I Think We Could Do It, If We Tried 「George Weasley」

Chapter One

It was dawn when your foot took its first step outside onto the cobblestone streets. A beam of sunlight soaked into your cheeks and nose. You took a sharp breath of cool air in and let it sink in your lungs before exhaling. Your hands were tucked neatly into the pockets of your large coat. You reminded yourself to unclench your tightly bound fists. You knew you could apparate. But the chilly air on the walk over to The Burrow was a nice way for you to start your morning. Before setting out on your venture, you double checked your bag to ensure that the homemade treacle tart was still intact and wrapped. With that reassurance, you made your way down the lane.

Despite your early morning adventure, you felt rather exhausted. You had spent the better part of your evening hours scoping out Fred and George's joke shop in hopes that you'd find George. You did this everyday. Since the war, he had not returned there. What more, he had not returned once to the small apartment you had shared with the twins. It felt emptier with just you. You had laid in your bed a multitude of lonely nights, just to turn over to a bare space that George was not occupying. To console the ache, you had taken to wrapping yourself in his favorite blanket and curling up rigidly. You filled the emptiness with soft music and wistful sighs.

You yearned to be beside him again. You spent countless minutes, hours, days, weeks visiting the grieving home of the Weasley's. You'd held Ginny close to your chest as she sobbed into your sweater. You'd squeezed Molly's hand tightly. You had spent dozens of your afternoons letting Ron talk until he no longer could. Then the two of you would sit in silence together. You'd devoted so much support and love to their family, they almost felt like your own.

Yet, George remained away. He detached himself from everybody, including you: his girlfriend of two years. After Fred died, George left just days after the war. You vowed to allow him all the space he needed to grieve, vowed to care for his family in every way you could, and vowed to wait for him to come home. That was six months ago. You recalled the last thing he said to you, a bag in his hand and a strained expression on his face, "I'll be back when I can get my head straight again." Then he'd kissed your forehead. You watched him disappear against the horizon. He didn't write.

The memory made your forehead - the exact spot he had last touched you - sear. Then the sensation traveled all throughout your body, to every single tiny piece of your flesh that he had ever touched. You all but welcomed the burn to encompass your body before trying to escape its hunger. Your brows furrowed at the recollection and you shook off the dull ache in your chest. The constant reminder that you yearned to be with George again. The last Molly had heard, he was trying his hand at 'playing with dragons' with Charlie. When she wrote Charlie about it, George had already departed from there too. This update came to you four months ago. Now, it was clear that George did not want anybody to know where he was. Your clouded thoughts had distracted you for most of your journey to The Burrow. Without realizing it, you heaved yourself up to the door and promptly knocked.

Breathless, Molly swung open the door. She always seemed a tad bit frazzled when she answered but today, she looked even moreso. You shrugged it off. "Oh for Godrick's sake!" She wailed, arms wide open. "You know you can let yourself in, dear!" She sounded exasperated. You found this odd but still allowed her to wrap you into a bone-crushing hug, After your daily ritual, the two of you reentered the Weasley residence. By the time the door thudded shut behind you, you were already pulling your tart from the bag carefully. Molly was scurrying around, almost nervously. It was as though she was buzzing. You allowed her to go about her morning and let yourself into the dining room. To your surprise, all of the Weasley's were up and huddled tightly around the table. Even Percy. Your eyebrows raised.

"(Y/N)-" Ginny said, almost breathlessly. As if she were surprised to see you despite seeing you every single day for six months. You approached the table. "You're here so early." You got there at the same time everyday. She was normally asleep. "S-So mum told you then?" Ron jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow. She glowered at him.

"Told me what?" You asked, curiosity piqued instantly. You set the tart onto the table as you asked this.

"Clearly she hasn't." Hermione, who you hadn't completely realized was there until now, stated. She didn't visit nearly as often as you did. But she still came for Ron. You were surprised to see her here so bright and early. She met your gaze steadily and smiled.

"Again," You reiterated with a small edge to your voice, "Tell me what?" It was much too early this morning to play games with you and they all knew that. Your question caused the flock of gingers and the wild haired girl to frenzy. They appeared to argue amongst each other. Their yelling was deafening compared to the polite silence that had filled the room moments before. It was as if your question was Pandora's Box opening. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, hoping to offset your oncoming headache. Could they ever just get along?

"Shut up!" Ginny hollered over the commotion. The noise of the nagging siblings subsided considerably. There was a brief pause now. The tension in the room was so tangible you felt you could reach out and grasp it into your fist. You chewed your bottom lip nervously, suddenly aware something was amiss. Your first instinct was Arthur, who had struggled with health issues the past three months. Your worry itched inside your stomach. Ron looked like he was about to enlighten you before Molly had entered the dining room. Her face was stern, hands placed on her hips. She, too, looked like she wanted to tell you. You stood patiently before her.

"Well, dear, we have been waiting for you to get here to share the news-" She was cut off by the sound of a swinging door opening. Every head in the room darted to look at the visitor. You also looked up to see who was coming in, expecting Arthur. Instead your gaze was met with a tall, thin frame you were very familiar with. Your entire body went slack - frozen to the spot. You couldn't construct a single sentence, not even a word for the explosion in your stomach. George Weasley.

Your eyes met. The deep chocolate brown you dreamt of every night he was away was finally looking back at you. For real this time. He looked as nervous as you felt. The desire to rush into his arms, to smother him with the love you had reserved for six months, the burning ache to close the gap that had kept you apart for so long - they all hit you straight in the throat. You felt as though you couldn't speak. Based on the other people in the room, you were the only person there who did not know of George's return. You felt frantic to get to him but your feet were rooting deep into The Burrow's floorboards.

He looked exhausted - like he hadn't slept in the six months he had been gone. There were deep purple bags hanging beneath his eyes and his face didn't light up in a grin. His expression remained solemn. Every feature on his face was tightened. You could hardly detect his smile lines. His eyes didn't crinkle at the corners like they had once, whenever he laid eyes on you. You scanned his tousled ginger hair, surprised to notice odd flecks of black on the tips. You waited for him to say anything, to move even an inch closer to you. He stayed put.

Your lips parted. Then closed. Finally, you spoke. "George." It came out breathily. You had waited for so long for this moment. But it was panning out completely different than you had anticipated. You were practically begging him to come touch you, to hold you. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to. Then looked like he'd rather step back outside the threshold of the door. It was clear he would not come to you.

"(Y/N)." He stated, just as breathily as you had. His voice stirred a new motivation within you. If he wouldn't come to you, you would close the gap yourself. You rushed across the room with your new found strength. Your arms wrapped around his neck. With his weird demeanor, you half expected him not to hug you. Relief flooded over you when he folded his arms around your back and pulled you close. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, grounding yourself in the familiar scent of your lover. He burrowed his face into your face and inhaled slowly.

"My head still isn't completely straight, (Y/N)," he whispered softly. "But I am trying." You wished he would indulge you in how much he missed you. So you could tell him how much you had wished for him to come home. You were content with what he said, happy he was there at all. You didn't want to pull away from his tight grip, too engrossed in every little second you had missed with him for the previous months.

His grip loosened first.