George Weasley
Canary in the Mine

She stood there before me – broken, fragile, and almost dead. I know that she sees me in the same way.

Her face is the epitome of pain. Tears run like rivers, staining her cheeks forever. Her eyes reveal my reflection, my pain mirrored against hers. I feel as if she’s apart of me now, inside, like the missing piece of my soul that disappeared when he died. I feel that she belongs here, right now, standing in front of me.

We are two halves of a broken heart and he is the glue that sticks us together.

“He always said that he’d outlive Dumbledore…” she speaks softly, her voice husky from crying. I close my eyes, remembering the way he’d joke about it, how his smile would appear on his face as if thinking of having a long, silver beard just as long as Dumbledore’s.

“He did,” I replied, my voice showing more emotion than it had in a while. “He did.”

Opening my eyes, I see her push back her long braids away from her face. Her mocha colored skin was paler than usual. She looked up at me, her eyes now wet with unshed tears. I could only wonder the pain she felt now, looking at me. I’d forever be a reminder to anyone who knew him…forever be there to tell them I’m not him, only his brother, alive.

I sigh, shaking my head.

“Let’s go upstairs…we can have a cup of tea.” I don’t wait to see if she follows, I know she will. I know she feels the same way, as if we need to stay together in order to not fall apart. I walk to the back of the shop, leading the way up the old stairs and into the small flat. I’m not ashamed of the lack of furniture, or even the way everything but the few tables and chair are encased with dust.

I can imagine that her flat is the same.

I pull my wand from my robes, flicking it. Cups clatter and tea makes its way towards the table. With another swish, I clear the other seat from dust and wait until she sits. She moves slowly, as if every movement causes her pain. Licking my lips, I take the seat from across her. She pours our tea, as if it’s something she does daily. Her lips are pursed and I know she’s thinking. As she hands me a cup, I see the frown in-between her brows.

“What’s on your mind?” I watch as she winces slightly, pressing her lips together.

“Nothing…it’s just…does this feel right to you? Being here, right now, together?” Her wide brown eyes stare at me with an intensity that I really couldn’t ignore…she tilts her head in that way that reminds me of when we were young and carefree, where nothing truly mattered and we simply didn’t care.

Death changes a lot of things.

“…it feels right when you’re here, almost as if you’re meant to be here.” I watch as she closes her eyes, trying to hide from me. She bites the corner of her lip, slightly shaking her head as if having an inner-battle. “How does it feel to you?” I ask her, dropping my chin to look at her through long, disheveled locks.

I wonder if she feels the throbbing pain, being this close to me, as I feel being with her; if she feels her heartbeat overpowering her mind because of the connection we share, the only true connection to what we both lost.

“It feels as if everything just might be fine…like everything’s falling together.” Her voice is soft, almost to soft to be heard. I feel the faint trace of a smile on my lips, foreign and misplaced. “Tomorrow,” she swallows, “is his day…will you come with me? To visit him?” I feel myself nodding, reaching out to cover her hand with mine. I don’t wince at the coldness of her skin, and she doesn’t flinch at mine.

It all fits perfectly, as if he was pushing our puzzle pieces together to finish the grand jigsaw that would complete everything. I didn’t mind at all and only counted in my mind as our tears fell to the table with soft thuds, erasing the dust, and staining the table the he used to sit at, writing up new ideas for the joke shop.

I watched as she walked towards his stone, a fond smile on her face. She held in her hand a single white rose, its petals at its fullest bloom. She bent over, placing the flower before the tombstone before running her hand on the smooth grey surface.

“I still forget that he’s gone, you know?” Her voice is low, filled with emotion. “Then, I remember. Do you think it hurts – to die, I mean?” She looks up at me with wide eyes, like a little child begging for candy. I can’t help but smile softly as I walk towards her, kneeling beside her.

“Death is never painful, love. It’s almost like sleeping. But the thing about Death is, it leaves everyone else in pain. It keeps the sadness and ache floating in the air around us, making us suffocate in it’s miserable presence. But that’s where Life comes in. Even though he’s gone, Life makes if possible for him to live on – to live on in the lives he touched.” I look at her, watching as tears cascaded down her chocolate skin. Reaching out, I stroke her cheek with my thumb, wiping away her tears. “That’s us.”

She leans into my hand, closing her eyes and sighing heavily. “I need you now,” she murmurs, “You can’t leave me now.” Her chin trembles and the tears keep flowing. “I don’t feel so broken when I’m around you…I feel as if he’s here, wanting us to be together. We’re supposed to go on together and be happy. I can feel it.”

I let my eyes stray to the tombstone beside me, feeling the few tears that fell.

“I can feel it too,” I mutter softly. I pull her into my arms and hug her close. I can almost feel his presence there, connecting us. His laughter echoes off in the air, sweet and melodious. Closing my eyes, I press my lips to her hair and just let everything go.

Because now, everything feels right. And the air of sadness and pain and ache disappeared leaving us to rejoice and mourn together, right under my twin’s graceful gaze.

“Fred!” I call out, looking for his auburn head of hair. I watch him turn, giving me a mischievous smile.

“I promise to wreak havoc on the school of Hogwarts, Dad!” He shouts over the buzz of other families. I smile back at him, waving as he boards the Hogwarts express. I turn to my wife and watch as she looks down at our daughter, mussing with her braids.

“Its fine, it’s fine!” Roxanne mutters with a roll of her eyes. Looking up at me with begging eyes she pulls her lips into a small pout.

“Come on, Ang, her hair’s fine.” I throw my arms around her shoulders, giving her a small smile. “Let her get on the train and mess with that one boy she fancies.” I give Roxanne a sly wink as she glares at me, crossing her arms over her chest – just like her mother.

“Now, George, you know she loves Quidditch more than boys!” Angelina says, tossing her head back to laugh. I don’t bother to tell her that Roxanne’s been writing a Hufflepuff all summer. “Love you, Roxanne, love. Have a great year at Hogwarts. And watch your brother! I found him stealing some of your father’s joke materials – again.” I also don’t bother to tell her that I gave him that stuff.

“Have fun, Roxy-Girl!” I put in, pulling her into a bear hug. I laugh along with her as she wriggles in my arms. Putting her down I pat her head and watch as she races through the crowd to board the scarlet train. Looking down at Angelina I sigh and shake my head. “They’re growing up way too fast, love.”

She just giggles, shaking her head along with me. “That’s not my fault. Our son has been hanging with the Potter boys…you know what kind of trouble they get into.” She takes my hand and waves as the train pulls away, pulling out children along with it. “You know, Fred is a lot like Fred. Have you noticed?”

I can’t help but laugh madly as she tilts her head and the wrinkle forms between her brows. “Like I said, love, Life goes on. And that life grew between us and grew into our son. He is Fred, simply moving on.”

She looks up at me with a sad smile. “I love you, George.” Grabbing her chin, I place a chaste kiss to her lips and offer her a lopsided grin.

“Love you, too.”

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