world. The third category was Luna.

The tenth wonder... Yes, he could see that. George Weasley, the saint without an ear, the twin without his brother, the second half of something that didn't exist anymore.

"And, Lee, I'm positive the Healers didn't say anything about Quidditch," Alicia said. "What think, George?"

"I can't wait to see you back on a broom," he said truthfully.

"I can't, either. I don't suppose you've done much flying this past month, have you? How have you – holy shit, is that Malfoy I see over there?"

George whirled around, scanning the grounds. A part of him was eager to avoid the dreaded question everyone seemed to ask these days, How have you been, but an even greater part was genuinely concerned that a Malfoy could have dared to show up.

"Is it? Where?"

"Just kidding," Alicia said, grinning as he turned back to face her. "I figured you needed it. You look down in the dumps. Come on, smile at me – I'm a casualty of war!"

He cracked a smile at that – just for an instant. Then her use of the word "casualty" hit him and he remembered.

"Aw, hell," Alicia said, the grin fading from her face as George's expression went from amused to empty. "I'm really stupid, aren't I?"

"It's all right," George lied, then nodded towards the castle. "Let's go."

The grounds had been steadily emptying as everyone headed inside the castle. The celebration – a hundred speeches, a feast, two hundred more speeches, and something that Lee had described with a face as being "like a ball" – would take place inside the Great Hall. George had already decided he'd leave before the dancing started. The idea of dancing on the floor where so many bodies – including Fred's – had been lain out during and after the last battle made him want to throw up.

Lee nodded and fell in step with him, but Angelina stayed behind, going at Alicia's pace. George was relieved to get away from them, especially Alicia who was too bright and cheerful. She was injured, maybe crippled for life; she had lost a friend, and she had been close to Katie, who was now in a coma – what right did she have to be so... happy? As he walked, George kicked at the ground. It wasn't fair. No one should –

Just then, he lifted his head and his gaze fell on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The Slytherins were moving camp, like everyone else – it was their billowing cloaks that had caught his attention. All except Zabini pulled their hoods over their heads – Now what? George wondered. Trying to be inconspicuous? They walked away from the forest, towards the brilliantly white monument that had been inaugurated the last time George was here. Then, one after another, they knelt in a row, facing away from George. After a few moments, they stood up, moved a few steps back, and stood like that.

When they finally moved away and started heading for the castle, George realized they'd been laying flowers at the foot of the monument – which was really just an obelisk made of white marble inscribed with fifty-three names, and at the base of which were inscribed the words:

Fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur.

Fortune is glass, George had mentally translated the first time he read the words. Just when it shines brightest, it shatters. And it had made him think of Fred laughing as he died.

He felt an unexplainable rage rise in him at the sight of the Slytherins paying homage to the deceased – to Fred. It was somewhere between dignified outrage (how dare they?) and disgust. His fist clenched.

"Some of them suffered, too," Lee said quietly, following George's gaze.

George didn't bother answering, preferring to simply speed up, leaving his friend behind. He had almost reached the door now, then he was inside the Entrance Hall and McGonagall was nodding at him to step into the Great Hall... and then.

Lee, appearing out of nowhere, grabbed his arm and drew him closer to him, steadying him. "Are you okay?"

"Dizzy spell," George muttered, pulling away. He looked around, feeling sick. "Merlin."

"Morbid, isn't it?"

"Not as morbid as burying people on the school grounds," a voice said from behind them. "Thank Merlin they spared the Quidditch pitch."

"Hi, Ginny," Lee said, smiling forcefully. "Nice to see you."

George hadn't seen his little sister in a few weeks, preferring to avoid anything vaguely resembling life. She'd stayed at the Burrow since the battle, which she had, against their mother's wishes, participated in and been one of the amazing few who'd gotten away without a scratch.

Sometimes George thought everything Ginny did was motivated by either of two things: showing her brothers better, or showing their mother better.

"Everyone was buried around the lake," Lee argued. "Except... well." Except Fred. "It's not like you can't walk around without stepping on a corpse."

"Whatever." Ginny nodded at her brother and gestured. "Fred's is over there, if that's what you're looking for."

It wasn't, and he shot her a glare for even thinking it. The plaque in the Forest and the memorial were enough of Fred – or rather, they weren't Fred at all. They commemorated Fred the dead hero, and that was the last thing he wanted to think of. But now Ginny had put the idea in his head, he couldn't help but want to see it.

It. The plaque. One of many which now papered the back wall of the Great Hall. Each was inscribed with a name and two dates, the second of which was the same for every plaque: 2nd May 1998.

"Maybe I should drop out and be like one of those Muggle homeless hippies," Ginny said musingly as she guided him closer to the wall. "Just the thought of eating in here every day makes me want to barf."

George stood, staring, at the wall. They seemed to be arranged in alphabetical order; Fred's was the last, at the bottom-right corner. It was almost a place of honour, because it was just above the -ht of the shimmering words on the wall: To those who fought.The plaque was smaller and more impersonal than the one outside, but that was normal – Luna hadn't seen it yet. In fact, not even the family had been informed of it. It was made of a grey metal that was too dull to be silver and only wide enough to read the words:

Fred Gideon Weasley

1st April 1978 – 2nd May 1998

George traced the words with his finger, wondering if he was going to cry. There was something about the plainness of the plaque, about the fact that it was one among fifty-three, that made is so much more heart-wrenching than the gold one outside. They had used his full name this time, accentuating the Gideon part of it – the part that recalled one of two brothers their mother had lost. Fred Gideon and George Fabian – whichever way you looked at it, two parts of one whole. Two brothers.

"Test, test." Harry's voice drew him from his thoughts and he turned around to face the stage. "Sorry. This is only the... the third time I cast this charm, and I wouldn't want to start talking with no one able to hear."

At least half the people gathered there smiled, which was when George realised just how much time had passed since he'd last been here. Only a month, but everything had changed in that month. More or less. The month before, everyone had been wearing black. Everyone had been crying. And no one had been listening.

Today, everyone was dressed in bright colours, everyone was smiling, and everyone had heard Harry's almost-joke. People were already healing – like Alicia, who was so bright and cheerful. They were moving on... forgetting. George felt extremely out of place.

"Though of course I'm not the first to speak," Harry continued. "That would be our respected Acting Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"I am going to be very brief," Kingsley said smoothly. "There isn't much to say. First, thank you all for coming. It is a gesture of love for both our lost ones and for Hogwarts, and also a gesture of solidarity. Second, thank you for helping. All of you – every single one of you here – helped rebuild Hogwarts. Some of you donated funds, others personally came here, camping on the grounds for days in a row just to straighten a painting put askew during the fighting. Yet others were with us in different ways – with their minds and hearts. Thanks to all of you, Hogwarts will re-open again in September. And special thanks to Miss Hermione Granger, whom you know was very dedicated to the task."

There was a short round of applause, and Hermione rose, blushing, and sat back down quickly. Kingsley said he was going to be brief, but the speech went on for a while longer, and then it was McGonagall's turn, and then George was being pushed toward a table.

He stared at the platters of food which had just appeared. Not long ago, he hadn't been eating at all. Then Lee had found him and shaken that out of him. He'd found out that Lee could cook and that eating wasn't so bad. But he'd already eaten today; breakfast that morning. He wasn't hungry. Just the sight of everyone pigging out made him feel sick.

He sat back in his chair and stared into emptiness.

George tried to take his leave just before the new set of speeches could start, knowing it would be too much to bear. He could feel Lee's eyes boring into his back, reproachful and hurt, but he wouldn't, couldn't stay.

He bumped into someone on his way out.

"Sorry," he muttered, making to move away, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"No need to apologize," Luna said somewhat gravely. "You were probably tripped up by a Tornatod. They're quite mischievous, you know."

Luna. He couldn't resist the urge to grin (and he wouldn't have wanted to, anyway) at her words. This was what he loved about her. She could say the most inane things so seriously because she believed in them, and she never took offence when he laughed. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it.

Just like everyone else, she looked better – happier – than she had the previous month, but he didn't resent her for it. Maybe because her version of happy had always been odd. She wasn't smiling, she wasn't laughing, she wasn't dancing. She was just... calm and solid and dreamy and unperturbed, everything George wished he could be.

"Can they be caught?" he asked in genuine interest.

"Well, they're invisible. But you can attract them with a really fluffy rug; they love them."

"Really? Have you ever caught one?"

She nodded. "It's always hard to know if they're really there, because you can't see them, but there are signs... The air around them goes slightly yellow, but you have to squint to notice it... and of course you can touch them, though they don't like that much. They bite." She paused. "I don't have the cloak."

"I don't need it."

"You're not going anywhere," she said, catching his wrist and bringing him closer to her. "You have to stay. I'm not saying the speeches are worth it," she added, "but you have to stop running away."

"Yeah, because I'd feel so much better if I hung around every time someone talked about my dead twin," George said harshly, wrenching his arm out of her grasp.

"Maybe you would," Luna said quietly, and he stared at her. "Maybe it would help you accept it. He's gone, George. You have to stop... killing yourself with him."

George recoiled like she'd hit him. "Just because, one time –"

"Yes, just because."

"I was drunk –"

"How does that make it any better?"

"It was just after –"

"I know."

"I'm not –"

"Yes, you are."

He looked away. "Maybe a little."

The music had started playing – Were the speeches over already? It was a sad, soft, and soothing melody, just what George didn't need. Wizard rock would have been better; something to take his mind off it. Just like his friends, whoever had chosen the music either had no idea what he was doing or thought it would be fun to see people break down during a dance.

Luna let go of his wrist and instead grasped his hand gently, making to pull him toward the centre of the room where couples were already gently swaying. "You coming?"

His eyes reluctantly met hers. "I – I can't."

Luna waved her hand in the air dismissively. "Sure you can. Do you know –" she cocked her head at him – "do you know I wish I could be as brave as you?"

The way she could say such blunt things without blushing sometimes made George feel something fuzzy inside, something almost like happiness, but this time it just made him scoff.

"You're joking, right? What you did – you co-led Dumbledore's Army and you fought in more battles than I did. You are brave."

She shook her head. "Your friends give you strength," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm actually rather jealous."

"I think the only reason I made Gryffindor was because of him."

"Wasn't," Luna countered, turning them around the dance floor surprisingly brutally.

"Was too," he said childishly, smiling.

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Not."

"Okay, okay. Not."

She smiled. "I win."

George stared at her. She was almost like a child sometimes, like she hadn't grown at all since her first year. He wondered if it was a shell she hid inside, a façade she put up to avoid facing reality. But Luna wouldn't do that, not while she was trying to make him face the truth.

"Yeah," he echoed, twirling her around, "you win."

And he would have been happy – or as close to it as he could be, then and there – just doing that if the music hadn't suddenly stopped. McGonagall hastily clapped her hands together once, and all the dancers stopped to listen.

"A marvellous idea has just been suggested," she announced. "We were wondering if perhaps..." She seemed to collect herself. "All of you here know of Hogwarts. As a conclusion to the speeches made and to celebrate the rebuilding of our school, we – the staff – would like to ask you to join us in the Hogwarts song."

As one, all the teachers left the people they had been dancing with and came to stand beside McGonagall. And something seemed to change in the atmosphere. Everyone smiled, and in a single, united breath, the ones who had been to school at Hogwarts started singing and screaming the song they loved. Luna, by his side, was putting all her heart into it.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald

"Or young with scabby knees," George whispered, hearing Luna echo his words seconds later. And then he raised his voice and changed his rhythm, slowing the song down to the funeral march he and Fred loved to use.

Our heads could do with filling,
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,

Everyone else had finished singing by now and had fallen silent. He wasn't sure whether they were listening to him or lost in thought.

So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,

Luna started swaying them again to imaginary music. Her light voice joined his for the final few words of the song.

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.

There was a short burst of laughter from the other end of the room, and someone giggled close by. George, almost despite himself, smiled at Luna, who rested her head on his shoulder.

He had forgotten what happiness felt like. Maybe this was a step toward it.

Hm...

In all honesty, I'm not sure about this chapter. I mean, I like it. I think it's sweet and not-too-badly-written. I think it's the right length and I like everything that happens in it. But... I don't know. I think Luna unsettles me; whenever she comes up in a chapter I feel sure I'm doing it wrong, somehow. Thoughts?

Oh, and feel free to point out any typos.

And to review.