Chapter Forty-Four

Remember

1st April, 1999

It was his birthday today.

When did birthdays usually stop being something you looked forward to? He knew people who made a face whenever that time of year came around, bur he had never expected to one day become one of them. He had thought that was something for old, irate people, not for twenty-year-old men. He had thought many things back when he was still happy.

He was already a year older than Fred would ever be, a whole bloody year older than him. Would he always feel like this? Would every birthday take him one more step away from his brother, his twin? Would he always feel like an old man? Would he always be this messed up?

Help me. Merlin, Fred – help me.

There was a knock at the door, so sharp and insistent that he heard it from the upper floor, and he tilted his head back and groaned. If it was someone here to say "Happy birthday," he was not about to open the door.

Another knock. He counted on his fingers how many people he knew who might come. Not his parents, not even on his birthday, not since he'd made his mum burst into tears last time she'd come. Not anyone in his family, really, except maybe Percy who was actually turning out to be a pretty decent bloke. But Percy didn't bother with knocking anymore. Then there was Lee, who probably didn't know what a birthday was anymore. No, it couldn't be Lee. He came up with three names: Katie, Alicia, and Angelina. It could be any of the three; he didn't think he was closer to one than the other. He saw Angelina more often, but only because Katie was busy with Lee, Alicia was busy with Merry, and Angelina no longer had Fred to be busy with. They'd all been buddies back at Hogwarts, and team-mates, but it had never really gone beyond that. It was only after Hogwarts that they had become true friends, through and through. It had been thanks to Angelina and Fred, really.

Fred...

A third knock, followed by three more in rapid succession. Whoever it was, she was getting impatient. He didn't want to answer. Did he want to see their faces? Katie, Alicia, Angelina. Katie was so happy, so free of guilt and suffering that she only made his own pain sharper by contrast. Alicia was the opposite and made him feel free to wallow in his despair, which wasn't that much better, really. And Angelina reminded him too much of Fred.

"George Weasley!" a voice yelled; the window was open and he could make out every word distinctly. "If you don't open up in twenty seconds I'll break the door down!"

That was Angelina for sure. He couldn't help but smile a little as he pushed his chair back and made his way down the stairs. He wrenched the door open; Angelina looked surprised. She looked strange, too. It took him a moment to pinpoint it exactly, but she was dressed up. Her braids were sleek and ordered, she had a little eye shadow on, and she was wearing a dress, all unusual things for Angelina. She looked... girlish, he decided as he stared at her. Fred would have hated it.

He thought she looked pretty good.

She said, "Hi."

"Hi," he said back.

He thought if she said Happy "birthday" he would slam the door back in her face. She didn't, though. Instead she brushed past him into the shop, or what used to be the shop, and he caught a whiff of a flowery scent that had to be perfume except Angelina didn't wear perfume. He closed the door behind her, frowning.

"Still no light down here?" she said, looking around. "Lumos."

The tip of her wand lit up.

"Still no light down here," he confirmed. "What's the point?"

"The point," she said as she nearly tripped over a box, "is that darkness creeps me out."

"Since when are you scared of the dark?"

"Since it put my life in danger," she snapped. "I nearly broke my ankle."

He smiled again, but she didn't see it. She didn't see it because they had reached the top of the stairs, and she was looking around in dismay at the mess that was the kitchen area, then at the empty table. Was it time for supper already? he wondered.

"Where's Lee?" she asked.

"At work."

"It's past nine!"

"He has flexible hours."

She pursed her lips. "Then he should make sure to be here on time."

"On time for what? He doesn't have anything to come home to."

"He doesn't have anything to come home from, either," she said bitingly. "He's only a trainee Auror in name now, as everyone knows... since that business with Rookwood. Besides," she added, almost as an afterthought, "he has you."

"I'm not his family."

She seemed on the verge of retorting, but to his surprise, she held it in and only said, "Sit down. At the table. You need a proper meal."

Twenty minutes later, after having gone through all of his cupboards, Angelina set a plate of steaming roast beef and butter beans down in front of him. The smell of it made George's stomach turn. He could barely stand the half-cold, five-second meals Lee had been feeding him. How was he supposed to eat this?

But Angelina was watching him, and he plunged his fork in and took a mouthful.

"I suppose now wouldn't be the right time to mention I don't particularly like butter beans."

Fred had loved them.

"Probably not," she agreed.

"Or that they've been sitting in that cupboard for months."

Angelina smiled like he'd just made a joke and took a bite. "Have you ever thought about reopening the shop?" she said, her tone almost casual.

"Yes."

"And?" she prompted him.

He shrugged.

"It's a brilliant idea," she pressed. "Everyone loved it. I'd like to see it opened again."

"It's not about you," he snapped, which was usually enough to make Lee – or anyone, really – back down.

A flash of hurt crossed Angelina's face, but her voice was even when she replied.

"I know," she said calmly. "But Fred would want it open, too. The shop was his dream, George. You know how he felt about it."

It was true. Ironically enough, their joke shop had been the one thing Fred had ever been completely serious about. He had thought everything out in advance, planned out spending, sales, and employee salaries in charts that George hadn't looked at since... since...

"So what are you all dressed up for?" he asked, changing the subject.

He wished he could just be silent, but he knew she wouldn't let him. Every time she came around, she kept him talking. He had liked it at first, because hearing the sound of his own voice made him think part of him was still sane. Sometimes, though, it just annoyed him, because she often wanted to talk about subjects he didn't even want to think about.

She looked at him. "You know why."

His throat went dry. "You –"

"Happy birthday, George," she said, and he wished he had slammed the door in her face.

Last year, their birthday had been one month and one day before the Battle. They had all been tense and weary and worried then, but it had been so easy to let go of all that for one day and have fun on their birthday. Angelina had been all prettied up then, too, and so had Katie and Alicia. Lee had been his old self, flirting blatantly with Angelina in that Lee way of his that couldn't annoy even Fred, who was her boyfriend for Merlin's sake. They had all ended up with at least one drink too many – except for Ange, who rarely drank –, and Lee had been downright smashed, and they had all crashed over at the flat above the shop to recover. They had woken up with terrible hangovers.

George felt like he had a perpetual hangover nowadays. His head was always ringing and he always felt like throwing up.

"You're twenty-one now," Angelina said, as though he hadn't heard her the first time.

"I know," he said. "Ange, please shut up."

He thought she would lose her temper and yell, or maybe punch him, because Ange was like that. That was why Fred had liked her: she was tough. But she surprised him. She just looked at him silently for a few seconds before speaking, her voice very soft.

"I miss him, too, you know," she said.

"I can't believe he's gone."

"But he isn't, George," she said. "He's dead, but he isn't gone. He's still right here." She tapped her chest above where her heart was with two fingers. "And he speaks to us. I hear him. Right now, he's telling me..." She cocked her head as though listening to someone. "He's telling me to be strong. And to take care of you."

George shook his head. "Don't, Ange, please. I'd feel it if he were – still here. It's painful enough as it is. He's dead –"

"Yes! Yes, he is!" Angelina said fiercely. "He's dead. But he's still here, with us. You can't be sad! You're not supposed to be sad. You can miss having him by your side, but you can't go on thinking he's – gone forever. He isn't. But he must be worried sick about you!"

"Stop saying that! Stop acting like you know what he would think. You didn't know him! You didn't know him like I did!"

Again, he intended to hurt her with his words. She didn't even flinch.

"Maybe I never knew him as well as you did," she said, "but I loved him, and at least I still know him. Whereas you've just been ignoring him. You're a damn coward, George Weasley, and you don't even deserve to be able to call Fred your brother. Do you realise what you're doing? You're trying to forget him."

He stared at her, his anger making him speechless. How could she?

"You can't let go of your memories," she went on. "You keep wanting to go back in time, but you can't! So you torture yourself with everything you ever said to Fred, and you can't see that he's still here. With me. With you. In this very room."

"You mean his memory."

"I mean his spirit. Death isn't only the end of your life, George. It's also the beginning of something else. Fred can see you right now – what do you think he's thinking?"

"Don't bullshit me, Angelina. He can't."

"He can," she said simply. "And one day, he'll let himself in and you'll realise how blind you were. You can't keep shutting him out forever."

George set his fork down and pushed his chair back. "I'm not hungry."

She nodded as though she had been expecting it. "How long has it been since you last ate a proper meal?"

"Not that long," he lied, and tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

She was silent for a long moment. At some point, he heard the scraping of her chair and heard her make his way over to him, then kneel next to him.

"You're only skin and bones," she whispered, her warmth breath tickling his neck. "You should eat more."

She stood up, and her hands found their way to his shoulders. Warm. Massaging.

"Relax."

Her fingers moved gently, alternately pressuring and releasing, hesitantly slipping beneath his collar to knead his skin.

"Relax," she said again, her voice cradling the single word.

"I'm relaxed."

"Fred liked this," she said quietly. "He was very stressed in the last weeks before the battle. He knew something like this could happen, though I don't think he ever thought it could be him. He was so scared of losing someone... of losing you... He liked this," she repeated.

She let her words sink in, cautious, before continuing, still in that soft, soft voice."He liked it when I got angry. His favourite colour was red."

He wanted to tell her to stop, but the words stuck in his throat.

"He asked me out as a joke. He loved laughing. He liked being a Beater because it gave him the right to send Bludgers at people. He got a T on his History of Magic O.W.L. He could turn anything into a joke. He always thought Peeves was hilarious." Her hands stilled suddenly on his shoulders. "That's what you need to remember, George. The good things. Fred – Fred would want you to live."

Her hands fell to her sides.

"I want you to live."

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

Her hands were back, lightly tracing his hairline, caressing the back of his head.

"He loved you," George said, his eyes still closed. "You know he did."

He felt more than heard her sharp intake of breath, and felt, too, something wet suddenly splash on his forehead.

"Happy birthday, George."