Angels Brought Me Here (George Weasley)

A Thousand Years

Being brave was something that had always been a natural born ability for George. After all, he was a Gryffindor. He was the most stereotypical Gryffindor anyone could ever meet. 

He had been brave from the moment he could walk, absolutely no fear in any cell in his body. The issue is, he owed a lot of this bravery from always having the knowledge that there was someone to catch him if he fell, to vouch for him if he needed an alibi, to hold his hand if something made him feel weary.

Having a twin was a different experience altogether than having siblings. George would know, he had experienced both. And he couldn't describe the connection he and Fred had, they knew each other better than they knew themselves. Fred had an uncanny ability to just know what George needed, and it worked both ways.

Losing Fred had made George feel redundant for a while, and he felt unneeded and relatively useless, which he battled with. Having Jenny made him feel useful again, but she was not a replacement for Fred, nobody ever would be. 

He had always been afraid of the day he would realise he had moved on. 

He knew that deep down, there would always be a part of his heart that wouldn't move on. He felt that when Fred passed, a piece of George's heart had gone with him. And he knew he wasn't getting that back until he himself passed away. He could wait for that, though. 

There was once a point where he didn't think he wanted to wait, he wanted to go and see Fred there and then. But he knew that Fred wouldn't want that. And he was glad now that he had waited for things to get better, because meeting Jenny was what he needed. 

But as he stood outside the green door positioned on the opposite side of the building to his own flat, the feelings of May 1998 had rushed back to him. 

He remembered the day they had first gotten the keys to 93 Diagon Alley, and one of the first things Fred had said was that he wanted that door made green. And George had done it immediately, no questions asked as to why. There was just that understanding there with everything, George didn't need to know a reason why for anything.

And from that moment, the flat on the right hand side of the building had belonged to Fred. Living apart was actually quite a challenge for the twins who were literally inseparable for so many years, but they only had more fun every day when they saw one another in the shop, and they went for a pint in the Leaky Cauldron most nights. 

The first six months living in the building were some of the best of George's life, and he would always remember them fondly. Business was booming, family would visit most weeks, Lee practically lived with them and helped them every day in the shop. It wasn't until Christmas, when the Death Eaters had set fire to The Burrow, that Fred and George started to realise they weren't safe, and they were probably marked for death. 

The shop had to close not long after that, they didn't feel safe having the doors open like they had done, and business began to slow down as people became more afraid to leave the house. People were going missing every day, and people weren't really in the mood for jokes and pranks. George couldn't blame them. 

He had often wondered what Jenny was doing during this time, but they didn't like to discuss the war. He always found it mesmerising, that she had been in the world somewhere back then, and he somehow didn't know her. 

George's hand touched the doorknob of the flat, and he felt the breath leave his lungs when he realised the door wasn't even locked. His initial reaction was to scold his twin for being so stupid and leaving his front door open to the public, but then he remembered that Fred had been dead for almost eighteen months. 

Fred hadn't stayed in his own flat for months before he died, and George had no way of knowing how long the door had been unlocked. 

As he pushed the door open, he could already sense the dust, the emptiness. The feeling of death. 

He tried to summon the bravery of both himself and Fred. He knew his own wouldn't be enough this time, this was too hard. He tried to remember what Jenny had told him, that it was okay to hurt, and it was okay to cry. But he found it so hard. This made it real. 

He knew his brother was dead. He wasn't in denial, but he had avoided going into Fred's living space for a reason, and that was because as long as he didn't go, he could pretend that he was just in his flat. 

It was dark. That was the first thing he noticed, it was so very dark. He flicked the lights on, and it hit him. 

The place hadn't been touched since the last time Fred left. Everything was exactly as he had left it. There were clothes all over the floor. Doors were ajar, just as he had left them when he had last exited those rooms. Papers were scattered all over the sofa, from where he had been working out the business accounts, the job Jenny now did. 

Fuck, there was even an imprint in the sofa, from where he liked to sit every evening. It was still there. 

George felt like he wasn't even in his own body as he looked around, somehow Fred's scent still lingered in the air, and he was transported back to his childhood, to his adolescence. To days spent with the greatest person he had ever had the honour of knowing. 

And then, as he looked at the bench in the small kitchen, he found it. 

A letter. 

And it was addressed to him.