Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

George lays in his bed staring at the ceiling, just focusing on the feeling of air coming in and out of his lungs. Feeling The blood pulsing through his heart down his veins into his arms and legs. He thinks about how Fred will never experience these things again, these simple things that take no effort to do, stuff everyone can do before opening their eyes as a baby.

He closes his eyes and lets out all the air in his lounges slowly, when there's no more left, he closes up his lungs and stops. He feels his closed lungs contracting his stomach towards it. His chest moves down and his body leans into himself, until eventually he gives in and starts breathing again.

He turns to his side and faces the wall. George folds his legs to his chest, and rests head against the cold wall. The door to his room opens, he hears the creek of its hinges, the knob being let go and setting back in place.

George still hasn't opened his eyes, he knows it's most likely Percy who entered. It's nearing the end of the day, so Ginny is at practice, and Ron’s at Weasleys wizard wheezes. He's been running the shop for George for a few months now. He just couldn't bring himself to go there, let alone get out of bed.

Neither of his parents had gone into his room, they can't seem to handle George looking as lifeless as Fred had. His father had tried the first few weeks, coming in and out of his room trying to persuade George to just speak to him. He gave up when George stopped looking at him as well, the heartbreak not just on his fathers but everyone's face was something he couldn't handle, so he decided to just stop looking at them all together.

“Mom wanted to wait a bit longer to see if you'd come down to get your lunch, but since it's already 4, I decided to just bring it.” Percy tells him as he places the food on George's nightstand. “I guess it's more dinner now though.” he lets out a tired laugh, “I think she's getting desperate enough to deprive food from you, so you’d just leave that bed already.”

Percy stands there while just looking at George, taking in his younger brother who was always so full of life, now struggling to live day to day. Percy Sits on the edge of the bed; he puts his hand on George's back and rubs a circle on it. “George please…. say something. Or just look at me”. He stops using his whole hand, shifted to using his pointer finger to lightly draw a spiral from the middle of his back then out to the edges, to the middle again.

“I know losing Fred must hurt. I have no right to talk about it, I know, but your family, not just me are hurting seeing you like this” Percy's voice cracks a bit, as he can’t hold back the concern for his brother to not lace his voice. “We might never be able to understand what you are feeling but we don't want to lose you too.”

“Can you just eat something?” Percy gets up from the bed. “Please George.” Then he leaves, it was slow, it seemed to pain Percy the closer he got to the door and George not saying a single word back. But he was used to it. George hadn’t said a word to anyone since Fred's death. It still didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

With being alone once again, George rolls back over onto his back and spreads out. He really doesn’t have an appetite, hadn’t had one for a while. Still, he makes an effort to try and eat. It is a light soup, his mom probably knows he hasn’t been eating a lot lately so is trying to make something that wouldn’t upset his stomach. George appreciates the effort, he really does, but he sees it as futile. He’s a lost cause and knows it. He just wish’s everyone else would accept that.

George brings the bowl into his lap and lifts the spoon. It only takes three bites before he knows he’s done. At least he can say he's tried. If it was anything else he probably would have eaten more, but the soup was Fred's favorite. He always wanted it when he wasn’t feeling too well.

He places the bowl back on the nightstand and lays his head on his knees. George just looks over at Freds half of the room. Not a single thing had been moved from when Fred last touched it. No one wanted to mess with his stuff, it was like they were all holding out hope that this was just a cruel prank Fred was pulling on them.

Fred's bed is still a mess, blanket thrown everywhere, and his pillow sheet halfway off. The desk isn’t any better. It had quills that were half used, and papers all over it. Little nick knacks were found across the desk. Georges eyes landing on the framed photo on Freds desk with the both of them in it.

Mustered up what little strength he had in his body to get out of bed. When he stood up, his vision went dark for a bit. He lost a bit of balance and stumbled a little, but he made his best effort to make it to Fred's desk. He leaned on it for support and gently picked up the photo, he held it like it was a treasure worth million. George brushed the dust that had collected off the frame just to look at Fred's face better.

It was the photo they took after their first win, when they had started on the quidditch team. They were so young, and Freds smile was so big you could barely tell his eyes were open, he was almost on top of George, using him as leverage to be as high as possible without the use of magic. Fred looked so alive. So, unlike the person George had held in his arms. The man who had run cold, who stopped breathing, whose skin lost color. Who was no longer here.

This was it, George couldn’t handle it anymore. He tried; he really did. George had dropped to the floor kneeling. He was leaning his body into himself, clutching the photo to his forehead. He couldn’t cry; he knew that George was too emotionally drained from months of crying to have the energy to do so, but it sure felt like he was going to. His head was pounding, body was shaking, and throat was closing in on itself, suffocating him. It was hard to breathe. Unlike when he made himself stop breathing earlier, he couldn’t find the ability to get air when it got too much.

Why did it have to be Fred that died? It should have been anyone else. It should have been George. Even if it had to have been Fred, why couldn’t they have killed George too. Why couldn’t they let him be with his brother. It truly wasn’t fair, and George didn’t know how he was going to make it. He knew he wasn’t going to last any more than he already had, and truthfully, he knows the way he's been living was less than surviving.

George had finally come to a decision. He knows the only way to end his suffering was to see his brother again. To be with him, and the only way for that to happen was to die. So, he got up off the ground, to the best of his ability went to his and Fred’s shared mirror and smashed it on the floor. Breaking the glass and having shards all over the place. He picked up the biggest piece and sat back down on the bed.

This was it, he thought to himself how he only needed the courage. The will power to end it. He needed to do this, for Fred he had to. So, with a shaky hand, George uses the glass to cut into his wrist and brings it down, cutting all the way to his elbow. He repeated this action on the opposite arm. George layed down and waited.

This was a crude way to die, he would have much preferred to cast a killing curse on himself, but they had taken away his wand the first week after Fred died. George had tried to cast a spell on himself, he doesn't really remember what spell it was, he just tried the first thing that popped into his head, anything that’d let him get Fred back. It didn't work of course and all it resulted in was going wandless until he could be trusted with it again.

Due to that mistake, he’s now dying in pain. Though it was better this way he guesses, due to magic Fred was dead. He’d hate to use the very thing that took him away from George. His arms burn with his open wounds being exposed to the air. George's bed is being stained with the blood pouring out of him. The headache he has is just getting worse, and he feels so tired. In his final moments, he uses the last of his energy and yells out in a raspy voice, “in our next life! I hope there's no magic!” He takes a deep breath. “So, there’s no war!” his eyes shut. “So, there's no child soldiers.” George can feel himself slipping. “And so, you won't die to something so despicable Fred!” He just waits and waits. Everything goes dark, for the final time he stops breathing.

Chapter Text

George hears the sound of a dog barking, it's so close yet so far at the same time. The rough grass tickles under him, and the chill breeze makes him wish he had a blanket to protect himself from the cold. When he opens his eyes the night sky in front of him confirms that he was indeed outside. The stars in the sky were swearling, it reminded him of that one muggle painting he saw once. The moon contrasting the sky with its complete stillness was bright. It was so bright in fact, if George wasn't looking at the sky he could hardly tell it was the middle of the night.

This must be his afterlife, that is what he thinks. It was the only reasonable explanation as to why he was in the strange place. This was what he wanted. He killed himself so this had to be what he wanted, yet it wasn't, It was so far from what he wanted. It couldn't be what he wanted, because Fred wasn't here. The only thing he could tell that was here, was the dog that wouldn’t stop barking.

It infuriated him that instead of getting his brother he got some dog that he couldn’t even see anywhere. Just another ghost haunting him. George guesses he does deserve this, to be stranded here by himself without Fred was his punishment for abandoning his family. After all their hard work to get him back, to accommodate what he needed just so they could go back to being somewhat normal eventually, he rewarded them with another loss in the family. Instead of only one, they lost both of the twins.

Tears prickles in his eyes, trying to force their way out. He doesn't let himself cry though, he doesn’t have the right after what he did. His poor family is experiencing even more grief now, and it's all his fault. Stupid George always hurting those around him, whether with pranks gone too far, or with something as bad as killing himself.

George gets up and tries to take in his surroundings. Maybe Fred is somewhere here, it's a desperate thought but it's possible just because he wasn’t right next to George when he woke up doesn’t mean Fred wasn't there at all. He looks around, hoping, praying, just trying to will Fred to be somewhere here. All he sees though, is a beautiful woman on top of a hill, she has long black hair darker than obsidian, and these piercing green eyes that were staring directly at George. He finally knew where the dog was too, laying right on her lap was a big black dog that didn't seem to be happy that George was here.

Seeing as she was the only other person here he tried to make his way towards her. The closer he got the more he seemed to notice how big she was. Even while sitting she seemed to be taller than him, and wasn't that a feat in itself. George was 6 foot 2 and was still growing, well was growing, until he… it didn’t matter.

Once he was standing in front of her, he could properly tell how much she towered over him. He would have assumed she was a giant, but she was shorter than they would be and she was far too elegant. Her eyes never strayed off him when he began his journey over to her, the intensity of her stare rose the hair on his arms up.

After a long while of silence, it seemed she had finally made her mind up of something that seemed to be about George. Her eyes wrinkled and a soft smile had been plastered onto the lady's face. “My child, come” she patted her lap right next to the humongous black dog that had started to snarl at him. “Come here and rest for a bit”

George took a cautious step towards her, not wanting to spook the dog even more but it seemed no matter how he approached, the dog still didn't like it, so he walked back more. She seemed to frown as she realized he wasn’t going to come with the dog acting like that.

She grabbed the dog from under their snout and made them look at her. “Hecuba, go take a walk and come back when you've calmed down. I Don’t appreciate you spooking our guest." The dog hesitantly got off her lap, but didn’t walk off yet. The lady's brows went down more “Go on, keep moving.” she shoowed the dog away “you can come back when you can control yourself like a good girl.” George watched as the dog slowly walked away, its ears were dropping down and every few seconds the dog would stop and look back just in case the lady changed her mind . Once Hecuba was fully gone he made himself walk closer to her.

She once again patted her lap, “go on, lay your head down.” and so he did. Something about her screamed familiar to him. Every part of his body felt safe and comfortable around her, it was like how he felt around his mother, but she wasn't her. His mother was alive. His mother would never get to see him again. His mother was mourning yet another one of her children.

“You probably don't know who I am, do you?” she asked him, she placed her fingers through his hair. It had gotten long over the past few months, it was almost past his shoulders. Her hand was bigger than his whole head, and he knew he’d feel much more scared of her crushing his skull if it weren't for the fact he was already dead.

George realized he never answered her question, and so he shook his head. Her fingers stilled as he did so, and resumed only when she was sure George was still again. “I'm the god of the magic you cursed at so detestidly.” George stopped breathing, if he even needed to anyway; because of course a god created magic, that is why he’s here alone, without Fred. He was an idiot and cursed at the existence of magic and now its god was punishing him for it. “I have many names if you're curious who i am,” she started again, “I've gone by Kleidoukhos, Dadophoros, Eilytheia, Basillea, and many more. Though the most popular name has so far been Hecate.”

She hums a bit as she is still playing with strands of his hair, waiting for it to sink in. George knows who she is, of course he does. Wizards may know very little about muggles and their history, but the history of religions is still a part of wizards history. So he knows of the Greek goddesses of magic Hecate.

“Is this my punishment?” he asks her meekly, even though he knows it's true, George still wants the confirmation, he needs it. She laughs a little at his question, George doesn’t see her face as he's been turned away from her since he's laid his head on her lap, but he can assume her face is one of amusement.

“My, my, what on earth is going through that little head of yours.” she chuckled a bit. George could feel her gaze trying to tear him apart, wanting to get into his head and know everything that was going through it, but instead she kept talking. ”You assume I'm punishing you before I've told you why you're even here in the first place.”

“This is your form of hell for me, isn't it.” George can tell he angered her somehow, a menacing aura made itself known coming from Hecate, he curled in on himself instinctively trying to protect himself even though he knew he could do nothing against a god. In her anger, Hecate had started tugging on his hair that had already been in her hand.

“The audacity to speak of the christian afterlife in front of a god from a different pantheon, truly a wonder isn’t it.” he could feel her seething energy sizzle out as she tried to calm herself. Hecate took a deep breath, and relaxed the hand that had been yanking on George's hair. She took a bit before she spoke up again. “No, I'm not punishing you by any means. Though I ought to with that transgression you had just committed.”

“I brought you here to give you a gift, you see your story has saddened me so.” Hecate had gone back to playing with his hair, she started looping strands of hair together making a small braid. ”My magic is a gift, one I don't care how you mortals use. Whether as a power to help those in need, or to massacre thousands” she untangles the braid she finished and restarts. “I don't really care.” Hecate slowly tucks his hair behind the ear that isn’t laying on her lap, she repeats the motion until there's not a single strand in his face. “But a sorcerer had used my magic to kill your twin and separate you two, when you were never supposed to be. The red string of fate, instead of being cut, has more accurately been fried.”

Hecate undoes his hair again, and tries to pull apart the knots that had formed “I can't do much about Fred you see” . George can feel his heart sink hearing that, because being able to see Fred again was all he wanted. “By the time those old hags had informed me about the fates being disrupted, his soul had already made its way to hades.” She uses her long nails to brush his hair out, dragging the front hair to the back. “I may have sway in the underworld, with being seen as a god of death in Orphic. I have just enough power there to get a soul only when it has just been a few days after its passing.”

She stops playing with his hair and just rests her hand on top of his head. “Magic can do anything, and just like that necklace that Hermione had used to turn back to time just to take multiple classes–” for George to find out that's how she did it after listening to Ron complain about all Hermione's classes, here of all places, is laughable. “I'm gonna turn back time for you, George.” now that got his full attention. “The only catch is you have to make sure Fred makes it out alive, other than that do what you want. You can help that potter boy with taking down tom riddle even more, or you could become your own ‘dark lord’ just as long as you save Fred Weasly. I honestly don't care what you do as long as that happens.” didn't that seem to be the best deal that could be ever made.

George had thought of so many ways he could have saved Fred that day ever since. Every second for months in their room alone he has thought about it. “What is the price?” George asks the god, because no way something this good would ever come without one. The saying ‘too good to be true’ exists for a reason, and if there isn’t a price to be paid then this is what he would call it.

“Price? There isn't a price. This is a gift for a reason” Hecate sounded annoyed at his question, not as much as she did before, but just enough he can tell she didn’t like that he was questioning her.

There's no need for her to try and over sell it by hiding that there's a price to pay, he’ll pay any price she wants from him just as long as Fred gets to live again. “I can't just get this for free, that seems too good to be true.”

The god scoffs, as she drags her nails, starting from the neck all the way down his back.“I don't know what you mortals think of us, I just want to stop those three from nagging me about how unbalanced the fates are because of my sorcerers.”

“Then I accept” there's no other choice for him to pick, he has to take this deal, or…er gift as the god’s calling it. This opportunity is too good to pass up, and she knows it.

Just like how Hecate did with her dog she grabbed under George's face and forced him to look up at her. Now laying on his back, looking straight at her. He could see the soft smile that had a bit of condensation directed towards him.“I didn’t think you would ever reject.” The god puts her hand on top of his eyes. Even with his eyes still open George was engulfed in total darkness, there was no light coming through the crack between her fingers. ”just close your eyes, and you will be with your brother again.” she whispers to him, listening to Hecate, George Weasley closes his eyes not for the first time wishing to see his brother again but hopeful for the last time.

Chapter Text

George wakes up in his bed this time. Turning to his side he looks over to the other bed in his room expecting it to be once again empty like it had for the past few months. Except it wasn't empty. Lying in the bed was a mop of red hair with the exact same face as him. It was Fred. Fred was sleeping in his own bed, in their shared room.

Once George had processed Fred being here, he jumped out of his own bed, ran to Fred and stumbled into the side of his bed. George just kneeled on the floor resting his head on the side of it, taking Fred's closest hand into his own. George felt the warmth in his body, the pulse still running, the way Fred would flex his hand a little bit and just wept. He wept for his brother that felt so alive, that had no resemblance to that dead body he had held in his own arms. After crying for months, these tears were finally tears of joy instead of those of mourning. He finally had Fred back. His brother. His other half. George was no longer stranded by himself, no longer left alone, because he had Fred once again.

George guesses he must have cried too loud because Fred had started to wake up. Seeing the crying snotty mess that was his brother's first thing in the morning must have freaked Fred out, seeing as he was half asleep, and had never seen George like this, leaving him not knowing what to do.

“Hey, hey George what's wrong.” Fred’s free hand that George wasn’t clutching on for dear life, scared that if he let go Fred would be gone, had reached and settled onto George's cheek trying to give some semblance of comfort. George leaned into the touch, just grateful for more reassurance that Fred was alive and well.

Fred had scooched closer to George and just like he did with Hecate, George rested his head onto Freds lap. He closed his eyes and just took in his brother. “Is there anything you need right now that I can do?” Fred asked him. George didn’t think he had it in him to say anything, his throat felt closed off, and he knew if he opened his mouth all that would come out would be loud sobs.

Even though he knew this, he also knew that he needed this one thing, George needed to just hear Fred again. Of course there were big things you could miss about someone, but the things that hurt the most when someone dies were those small things, those small moments. George especially missed those nights, after one of those specialty hard days Fred and him would snuggle on one of their beds, and Fred would sing to him until George had fallen asleep. It always made him feel better. George missed those moments the most, because with Fred gone, there was no Fred to comfort George on those terrible days when he missed Fred so much that he wanted everything to just end.

“Can you sing for me,” George hitched on his words, they mostly came out as a mumbled mess, but he knew Fred heard him when he started singing those first lines. It was a muggle song their father had gotten his hands on and brought home for the family to listen to when they were younger, it had always been the twins favorite for some reason. They never learned the name of the song, and George never listened to it without Fred. It just felt wrong.

George just clutches Fred even close, savoring his voice, the voice he missed so much. The one he wasn’t able to hear no matter how much he wished to be able too. He had hoped listening to Fred would calm him down, but the tears wouldn't stop flowing. It truly did feel like any moment his twin would be ripped away from him and that this whole thing was a cruel joke being played on him.

Fred stopped singing after he repeated the chorus and a comfortable silence had settled. George had calmed down, barely any tears were shedding anymore even so he had no energy to talk, and Fred seemed like he didn't want to break the silence in fear of triggering George. So instead, Fred puts his hand on George’s back and rubs circles into it, the same way Percy had done before he went back in time, When Fred was still dead, when George was still left without his other half. George clutches Fred's hand harder.

“Why don't you come up here” Fred finally does break the silence. “It is easier on your knees, ya know cause you're an old man.” George just knows Fred has a sly smile on his face.

George lifts his head and looks at Fred again, trying to return the look back but not being able to fully do it. “Is that your way of admitting I'm older.” George jokes back, as he climbs into the bed next to his brother.

“As if.” Fred scoffs at him. Though it doesn’t do much as his face is still laced with concern. He must have really spooked Fred, but he can’t seem to care at the moment. All George cares about right now is snuggling up to his brother, and to savor every single second he has with him. Fred wraps his arms around George, as George puts his nose into Fred's neck.

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At some point, someone must have come in because George woke up to Fred telling someone that they’d be down in a bit. He doesn't care though, he scootches closer to Fred as he just wants to spend the rest of their lives in this bed and never move from it. Most likely understanding George wasn't going to get up on his own Fred untangles himself despite George's protest and throws the blankets off him.

Fred grabs George's legs and physically drags him off the bed. George clutches the sheets in a desperate attempt to stay on, making an even bigger mess of the bed. "Come on, mom will worry if we don't get down for breakfast.”

“Can't we just stay in bed longer? '' George is sprawled all over the floor, the sheets and blankets all tangled around him. There is no attempt at getting up. He's kicking Fred in the leg, trying too, but failing to get Fred to give in.

Fred doesn’t do anything though; he just stands there staring at his brother. “George,” Fred sternly said, giving him an unpressed looked

“Fred” Groaned back at him. Trying to be as dramatic as he can to get it across to his brother that he needs to be in bed, specifically with his not dead twin brother.

George can see his brother slowly giving in. how couldn't he though, Fred is not accustomed to seeing George break down in front of him. Sure, there were times when George had felt so overwhelmed, but he's never seen him this bad before. “After breakfast we can come back and snuggle however long you want, but I'm hungry, and you need water after how much you cried.”

“Fine.” George puffed, as he untangled himself from the blankets on the floor. He hopped off the floor and went to head down the stairs, not even attempting to think about changing out of his night clothes. walking out of his room was a hard thing to do. It has been months since stepping foot out and it was surreal seeing the hallway again. The whole way downstairs he's holding Freds hand, needing a constant reminder that Freds still with him, and that this is real. Fred doesn't seem to complain, probably from scaring him this morning, so George doesn't see any reason not to hold onto his brother.

Seeing his family's face years younger, was a kicker. George should have expected it, he knew he went back in time, so he knew his family was younger, but it didn't sink in until he saw them. His siblings were all so young, they hadn’t been hardened yet with the war, it was before they had nightmares every night, and the constant fear that everything was going to go to shit after one wrong move.

He sees his mother putting the food on the table and she just smiles at him like it was any normal day, like he hadn’t just came back in time because he killed himself due to months of missing Fred, she's looking at him without a shred of sorrow, because for once she isn’t reminded of the death of one of her children just by looking at him.

George doesn't know how he’s supposed to act. How did his face look? hopefully he wasn't showing how he felt. What did he even feel? George doesn't even know what he's feeling, so many emotions are clashing around in his chest, and he just can't look at his mother right now. He looks away and tightens his grip on Freds hand because that's who he needs to focus on. Fred is who all his thoughts and feelings need to be towards, because he had his mother, but he didn’t have Fred.

His twin gently pulls his arm noticing that George had spaced out and leads him to the table. When they sit down Fred lets go of Goerges hand, probably wanting to be able to eat, but George doesn't. He's holding on for dear life, afraid that once he lets go Fred will disappear. “George” Fred's voice is gentle when he talks to him. brows are furrowed and lips pursed; his face is still filled with so much concern. “It's ok, I'm not going anywhere if you let go.” so George does let go, panic sets in. it must have been written all over his face because Fred rested his leg up against Georges.

Fred ends up setting up George's plate for him. He probably realized that George just wasn’t up to the task. George tries to eat, he really does, but he can't seem to bring his fork to his mouth. Percy ends up sitting next to him, on the opposite side of where Fred is. Charlie is trying to convince Ron and Ginnie to come get breakfast and when they finally agree Charlie ends up sitting across from Goerge with the two kids on either side of him. His parents are on opposite side of the ends of the table.

They’re all fighting over what food and how much each of them gets. George hears someone groan in pain, probably Ginny hitting Ron, but George can't focus on anything but the feeling of Fred’s leg against his.

“George, are you ok?” He lifts his head and looks at Charlie who's looking at him with a frown. Why wouldn't he be, okay? He has his other half back. He's better than he's been for a while now. He's more than okay.

“Yeah. I'm all good.” he responds, because it's true. He had Fred, he isn’t sick, so nothing is wrong.

“Are you sure?” Charlie asks again, “I know this is your first year, so you're probably excited to go shopping for it, but you got to know when you're able to or not.” well its good to know the timelines at least. But going to Diagon alley right after time traveling? That doesn’t seem like such a bright idea. Well, it's not like he can just convince everyone to leave him home.

George turns to Fred “We’re going shopping today? Because surly Fred didn’t realize, or else he wouldn’t have to cuddle with him all day. Or maybe he did. He could have meant when they got back home. Yeah, that makes the most sense.

Freds eyes go a bit wide as he realizes and just as quickly whips his head around towards the end of the table and yells out over everyone. "Mom! can we go shopping another day! I don't think George is up for it!”

“Fred!” George loudly whispers, because there's no need. George can handle going to Diagon Alley, he’ll probably have to stick to Fred like glue, but he’ll make it through the shopping trip.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Fred puts his hand on the side of George's face and swipes his thumb across George's eye. “Charlie's right, you don't look good. Plus, I promised to cuddle with you the rest of the day, didn't I?” He then sweeps George's hair out of his face. Fred tilts his head and gives a sad smile “can't exactly do that when we’re in Daigon Alley, now can we?” It's like he's talking to a scared animal, which isn’t wrong. George is scared. Scared he’ll blink and Fred will disappear.

“Are you sure he's not feeling good?” Their mother says with a suspicious eye, probably thinking they’re planning to cause some mischief, but then her eyes land on him and the thing that tipped off Charlie must have been caught by his mother too, because she immediately got out of her chair and headed his way.

She grabbed his face and put the back of her other hand onto his forehead. “Your face is so red.” at the sound of that Percy, not wanting to get sick, scooches away from Goerge with a stink eye directed at him. “Hmm, you don't feel hot.” her hands drop away from his face. “I think I'd be wise to stay home today. I’ll take you and Fred another day.”

“I…” George hesitates a bit. He doesn’t want to be a burden and make things difficult for everyone by not going. But he also just wants to be alone with Fred. He looks to his twin, and his decisions made for him. “I'd probably be best to stay home.”

His mother looks at him one more time before heading back to her seat. Knowing that everyone thinks he isn’t feeling well, George takes this opportunity to push his food to the side and just lays his head down on the table. He hears someone stealing whatever's on his plate, he assumes it's Ginny and ignores everything happening.

It isn’t until Fred has finished breakfast they leave for their bedroom. No one made them stay to clean up and George wasn't going to look a gifted horse in the mouth. “We’re leaving in a few minutes! No causing trouble, you two!” He hears his mother call downstairs before he closes the door.

He drags Fred straight to the bed neither of them made. Pushed him on it. Then threw all the blankets on him and slipped right under them in order to cuddle him. Not a single word of complaint was heard out of Fred's mouth, instead, he wraps his arms around George and pulls him closer.

“Am I finally gonna learn what made you hysterically cry in the middle of the night?” Fred whispers and. George, who felt the air against his hair as his brother talked, gripped him tighter. The air that brushes against his hair means Freds alive, and the body George is gripping means his twin is with him.

George wants to tell Fred, wants to tell him how hard it was without him there. Wants so desperately to warn him about the upcoming war, and to convince him to never go to the battlefield. I’d be fruitless, either Fred thinks he's crazy and tells their parents so in order to get help, or Fred believes him. That would be the worst option though. If Fred believed George, he'd try to get all the details of the war, try to figure out the best possible way to win, and when the battle finally happens? Well Fred would try to convince George he won't die and charge into battle.

“I had a dream” he simply says. But Fred wants more, and George knows that. “You died” he can feel his brother tense up a bit, breathing stopping for just a millisecond. “There was this big battle and got caught in some explosion.” George pauses for a bit. Focuses on the feeling of his brother's body against his.
“I held you in my arms…I heard you take your final breath. Felt as your body went limp. All I could see was your eyes going dim, your whole being sucked out of your body leaving a shell of who you are.” George needed to explain this, needed for Fred to know how much pain his twin brother went through.

Fred didn’t say anything for a bit; George was afraid he wouldn’t say anything at all. “It was a dream, George.” Fred twiddles with the fabric of George's clothing. A habit he’s had since they were younger. Mom would get upset if Fred played with his own clothes, so he’d play with Georges secretly “nothing like that will ever happen” his voice is absolute, like he's sure it never will. “I won't let you be alone; you hear me. I’d be a real prick if I did.” but he did let it happen. Fred did die; he did leave him alone. So, George can’t trust it, wont trust it. All he can do right now, is to savor every moment with his twin.

—-------

Eventually they get hungry again, or course they do, their eleven-year-old boys who are still growing. So, they head downstairs to get lunch. George didn’t eat much of his breakfast and he’s feeling well enough to let Fred be far enough to make them lunch. He watches him work. Doing the difficult task of making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Spread the jam, spread the peanut butter, and then cut the sandwich.

They enjoy their simple lunch in silence, enjoying the time together. Then they hear footsteps, turning his head, George sees Charlie heading into the kitchen. “Thought you went school shopping” Fred says

“Mom wanted you guys to have a chaperone in case something happens; I'm going shopping when she takes you two.” Charlie starts making his own sandwich, a real one with meat and cheese and mustard. “I was coming out to make you guys lunch.” he looks at the mostly eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches the twins ate and chuckles to himself. “But it seems like that wasn’t needed.”

Charlie takes his sandwich and sits across from the twins and looks right at George.” So, you are feeling better?” he asks with concern, and all George can do is nod as he stuffs his face. “Good, glad to hear, you weren't looking too well this morning, so I was a bit worried.” then Charlie focus goes to his lunch

When George finishes eating, he rests his head on Freds shoulder and closes his eyes. He feels as Freds shoulders rise with his chest as he breathes. “Soooo Charlie,” Fred says. “You gonna give us any clues on how sorting works?” George isn't looking but he knows a smirk is on his brother's face.

“Nope” the word is heard from a loud chewing noise. “No hints, wouldn't be fair to everyone else who is going blind.”

George opens his eyes and looks Charlie in the eye as he says, “it's a hat, right?” Charlie freezes a bit.

“A hat?” Fred questions

“Yeah, a sentient hat. I think. Could be tooootally wrong.” A small smile works its way onto George's face as his eyes curl a bit. “Am I wrong Charlie” his older brother frowns a bit, clearly displeased that someone must have told George.

“I can't answer that.” The displeasure can still be heard in Charlie's voice, but there is a hint of exasperation “you two always have a way to know everything, don't you?”

George is tossed a bit as Fred jumps out of his seat in excitement. “It's a sentient hat!” he yells “that isn’t a no so that a yes!” Fred slams his hands on the table as he looks at Charlie. “Thought you could keep this from us dear brother of ours, but you've been beaten again by the great Weasley twins” Fred starts manically laughing as the first genuine smile in months is plastered on Georges face. This is what he missed.

Chapter Text

By the time the rest of the family got back home the twins and Charlie had already eaten dinner and are now relaxing in the living room. George is still laying his head on Fred's shoulder, watching Charlie try and teach Fred a card game. It's kinda funny, watching Fred progressively get more frustrated as Charlie keeps winning. George forgot this was a thing Fred and Charlie did. Before Charlie graduated, him and Fred would play card games whenever he was home from break.

Fred never said it, but George knew this was what he looked forward to the most when their older brothers got back from break. After Charlie's graduation he could also see the disappointment in Fred's eyes when they’d get back from their own break and find that Charlie yet again couldn't make it back home.

“I want to play with it” The warning bells of his family coming into the house were Ginny and Ron fighting. Before Ron had actual friends, the only one he actually hung out with was his little sister. Ginny still had Luna next door. But Ron? He only had her, which resulted in a lot of fighting between the two.

“You cant its mine” the two of them were fighting over a doll, both tugging on it.

“It's not yours” Ron yells at Ginny, yanking on the doll.

“It is! Mom got it for me” she kicks Ron, having him tumble down onto the floor.

“She got it for us” he yells at her “and it's my turn” Ron looks frustrated with tears welling up.

“If she didn't want it to be mine then why's it a doll”

“Because it's the first thing she saw! You heard her say that”

“Did not” being fed up with her brother, Ginny pushes Ron causing him to trip and fall on the couch slightly leaning on George. He grabs his younger brother, not because he believes Ginny's in the right but due to it being every big brother's job to mess with their younger brother.

Ron keeps his eyes trained on his sister, watching her prepare for a second attack knowing Ron doesn't have the power to fight back. He does attempt to get out of George's hold, willing with all his might, with no success.“Did too!!!” Ron yells at her as Ginny jumps on top of her two brothers.

George, who's still leaning against Fred, looks up to his twin, catching the little chuckle that passed his mouth when Fred took a glance at the pile of limbs next to him.”That looks like a nice cuddle fest over there.” Charlie comments from the safety of the ottoman.

Ron continues to squirm,desperate for escape. Which was quickly thwarted when Ginny wrapped her little arms around her older brother to latch onto George's shirt, effectively stopping his escape. Fred places another card just as their mother walks into the room, fondly sighing at the sight of her children huddled together. “Next year, only those of you who are heading to school will go shopping.” she states.

Ginny makes a face saying she disagrees and she's very vocal about it. “Mom! That is not fair!” she cries out, as she leans even more on top of Ron making him groan out.

“Oh hush you.” she tells her daughter. Walking closer to her very happy children “Shoo you two” their mother stops in front of the couch, gesturing for her youngest to get up."I need to check your brother's temperature again.” Ginny pouts as she reluctantly gets off Ron and sits at the other end of the couch. Ron now free from his siblings' cruches scatters off the couch and runs to his room, not without sticking his tongue out at his siblings.

Their mother puts her hand on his forehead again, trying to see if his temperature had risen anymore from this morning. George didn't notice he did it, didn't think too or try too, but he had closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. The touch of a mother who wasn’t clinging onto him with the distorted memory of a dead son, as she desperately calls him by his brother's name.

Her hand doesn’t stay on him as long as he hoped it would. Even when she's no longer touching him, George still feels the residual warmth left by her. “Hmm your temperature hasn’t risen by much” George opens his eyes, taking in his mother, taking in how young she is. How…. happy she is. “I'd say rest well tonight and you'll be fine to go out tomorrow” she states, brushing the hair off his face before she leaves to get ready for bed, their father in tow, following behind.

After taking stock of his family he's realized who's missing at the moment. “Where's Percy?"

“Prissy Percy's probably too good to hang out with his siblings” Fred grumbles out. The old George probably would have laughed at this, but Percy was the one who had taken care of him when George gave up on life. Percy would talk to him after his family gave up, fed him when he didn’t have the energy, even held him when the nightmare was too bad. So George knows, more than anyone, that Percy does not believe he's too good for his siblings.

“Fred” Charles scolds, staring daggers at his younger brother as he also knows Percy deeply cares for his family.

Fred just bristles at this “What! It's true” he says defending himself, despite knowing how much Charlie hates it when his family talks bad about each other especially percy.

Charlie returns to the game back but continues giving Fred a look. “You shouldn’t say that about your brother” Fred does seem to wilt a little. Charlie was always the brother he looked up to and being scolded by him would affect him a little bit.

Fred looks to George for some back up, but he can't, George just can't insult Percy right now. Fred probably assumes George is too tired to join in, not the he doesn't want to, so Fred gives up “fiiiiine”

“He went to his room to sulk” George can feel his brother trying to stifle his laughter at Ginny's comment.

He turns slightly to look at his younger sister. “What for?” she's playing with the doll Ron left behind in her lap, with a very smug smile.

“On our way back Ron tripped Percy, making him fall in a puddle. He was really upset” Ginny smiles at the memory, clearly also finding her brother's suffering funny

“And Bill?” George asked, now that he thinks about it he never saw Bill at breakfast either.

Both his brothers look at each other before looking back at George. “Are you sure you're feeling better? Fred asks him, his worry setting right back in.

“Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?”

“Bills at his girlfriends. He's been there since last week. He met mom to go shopping then went back, like the plan we knew about beforehand.” Charlie said, and it was clear he was looking for signs that George was sicker then they thought “It's the whole reason we couldn't push the shopping to tomorrow"

George forgot all about Bill's old girlfriend. She didn't come by the burrow that much when they were dating, and even when she did she stuck with Bill and hardly interacted with the family. Honestly George remembers that he was actually happy when they broke up. It was only two weeks into bills last year at Hogwarts; George's first. She was the first one he told about going to Egypt to study curse breaking. The news wasn't taken well, she had assumed he'd work at the ministry with his father then eventually settle down with her, as most purebloods do. So she broke up with him, not wanting to wait.

“Of course I know that. I was just, I was making sure you knew” George defends himself.

Fred pats him on the leg “Sure George, sure you were.” he says with an exasperated fondness

“Ginny!” their mom calls out “it's time to head to bed.” with a groan Ginny gets off the coach to get ready to go to sleep.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable, sleepy haze for George. He was content to just exist in Fred's orbit, listening to the familiar sounds of his family winding down for the night. Charlie eventually packed up his cards, ruffled both twins' hair, earning a squawk from Fred and a sleepy blink from George, and headed upstairs.

Soon, it was just the two of them in the quiet living room, the only light coming from the dying embers in the fireplace. Fred stretched, his joints popping. "Right then. Ready for bed, oh sickly one?"

George nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The fear was creeping back in, the irrational terror that if he went to sleep, he'd wake up back in that silent, lonely room, Fred's bed empty once more. He stood up, his legs feeling a bit wobbly, and immediately latched onto the back of Fred's shirt.

Fred didn't comment, just started walking, towing George along behind him like a sleepy, red-haired barge. They navigated the creaky stairs and the dark hallway, Fred expertly avoiding the floorboard that groaned loud enough to wake their father.

Their room was exactly as they'd left it: a mess of blankets on one bed and a perfectly made one on the other. Fred headed for his own bed, but George's grip on his shirt tightened. "No," George whispered, the word coming out choked.

Fred stopped and turned, his face softening in the dim moonlight filtering through the window. He didn't ask for an explanation. He just nodded, understanding passing between them as easily as it always had. "Scoot over then," he said, his voice gentle.

They both climbed into Fred's bed, which was a tighter fit than when they were younger, but they made it work. George ended up on the side against the wall, with Fred between him and the door, a familiar and comforting position from their childhood. Fred pulled the blankets over them and settled onto his back. George immediately turned on his side, pressing his back against Fred's arm, needing the solid, warm contact.

For a long time, they lay in silence, listening to each other breathe. George focused on the rise and fall of Fred's chest against his back, the proof of life that was both a comfort and a desperate, aching need.

"George?" Fred's voice was quiet in the darkness.
"Yeah?"
"It was just a dream,you know."
George closed his eyes,the image of Fred's lifeless body flashing behind his eyelids. "I know."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"...I know."

But George didn't know. He couldn't know. All he had was this moment, this second chance that felt as fragile as glass. He was eleven years old again, with the whole world, and a terrible, looming war ahead of him. He had a mission from a goddess and a debt to the fates. But right now, wrapped in the warmth and safety of his twin brother, the only thing that mattered was the steady, living heartbeat he could feel through the place where his back pressed against Fred's side.

He would save him. He would tear the world apart if he had to. But for tonight, he would just breathe, and listen, and remember what it felt like to not be alone.

Sleep finally took him, not with nightmares of explosions and loss, but with the quiet, steady certainty of his brother's presence. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, George Weasley slept peacefully.

The next morning, George woke with a jolt, his heart hammering against his ribs. For a terrifying second, he expected the crushing weight of silence, the empty bed across from him. But then he felt it. A heavy arm thrown across his chest, a puff of warm breath against the back of his neck, and a soft snore that was music to his ears.

Fred. He was still here. It wasn't a dream.

A wave of pure, unadulterated relief washed over him so powerfully it left him dizzy. He carefully shifted, turning to face his brother. In the morning light, Fred’s face was slack with sleep, freckles standing out against his skin. George just watched him for a long moment, committing the simple, living reality of him to memory all over again.

Eventually, the sounds of the household stirring forced them up. They got dressed in a comfortable, familiar chaos, bumping into each other in the small room. The normalcy of it all was a balm to George's soul.

Downstairs, the kitchen was a scene of controlled pandemonium. Their mother was fussing over a piece of toast, their father was buried in the Daily Prophet, and Ginny and Ron were already squabbling over the last sausage. The source of the morning's true chaos, however, was Charlie, who came thundering down the stairs, his shirt half-buttoned and his hair standing on end.

"Sorry, sorry! Overslept!" he gasped, skidding into the kitchen.

Fred immediately seized the opportunity, leaning back in his chair with a wide grin. "Tut, tut, Charlie. A prefect-in-training, oversleeping? What would Professor McGonagall say?"

George joined in, his voice still a bit rough with sleep but his spirit light. "I think she'd deduct points from Gryffindor. A whole fifty, probably."

"Leave me alone, you two," Charlie grumbled, snatching a piece of bacon from Ron's plate, which earned him an outraged yell.

As they finished eating, the conversation turned to their upcoming shopping trip. "Right, we've got your robes from yesterday, and your books," their mother said, ticking items off on her fingers. "We just need to get your proper wands and some extra parchment."

Fred puffed out his chest. "But we already have wands!" he declared, referring to the basic, practice wands they'd been using for years.

Charlie, now slightly more composed, snorted. "Yeah, trainer wands. You can't do much with them at school. They filter out spells that aren't... children friendly."

A look of dawning understanding crossed Fred's face. "Is that why I wasn't able to cast the Transfiguration spells Percy was showing off last summer?"

George nudged him, a genuine smirk playing on his lips. "I don't think that was the only reason."

"Hey!" Fred cried, shoving him back, but he was laughing.

Their trip to Diagon Alley was bright and cheerful. The sun was shining, and the streets were crowded with other families doing their last-minute school shopping. They managed to get their wands. a moment that sent a familiar, happy jolt up George's arm, and their uniforms. It was as they were heading to the stationary shop that their mother let out a frustrated sigh, rummaging through her purse.

"Blast it all," she muttered. "I was sure I had enough left over from yesterday for the parchment. I must have miscalculated the uniform costs." She looked up, a determined set to her jaw. "Right. Quick stop at Gringotts, then."

George's stomach gave a little flip. The bank. The heart of wizardry commerce, run by the sharp-eyed, formidable goblins. He followed his family into the towering white building, the cool, marble interior a stark contrast to the sunny street.

And then it happened.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the bustling noise of the bank didn't just quiet; it nearly stopped. Goblins who had been meticulously counting coins, writing in ledgers, or conversing with wizards all paused. One by one, their sharp, dark eyes turned from their work and fixed directly on George.

It wasn't hostile. It wasn't even curious. It was… assessing. As if they were seeing something on him, around him, that was invisible to everyone else. He felt their gazes like physical weights, and he instinctively moved a little closer to Fred, who seemed completely oblivious, too busy gaping at the vault carts.

The rest of the transaction was unnerving. The goblin who helped their mother was perfectly efficient, but its eyes kept flicking back to George, who stood silently between Fred and Charlie. The other goblins in the hall continued to steal glances, their long fingers stilling on their abacuses and quills. No one else in his family seemed to notice the peculiar attention.

After his mother had gotten her money and they were turning to leave, George felt a strange pull. He hesitated, then turned back. The goblin who had served them was watching him, its head tilted. Mustering his courage, George took a step forward.

"Why?" he asked, his voice low so his family wouldn't hear. "Why do they keep looking at me?"

The goblin's lips stretched into something that wasn't quite a smile. Its voice was a low, gravelly rasp. "The magic in the world feels like it is claiming you, wizardling," it said, its dark eyes seeming to see right through him. "It surrounds you, a mantle that does not belong to a mortal. It states you belong to it."

A cold shiver, entirely separate from the bank's chill, traced its way down George's spine. It. He knew exactly who, or what “it" was. His mind flashed to obsidian hair, piercing green eyes, and a lap he had laid his head upon. Hecate.

He simply nodded at the goblin, a silent understanding passing between them. For the rest of their trip, as they bought their parchment and quills, George noticed the subtle shift in how the goblins treated him. They weren't friendly, but they were… respectful. They gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod when he passed. When he dropped a galleon, one swiftly retrieved it and handed it back to him with a measured deference they showed no one else in his family, not even his father, a Ministry man.

Fred, of course, noticed none of this, too excited about their new wands and the potential for mischief they now held. But George walked through the rest of Diagon Alley with a new awareness. He hadn't just been sent back in time. He had been marked. He was a living, breathing thread in the tapestry of fate, and he was under the watchful, possessive eye of the very magic he had once cursed.