Chapter Two: Twin Dragon-skin Jackets

Like every other day since the 3rd of May, George didn't go downstairs for breakfast. He could almost sense his family's disappointment – in particular Ginny – but he couldn't face it. He just couldn't face acting normal as if nothing had happened, plastering a smile on his face, cracking jokes and eating a full meal. It would feel wrong. And he couldn't pretend to be happy, not when his whole world had been viciously torn apart. It would feel like an injustice to Fred.

Everyone kept saying that Fred wouldn't have wanted him to be so upset over his death but did they really know Fred at all? George had known Fred like the back of his hand. No, he had known him better than the back of his hand. Fred wouldn't have said "cheer up, Georgie and bring a smile to everyone's face," no he would have said "yeah, you'd better be upset that I died! I'm so handsome, charming and wittily hilarious that I'm surprised you're not rolling around in a ball on the floor sobbing your heart out!"

A knock at their – his – door brought him out of his depressing thoughts. That's all he seemed to do nowadays, mope around thinking depressing things. It was days upon days of being stuck in his own torturous thoughts of I wish I had died instead and this is just a horrible nightmare that I'll wake up from at any second. "Georgie?" his mum's voice sounded softly outside the door.

He flinched.

The only person who ever called him Georgie was Fred, or occasionally Ginny, but their mum had stopped calling him that when they were about 14 or so. He and Fred had never been particularly close with their mum as she would always get angry at the pranks they pulled and the insensitive jokes they made in serious situations. Not to mention how much she disapproved of their chosen career path. Bill and Percy had always been her favourites, even when Percy had abandoned the family out of his own pride. In her eyes Percy was the perfect son.

Again, George didn't reply to her.

If he used his voice he knew it would crack, either from sadness or anger. He didn't know anymore. His emotions were a jumbled up mess of chaos and depression. Everything hurt.

"George," Molly murmured. "Will you come and have breakfast? Or at least go outside for some fresh air? You've spent so much time in your room this week, it would do you some good to go for a walk…"

Silence again.

There was a distinct sigh from outside the door but George couldn't bring himself to feel guilty. Next he heard the quiet clink of a china plate or bowl being placed down on the floorboards, a sound that had been heard about three times a day for the past week. And his mum's footsteps faded away faintly until she got downstairs.

George rolled over on the bed and turned to face the wall, trying to stop the tears in his eyes.

He stayed in that position for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, and eventually forced himself to get up and bring the plate of bacon and eggs in, stomach growling. Poking at one of the eggs, he found that it was cold. He tried taking a bite but grimaced at the texture and taste, still feeling sick.

The plate was left on his desk, untouched.

It was a depressed day.

Sleeping was futile because of the noisiness of the birds chirping outside his window, reading was boring and too Hermione-ish, inventing products wouldn't feel the same without Fred, heck he didn't even have anyone to play exploding snap with anymore –

After staring at the wall for a bit longer, wondering if his glare would burn a hole in the wallpaper, George groaned and decided to throw himself into tidying his room.

The doorbell rang several hours later while he was rummaging through the wardrobe contemplating which clothes to get rid of or even if he should get rid of them at all. George froze when his hand brushed over a green dragon-skin coat and he quickly pulled his hand away, as if it had burned him.

Fred died in that coat, Fred died in that coat, Fred died in that coat –

George closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The scent of mothballs and dried blood permeated his senses and he stumbled back to sit on the bed, feeling nauseous. There were reddish-brown stains on the coat and he couldn't stop himself from thinking where was he injured, how did he die, did it hurt, could I have stopped it-?

An unfamiliar knock at the door interrupted his near-panic-attack and he quickly slammed the wardrobe door shut and opened the window, letting the fresh air get rid of the metallic smell.

"What?" he snapped, heart beating furiously, barely even noticing that for the first time he had talked to someone who wasn't Ginny.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the person behind the door. Perhaps they were shocked that he was talking, or perhaps they were shocked to hear a voice which sounded so much like Fred's.

"George –" Lee's voice sounded. "Can we come in?"

There were some furious whispers and George sighed, heading towards the door. "You know he's not going to let us in; Arthur said he hasn't spoken to anyone all week and only Molly's been in his room. Lee this is ridiculous…"

It was Angelina.

George's heart skipped a beat.

"Well, we can apparate in –"

"That's invading his privacy –"

"Alohomora?"

"That's never worked, you know how strong their locking charms are –"

Angelina and Lee blinked in surprise as the door opened. A man they barely recognised stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised and looking at them disbelievingly. His eyes told a story of immeasurable pain and forced happiness.

"Hey," Angelina said softly. She lifted her hand, perhaps as if to caress his cheek, or run her hand through her hair, or slap him. George wouldn't have been surprised at the latter.

It was comforting to see her again. She was just as beautiful as ever, despite looking tired, stressed and mournful. Her eyes flashed with a brief moment of pain as they looked into each other's eyes and he knew in that moment she had seen Fred.

Angelina being there felt refreshing, and relieving. But also horrifically awkward. Everything had changed between them. She had been dating Fred for two years before they broke up in around January and since then she and George had been stealing loving glances when Fred wasn't looking and flirting after Order meetings and Potterwatch recordings. Heck they had even had sex once or twice (and it was a very pleasant experience but he couldn't stop himself from feeling guilty each time).

Now the guilt was eating him alive.

He should have told Fred.

It's not that Angelina was off limits; she and Fred had mutually broken up because they didn't have feelings for each other anymore (although George doubted that in Angie's case). Fred probably didn't care what his ex was up to and wouldn't have been mad that George was falling for her.

He just felt guilty because it was the one secret he had never shared with his twin. And now he never would.

Instead of slapping him like he thought she might, Angelina pulled him into a tender hug.

George froze but returned the embrace. Her hair smelled like lavender.

Lee whistled nonchalantly and rolled his eyes. Then he shrugged and joined their hug, making it even more awkward. He kissed George on the cheek and Angelina laughed. The sound of her laugh was the most beautiful thing George had heard all week and although he didn't laugh, her happiness was enough to give him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, diminishing his sadness for at least one short moment.

Eventually they settled in George's room and continued cleaning his room. Having his friends around him helped take his mind off Fred for a while, and although he still occasionally looked over his shoulder to see Fred's reaction to one of Lee's terrible dad jokes, and although he still only said half sentences expecting Fred to finish them, he felt less lonely.

Lee was rummaging around in the desk, blowing dust off books and catching the occasional joke product which would jump out at him. He skilfully avoided some imminent disasters with a punching telescope, a half-brewed draught of living death and a vicious pygmy puff prototype which tried to bite his nose off. In the struggle with Ruffles the puff, some papers fell to the ground.

George stunned Ruffles and collected the papers. They were forms with the profit and expenditures for the month of April, and all their proposed ideas for future products. He sighed and left them in a black folder on a shelf.

Lee glanced at the papers. "What are you going to do with the shop?" he asked cautiously.

George paused. "I don't know. I don't think I can face going back there for at least another month. I'd just be seeing my past with Fred everywhere, seeing all our memories in our inventions, and hearing his voice. I'd go stir crazy I reckon." He fiddled with his wand mindlessly, twirling it around.

"We can keep it working and clean if you want," Angelina offered, giving him a reassuring smile. "Verity has been restocking and tidying everything. We can help her get the shop open again and maybe work at the counter a few days a week."

"Thank you," George whispered. "Really. It means a lot. Everything brings back memories of him – the Burrow, our bedroom, the flat, the shop. I don't think I can cope with it yet. And I can't pretend to be fine for our – my customers."

"You don't need to fake happiness," Angelina replied, squeezing his hand. A single strand of hair fell in front of her face and George suddenly had the urge to brush it away and kiss her. "George, you don't need to pretend to be fine for anyone, your customers, your family, your friends. We're always here for you, through the good times and the bad."

Lee clapped loudly and pretended to wipe away a tear. "Well said, Angie, bravo."

If there were actual tears in his eyes neither Angelina nor George decided to mention it.

"Ok shut up, Jordan. Now we're going to stop being soppy and get back to cleaning. You didn't finish organising the desk!"

"… and there's our normal slave-driving Johnson back again," Lee muttered, grumbling and getting back to work.

George grinned, and for once, it didn't feel forced.

In the evening, when Lee and Angie had left, the damn birds had stopped singing so loud and the sun was hidden behind the trees, George finally left his room. For the first time in a week he had eaten his whole dinner, as the grumbling of his stomach finally overtook him. Although he didn't have the courage to go downstairs and eat with his family, it was still a step forward.

Cautiously making his way down the stairs, George blinked at the huge contrast in brightness between his room and the rest of the house. He felt like a new-born child making his way out of the comfort of his mother's womb for the first time. And it felt like he was starting a new life too; a life without Fred. He had been reborn again, this time with the weight of the world on his shoulders but no twin to share the burden with.

He paused in the downstairs hallway. There were pegs by the door and one of them was empty. George took in a deep breath and took his green dragon-skin jacket from the peg next to the empty one. His own jacket was clean, thankfully. And, as he shrugged it on, it felt comforting. It felt like Fred was there with him, walking two steps behind him and about to crack a joke. But it didn't make him depressed; instead he gave a small smile and continued on his way.

No one stopped him as he left through the front door. Presumably the other Weasleys were all in the kitchen, living room, in their rooms (Percy certainly was), or out. That was ok – he'd left a short note saying he'd taken his mum's advice and gone for a walk.

The family was still on edge one week after the end of the war because, as George now knew, wars never end in one glorious final battle. There were still some Death Eaters, werewolves and dementors at large, and the wizarding world had been warned to stay aware of their surroundings at all times.

But George didn't expect to find twenty dementors in Ottery St Catchpole.

He strolled around the village for a bit, feeling immersed in the muggle world and wondering what life would have been like without magic. An old lady smiled politely at him and he grimaced back. Her eyes widened when she saw his ear (or lack thereof) under the streetlight and she hurried to the other side of the street.

George was used to reactions like that. But this time Fred wasn't here to tell her to bugger off… and that sucked.

Making his way to the pond he and his brothers used to play at, George left the village and headed further into the countryside.

As he got further away from home, all he could hear was an owl hooting and the rustling of leaves in the summer breeze. His war instincts kicked in and he knew that, although it was peaceful and relaxing out here because no one could disturb him, that was the exact problem. He was far enough away from Ottery St Catchpole now that no one would hear him if he were to shout. It was a perfect place for an attack.

George hummed a tune and turned back the way he had come, kicking at some mud and watching a squirrel scurry up a tree. Still, he clutched his wand in his pocket, ever aware. Mad-Eye Moody's voice barked in his mind: "constant vigilance!"

Even after the ex-auror's death, his advice stuck with George.

There was a suspicious rustling sound from a nearby bush and George held his wand tighter, not wanting to expose himself to a muggle but also wanting to stay protected in case of an attack. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe it was just a badger –

Too late, he spotted the hooded figure and malicious eyes peering at him from behind the bushes. "Petrificus totalus!" the Death Eater shouted, and George fell backwards, petrified. He mentally kicked himself for not reacting sooner. He even had his hand on his wand and was ready to fight back!

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought. This isn't good.

The Death Eater emerged from his hiding place and kicked George's wand out of reach. It rolled over and rested in a puddle.

"Fancy seeing you here," the man sneered. George didn't recognise him because of the hood covering his face but his voice seemed oddly familiar. Perhaps he had fought him before and the Death Eater wanted revenge. "Well, it's not so much of a coincidence in fact – I've been waiting for you to leave the wards of your home, and this was my chance. I want to finish what I started. I'm going to kill you tonight."

George's heart was in his throat and he was sure that if he wasn't already petrified he would have been frozen in fear.

Great, this is such a brave way to go, he thought. Lying in a puddle, leaving nothing more than a note to my family. No one will find my body for a week.

A darker thought entered his mind.

At least I won't be without Fred anymore.

The Death Eater gave a psychotic grin which sickened George. It was clear the man had been driven mad from power and hatred. He wanted nothing more than to cause pain and George was certain that there would be at least a little blood shed tonight. He was certain that, like Fred's, his dragon-skin jacket would soon be drenched in blood.

The man lifted a hand up dramatically to his face and George would have loved to have sarcastically said oh get it over with, mate! I don't have all day.

He pulled down the hood.

It was Augustus Rookwood.
-

A/N: ... you might have to wait a while for this cliffhanger to be resolved.

I know I said there would be weekly updates but I don't think that's possible at the moment because of how little time I have. So there should be a new chapter perhaps once every 2-4 weeks.

Also I want to make sure the chapters are the best quality possible, I don't want to write a chapter everyday but have it be uninteresting. And I try to write at least 2,500 words per chapter. I'm kind of a perfectionist...
Hope you like it, and don't forget to leave a review! Constructive criticism would really be appreciated!