Here's the next chapter for you guys. I'm really thankful for the reviews that I get so please keep them coming! Also, If you decide this story isn't for you, have a look at my other story, 'Dances With Centaurs', which is a lot less angst and a lot more love. Enjoy.
Slowly, George stood up and turned warily on the spot. His eyes bulged and his mouth sagged open. His tears stopped momentarily and his skin prickled. His mouth went suddenly dry.
Standing, just feet away from him, was Fred.
Exactly the same as the last time his saw him. For the first time in a year, George didn't need a mirror to see another version of himself. Still, this version was distinctly different looking. Fred's face was fuller than George's, his hair wasn't lank or dull in colour, and he wasn't gaunt and pallid. He looked healthy and happy.
George continued to stare bemusedly, until Fred whispered, "Georgie, George. Mate, it's me?"
In a second George had snapped out of his confused state and charged over to Fred where he grabbed him in a long awaited hug. Tears of relief tore in waves down his face and he bent his head into his twin's shoulder. His chest heaved, and the happiness that had been locked deep inside him for the past year burst free and bounced through his body.
George didn't speak for a while; he just held his brother in his arms. Eventually the tears stopped.
He couldn't believe it. What was happening? This was exactly the moment that George had dreamed of for the last year - he'd dreamed that he'd see his brother again. He'd prayed that Fred was happy wherever he was – but that 'wherever' had always meant another world, another dimension. He'd been teaching himself, slowly, painfully that that new world or dimension was unreachable and that no amount of magic or love or longing could retrieve Fred from there. Now he was here. Here, alive, on Earth, in Ottery St. Catchpole, in his brother's arms. He was here and he looked happy and healthy.
There was so much that George wanted to say. So many questions: why here, why now? Where had he been for the past year? How did he survive the Battle of Hogwarts?
Why didn't he come back sooner? Any other person would have started to feel the anger and betrayal seeping into their thoughts about now – after all, Fred had let them all think that he was dead, they'd buried him, mourned over him; George was still mourning over him. But the anger never came. The feeling of betrayal never reared its ugly head looking for answers. All that mattered was that Fred was back and the Weasley family was complete. What would his mother say? Her lost son, found, found and rescued from the past that he was becoming and dragged back into the future that everyone had their hearts set on, but thought they could ever have. Before Fred had died, no one had realised that the single wish that they all shared was to live a long and happy life, together, as a family. Now the family was complete and there was nothing that could ever separate them, nothing that could make their wish unfulfilled. Right? His mother's lost chick had flown back to the nest when everyone had given up hope.
George pulled away from Fred's embrace and looked him up and down. Fred looked exactly the same as he did the last time that George had seen him. The same jacket, the same patched up jeans, the same hair cut, the same lopsided grin. To George, it was like seeing his dearest memory fabricate before his eyes. He'd thought about Fred every minute of every day looking the exact same way, and how it appeared that that memory, against all odds had jumped straight into the real world.
Grinning madly, fresh tears of jubilation trickling from his eyes, George babbled, "I guess it's your turn to feel Saint-like, eh Freddie, showing up out of the blue like this?"
Fred smiled in response. George sniffed and smudged the tears away from his face with the back of his hand.
"I guess so, mate." He beamed, hands in his pockets. "Saint Fred does have a bit of a ring to it."
"Good luck getting anyone to believe you're a Saint after all of the stuff we got up to – apparently no one at Hogwarts has managed to live up to our awesome standards quite yet. It's just a shame that we pranking geniuses are so rare." George had imagined his moment for months and in all of that time he had never imagined that the conversation would start like this. Why wasn't he asking Fred all of the questions that we buzzing madly around in his head? Was this how they used to talk? George couldn't remember. He wanted the familiarity and normality to rush back – for everything to be exactly the same as it was just over a year ago – but something didn't feel quite right.
Maybe it was the small, insignificant part of his mind that knew why George wasn't getting to the point and asking the questions. He was afraid of the answers. He was afraid that something might shock and scare him, and that this perfect moment would being to fracture. He was worried that the answers would reveal a truth he didn't want to hear, so, for the moment, he was happy talking about Saints and pranks.
Something in his mind began to stir. He was wrong; he couldn't keep those questions at bay. They'd begun to gnaw away, pushed at the back of his mind, breaking other thoughts up until these parasitic wonderings were the only thing that George could think about.
The twins continued to face each other, awkwardly glancing in each other's direction as if checking to make sure that the other was real. George swayed on the spot, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't break the facade. He's here, he thought, I don't need to know how or why! Everything's fine now that he's here. But that thought kept on niggling: Is it?
George stared ashamedly at the dewy grass, and gave in to his poisonous curiosity. "What's going on Fred, how are you here?" he mumbled. George risked a glance upwards, and was eased by the fact that Fred didn't shatter into a million pieces because George couldn't trick himself into believing that coming back from the dead was normal. Instead, Fred just smiled.
"I was waiting for you to ask that," he said. "I'm here to talk to you. I'll tell you about how I got here after we've talked."
George's eyes widened slightly. Why couldn't he tell him now? What was stopping him? If he told him now would George be repulsed? Was that why he had to speak first, to ensure that George couldn't run away after he heard the truth?
Why did he get the feeling that not all of his questions could be answered – that there were too many and not enough time. Of course there was enough time. There wasn't a time limit, so why did George feel that there was? George never had to leave Fred again, did he? Never have to feel the soul-ripping pain that came hand in hand with leaving his brother and best friend in the cold unfriendly earth whilst he was forced to lead a life on his own surrounded by people that would never know how he felt.
Why was that evil little niggling feeling planting the seeds of doubt in his mind?
Why wouldn't it just let him be?
Why couldn't he just be happy?
It was Fred who broke the silence, sensing the tsunami of thought crashing around inside George's head. "Listen, I came to talk about how you've been feeling."
George snapped his head up.
"Come on, Fred! Since when have we talked about feelings together? You sound like how bloody Percy was at the funeral..." George's attempt to treat the situation like a light-hearted conversation from a before the Battle of Hogwarts faltered as he saw that there was no way for him to ignore the subject of Fred's death, however hard he tried. Fred broke eye contact with him and continued.
"Georgie I need to talk to you about how you've been acting ever since I died. You've cut yourself off from your friends and the whole family, and I can't sit and watch as you force this loneliness upon yourself." Fred's eyes met George's and he paused to check that George had taken in what he said. Fred noticed a slight wariness cloud his twin's features.
How could he talk so casually about his death? After all, it wasn't really his death was it? He was standing there, feet away from George, clear as day, and yet he didn't even flinch when he talked about the fact that everyone had believed he had died. Moreover, how did he know how George was feeling – know how he'd shut himself away from the world outside their bedroom? The bedroom he hadn't had to share in a year.
"How would you know?" he muttered in a small voice, "I-I haven't seen you in a year. I don't want to be lonely – this isn't something I've chosen, Freddie. I just haven't ever had to learn how to live without you and, it's the hardest thing I've ever done. No one else understands that."
"You're wrong, Georgie. I understand."
TA-DA! Thanks for having a gander at my work. Please leave a comment – you guys and gals can't imagine how awesome comments make me feel, so please take a second to splurge. I'm on holiday at the moment and I'll have more time to write, so the next chapter will be up very soon. Until next time... TTFN.