Author's Note: I'd just like to ask you to give this fic a chance. I can see why a lot of people wouldn't like George/Harry, but I can't help but feel like they could help each other so much after the war. So I'd love it if you did try reading it, and if you like it, well then great.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's.
Lord Voldemort was dead. The battle was over. But Harry did not go looking for Ron, or Hermione or Ginny. Instead, he went in search of George Weasley.
Harry looked at the group of grieving redheads, but the tallest of them all was not among them. He turned on his heel, and strode out of The Great Hall. Where would he be? Harry racked his brains for the Twins' regular haunts from their mischievous Hogwarts days. His mind drifted to the Marauder's Map… the passageways.
Harry broke into a run, and climbed the staircase to the tapestry of Wilhelmina the Wizened. He pulled the tapestry aside to see George sitting against the left hand side stone wall. His knees were up and his forearms rested loosely on them. Silent tears soaked his dirtied, bloodstained face. He didn't acknowledge Harry's arrival, but continued to stare at the opposite wall.
Hesitantly, Harry slowly walked towards him, lowered himself down and sat next to him, leaning against the cold, hard stone.
George had suffered the ultimate loss. He'd lost a part of himself. And it was Harry's fault.
They sat in silence for what felt like, and probably was, hours; both just staring at the plain, grey wall, as if it said everything they would need to understand why this had had to happen. Why Fred, Remus, Tonks, Snape, Colin, why all those people had to die.
Finally, Harry couldn't bare it any longer.
"I'm so sorry, George," he croaked.
"Harry, don't you dare blame yourself. It's my fault," the surviving twin whispered.
"How? If I'd given myself up earlier Fred would probably still be alive, and so would Remus and Tonks. It's all my-"
"No," George interrupted, "Harry please." He looked at him for the first time. "Don't."
Harry saw the painful desperation in George's eyes, which was more life in them than he'd seen in a while. And it hurt him.
"None of this is your fault. None of it. As for Fred … it should have been me," he held up a hand to stop Harry interrupting, "I should have been there," his voice was a faint, painful whisper, "Fred was the leader, the better one of us. The one with the ideas, the confidence, everything." Once again, Harry opened his mouth to argue but George shook his head, his voice growing louder and more passionate and pained. "He would have been fine without me, he would have been able to go on. He would have been stronger, done better things …" he couldn't speak anymore, and buried his face in his hands.
Harry felt a desperate need to comfort George; to tell him he was wrong and that it was okay.
But it wasn't.
And he couldn't lie to him. He knew better than anyone that right now it was not okay.
He placed a hesitant arm around George's shoulder, startled but pleasantly surprised when the skinny man leaned into him.
"Did you know? Could you feel it?" Harry asked. George tensed. He knew exactly what Harry was talking about.
"The second it happened."
Harry looked down at George, pulling him closer and squeezing his arm reassuringly.
"You can get through this George, I know you can."
George removed his face from his hands and his brown eyes gazed tearfully into Harry's green.
"You can too."
From then on, Harry and George were with each other as much as they possibly could. They talked about everything; about their guilt, their pain, just everything. They spent most of their time at the Burrow because George couldn't be alone for too long, and Harry had thought of the Burrow as his family home for a very long time, so it was without question for the Weasleys that he would live with them.
They helped each other recover and get better. Harry was the first one to make George smile again since the war, and George was the first one to make Harry laugh again since the war. Each began to rely on the other equally, finding strength and comfort in simply being there for each other.
They were alone in the Burrow's kitchen five months after the war ended. The October air was cold and biting, and the pair was seeking refuge in the homey atmosphere of the Weasley household.
They sat opposite each other at the wooden breakfast table, clutching mugs of hot tea. Molly could be heard in the living room, muttering to herself as she tidied, and the ever present sound of Ron and Hermione's bickering could be heard from upstairs. Even though they were a couple now, that most certainly didn't mean they would get on. Yes, they were in love, but no they could never actually get on.
But Harry had had enough of idle chatter, so he brought up the question that they had all been comprehending for months.
"Why don't you start up the joke shop again?"
George's previously content expression turned grim.
"Without him? I couldn't,"
"He'd have wanted you to carry on,"
"Would he," Harry wasn't sure if that was a question. They sat in silence. "Besides, I couldn't do it alone even if I wanted to."
Harry pondered for a moment, his expression screwed up in thought. A few moments later, and idea had clearly formed in his head as he had a vaguely triumphant look on his face.
"What about Ron?"
George thought for a few moments as he considered the idea. He took a sip of his tea and traced the wood pattern on the table with his forefinger.
"Would he want to?"
"I'm positive. He told me the other day he's not really up for becoming an Auror. Not yet anyway." George thought some more, his expression apprehensive. "Look, it's not going to be easy starting up again without Fred," George's eyes flicked up to Harry, "and I'm not suggesting you replace him with Ron. Okay it won't be the same with Ron, but you need to carry on the famous Weasley twins' legacy!" Harry declared, encouraging a small laugh from the redhead which made him feel quite warm inside.
George took a deep breath, and set his hands down firmly on the table.
"Alright. I'm going to start up the shop again, and ask Ron if he'll do it with me,"
"But I want you to apply to be an Auror," George smirked at him.
"Harry, you need to find something to do," George cut in, "something that you can really get your teeth into. You spent a very long time constantly on edge, in danger with the possibility of no future …" George trailed off a strange, absent look on his face. As if the moment had never happened, he continued, "being an Auror, you can help protect people; put away the remaining Death Eaters, do what you're bloody good at."
Harry had to admit that George had a very good point. Even though Harry was relieved it was all over, he felt empty, and maybe, being an Auror could help that. He moved his gaze from the table to George's imploring eyes.
George's face lit up, something which made Harry even surer that his decision was the right one.