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Resonance, Chapter Two

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Dec. 14th, 2010 | 12:07 am

 Chapter Two / All Of His Friends

TIME STAMP: Approx. two weeks after the Battle at Hogwarts.

In this chapter, George takes a step forward in working through the death of his twin



No, I don't want a battle from beginning to end,
I don't want a cycle of recycled revenge.

I don't want to follow Death,
and all of his friends.


-Death And All His Friends, by Coldplay




From the moment they're born, magical twins experience a bond stronger than any other, a bond that can often reach beyond death. Fred and George Weasley treasured this bond fiercely.

As infants, they couldn't get a wink of sleep unless they were squished up against one another in bed- separate cribs were never an option. If one was fussy, the other cried too. If one were ill, the other wouldn't sleep. It was hard work raising twins, but nothing Molly Weasley couldn't handle.

When the twins were 7, and finally willing to leave each other's presence for a few hours at a time, Fred fell down the Weasley's well. George, sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich, went white as a sheet, screamed for his big brother and took off running for the yard. When Bill pulled a soaked and spluttering, but smiling Fred from the well, he turned to George and asked how he knew.

"I felt the splash, Billy!" George said, grinning, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

From then on, the bond only grew stronger. Although talkative for company's sake, the two almost never spoke when alone- they never had to. Casual eye contact and the constant back and forth of emotion and general ideas was enough to carry conversation.

When George lost his ear, phantom pain flashed through Fred, and it took everything he had not to fall off his own broom. He couldn't shake the dull ache in his head or the dread in his gut until he laid eyes on his twin again.

When Fred went down in battle, so did George. He'd been running with Charlie when the pain cut through him, so great he could barely stand, and he felt as if someone had reached inside of him, grabbed his heart and was pulling. Charlie had pulled him into an empty classroom and sealed the door just in time for George to fall to his knees.

George had the knowledge of what was happening, for a brief few seconds before it did. Just long enough to feel Fred's imsorryimsorryfuckimsorry and to send his own itsokay-justholdon-illfindyou. And then there was nothing. A pain so fierce George thought he would die there on the floor, clutching Charlie's arm- and then it was gone, and in it's wake, a silence. Emptiness greater than George had ever imagined.

Later, kneeling over Fred's body, George nearly fainted, straining himself to make the connection he so desperately craved. A Twin Bond didn't have to end with death; they had known that- they'd done their research as the war began, needed to know the facts, their odds. Kneeling in the Great Hall by Fred's head, George took every ounce of grief he felt and hurled it down the tattered remains of their bond. He felt it then, a mere fraction of what it had once been, but there, a voice, and a feeling- no matter how dull and far away, it was Fred.

They'd had their moment there. A goodbye in only words they knew how to speak. And George sobbed, believing this was the end. But the faint presence that was Fred didn't disappear. It grew and swelled to a constant, impatient push that George could only translate to where are you? Aren't you coming? And however disturbing it seemed, George took comfort in it over the following days.

It had been a week since locking himself in the dormitories; he was back at The Burrow. He'd begged and pleaded to anyone who would listen to just let him go, let him retreat to their flat above the shop where he could sit in front of the mirror for the rest of eternity, allowing Fred's presence to fill him, and he could pretend he wasn't alone.

They'd taken his wand, so he couldn't apparate. His last attempt at a midnight break for freedom had ended with his father and Harry physically blocking the door while Ginny sobbed, begged him to stay. And then, finally after days of nothingness he felt Fred's urgent panic as he looked into his sister's eyes- don't leave her don't you leave her.

He gave up trying after that.

He'd stopped sleeping. He couldn't bear to break down the connection for that long, terrified he'd wake up and every trace of his twin would be gone. He spent his nights sitting up in the kitchen, usually with Charlie or Ron, occasionally Harry- none of them felt comfortable leaving him alone after his stunt at Hogwarts.

He considered it progress the night Harry and Ron both took his word for it when he said he'd be ok, and left him blissfully alone. Coffee was his best friend now, and it was nearly dawn when he stood to pour a fourth cup and nearly took a header into the kitchen sink. The wave of dizziness was overpowered only by a wave of pure frustration and concern and .

He lived for these moments, these small tastes of the connection he spent every second trying to keep alive. The first thing his hands landed on was a loaf of bread and he toasted and buttered every piece.

Half way through the stack, the sun peeking over the horizon, Hermione entered the kitchen.

"I know he's still with you," she said, by way of greeting. It wasn't sympathy or cruelty, or the desperate fear his mother was forcing upon him. It was simply knowledge of the subject at hand, and George welcomed it.

When he managed to forge a decent connection and spent four hours in the same spot, talking to his twin, begging for an answer, he was met with everything from fear to pity. They all must have thought he'd gone mad. But Hermione watched him with nothing more than simple curiosity and he knew she was insanely smart, that she understood. She knew it was possible.

"Toast?" he offered, waving to the plate on the table. He took a bite of his own piece, chewed determinedly and was rewarded with a swell of phantom approval within him.

"At least you're eating now." Hermione smiled warmly as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

George shrugged, "He wants me to."

"Is it that bold?" she asked softly, in a tone that suggested he didn't have to answer. "He's asked you to eat?"

George shook his head and took another bite.

"I could FEEL him worried because I wouldn't." George sighed and threw down the crust. "When he was- when we were both here, we could almost speak. Full sentences, fully formed ideas, images. I always knew where he was. Now, it's faint, mostly emotions, feelings. And it's difficult to keep up..."

George chuckled softly.

"I'm fucking tired, Hermione."

"George... You know it's..." she hesitated and then reached across the table for his hand. He let her have it. "It won't ever seal off entirely. For as long as you're here and he's there, he may be able to connect briefly, occasionally... But this has to stop. I'm sure you can feel it fading, you can't keep up a constant connection, there just isn't enough to work with."

George just nodded, squeezed her hand a little. He'd known.

"You need to let go. Allow yourself to grieve, George. You'll wear yourself down if you try to keep this up."

"I'm scared, Hermione." George whispered, meeting her gaze. "I don't know how to live without this... Without him."

"You'll learn." Hermione said, tears welling in her eyes. And then she squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes, past him. "Help him let go, Fred."

George swelled with approval and affection that wasn't only his own.

"He loves you, Hermione. We all do." George smiled a little, "Even if you are kind of a twat for hooking up with that one bloke. What's his name, Rupert? Rankin?"

"His name is Ronald, actually and he doesn't take to kindly to you holding her hand like that." Ron said loudly, announcing his entrance. Hermione laughed tearfully. George smiled and leaned across the table to plant a kiss on her forehead, while inside of him Fred's presence lessened just a little more.

Less than a week later, when they were all gathered around the table for dinner one evening, Fred and George's connection broke for good. Lighthearted conversation and gentle laughter was interrupted by the clatter of a fork on the floor and everyone looked towards George.

"Don't leave me, don't leave me you git-" George muttered fiercely, his eyes shut, hands fisted on the table, obviously pouring every ounce of energy into this communication. "I don't know what to do!"

And then suddenly, and to everyone's great surprise, George laughed. Not the forced tragic laughter of the past few days, but true, humor filled, laughter he only ever shared with one person.

And just as sudden as it had started it stopped. George gripped the table and grimaced.

"Charlie-"

Charlie was out of his seat, around the table to his brother's side before George even finished speaking. Charlie had been closest to the twins as children, and if anyone came close to feeling the loss of Fred as much as George did, it was him. It was no surprise the twins called for him now.

"I'm here, I'm here, George."

Every ounce of color left George's face in a second, and he fell forwards into Charlie's arms, shaking and silent.

What Fred gave to his brother in that final moment, whatever message he sent, no one would ever know. George would never tell.

The Weasley's buried one of their own that night. Hermione and Ginny dragged massive crate of Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs out to the yard where Bill, Ron, Arthur, and Harry dug the grave. Charlie and Molly wrapped Fred in his warmest cloak.

The entire family gathered round as George jumped down into the hole to crouch by his twin. He tucked his brother's wand against his chest and then tightened his cloak, as if to keep him warm. George leaned forward, pressed his forehead against Fred's.

"Give 'em hell, Fred." He whispered.

He clambered out of the hole and grabbed a shovel. There wasn't a dry eye present as everyone watched him work to fill the hole himself. Finally he threw down his shovel before kicking over the wooden crate, releasing the fireworks.

"I'm opening the Shop tomorrow." George announced, as the last flaming orange dragon fizzed out of sight over the rose bushes. "We've just finished a war… people will need a laugh."

He took one last long look at the fresh earth under his feet, and then smiling ever so slightly, he turned and walked towards the house alone.

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Comments {2}

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from: mopstyle
date: Jan. 2nd, 2011 11:31 pm (UTC)
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Oh, god, how heartbreaking and beautiful. I look forward to more. I've been looking for stories like this for a while and am so happy I've found these.

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diasounds

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from: diasounds
date: Jan. 4th, 2011 06:25 am (UTC)
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Thank you so much! I'm posting the next few chapters now. I'm so glad your enjoying :)
Take care!

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