Fic for lily_pearl
Author: flaminia_x
Recipient: lily_pearl
Title: Learning to Be
Pairing: Harry/George
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word Count: 1989
Summary: George's return to the wizarding world is a shock to everyone. But he knows Harry will understand.
Author's Notes: I've never written this pairing, so I have to admit it was nice not to have to jump right into a fully-fledged, smut-filled relationship! It was great to be able to flesh out an interesting scenario from your prompts, and I actually want to continue the story elsewhere. Thanks for such a great opportunity! I hope you enjoy it!
“Oi, Harry,” Ron called from the storeroom. “Did we run out of Puking Pastilles already? I've got to stock up the front and I can't find them anywhere!”
Harry sighed, brushing his messy black hair off of his brow distractedly. “Hold on, Ron, I've got a queue out here. Check the back left - no, the back right corner. Brown box, I think.” Turning back to the family in front of him, he hastily counted out change for one Pygmy Puff and a handful of special quills, then welcomed the next customer in line.
After Hogwarts, Ron and Harry had hastily taken their NEWTs, preferring to leave going back for a full year to Hermione and Ginny. Instead, Ron had moved into Fred and George's old apartment, taking over Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. When George disappeared, Harry had pitched in. It had been rough at first, but they had managed to keep the business afloat, and three years later, the place was booming. Then again, it always was at this time of year, what with the students preparing to go back to school.
Ten customers and one young boy asking a lot of questions later, Harry was finally able to put a “Be Right Back” sign at the register and stick his head into the back room to check on Ron, who had yet to reappear.
“Did you find them?” he asked, anxious to get back to the counter.
Out of the back came a groan, followed by a series of sneezes. “I think this is them, yeah,” Ron's voice floated up. “This would be so much easier if we could use magic to move these cartons around, y'know,” he grumbled irritably. It was a complaint both of them had voiced at least twice a day for the past several years. Unfortunately, the volatile nature of most of the Wheezes products made it all but impossible to sort the storeroom except by hand, so when Ron emerged, he was grimy, and one finger was bleeding where he had scraped it.
Sticking the offending digit into his mouth, he raised an eyebrow at Harry in shared annoyance and, hoisting the box in the other hand, he mumbled, “I'll take care of these, unless you want a break from the crowds?”
Harry nodded with a tired sigh. “That'd be great, actually. Clean yourself up first - you look a sight, mate - and I'll stock everything up.”
Ron nodded and headed up front, casting a quick Scourgify after handing the Pastilles to Harry. “Alright, alright, everyone, stop shoving, one at a time, please ...”
Harry headed off to the shelves that lined the store from top to bottom, filling up the empty spaces with fresh supplies of Puking Pastilles. Taking a quick inventory of what else was needed, he went back to the storeroom and started filling up an empty box, whistling tunelessly. He was almost finished when a loud shout from out front got his attention. “That - that sounded like Ron,” Harry thought, and ran out of the back room.
Out in the front, a small group of customers were pressed up to the shelves in fear. Harry could only see Ron's back, but he could tell from the angle of Ron's arm that he had his wand pointed at someone, and was very, very angry. They'd only had one robbery attempt here, and that was years ago, in the dead of night. Harry couldn't imagine someone trying to rob the store in broad daylight, in front of a bunch of witnesses, no less. Rushing up past the counter, he grabbed Ron's free arm, but when he looked up, his jaw hit the floor.
“Hello, Harry,” George said with a sad smile.
***
After Fred's death, George had barely functioned. He stopped eating, stopped bathing, most days not even getting out of bed. That was when Ron had stepped up, almost single-handedly keeping the business from going under, but even then he had thought it was just a temporary thing. Everyone understood George taking Fred's death so much harder than the rest, but when days became weeks, and then a month, and there was no improvement, no one knew what to do. Molly tried to coddle him, Ginny tried to force him, and Arthur - well, Arthur just tried to be there if he needed an ear or a shoulder. But no one could get through to him. On the day that the family had decided to intervene, to take him to St. Mungo's, George disappeared. That was almost three years ago, and no one - not his family, not his friends, not one person - had heard from him since.
Ron's wand hand shook, and his mouth was screwed up with tremendous effort. “You - you - three years, George. Three bloody long years.”
George raised his hands placatingly in front of him. “I can -”
“Shut up. Just shut up. Mum - Mum's a wreck. First Fred, and - she's never been the same, since you -” Ron's lip trembled, tears rolling silently down his face. “I've worked my fingers to the bone keeping your business in the black. You missed my wedding!” he hissed. “I have a little girl now. So does Bill. Ginny gets married next month. Did you know? Do you even care?”
Harry tugged on Ron's arm. “Ron, not here. We have customers!”
Ron whipped around at Harry's words, eyes wide and unseeing, wand pointed at Harry's chest.
“Ron, it's me, Harry. Put your wand down, Ron,” Harry said carefully.
Slowly, the cloud passed from Ron's eyes, and he slumped, arm dropping to his side. Harry grabbed him and kept him on his feet. Over his shoulder, he called, “We're closed! Nothing to see here - come back tomorrow!”
The crowd quickly fled from the store, and George closed the door, locking it and turning the sign over to read “Closed for the Day.” He stood by himself in the middle of his store and watched as Harry walked a furious, sobbing Ron upstairs, flinching when Ron punched a hole into the stairwell.
***
An hour or so later, Harry came back downstairs, wiping a tired hand over an even more tired face. He had watched in sympathy as Ron alternately screamed, cried, and threw things, finally falling asleep in exhaustion on his couch. A quick Floo-call to Hermione at the Ministry brought her home early to watch over him, but they wisely decided to hold off on informing the rest of the family until someone could talk to him, and given the circumstances, the best person for that was Harry.
He found George standing behind the counter, idly twirling his wand around in his hand. To anyone else, it might look as though he were bored or impatient, but Harry knew that was an old nervous tic of his, something he had always done after being caught in a less-than-humorous prank.
Without looking up, George said, “How is he?”
“He'll keep, for now,” Harry said wearily, unsure of whether to be glad George was here, or angry for the pain he was causing Ron, and would undoubtedly cause the rest of the Weasleys once they knew.
George tapped his wand on the counter anxiously. “You work here too, now, I guess,” he said.
“Yeah. Ron needed help, after -” Harry paused awkwardly.
“After I left,” George said a minute later.
Harry nodded mutely. George sighed, a long, low noise of frustration and sadness.
“I thought he'd be happy to see me. Out of everyone … I thought he'd understand,” George whispered.
“What did you expect, George?” Harry said, stalking over toward the counter. “You disappeared. Three years, and not a word to anyone, not the family, not your friends, not me. You left, and Ron picked up the pieces for you, and you thought he'd be happy?”
“I didn't know,” George said miserably. “I didn't know he'd worked this hard. I didn't know he got married. To Hermione, I expect. I didn't know about … the babies, or the store, or Mum, or anything.”
“But you could have,” Harry snapped. “All it would have taken was a Floo-call, or an Owl. You're of age - Apparate, for Merlin's sake. None of us could do that, not without knowing where you were. But you always knew where we were, and you did nothing.”
“I couldn't,” George whispered, sounding dangerously close to tears.
“Why?” Harry shouted angrily.
George smashed his fist into the counter. “I just couldn't!”
“That's not an answer, George!” Harry yelled.
“Come on, Harry, you must have felt the same way,” George whipped around to face him, looking eerily like Ron had earlier. “After - after it was all over. Surely you wanted to get away, go somewhere where it had never happened, where no one knew you, what you had done. Where no one looked like anyone you watched die.”
Harry exhaled, skin prickling. He had forgotten just how badly he had wanted that. “Yeah, of course, but -”
“But you had Ron and Hermione to help, right? And Ginny?” George said abruptly.
“Yeah, but so did you -”
George continued as though Harry hadn't spoken. “And Bill had Fleur, and Mum and Dad had each other, and Charlie had his dragons back in Romania, and Percy had Audrey, and Angelina had Lee.”
“But you had -”
“I had Fred. Had. And then I didn't anymore, and I had no one, not like the rest of you did. And I didn't know how to be, not like that, not in a sea of other red heads that weren't him. So I had to leave, to figure out how to be again, be just me.” George stared intently into Harry's eyes. “You understand that, don't you, Harry?”
Harry felt a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. He understood all too well. If it hadn't been for Ron and Hermione and Ginny keeping him sane, anchoring him here, he would have run the minute the funerals were over, maybe even before. He had been very bitter toward George after he left, seeing the pain his sudden, mysterious disappearance had caused his family and friends. But he had also been, in his heart of hearts, envious of George for having that chance. He'd never not been Harry Potter. Fortunately, now being Harry was alright again. His friends had helped make it so, and he had helped them in return. He had always thought that if George had stayed, his family would have seen them through, but now he knew that in staying, he would always have been Fred's twin, the survivor, the odd one out - loved by all but special to no one. That wouldn't have been support; it would have been torture.
“Yeah,” Harry said after a moment. “I think I'm starting to understand.”
George sighed, and his lip trembled for a brief second before he glanced upward, then looked back at Harry. “I can't lose him, Harry. I can't lose any of them. Please. I knew you'd understand. Maybe you can help me explain to them why - why I left. Why I had no choice.”
Harry nodded. He'd do his best.
“Come on, George. You can stay with me,” Harry said, clapping George on the arm.
George grabbed his hand with his own, and in the same swift motion he gathered Harry into his arms, resting his head on Harry's shoulder. “Thank you, Harry,” he whispered, hugging him tightly.
Slowly, the two men walked toward the door. It was going to be a long, long day tomorrow.
Recipient: lily_pearl
Title: Learning to Be
Pairing: Harry/George
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word Count: 1989
Summary: George's return to the wizarding world is a shock to everyone. But he knows Harry will understand.
Author's Notes: I've never written this pairing, so I have to admit it was nice not to have to jump right into a fully-fledged, smut-filled relationship! It was great to be able to flesh out an interesting scenario from your prompts, and I actually want to continue the story elsewhere. Thanks for such a great opportunity! I hope you enjoy it!
“Oi, Harry,” Ron called from the storeroom. “Did we run out of Puking Pastilles already? I've got to stock up the front and I can't find them anywhere!”
Harry sighed, brushing his messy black hair off of his brow distractedly. “Hold on, Ron, I've got a queue out here. Check the back left - no, the back right corner. Brown box, I think.” Turning back to the family in front of him, he hastily counted out change for one Pygmy Puff and a handful of special quills, then welcomed the next customer in line.
After Hogwarts, Ron and Harry had hastily taken their NEWTs, preferring to leave going back for a full year to Hermione and Ginny. Instead, Ron had moved into Fred and George's old apartment, taking over Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. When George disappeared, Harry had pitched in. It had been rough at first, but they had managed to keep the business afloat, and three years later, the place was booming. Then again, it always was at this time of year, what with the students preparing to go back to school.
Ten customers and one young boy asking a lot of questions later, Harry was finally able to put a “Be Right Back” sign at the register and stick his head into the back room to check on Ron, who had yet to reappear.
“Did you find them?” he asked, anxious to get back to the counter.
Out of the back came a groan, followed by a series of sneezes. “I think this is them, yeah,” Ron's voice floated up. “This would be so much easier if we could use magic to move these cartons around, y'know,” he grumbled irritably. It was a complaint both of them had voiced at least twice a day for the past several years. Unfortunately, the volatile nature of most of the Wheezes products made it all but impossible to sort the storeroom except by hand, so when Ron emerged, he was grimy, and one finger was bleeding where he had scraped it.
Sticking the offending digit into his mouth, he raised an eyebrow at Harry in shared annoyance and, hoisting the box in the other hand, he mumbled, “I'll take care of these, unless you want a break from the crowds?”
Harry nodded with a tired sigh. “That'd be great, actually. Clean yourself up first - you look a sight, mate - and I'll stock everything up.”
Ron nodded and headed up front, casting a quick Scourgify after handing the Pastilles to Harry. “Alright, alright, everyone, stop shoving, one at a time, please ...”
Harry headed off to the shelves that lined the store from top to bottom, filling up the empty spaces with fresh supplies of Puking Pastilles. Taking a quick inventory of what else was needed, he went back to the storeroom and started filling up an empty box, whistling tunelessly. He was almost finished when a loud shout from out front got his attention. “That - that sounded like Ron,” Harry thought, and ran out of the back room.
Out in the front, a small group of customers were pressed up to the shelves in fear. Harry could only see Ron's back, but he could tell from the angle of Ron's arm that he had his wand pointed at someone, and was very, very angry. They'd only had one robbery attempt here, and that was years ago, in the dead of night. Harry couldn't imagine someone trying to rob the store in broad daylight, in front of a bunch of witnesses, no less. Rushing up past the counter, he grabbed Ron's free arm, but when he looked up, his jaw hit the floor.
“Hello, Harry,” George said with a sad smile.
***
After Fred's death, George had barely functioned. He stopped eating, stopped bathing, most days not even getting out of bed. That was when Ron had stepped up, almost single-handedly keeping the business from going under, but even then he had thought it was just a temporary thing. Everyone understood George taking Fred's death so much harder than the rest, but when days became weeks, and then a month, and there was no improvement, no one knew what to do. Molly tried to coddle him, Ginny tried to force him, and Arthur - well, Arthur just tried to be there if he needed an ear or a shoulder. But no one could get through to him. On the day that the family had decided to intervene, to take him to St. Mungo's, George disappeared. That was almost three years ago, and no one - not his family, not his friends, not one person - had heard from him since.
Ron's wand hand shook, and his mouth was screwed up with tremendous effort. “You - you - three years, George. Three bloody long years.”
George raised his hands placatingly in front of him. “I can -”
“Shut up. Just shut up. Mum - Mum's a wreck. First Fred, and - she's never been the same, since you -” Ron's lip trembled, tears rolling silently down his face. “I've worked my fingers to the bone keeping your business in the black. You missed my wedding!” he hissed. “I have a little girl now. So does Bill. Ginny gets married next month. Did you know? Do you even care?”
Harry tugged on Ron's arm. “Ron, not here. We have customers!”
Ron whipped around at Harry's words, eyes wide and unseeing, wand pointed at Harry's chest.
“Ron, it's me, Harry. Put your wand down, Ron,” Harry said carefully.
Slowly, the cloud passed from Ron's eyes, and he slumped, arm dropping to his side. Harry grabbed him and kept him on his feet. Over his shoulder, he called, “We're closed! Nothing to see here - come back tomorrow!”
The crowd quickly fled from the store, and George closed the door, locking it and turning the sign over to read “Closed for the Day.” He stood by himself in the middle of his store and watched as Harry walked a furious, sobbing Ron upstairs, flinching when Ron punched a hole into the stairwell.
***
An hour or so later, Harry came back downstairs, wiping a tired hand over an even more tired face. He had watched in sympathy as Ron alternately screamed, cried, and threw things, finally falling asleep in exhaustion on his couch. A quick Floo-call to Hermione at the Ministry brought her home early to watch over him, but they wisely decided to hold off on informing the rest of the family until someone could talk to him, and given the circumstances, the best person for that was Harry.
He found George standing behind the counter, idly twirling his wand around in his hand. To anyone else, it might look as though he were bored or impatient, but Harry knew that was an old nervous tic of his, something he had always done after being caught in a less-than-humorous prank.
Without looking up, George said, “How is he?”
“He'll keep, for now,” Harry said wearily, unsure of whether to be glad George was here, or angry for the pain he was causing Ron, and would undoubtedly cause the rest of the Weasleys once they knew.
George tapped his wand on the counter anxiously. “You work here too, now, I guess,” he said.
“Yeah. Ron needed help, after -” Harry paused awkwardly.
“After I left,” George said a minute later.
Harry nodded mutely. George sighed, a long, low noise of frustration and sadness.
“I thought he'd be happy to see me. Out of everyone … I thought he'd understand,” George whispered.
“What did you expect, George?” Harry said, stalking over toward the counter. “You disappeared. Three years, and not a word to anyone, not the family, not your friends, not me. You left, and Ron picked up the pieces for you, and you thought he'd be happy?”
“I didn't know,” George said miserably. “I didn't know he'd worked this hard. I didn't know he got married. To Hermione, I expect. I didn't know about … the babies, or the store, or Mum, or anything.”
“But you could have,” Harry snapped. “All it would have taken was a Floo-call, or an Owl. You're of age - Apparate, for Merlin's sake. None of us could do that, not without knowing where you were. But you always knew where we were, and you did nothing.”
“I couldn't,” George whispered, sounding dangerously close to tears.
“Why?” Harry shouted angrily.
George smashed his fist into the counter. “I just couldn't!”
“That's not an answer, George!” Harry yelled.
“Come on, Harry, you must have felt the same way,” George whipped around to face him, looking eerily like Ron had earlier. “After - after it was all over. Surely you wanted to get away, go somewhere where it had never happened, where no one knew you, what you had done. Where no one looked like anyone you watched die.”
Harry exhaled, skin prickling. He had forgotten just how badly he had wanted that. “Yeah, of course, but -”
“But you had Ron and Hermione to help, right? And Ginny?” George said abruptly.
“Yeah, but so did you -”
George continued as though Harry hadn't spoken. “And Bill had Fleur, and Mum and Dad had each other, and Charlie had his dragons back in Romania, and Percy had Audrey, and Angelina had Lee.”
“But you had -”
“I had Fred. Had. And then I didn't anymore, and I had no one, not like the rest of you did. And I didn't know how to be, not like that, not in a sea of other red heads that weren't him. So I had to leave, to figure out how to be again, be just me.” George stared intently into Harry's eyes. “You understand that, don't you, Harry?”
Harry felt a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. He understood all too well. If it hadn't been for Ron and Hermione and Ginny keeping him sane, anchoring him here, he would have run the minute the funerals were over, maybe even before. He had been very bitter toward George after he left, seeing the pain his sudden, mysterious disappearance had caused his family and friends. But he had also been, in his heart of hearts, envious of George for having that chance. He'd never not been Harry Potter. Fortunately, now being Harry was alright again. His friends had helped make it so, and he had helped them in return. He had always thought that if George had stayed, his family would have seen them through, but now he knew that in staying, he would always have been Fred's twin, the survivor, the odd one out - loved by all but special to no one. That wouldn't have been support; it would have been torture.
“Yeah,” Harry said after a moment. “I think I'm starting to understand.”
George sighed, and his lip trembled for a brief second before he glanced upward, then looked back at Harry. “I can't lose him, Harry. I can't lose any of them. Please. I knew you'd understand. Maybe you can help me explain to them why - why I left. Why I had no choice.”
Harry nodded. He'd do his best.
“Come on, George. You can stay with me,” Harry said, clapping George on the arm.
George grabbed his hand with his own, and in the same swift motion he gathered Harry into his arms, resting his head on Harry's shoulder. “Thank you, Harry,” he whispered, hugging him tightly.
Slowly, the two men walked toward the door. It was going to be a long, long day tomorrow.