I was disappointed Rowling didn't show George without his twin. So I just kind of sat down and wrote this. Because George is my favorite character, and that was a MAJOR thing in his life. He deserved the words it would take, but he didn't get them. So he will about a million times here, and I might even write it more than once, cuz that's a bad habit I have with Sasuke (writing the same thing repeatedly, only different). Anyway! Enjoy!
And please Review, because George wants to know what you think, and neither of us can read minds.
I don't own Harry Potter. Or George.
George watched his other brothers lower his own body into the ground. It wasn't really him, lying cold and pale in the coffin, but it might as well have been. He was Fred, Fred was George. Together they made one person. Together.
Without Fred, George didn't know who he was. He almost wished he had his ear, so he could tell everyone he was Fred, but they knew better. And he knew he shouldn't. He also knew he didn't have to. Fred didn't die, only half of him did. Half of George died too though.
He sat in a white folding chair his parents could barely afford, half a man. He felt it the instant Fred died, but he couldn't tell what it was. He cursed himself for letting Fred die. He cursed Fred for abandoning him. He wished he could think of a joke, to make everything better.
Fred always had something to say, even when George didn't. Of course George always had something to do, even when Fred was all talk. Together they dominated the world of jokes, both verbal and practical. Fred covered the former and George the latter.
What would he say without Fred? He hadn't spoken since Harry killed Voldemort—he refused to even think that You-Know-Who rubbish, not after Voldemort got Fred killed. Everyone gave him knowing and worried looks, they tried to comfort him. His mother actually tried to tell him they'd all have to learn to get along without Fred. She didn't understand.
There was no "getting along" without Fred. He was Fred, or as good as. He couldn't "get along" when he'd already died.
But he saw his hands, clenching his knees tightly, alive. He felt the tears burning his eyes as he lived on, without half of himself. His father called George to say something, because he was alive and Fred died, and that was what you did when you survived the death of someone close. You talked about them, because you couldn't talk to them.
He could pretend to. He knew exactly what Fred would say to everything, exactly what he would do. He knew Fred better than he knew himself, because he couldn't figure out why he stood and walked to stand in front of the coffin. He tried to say something, but he didn't know what, and it couldn't come out. "Fred would know what to say. He talked too much." He complained, trying not to cry.
He could see no one understood what he'd said. They understood he and Fred were one and the same, identical twins, but they didn't understand that they were two parts of a whole. They thought each was complete, whole, and exactly like the other. He stared at the ground and dug his toe into the grass. "We were supposed to die together, twice the age of Nicolas Flamel. We were supposed to live together, running our joke shop. We were supposed to find a pair of girls and get married, and have impossibly different kids but still pretend we couldn't tell them apart. We were supposed to be together." He fell to his knees and felt the hot tears shoot from his eyes and cover his face as sobs wracked him.
Fred was gone. He left George. Alone. He tried but couldn't think of anything funny about it. He'd always believed almost everything had a humorous side. Even Voldemort had no nose, and he had plenty of jokes for that one, despite something about him being an incredibly powerful dark wizard who almost killed everyone George loved.
He saw the blurred forms of his relatives and friends stand and move towards him, to comfort him. But he knew there was nothing they could do. He needed Fred. He couldn't live without him.
Percy reached him first, blaming himself like he'd used the Killing Curse on George's twin. Lee was next, offering George a tissue that would turn his nose purple. He let out something almost like a laugh and pushed the tissue away. His mother bustled through the crowd and forced her hugs on George, but he didn't mind as much as he claimed while trying to push her away.
Harry shoved through the people surrounding George, and they let him through even though many shot him looks like he didn't belong. He had less chance of comforting George than his relatives. He held up a mirror, and George saw Fred because he saw himself. Tears stained his face and his eyes were puffy and red. He scrunched up his features to hold the tears in, but it didn't help. He watched them roll down his cheeks unhindered. "What would he tell you right now?" Harry asked softly, but his voice still carried.
"That I was blubbering worse than… than Neville as a first year if he blew up Snape's nose, and if I didn't shape up he'd start making horrid ear jokes, even worse than mine, or feed my a Ton-Tongue Toffee in my sleep." He paused to take a weezing gasp. "Probably both." He sobbed harder, thinking of his twin and seeing his face in the mirror.
"You won't get away from him." He sounded wiser than he should, and George wondered who died looking like Harry, or which of the dead Harry resembled. "But I don't think he wants to haunt you."
George could barely speak between sobs and gasps for air. "He'd want… want me to run…" Another sob stopped his words. "Run the shop, and…" He couldn't say it. Fred would want him to go on, carry out their plans alone. He'd want George to meet a zillion girls and marry one of them, have at least six kids because, well, he was a Weasley, and run the joke shop until the whole family had enough money that they didn't have to scrape by anymore.
He didn't want to though, not without Fred. He didn't know how to do it alone.
Ron spoke gruffly, trying not to appear too soft. "You know he was smiling, still is now. I think he would've stopped if he wanted you to be sad, forever anyway."
"He'd never forgive me if I didn't… mourn him for at least a… a week and a day." That was how long they planned to be mourned when they died together, old and oblivious to the world.
"Times up then, George." He imagined Fred saying in his ear, because he knew he would. "I better get those toffees…"
He continued crying but knew he'd live. He was alive and he'd start a new life. Not without Fred, because Fred would always be a part of him. But they'd never really needed separate names; they were Fred and George. Now he'd start a life as just George Weasley because Fred died and George lived. And George was determined to live.