Here's chapter two – thanks to everyone that's read the story so far and left a comment. Reviews are great so if you have a second please leave a comment. Enjoy.
George couldn't sleep. Not that that was his plan, anyway. He was determined that, if he was going to have to suffer through a birthday tomorrow, he would console himself with the knowledge that he, at least, had not forgotten his brother.
Carefully, so as not to wake anyone up, George stole out of the Burrow an hour before midnight, clutching his brother's jumper, his vision blurred by the tears swimming in his eyes. He silently trod the path out of the garden, the shadows dancing as if memories had been trapped in them and were fighting to break out. His eyes swept over the flowerbed and vegetable patch. He and Fred had spent many summers de-gnoming them for their mother. The year before they opened Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, they'd made deals with the gnomes offering to let them be if they could test the joke shop products on them. It had worked well until Mrs Weasley had come outside to collect some washing to find that the gnomes had sprouted canary wings and were launching a dive-bomb assault on the house. A smile began to twitch at the corner of his mouth as George remembered how his mum had grounded him and Fred for the rest of the summer and forced them to stay in their room, only for them to develop their best products yet, undisturbed by the rest of the family.
Just as it was about to reach his other cheek, the smile flickered and dimmed as he began to dwell on the fact that Fred was abandoned in the past, and he was stuck the present. In just one second, with one explosion, his brother had been locked away from him. There was no denying or questioning; Fred could never be one of those cases that may or may not have a happy ending. Or a missing person that may or may not come back. Fred was not one of those people that could claw at the boundary between what was definite and unknown, hoping, praying that someone would find him and rescue him from the past he was becoming. Fred couldn't have a happy ending or come back. His fate was definite. He was gone.
At the end of the dirt path George started up the steep incline of the hill at the edge of Ottery St. Cathpole to the site where they'd taken the portkey to the Quidditch World Cup. They'd held the funeral there. The ashes were scattered here too. Everyone had thought that George wanted the headstone and ashes here because it was close to home and was where Quidditch World Cup journey started. They'd been wrong – George wanted the ashes here because the hill was so high that Fred would be able to see for miles around. He'd be able to see the orchard where they practised Quidditch. He'd be able to see the Burrow in all of its patchwork glory. He'd be able to see the blinking lights of the village at night. The blinking lights that used to shine below them when they secretly flew over the village. Those few precious times that they managed to sneak their brooms up to their room and fly out of the window in the middle of the night and just enjoy being in the air and feel the sky wrapping them in a refreshing embrace. It was the wind in their hair as they swerved through the heavens and the simple feeling of being totally indestructible flooding through their minds and warming them to their finger tips. It was those moments that George missed most. It wasn't the fun and the laughs that he craved - George missed the times when they didn't even have to talk, they just had to know that they'd snuck out and made time stand still as the feeling of freedom pumped through their veins.
He reached the simple head stone and knelt in front of it, brushing the wild tangle of tangerine fire flowers away from the inscription. The glint of the moon in the inky darkness fell lazily on the stone, making the vibrant colours of the natural crystal pop like fireworks. He idly traced the name with his finger, letting his hand rest on the 'y' as tears silently toured down his haggard freckled cheeks. George bent his head as his hearty sobs reverberated in the otherwise silent air, as he draped himself over the grave stone. His limbs had turned to lead and the only thing that was keeping him from sinking into the damp ground was the very thing that symbolised why his chest was heaving and a torrent was tears was flooding his face.
"I-I m-miss you s-so m-much Freddy!" he wailed. The gaping hole in his chest seemed to be tearing wider as he crumbled under the weight of his own grief.
The snap of a twig suddenly rang crisp in the air. George jumped with such force that his left knee gave away from underneath him and his forehead collided with cold hard stone. For a second his vision blackened and he swayed uneasily. A pounding pain erupted across his forehead and his darkened vision seemed to intensify as he grappled in the air for something to lean on.
A moment later the pain had begun to ebb away and his vision started to reappear in steady sparkles and pops of light as a familiar voice murmured from behind him.
"Hello, Georgie."
Thanks for having a gander at my work. If you like what you've read please leave a review and tell your friends. Until next time - TTFN.