Harry Potter Oneshots

Won't You Stay

Away. Far away. That's where George wanted to be.

Far from Hogwarts. Far from his shop. Far from his old life.

Yet that was exactly where he was.

His feet betrayed his mind. One in front of the other in front of the other. To the forest. Into the forest. And they kept walking.

Until they didn't.

As if they had a mind of their own, they stopped abruptly on the outskirts of a large clearing. The scent of magic lingered in the air here, heavier than before. He had no use here. The castle was in disrepair, the Great Hall was full of dead and injured, assorted magical creatures were scattered all over the grounds with varying degrees of deadliness and he was... Vacant. He bent down into the sharp grass, hearing it crinkle against his knees. Everything in the clearing was... dead. It was fitting for his mood, for his visions of the future, for the rest of his life. Dead.

He heard a faint whisper in his left ear, so far away, but giving a warmth that suggested that the source was just next to him. He turned to face it, but nothing was there. Kneeling where his feet led him, he clasped his hands together, murmuring a silent prayer. Praying to anybody who would listen that it wasn't real. That none of it happened.

A laugh, off to his left. A familiar laugh. He turned to face it again, but whatever it was seemed to dance just out of sight; he caught a glimpse of black out of the corner of his eye that he quickly dismissed as nothing but a trick of the light.

The laugh again, just by his ear. A warm breath tickled the short hairs around it, a corporeal figure undoubtedly next to him. But like before, there was nobody and nothing there. He looked down. Something black glimmered back up at him. He reached his hand down to pick it up, grasping it between a callused thumb and forefinger, rough from weeks working on new products. Products he made with Fred.

"Fred," George whispered aloud. The name felt like getting hit by one of the beaters that he and Fred had expertly aimed towards other players' chests in the hopes to knocking them out. Quidditch. Yet another thing that would never be the same.

"Fred," he muttered, louder than before. He tossed the stone up, flipping it three times before deftly catching it in his left hand. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He just wanted to remember his brother in crisp detail forever, every little thing about his personality, everything. He wanted to remember his brother.

He looked skyward, the stormy clouds exemplifying his mood perfectly. He let himself loose.

"FRED!" He cried, his hands falling to his sides, stone still clutched in his left.

Tap tap.

George spun around, not wanting anyone to see him like this. What if it was Angelina?!

It was a trick. All a trick. A mirror. Smoke and mirrors.

It couldn't be real.

His reflection had both ears. He had a bashful smirk on his face. His hands were tucked into his pockets awkwardly. And he had something about him... Something that was very... Fred-like.

"Oi, no reason to call for me, eh? I'm right here."

George stumbled backwards, falling over onto his arse and raising his wand in his right hand, the stone still held tightly in his left.

"RIDIKKULUS!"

But the reflection only grinned. "That scared of me already, Georgie? I guess now we're both holy in our own ways... Although I still hate you for that pun."

George's face was white as a sheet. "You... You, you are dead. I saw... You're dead..."

Fred soundlessly plops onto the grass next to him. "You know, I expected a warmer welcome. Is that really how you treat your twin?"

George shook his head, "RIDIKKULUS!"

Fred chuckled. "I wish that would work. I'm not a boggart, and I don't really want to know what that thing can do to me so put it down, please?" He gestured to George's wand. George dropped it immediately and curled into a fetal position.

"Won't you stay," he croaked, racked with sobs, "won't you stay?"

Fred did his best to console his brother, rubbing his back. He knew that he was cold, but he was there. He knew that what he had was better than anything else for George.

"Of course. I'll stay as long as I can. But that is not forever, you know this."

George nodded slowly, blinking away tears and meeting Fred's eyes. "But do you know me at all?"

Fred laughed. He regretted it afterward, after hearing how cold it sounded. "Of course I do. More than anyone else in the world. And I know that you—"

And Fred Weasley became mist, mist that fell on his twin's hair and back, coating it in a warm wet spray that smelled somehow of pranks and soaring around a quidditch pitch.