A/N: Fixed for minor edits
You were one half of a whole and he was your ever present shadow. You moved in perfect rhythm together and you found humour in everything. It was easy for you both to laugh away the war because you had each other. But he's gone now and your breath seems easier to catch if she's around.
x-
smiling hurts
You haven't smiled alone in 20 years. That is all your life. You have never thought of something funny without turning around to an identical smile. (But they tell you he died smiling and that stings because you weren't there to share the joke.) You have never heard the sound of your own laughter alone.
It takes 3 weeks, 4 days and 13 hours for you to smile again. You blame Ron, really, the silly git.
You're curled up on the sofa and Ron and Hermione are across from you and Harry and Ginny are behind you somewhere but you don't care enough to look. It's new and strange, the way they pair off, but nothing has changed. (Then the guilt pangs at your side and you shift in your chair and imagine that there's someone mirroring your movements. Somewhere.)
No one is talking because there's Quidditch commentary on the wireless and they're trying to pretend everything is the same as before. You absentmindedly watch Ron twirl the ends of Hermione's hair in his fingers and pretend to listen too. Your face feels slack and heavy, a mask. But then the commentator mentions Ellen McKilroy, the new Irish chaser, and you don't hear what it is he says, but knowing Ron it was vaguely obscene and along the lines of, "I'd give her more than one," which you've heard him mutter a thousand times. It's not that that makes you smile; it's the shocked gasp and the sharp slap from Hermione, followed by a shove and a thump and then there's a confused Ron in a heap on the floor. Harry and Ginny chuckle, Hermione glares at him (but you can see her lip twitch and she wants to laugh, but she wants to scare him first), and Ron looks downright furious.
You think Fred'd have loved it if he'd been here; dear Hermione putting ickle Ronniekins in his place. You'd both be bent double, knees weak and clapping each other on the back. But he's not here, is he?
Your smile is natural but it feels false and achy, the muscles lax from such underuse. Hermione catches your eye and you blush guiltily, eyes stinging. You hide your face in the crook of your arm and try to slow your breathing, because it's not fair, is it? You can sit here and smile and what can he do?
The minutes pass quietly.
"It's okay, George," whispers a familiar voice, and you open your eyes and raise your head hesitantly. Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny are gone, and you think you see a flash of ginger and bushy brown hair run past the window. Angelina is there, and she looks so tired, but so beautiful, and you know she'll understand when you don't smile in greeting.
So you don't and neither does she. She sits beside you and takes your hand and you stare at your pale and freckled skin against her dark fingers. This is strange, you think, because the last other half you had was identical to you. But there's a first time for everything, isn't there? So you look into her dark eyes and whisper, "I miss him, Ange."
And then she smiles and it's the most beautifully heartbreaking thing you've ever seen because she looks so peaceful but her eyes are full of tears when she says, "Me too, George, me too."
This time when you smile it doesn't hurt as much because there's a mirror image staring back. (And okay, maybe it's not the same, but her smile is pure and wonderful and it's as much for him as it is for you and that makes it better than okay.)
x-
laughter is hard to come by
There's been a war, you think dimly. People've died fighting and people've died sleeping in their beds and you're secretly thankful he went the way he did. Like a true Gryffindor. Like a true Weasley.
"There's been a war," you mumble quietly, and she looks at you like you're insane and you smile at her. It's easier now, here in the grass with the sun shining and lighting up the deep chocolate of her eyes and the white flowers in her hair.
"I know, George. You remember? Big battle. Lots of nasty people running around. You were the star of a radio show. Though that's not really synonymous with war, is it?"
You look at her with that smile still playing on your lips because this is why you were friends in the first place. She's a tiny bit insane and a whole heap of adorable and maybe even a tad hilarious and you can't help but grab her and kiss her for it.
She doesn't hesitate like you thought she would. She melts into your arms and you feel petals lick at your forehead from the daisy chain in her curls and my God, Fred, isn't she perfect?
"That was nice," she breathes, her breath hot on your chin.
"Yeah," you chuckle, you actually chuckle, and she looks at you and giggles and there you are, the two of you laughing together like it's perfectly acceptable. And even though you know it is, the guilt bites when you grab her hand and fall backwards into the grass cackling maniacally, weeks of unused laughter escaping your throat. She's laughing too, and you're both almost happy.
If someone asked you to paint a picture of the moment you knew things were going to get better, this would be it. Her eyes sparkling and your arms twisted together and the laughter on your tongue as sweet as honey. And when all the laughter leaves you, you don't cry or scream. You take her hand and you run to the shop and you kiss her in the doorway and ask for her help.
x-
you love her don't you?
"Angelina. I love you," you whisper, and they're the sweetest words you've ever tasted. Her eyes are huge and dark and you think you'd be happy to drown in them.
"I love you, too, George," she replies, and her fingers run through your hair and you kiss her again (and again and again) because what else can you do?
It's the 31st of March and the stars are like glitter and the moon is full and you feel a pang in your heart for Remus, and Tonks, and Sirius and everyone you love who can no longer love you back. (11.57pm.)
And then there's him, there's Fred, and you're sitting here with Angelina on the streets of Ottery St. Catchpole and by God, you're trying not to cry. (11.58pm.) But you've been very unsuccessful with your attempts and she kisses the tear tracks on your cheeks because she couldn't possibly have the words to make it better.
You'll be 21 tomorrow. He won't. It's the most painful thing you've ever felt, because it suddenly hits you that you're going on with your life and Fred's ended back at Hogwarts. He won't blow the candles out with you and he won't be there with new ideas for the shop and he won't hold your firstborn in his arms and say, "Hello, baby. I'm sorry you got stuck with the crap twin as a father but I'll try and make it up to you," and laugh when you punch him playfully on the arm. (11.59pm.) He won't be your best man and he won't finish your sentences and he won't fly to India and set up a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes there like he'd always wanted. Like you've always wanted.
(12.00am, April 1st)
So you'll do it for him. You'll live for him.
"Marry me," you murmur and she smiles and nods and you love her so much. You're both crying as you wave your wand and watch the fireworks explode and dance with the stars. Your arm is around her and you steal glances every few seconds, enjoying the lights as much in her eyes as you do in the sky.
"Happy birthday, Freddie," you whisper to the breeze and -
"Happy birthday, George," she mumbles into your jaw.
And then she kisses you and you know you're both living for him.