A/N - A Fred and George good-bye. As I'm sure you'll figure out as you read, the dialogue in italics is in George's head.
Also written for the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes Stall at the Hogwarts Fair on HPFC.
Rating: K
George stood beside the gate of the small graveyard just outside Ottery St. Catchpole. Looking up, he could see Stoatshead Hill looming in the distance. He had been standing here for quite some time, but it was the closest he'd gotten and the longest he'd stayed since Fred's funeral six months ago.
He had tried to come here many times. Mostly he had stopped before he had made it through the wards that hid this place from the Muggles. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Fred. He talked to him all the time, at the shop, in their flat, in his head when he wasn't alone. But coming here…it made it seem so final somehow.
George wasn't going barmy or anything like that. He knew Fred was dead and he wasn't coming back. And that thought felt like a kick in the gut every single time. But George hadn't yet gotten up the nerve to sit in front of Fred's grave and talk to him there. He could hear Fred laughing at him in his head. Afraid of a graveyard. Git.
George laughed a bit under his breath. Then he took a deep breath and opened the gate. He stepped through and let the gate shut behind him. He looked up and Cedric's headstone was the first thing he saw. Shaking his head, George walked to the left, passing stones of various age and sizes until he reached Fred's.
He stopped when he was about ten feet away, the tears instantly filling his eyes. He blinked rapidly and bit his lip. He pulled in another breath and then blew it out. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he let the tears that had escaped his eyes run unchecked down his cheeks and he walked a bit closer.
"Hey Freddie," he said quietly and then cleared his throat. "Sorry I haven't been to visit. I know everyone else has been. Mum comes all the time and Dad." He stopped, aware that he was babbling. "Merlin even Percy's been here." George closed his eyes, glad, at least, that his brothers had a chance to reconcile before, well, just before.
He lowered himself to the ground and sat cross-legged in front of Fred's grave. He stared at the words carved into it – Fred Gideon Weasley, 1 April 1978 – 2 May 1998, Beloved Son and Brother. George ran his fingers lightly over the engraving.
"See George, I'm the beloved son." Fred's voice echoed in his head. George snorted. He could almost see Fred's smirking face.
"Beloved, my arse," George replied.
"I'm wounded brother, truly I am." George heard in mock indignation, his mind supplying the words he knew Fred would have spoken, as easily as it supplied his own. George half-smiled.
"Obviously, Mum is the one that chose your inscription," George said.
"And what would you have picked instead?"
"Oh I don't know," George mused. "Peddler of pranks."
"Supplier of stunts."
"Trader of tricks."
"Merchant of capers."
"Hawker of hoaxes."
"Purveyor of mischief. That was always my favorite."
"Corruptor of innocents," George said with a smile. "Ang told me that one a few weeks ago."
"Ang?" George could picture Fred waggling his eyebrows.
"She's stopped by the shop a few times," George explained. "We talk. Yesterday we had lunch."
"Stealing my woman, are you?"
"One date does not 'your woman' make," George said with a roll of his eyes. "And you knew I wanted to ask her to the Yule Ball."
"Guilty. I also knew you'd never get the stones to ask her. At least this way you got to dance with her a few times."
"Git," George muttered, his face reddening ever so slightly, only because he knew it was true. He could hear Fred laughing in his head.
"Why is it that I'm always a git when I'm right?"
"You're a git all the time, not just when you're right," George quipped. He heard a snort.
"Merlin, I miss you Freddie," George said quietly. There was no response. George stared at the headstone until the words on it blurred. He looked down at his lap and pulled in a breath. This is what always happened. His mind could provide all manner of quips, retorts and jokes that his twin would have made in any given situation, but as soon as the mood turned somber, his inner Fred clammed up. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Living Fred was never all that good at sentiment either.
"And I know you're probably rolling your eyes and telling me to get over myself, wherever you are," George said with a little laugh. "And I'm trying, I really am." George sat in silence for a few minutes. The tears continued and he shed them unashamedly. And when he had run out, he wiped his face with the back of his hand and stood.
"Harry told me that Dumbledore told him death was just the next Great Adventure," George said. "Just try not to have too much fun without me, yeah?" The wind blew lightly and George closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun. His hair ruffled and he could have sworn he heard a whisper on the breeze.
"I'll be waiting Georgie." George smiled.