Fifteen Years

Part One

1998 -THE BATTLE OF HOGWARTS:

A flash of brilliant blue light erupted above their heads. Squinting upwards, George's throat was suddenly dry. The barrier was breaking.

"Are you okay Freddie?" he asked as he turned his gaze away from the crumbling barricade and looked out over the courtyard instead.

"Yeah," Fred said quietly, a strange tone in his voice. He didn't look at George, but continued staring out straight in front of him, a distant expression on his face.

George looked at his twin brother. There was an odd sensation in his heart, a nagging, tugging feeling. Gently, he nudged him with his elbow. "Me too," he said, smiling, although it wasn't quite true. Fred looked at him blankly. A ghostly smile appeared on his face. Unable to look at him for long, George turned back to look at the courtyard. Leaning forwards over the railing, he admired the large mixture of students, teachers and magical creatures who were lining themselves up, preparing to fight, ready for war.

The Battle of Hogwarts was about to start, and George couldn't shake the feeling that everything was not going to be okay.

***

2013 -THE BURROW:

George Weasley stood in the doorway. His arms were loosely crossed, and he couldn't bear to look up. When his mum had said that she and Arthur were moving, he honestly hadn't believed it. The Burrow had been their family home since before time had begun. It was simply meant for them. Everything about it shouted, 'Weasley!' The crooked structure, the garden gnomes, the crazy chickens... he had breathed in the smells and glued his eyes to all of the chaotic sights upon his arrival. Home. But he had quickly noticed that there were boxes everywhere; stacked up high into corners and spilling out onto the front porch. Objects were stored in his fathers' shed; boxes, furniture, all accumulating into a massive multitude of... stuff.

But one bedroom had been left untouched.

Of course, they'd left it to him. He wasn't even sure if anyone had ventured in there, not since -he pushed the thought away, and tilted his head towards the ceiling, breathing in deeply.

"Are you okay?" he felt gentle fingers on his shoulders, and they began to massage his neck. He shrugged out of the warm grip, and turned to discover Angelina Weasley, nee Johnson.

"I'm fine," he tried to assure her, a faint smile appearing on his lips.

She watched him sadly. He was still wonderful of course, but the George Weasley she had married was not the same George Weasley she had known at Hogwarts. She wrapped her arms around him. "Do you want me to come in with you?" but she already knew what the answer would be.

Distracted, Georges' gaze turned to their children, Fred, who he always called Freddie, named after his twin brother, and their daughter, Roxanne. They boasted fiery red hair and a passionate love for magic. He saw himself reflected in both of them, but whenever he saw this, he also saw his twin. His heart ached with longing. It had been nearly fifteen years, but the wounds had still not healed. They would never heal. Fifteen years without his brother, fifteen years that he could never get back. Fifteen years...

Freddie was eleven now. They were planning to go and purchase his new school equipment this afternoon. He wondered how much Freddie would be like him, like they had been, at school. Would he have an entire cabinet of punishment records -to himself- in the caretakers office? So many questions, so much excitement. Freddie was flamboyant with joy. He couldn't wait to get onto the train. George was looking forward to seeing his son with his first wand, his first pair of school robes, his first set of revolting potions ingredients... But this had to be done first.

"No," he exhaled, turning back to Angelina, "thank you. I'll be fine." He looked away and she gave him one last pat on the back. He trooped up the stairs, head bowed, passing his mother, huffing and puffing with boxes in her arms, and then reached the bedroom door.

Pausing with his hand resting on the handle, George took in a deep breath. What would happen, when he opened the door? How many memories would be released, how many memories would tear his heart apart? He sensed someone behind him.

"George, sweetie," his mother looked at him with concerned eyes. Her face was flushed, more so than usual, and her hair threatened to float away in frizzy wisps.

"I still can't believe it, mum. I still can't believe he's gone," his voice cracked, and his organs seemed to shudder.

There were no words that could console him. Molly rushed forwards and wrapped him in her arms, desperately trying to cover her own grief in order to protect her son. "You don't have to do this, George," she whispered, but really, he did. If anyone was going to sort through the twins' old bedroom, all of their plans, all of their dreams and experiments...it had to be George. George held on to Molly, his heart pounding. He remembered how she used to get muddled with which twin was which, and confuse their names. How she used to sigh with exasperation at their pranks.

He pulled back, and looked into his mothers eyes. It was time. He was as ready as he could ever be. Heart thrumming loudly in his ears, he opened the door. With a final glance back at his mother, he closed it softly behind him.