RP: Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes...
Date: 18 May, 1999 | Just shy of sunset
Characters: George Weasley
Location: Fred's place
Status: Private
Summary: George finds a few moments with Fred.
Completion: Complete
George walked through the trees, having Apparated far enough away from the Burrow so that the crack of his appearance wouldn't be noticed. He'd dressed carefully, in the same clothes as he'd worn nearly a year ago. Dragonhide trousers. Comfortable boots. Fred's dress shirt, cufflinks mismatched intentionally. A silver 'G' in the left cuff, a silver 'F' in the right. Both wands lay along his forearm, the woods rubbing against each other as he moved along the path.
The first time he'd stood here, he'd been filled with an inexplicable urge to laugh, his mind filled with scenes from a Muggle program they'd seen, about swordfights and pirates and incredible adventures. The hero'd spent a good deal of time mostly dead, and George remembered thinking that Fred would've got a kick out of that. Being mostly-but-not-quite-dead, astounding everyone with his miraculous return.
He remembered hoping for it.
But it hadn't happened. The stone at his feet was the proof. Somewhere below this spot of grass, what was left of the body of his brother lay. But not his soul...not his spirit. Those had stayed with him, fighting and laughing until the end, then had found their way to George.
"I looked for you," he said softly, dropping to his knees beside the headstone and brushing his fingers over his brother's name. The carving was as familiar now as anything he touched. "I looked in our old room, next to your body. Beside the lake. On the pitch. Everywhere I could think of, that I might find another spark of you..."
George sighed, then sat on the damp grass, turning to rest his back agaist the marble. "You weren't there," he went on. "You weren't...anywhere. Until I got home, and went into your room. Your pillow was still there. It...it smelled like you." He swallowed, then wiped at one cheek absently. "I slept with it...I heard your voice. With you. Always."
A butterfly fluttered by, a lazy up-and-down path past George's knee, lighting on the corner of the headstone and waving its wings gently. "And you are. And I forget that, sometimes, but you're...here." His hand moved to rest just over his heart. "Inside me, every day. Making me who I am, because I never was alone..."
He sat quietly for a while, listening to the rustle of the breeze through the trees. "We made the best friends anyone could ask for, Gred," he said after a bit. "Oliver, Katie, Alicia, Angelina..." He smiled wistfully. "Lee..." He took a breath, then picked at his sleeve.
"I've fallen in love with him," he said softly, then looked up at the sky. "He's not you, but gods...Fred, he's wonderful to me. There's...I can't imagine my life without him." He bit his lip, then a tear spilled down his cheek. "I couldn't imagine it without you, either, though...and here I am without you. We were everything, you and me..."
He wiped his cheek again, then huffed a soft laugh. "'course, you'd be here pulling the piss out of your nancy-twin, I'll wager. Not that I'd care...kick your arse, I would." He shifted, one shoulder against the stone, leaning his cheek against its cool surface. "Wish I could. I'd give anything just for the chance to deck you." He smiled, and his chest filled with an odd, light feeling.
"Told you about the head-guy," he went on, pulling a handful of grass and sifting through it, blade by blade. "He said it wouldn't ever be as hard as it is right now. That the next Samhain, the next Christmas, the next new year...won't ever the be first without you again..." He wiped absently at his nose with one sleeve, then went back to tossing the grass, one blade at a time. "I think he's right." He looked up at the sky again, deepening blue, then sighed. "I still dream. I don't sleep. Lee says I don't eat enough, but he doesn't nag me about it. Verity just brings me stuff and sets it beside me, hoping I'll nibble..."
George stretched his legs out, tugging at the trousers, noticing with some surprise that they were much looser than the last time he'd worn them. "Got this potion too, for...unbalanced days." He grimaced, then chuckled. "Using it less and less, but...think I'll take a good knock today. Haven't slept in a couple nights. I didn't want to take the potions so much. Tried this hypnosis gal, but I don't think I've got a hypnosis head."
A deer walked through the trees, pausing to look at George with her huge, soft eyes. The silence was painful, but oddly...right. There was no screaming. No sounds of battle. No sizzle of hexes through the air...
Nobody lying dead at his feet. He could still see Fred, his body battered and still, lying on the floor in the Great Hall. George hadn't cried. Hadn't breathed. There hadn't been enough air that day. Hadn't been enough air since.
"Mum's got the stove going," he said, taking a deep breath, the smell of something wafting to him on the breeze. "Percy said she was planning dinner. Dunno if I can go..." He glanced toward the house, then sighed. "It's hard. I know they wish you were there. I don't believe they wish they could trade, they want us both. But still...the look on their faces..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I can't stand the pity, or the longing, or whatever it is. I wish you were here, too. But you're not..."
George braced for the tightening of his throat, took a breath in preparation for the sob that always stole his heart.
Neither came. He sat, silent and still, then turned his head.
Mischief Managed. His fingers traced the words once, then again, and George got to his feet, feeling very odd.
The pair of wands clicked comfortingly against his forearm and he drew one out. Fred's. He looked at the wood against his palm, then back at the headstone. Maybe someday he would do something else with it. Something fitting...but for now, he'd keep it close.
He dropped to one knee again, pressing his lips to the marble, one hand over the date. Today. A year ago.
"I love you, Fred, Gred, mirror, brother, twin, friend. I will always love you." He stood, fingers lingering on the stone. "Don't spring the punchline 'til I get there, yeah?"
George stood another long moment, a single tear rolling slowly down his cheek, then turned and walked toward the trees.
Characters: George Weasley
Location: Fred's place
Status: Private
Summary: George finds a few moments with Fred.
Completion: Complete
George walked through the trees, having Apparated far enough away from the Burrow so that the crack of his appearance wouldn't be noticed. He'd dressed carefully, in the same clothes as he'd worn nearly a year ago. Dragonhide trousers. Comfortable boots. Fred's dress shirt, cufflinks mismatched intentionally. A silver 'G' in the left cuff, a silver 'F' in the right. Both wands lay along his forearm, the woods rubbing against each other as he moved along the path.
The first time he'd stood here, he'd been filled with an inexplicable urge to laugh, his mind filled with scenes from a Muggle program they'd seen, about swordfights and pirates and incredible adventures. The hero'd spent a good deal of time mostly dead, and George remembered thinking that Fred would've got a kick out of that. Being mostly-but-not-quite-dead, astounding everyone with his miraculous return.
He remembered hoping for it.
But it hadn't happened. The stone at his feet was the proof. Somewhere below this spot of grass, what was left of the body of his brother lay. But not his soul...not his spirit. Those had stayed with him, fighting and laughing until the end, then had found their way to George.
"I looked for you," he said softly, dropping to his knees beside the headstone and brushing his fingers over his brother's name. The carving was as familiar now as anything he touched. "I looked in our old room, next to your body. Beside the lake. On the pitch. Everywhere I could think of, that I might find another spark of you..."
George sighed, then sat on the damp grass, turning to rest his back agaist the marble. "You weren't there," he went on. "You weren't...anywhere. Until I got home, and went into your room. Your pillow was still there. It...it smelled like you." He swallowed, then wiped at one cheek absently. "I slept with it...I heard your voice. With you. Always."
A butterfly fluttered by, a lazy up-and-down path past George's knee, lighting on the corner of the headstone and waving its wings gently. "And you are. And I forget that, sometimes, but you're...here." His hand moved to rest just over his heart. "Inside me, every day. Making me who I am, because I never was alone..."
He sat quietly for a while, listening to the rustle of the breeze through the trees. "We made the best friends anyone could ask for, Gred," he said after a bit. "Oliver, Katie, Alicia, Angelina..." He smiled wistfully. "Lee..." He took a breath, then picked at his sleeve.
"I've fallen in love with him," he said softly, then looked up at the sky. "He's not you, but gods...Fred, he's wonderful to me. There's...I can't imagine my life without him." He bit his lip, then a tear spilled down his cheek. "I couldn't imagine it without you, either, though...and here I am without you. We were everything, you and me..."
He wiped his cheek again, then huffed a soft laugh. "'course, you'd be here pulling the piss out of your nancy-twin, I'll wager. Not that I'd care...kick your arse, I would." He shifted, one shoulder against the stone, leaning his cheek against its cool surface. "Wish I could. I'd give anything just for the chance to deck you." He smiled, and his chest filled with an odd, light feeling.
"Told you about the head-guy," he went on, pulling a handful of grass and sifting through it, blade by blade. "He said it wouldn't ever be as hard as it is right now. That the next Samhain, the next Christmas, the next new year...won't ever the be first without you again..." He wiped absently at his nose with one sleeve, then went back to tossing the grass, one blade at a time. "I think he's right." He looked up at the sky again, deepening blue, then sighed. "I still dream. I don't sleep. Lee says I don't eat enough, but he doesn't nag me about it. Verity just brings me stuff and sets it beside me, hoping I'll nibble..."
George stretched his legs out, tugging at the trousers, noticing with some surprise that they were much looser than the last time he'd worn them. "Got this potion too, for...unbalanced days." He grimaced, then chuckled. "Using it less and less, but...think I'll take a good knock today. Haven't slept in a couple nights. I didn't want to take the potions so much. Tried this hypnosis gal, but I don't think I've got a hypnosis head."
A deer walked through the trees, pausing to look at George with her huge, soft eyes. The silence was painful, but oddly...right. There was no screaming. No sounds of battle. No sizzle of hexes through the air...
Nobody lying dead at his feet. He could still see Fred, his body battered and still, lying on the floor in the Great Hall. George hadn't cried. Hadn't breathed. There hadn't been enough air that day. Hadn't been enough air since.
"Mum's got the stove going," he said, taking a deep breath, the smell of something wafting to him on the breeze. "Percy said she was planning dinner. Dunno if I can go..." He glanced toward the house, then sighed. "It's hard. I know they wish you were there. I don't believe they wish they could trade, they want us both. But still...the look on their faces..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I can't stand the pity, or the longing, or whatever it is. I wish you were here, too. But you're not..."
George braced for the tightening of his throat, took a breath in preparation for the sob that always stole his heart.
Neither came. He sat, silent and still, then turned his head.
Mischief Managed. His fingers traced the words once, then again, and George got to his feet, feeling very odd.
The pair of wands clicked comfortingly against his forearm and he drew one out. Fred's. He looked at the wood against his palm, then back at the headstone. Maybe someday he would do something else with it. Something fitting...but for now, he'd keep it close.
He dropped to one knee again, pressing his lips to the marble, one hand over the date. Today. A year ago.
"I love you, Fred, Gred, mirror, brother, twin, friend. I will always love you." He stood, fingers lingering on the stone. "Don't spring the punchline 'til I get there, yeah?"
George stood another long moment, a single tear rolling slowly down his cheek, then turned and walked toward the trees.