Look After You

Harry Potter saved the day, of course. He faked his own death and came back with a flourish, whipping his invisibility cloak off in the middle of the Great Hall. He said a few things to Voldemort that didn’t make any sense to anyone besides the two of them plus Ron and Hermione, then something happened and Voldemort accidentally cursed himself. He died and we all celebrated. I was laughing and crying and cheering with the Weasleys when we all seemed to simultaneously remember Fred and what had happened and nothing seemed too great anymore.

I left the Weasleys alone sometime around seven in the morning and wandered over to the Gryffindor table (which was actually filled with members of every house). Weak rays of sunshine filtered in through the windows, and I tilted my face upward into one. Luna Lovegood yelled something about a "Blibbering Humdinger" and in the next instant, George was sitting beside me. His arm brushed mine and I heard him sigh heavily.

"I can't make up my mind," He said slowly, staring at the table with his brow furrowed. "Voldemort's gone and that’s great, but…" He shook his head, knowing that he didn’t need to finish his statement.

I closed my eyes for a moment and, when I opened them again, tears were dripping off the end of his nose. I put my hand in his and leaned against him, my ear pressed against his shoulder. I marveled at how such close contact amplified his breathing but didn’t say anything. What would have been appropriate? Not much. He rested his cheek on my forehead.

"It feels wrong," He said, his shoulders heaving and his voice wobbly, "It feels like I'm missing an arm, or something. Maybe something more vital, I don't know. It just feels…" Again, he left his sentence unfinished.

I pressed my lips to his shoulder because I didn’t know what else to do. We sat there for a long time. Gradually, people began to drift out of the Hall, migrating upstairs to their beds or to Hogsmeade to disapparate home. Mr. Weasley came over when the sun was shining, yellow and hot, through the windows, his face seeming to have aged a good fifteen years.

"We're going to go home, now." He said softly, putting one hand on George's shoulder and one on mine.

George nodded and stood, pulling me up behind him. I looked around for the first time all morning, taking in the odd mix of dozens of emotions. Desperately trying to keep my mind blank, I kept hold of George's hand and followed him and his family out of the room.

The trek across the grounds was silent, as was our arrival in Hogsmeade. We paired off and disapparated, arriving in the field outside of the Burrow. Still, no one spoke until we got inside.

"Is anyone hungry?" Mrs. Weasley asked weakly, already rummaging through cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, "It's been a long night, and –"

"Molly," Mr. Weasley muttered gently, placing his hands on her shoulders. She collapsed against him with a sob. George released my hand and went over to them, putting his arms around both of them at once. Ron and Ginny followed suit, then Bill and Charlie (who had literally just arrived via Floo powder). I was left standing with Fleur.

"I know zat you and Fred were very close," She murmured to my great astonishment (I'm not sure I'd ever spoken to her before that moment), "And I 'ope zat you and George will find yourselves 'appy soon." She reached out to place a soft hand on my shoulder, then hurried over to her husband, who had been the first to break away from the sobbing group.

George was next, and he swept the room with swollen eyes before finally seeing me. He ran his hands through his hair and jerked his head back, beckoning me toward him. I obliged and he took my hand, using his free one to scrub at his eyes.

"I'm tired." He said simply, gazing at the kitchen doorway.

"Let's get you to sleep, then." I said.

We walked together up the stairs, hesitating in unison at the closed door of the Twins' bedroom. He took a deep breath and bravely pushed the door open, not sparing a glance at Fred's bed as he strolled across the room. He kicked his shoes off and dropped, fully clothed, onto his own mattress. I sat down beside him, my eyes streaming again though I barely noticed.

"You're not going to go anywhere, are you?" George asked, turning his face toward the wall.

"Not if you don't want me to."

"Well, good, because I don’t." He moved closer to the wall and patted the empty space next to him. I straightened out in it, my hands folded over my stomach and my eyes trained on the ceiling.

George didn’t speak again and I was sort of glad for it. We'd been awake for a long time and listening to him snore was infinitely easier than listening to him cry.



It rained the day we buried Fred. The churchyard in the village was quiet except for the drops of water bouncing off our umbrellas. Our gathering stood around the new grave, silent except for the quiet sob here and there. George was stony-faced the whole time.

After the funeral, the procession trooped back up to the Burrow for food and company, though no one was hungry or really wanted to talk. Everyone just simply found somewhere to sit and something to stare at. I found myself on the couch beside Charlie with George at my feet.

I'd been thinking about going home, to be honest. Nothing sounded better than curling up in my bed with a pillow stuffed over my head so that no one would be able to hear me cry. I wanted my mum because that's who anyone would want after trauma (although I don't think my mother would've been all too sympathetic) and Mrs. Weasley had her own children to console. I loved the Weasley family, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was intruding.

So, after everyone had started leaving the house and the cloudy dark outside began to get darker, I went upstairs to collect my trunk and owl cage (Lee had brought both from the cabin, but confessed that Herald hadn't been around to bring, too). I was debating between whether I should tell George I was going or not when he strolled through the door. His eyes narrowed at the sight of my hasty packing and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"What are you doing?" He asked accusingly.

"I was going to go home for a while. Just to collect my thoughts a bit and give you all some time alone as a family." I kept my eyes on the floor.

"We have been alone as a family, you idiot. You're sort of part of it, in case you'd forgotten."

"I'm flattered. Really, I honestly am," I hazarded a glance up at him. Even looking directly into his face caused my throat to swell, so I looked away again before continuing, "I want my mum, George."

"Fine," He nodded, "I want to come with you, then. I'm coming with you." He pushed past me and began hastily throwing things back into the trunk he'd just emptied that morning. I marched over and began taking them back out, folding his clothes and putting them on his bed.

"No, you're not." I crossed my arms, forgetting to be nice to him, "You're staying here where people need you."

He paused his packing, his hair falling in curtains on either side of his face, making it impossible to read what he was thinking. He sat slowly on the edge of his bed, still appearing to be lost in thought. He clutched a hand-knit sweater in either fist and had a tee-shirt draped over his arm.

"Where people need me?" He said quietly, tossing the clothes aside and putting his hands flat on either side of him. He looked up at me, smiling only slightly. "Are you saying you don't need me?"

"Yes. Your family does. I don't." I said briskly, only recognizing the double-meaning to my statement when his face fell. "Oh, well, you know what I mean."

"No, actually, I'm not sure I do." He was smiling again.

"I mean that, well, you need to be here because… well, you know. And saying that I needed you would be incredibly selfish because it might mean that you would come with me and notbeheretobewithyourfamily. Pleasedon'taskmetoexplain, George." I stamped my foot.

His face darkened a bit. "Lacey, I don't want to be here right now. Mum bursts into tears whenever she looks at me. Dad has been sitting at the kitchen table since we've been home from Hogwarts," He looked a bit frantic and he said, "He only gets up to leave when I come into the room!"

I stayed quiet, mostly because I didn’t really know how to respond.

"I don't really know how you feel about me," He said, squaring his shoulders and staring me straight in the face, "I don't know if you need me right now, but I'm pretty sure I need you. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if I needed you for years after this." He got a funny look on his face, then said thoughtfully, "Do you remember that night in the common room? Back in sixth year when we were talking about who we wanted to be when we got old?"

"Sure." I said nervously, scratching at the inside of my elbow because this was a lot of information to take in at once and I couldn’t quite tell where he was going with this next thread.

"And remember how Fred said that you'd marry some ginger bloke and have fifty ginger babies?"

"Right, and you said you wanted eighty-something kids and dozens of wives." I tittered awkwardly and kept scratching the crease of my elbow.

"Right. Stop scratching yourself like that, your skin's turning red." I stopped. He continued, "Well, I'm a ginger bloke."

"I've noticed." I thought my legs were going to give out.

"Fifty isn’t so far off of eighty-something…" He looked thoughtful.

"Only by thirty, or so." Can't breathe. Can't breathe.

"And one wife is sort of far off of dozens, but I suppose it wouldn’t really matter if the one was the right one, you know?"

I couldn’t agree – or disagree, for that matter – because I honestly thought I was going to faint. Instead, I made this disgusting sort of non-committal guttural noise. He was looking at me now. Going. To lose. Consciousness.

"Lacey, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you and I want you to marry me." He looked quite puzzled as he said it, though he said it with conviction.

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I was suddenly on the floor, looking up at him sitting on the bed. My legs were crumpled uncomfortably beneath me, but I couldn’t think clearly enough to fix them. George was gazing down at me with a curious look on his face which gradually turned into a smile and then into absolute gales of laughter.

"What the bloody hell was that?" He said between chuckles when he was able to catch his breath. I glared at him.

"Emotional stress, that’s what that was, you idiot." I straightened my legs and shook my head to clear it a bit.

There were footsteps on the stairs and then Ron was outside the door, gazing into the room warily. I turned my head to look at him and he looked back with a mixture of amazement (obviously at the fact that George was smiling given the recent circumstances) and confusion (most likely due to the fact that I was sitting on the floor with a glare on my face).

"What's going on in here?" He asked, leaning against the door frame.

"I just proposed to Lacey and she fell on the floor." George said honestly, shrugging his shoulders.

"No you didn’t." I said, scowling at him even more fiercely.

"Brilliant!" Ron grinned, pumping his fist.

"Would you prefer the whole 'down-on-one-knee' thing?" George asked.

"No, you bloody prat!" I practically shouted, covering my face with my hands.

"So what, then? You don’t want to marry me, is that it?" He was smiling still.

"Emotional stress," I muttered, putting my head on my knees. "Too much for one day." I rocked myself back and forth a bit.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, "It looks like she's gone mental. A loss, too, I think. It would've been cool to have her in the family officially, wouldn’t it?"

"Get out, Ron." George said simply. I heard footsteps receding down the hall and I knew we were alone again.

"Lacey," He said, this time very close to my ear. "Marry me?"

I peeked over at him from under my arm, saw that his face was clear for the first time in days. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy, still, and I knew they would be for a while yet. Other than that, he was George. He was still the George that he had been all those nights in the Gryffindor common room, just a little older. Maybe a little wiser, too, but I wasn't really sure. He still smelled deliciously warm; like sun and fireplaces and favorite sweaters. He was still my ginger-headed best friend – minus one twin brother, which was sad – so maybe taking 'best friend' as far as 'soul mate' could work. Because I'd already pretty much decided I loved him, too.

I think I'd decided back two years before when my lips had accidentally smashed against his out in the orchard. It just took me an abnormally long time to realize it. And then, looking at him while sitting there on his bedroom floor, I really wanted to kiss him again. On purpose. Really, really wanted it.

"Sure." I said seriously, watching the way his smile spread so far across his face, I could hardly see his lips anymore.

But it didn’t matter because I would have kissed his teeth, anyway, except apparently he wanted to kiss me, too. His lips had reappeared in time to meet mine. I heard Ron yelling "Bloody finally! MUMDADGINNYBILLCHARLIE! GEORGE AND LACEY ARE GETTING MARRIED!" while he thumped down the stairs. He'd probably been standing somewhere outside the door the whole time.

We ignored him and were, instead, completely enthralled with each other. He had pulled me into his lap and was kissing me hungrily. I couldn't believe how desperate I was for him in that moment. I'd always known I wanted George, but there must've been something holding the entirety of those feelings back. It was then, straddling George's lap, cradled in his arms, that everything came crashing forward and I couldn't stop it.

We spent a long time in that bedroom exploring and learning parts of each other we'd never known before. It wasn't until much later that George disentangled himself and said, "I suppose we'd better go and announce our engagement, eh?"

"I suppose," I shrugged. "Although, I think they all expected it before we did."

"Either way, I'm satisfied." He leaned back and stretched his arms above his head, looking rather smug.

"Agreed."

"Right, well. Shall we?" He stood and glanced at the bedroom door, reaching for his discarded jeans as he did so.

"We shall."

And so we dressed and went downstairs, and there were smiles and hugs and kisses and plenty of 'I knew it's. It was a happy situation. The Weasleys were laughing instead of crying so, not only was I newly engaged and decently excited about it, I was thrilled at the fact that I had taken part in offering a brief respite from grief over Fred.

Though, of course, I would have preferred to have him there. I could picture him hugging me or ruffling my hair, punching George on his shoulder repeatedly and grinning ear to ear. The thought wrenched my heart painfully and I almost dropped my smile. Almost. Not quite because, just then, George leaned down to kiss my cheek and I remembered that we were in love for real.

And, trust me, it was an amazing feeling to remember.