So it’s a little later than I anticipated…but, finally, here is the new story I promised! It’s not part of the Bryn & Mer universe, but a totally separate short story. It’s also a fanfic, a genre with which I have little to no experience. And while we’re on the topic of fanfics, I’d like to note that all of the characters and locations are ©J.K. Rowling…I only invented a little scene for them :}
Anyway, without further ado…
Gred & Forge
George could hear the noise from the Great Hall as he closed the front door of the castle and stumbled out onto the lawn. The clanking of plates, the clinking of glasses. Voices, raised in converse. In laughter. And one—perhaps Hagrid’s?—in song.
After Dumbledore’s funeral everyone had gathered in the Great Hall, milling around one long banquet table, filling the emptiness inside of them with a forkful of pork pie or a slice of treacle tart. Talking and smiling and telling stories, remembering what a great man Dumbledore had been.
And the funeral. So proper and formal and well-attended. The speeches, the pomp. The other funeral seemed somehow diminished in comparison. No prestigious crowds there. Just the family, basically. Some of the D.A. The Chosen One, who’d returned too late to save the only person who really mattered.
And Angelina.
Standing in front of the plain pine casket.
Dumbledore had white marble, for Merlin’s sake.
George had made it through Dumbledore’s funeral, but he couldn’t face the aftermath, where he’d be called upon to praise the headmaster at the exclusion of everyone else.
Oh, what a great man Dumbledore had been!
What a great man.
What a great man.
What a great man.
Fred had been a great man too!
George winced; he didn’t want to think about Fred. But what else was there to think about? What else would ever be as worth thinking about as the greatest man he’d ever known?
But what made Fred great? No one had explained it in their eulogy. Fred hadn’t wielded extraordinary power, or run a school for magic, or discovered twelve uses for some magical substance. What made Fred worth remembering?
“He made people laugh,” George thought. “He gave people light, when all the world seemed dark.”
Dumbledore would have understood that. George heard again the words that seemed to belong to another world: “Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”
George’s heart lifted the slightest bit. Dumbledore must have considered Fred a great man.
George hadn’t had any plan when he left the castle, but he wasn’t surprised to find himself at the edge of the ForbiddenForest. The dark, looming trees used to call to him, promising mystery and adventure. Now he felt nothing. All of his emotions seemed to have solidified into a heavy mass in his chest. He regarded the forest numbly, and stepped onto the path.
The journey was easy, at first. Then the warped, crooked trees began to grow thicker, their leaves rustling as George left the path behind. In times past he would have had Fred at his side. They would’ve tiptoed through the brush together, wands at the ready, flushed with excitement and anticipation. There would have been danger around every corner, but they would have faced it together.
George looked around. The forest seemed empty. There was no haughty centaur to challenge him tonight. No lurking bugbears or sneaking spiders. George felt that he would have loved to fight some horrifying creature; to risk it all in a desperate fight for life. “And if I lost I could see Fred again.”
Yet no obliging monster appeared. The forest seemed to know his loss; tonight, he realized, he would pass unharmed.
“It wouldn’t be quiet if Fred was here. He’d be popping out from behind the bushes, or charming the roots of trees to trip me up.” George clenched his fists and sped up, trying to outpace his memories. “Fred was always the instigator. The prankster. The funnier and friendlier and kinder twin—that’s what everyone said. And he made me better: talking me out of my tempers and mocking me out of my funks.”
A wolf howled in the distance. George listened, waiting for others voices to join it, but none came. The lone cry continued, finally fading into the night.
“I can’t do this without him,” George thought. “He was the better part of me…I can’t go through the world with only half my heart.”
George felt hot tears splashing down his face. He tried to dash them away, but they fell unchecked.
“That’s where we tested our portable swamp,” he thought, jumping a small patch, his feet tracing the path of their final illicit excursion. “There’s where we tried the Whiz-bangs—the trees are still scorched. If Fred was here he’d laugh at me. He’d say just the right thing to make me laugh at myself.”
The trees around were a blur. George was running, running, tears streaming out behind him even as the wood was closing in. At the edge of a small clearing a root caught his trainer and he went sprawling, landing spread-eagled with his face in leaves that were quickly turning to mud.
George’s first instinct was to laugh—Fred would have made the root grab him, of course. He’d get up and Fred would be there, laughing along with him. Except there was no Fred. Fred was gone, and he would never laugh again.
How long George lay amongst the leaves he never knew. He lost himself to his misery, body racked with sobs as the mournful wind murmured up above. He thought of Fred as a child, transfiguring Ron’s teddy bear. He remembered him as an adult, grinning as they invented new magic, encouraging George to try harder, dream bigger. He imagined him as he could have been, and all the things that would never be.
After a time George sat up. He brushed the hair back from his face—he hadn’t cut it in weeks. Soon it’d be as long as Bill’s. “Trying to look different than Fred,” he thought. “So that every time I look in the mirror I don’t have to see him.” George rubbed the muck from his robes, blotted it from his face. He looked up at the stars, wondering if Fred was out there somewhere, wondering if it was possible that he might be looking back.
George leaned back to get a better view of the sky. As he did, his fingers touched something hard and small and smooth.
George lifted the pebble from the decaying mulch. It shone darkly in the moonlight, shadows reflecting from its plain, unornamented sides. George turned it over in his hand, examining it, noting an odd symbol etched within.
“It’s probably some sort of magical artifact,” George thought. “If Fred were here he’d be hopping about in excitement, pushing me to find out what it was, what it could do.” George turned the stone over again, holding it up to the light. “Then once I’d figured out what powers it contained Fred’d start working out how we could use it. He’d find a way to funnel its power into a candy, or to imbue Weasleys’ Wicked Wafflers with magical strength.”
George stared at the stone, and a burning hatred filled his heart. “But Fred isn’t here. Who cares what this stupid pebble does?”
George raised his arm to throw the stone away. He felt as though his anger had set alight some essential part of himself. It was burning, burning, and when the fire went out all that would be left was dust. George reached farther back.
And then he paused. “Maybe…maybe I should take it home to show him. Lay it by his…by where he is now. I haven’t left him anything…”
George hadn’t put so much as a single rose on Fred’s casket. It would make it feel too final, too real. When they closed the lid he’d had to turn away; it was bad enough that he’d broken down at the viewing.
George lowered his arm, looking at the stone once more. “I should have fought harder,” he said, turning the stone absent-mindedly in his hand. “I should have been there. I could have saved you, Fred. And if not, well, at least we could have gone together.”
“For a carbon-copy of me you sure can be a ruddy idiot.”
George whirled around, dropping the stone as he grabbed for his wand. He looked up to see Fred staring back at him, a smile playing about his face.
“Hello, Your Holeyness,” Fred said, bowing.
George backed away, shock coursing through his veins. “It can’t be him, it can’t.”
“Buck up, Georgie,” said Fred-who-could-not-be-Fred. “You’re looking awfully peaky.”
“Y-you’re not real,” George said, the wand shaking in his hand. “You died. I was at your service.”
“Did I?” Fred exclaimed, feigning shock. “You mean to tell me they’re holding funerals for dead people now? Mental!”
George felt his knees go out from under him. He fell into a crouch, his quivering wand still pointed at the apparition. It was so like Fred in every way, except for a strange blurring around the edges. “What are you?” he demanded. “A spell of some sort? Someone’s idea of a joke?”
Fred smiled again, but this time there was pity in his eyes. “No, not a joke. I’m as real as you are, George.”
George’s eyes traced his brother’s blurred outline. “You’re not a…Fred wouldn’t…”
“No, Georgie, I’m not a ghost.”
Fred stepped forward, squatting down a foot or two from his twin. George knew he shouldn’t let down his guard—they were in the Forbidden Forest, after all. The man before him could be an unknown creature, a trick of evil magic, or a dark wizard who had disguised himself for some nefarious purpose. Nevertheless, he sensed somehow that the apparition—Fred—was telling the truth. Perhaps it was a reawakening of the bond he and Fred had shared, or simply desperation for one last look at his twin, but George found himself lowering his wand.
For a moment the twins stared into each other’s mirrored faces: Fred, clean and straight-backed, tossing his hair back from his face; George, bowed and dirty, matted tangles sticking to the scruff that lined his jaw.
“I’m so sorry,” George said, the words jumbling in their hurry to escape him.
“George…”
“I should have been there. I should have saved you.”
“You couldn’t have helped me. Besides, if you’d been beside me when that spell hit you’d probably be dead too.”
“I wish I was,” George sobbed, covering his face to hide his tears. “I wish I’d gone when you went. Then we could be together.”
Fred shook his head, a line creasing his brow. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t even think it. You’ve got so much left to do, so much of life to experience.”
“I don’t want to.” George looked up at his brother, his partner in crime, his best friend. “I can’t. I can’t go on without you.”
“What about Mum, George? It nearly killed her when I died. What about Dad, and Ron and Ginny and all the rest? Who’s gonna make them laugh, and keep them from killing Pompous Perce?”
George shook his head, strangled with sorrow.
“What about the shop, eh? Georgie, you can’t tell me you’re gonna let Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes go under. Not after all the time we put into developing our line, and all the unsuspecting first-years who suffered as product testers?”
George smiled, remembering watching Fred “accidentally” drop a ton-tongue toffee for Harry’s dopey cousin.
“Remember the boy who nicked one of our fake wands and used it in his exam by mistake?”
George chuckled, wiping his nose. “Yeah, and what about the girl who combined a Nosebleed Nougat and a Canary Cream and ended up sneezing feathers?”
Fred threw back his head and laughed. “It took forever to set her right! We never did sort out why that happened…guess that’s down to you, O Holey One.”
George looked away, the smile fading from his face.
“Look, I know how you feel,” Fred said. “And I’ll miss you, too; more than I can possibly say.” Fred’s voice broke, and he paused for a moment before continuing. “But you have to go on. You won’t be alone: you’ve got Ginny, Ron, Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Fleur…even Perce, if you can keep yourself from strangling him.”
George sniffed.
“And everyone else, too. Harry and Hagrid. Lee—you could recruit him to help you with the shop. And Angelina…”
George glanced up, catching Fred’s eye. “I might have taken her to the ball, Georgie, but I think she really fancied you. She always was into the quiet, bookish types.”
Fred rolled his eyes, and George couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve got to keep going,” Fred said. “Not just for everyone else, but for yourself. Life is precious, and we never wasted a minute when I was alive. Don’t wish the time away just because I’m gone.”
George wanted to argue, to tell his brother that he was wrong, but something about the sad smile on Fred’s face stopped him. “You always talk too much when trying to get your way, you know that?”
Fred stood, grinning. “Don’t be jealous. Can I help it if the gift of gab passed you by?”
George smirked, rising to match his twin. For a long moment the brothers simply stood, looking at each other.
“Come on,” Fred said at last, “let’s get you back to the castle.”
Fred turned, making his way from the clearing. George had only taken a few steps when a sudden thought occurred to him. He whirled around and began frantically searching through the leaves.
“What are you looking for?” Fred called, moving towards him. “What, you set a hot date with Madam Pince only to lose her number?”
“That stone!” George exclaimed, elbow-deep in mud. “The one I was playing with before you appeared. That must be what brought you back! If only I can find it…”
“Leave it.”
George paused, looking up at his brother. There was an intense sadness imprinted on his twin’s features, yet Fred smiled just the same. “Leave it, Georgie. My place isn’t here anymore. My place is there. On.”
George’s heart sunk. For a moment—one golden, shining moment—he had believed he would be able to have his twin by his side once more. “And I guess you’ll tell me my place is here.” His stomach knotted. “I pulled you away…I called you here.”
Fred grinned. “Don’t worry about me, Georgie. I’ll find my way back.”
The castle stood, luminous in the darkness, glowing with the light of friendship, laughter, and a hundred merry candles under which witches and wizards were gathered, reminiscing about days past and friends long gone. Fred and George paused at the edge of the forest to look up at it, each fondly pouring over a thousand memories of rules thwarted and pranks played, savoring this final moment together as the Weasley twins. At last George took a deep breath, and, summoning all his will, stepped out of the forest. He turned to find Fred smiling back at him.
“Fight the good fight, Georgie,” Fred said.
“Oh, I will,” George said. He laughed, and a shock ran through him as he found he was still capable of laughter. “I’ll keep Mum and everyone so busy they won’t have time to mope about you. And with Lee at my side I’ll make Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes greater and more irresponsible than ever!”
Fred laughed, and as he did his outline blurred further, as though at any moment he might evaporate into the wind. George felt a pulling at his heart: a reminder that Fred’s time was near. “I’ll miss you, Fred. You are the best brother, best friend, and best man that I could ever hope to know.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you you oughtn’t lie to the dead?”
“I have heard that; but if you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself blown up I wouldn’t have to, now would I?”
Fred chuckled, the colors of his clothing beginning to fade. “That’s more like it, Georgie. That’s the twin I remember. Don’t let that disappear: I’m counting on you to keep the Weasley spirit alive.”
In the distance, George heard a door open. He glanced back at the castle to see the front door swinging closed.
“I’ll miss you too, George.”
George looked back at Fred to see that there were tears in his eyes. He blinked them away, shaking his head and breaking out in his accustomed grin. “I’ll always be with you, though. You’ll see me every time you look in the mirror. Gred and Forge, remember?”
George nodded, smiling. “Yeah, Gred and Forge.”
George forced himself to turn, forced himself to walk back towards the castle. After just a few steps he heard a shout.
“Oi!”
Fred stood at the edge of the forest, a mischievous light in his eyes. “Take care of Angelina for me.”
Fred winked, and George felt himself grin as he made his way back towards the castle.
When George reached the castle’s main door he found Angelina sitting on the step. Her face was streaked with tears, and her braids were escaping from their restraining clip and falling about her face.
“I c-couldn’t be in there any longer,” she sputtered when she saw him. “Everyone was so happy and I j-just kept thinking of everyone who wasn’t t-there. Lupin, and Dumbledore…and Fred.”
Angelina glanced at George and broke down. “I just c-can’t believe he’s gone, and I can’t imagine how much worse it is for you. I j-just don’t know how to m-move on, how to k-keepg-going.”
George sank down beside Angelina, putting an arm around her shoulder. “I know. I know how you feel. But I also know that Fred wouldn’t want us sitting around here moaning over him. He’d want us in that hall, laughing with the others and sneaking Nosebleed Nougats into the treacle tart.”
Angelina managed a small laugh, then looked up and gave George a rather wet smile.
Light and laughter spilled out of the castle, enveloping them, filling George with warmth. Angelina leaned her head against his shoulder and George felt his heart lift. Squeezing Angelina closer he glanced back down to the forest to see Fred give him a final roguish thumbs-up before he disappeared.
