Harry Potter One Shots

You're All I Need

They say a wedding is the joining of two people, but I didn't need a ceremony to tell me Angelina and I were already one. She was my other half - not like Fred. No one would ever be like Fred - but she was serious where I was silly, responsible where I was immature, and she cried for me when I couldn't cry for myself. I hadn't cried over Fred since the Battle Of Hogwarts. I told myself I didn't need to, when everyone else was telling me I did need to. When mum came over to see how I was doing after I'd moved back into our flat above the shop, when Ron told me he was always down for a drink if I needed to chat, even every time Ginny apparated onto my doorstep, sobbing, and fell into my arms as soon as I opened the door, I didn't cry. But Angelina... She understood. She never once told me to cry. Never told me to let myself feel the pain, to release my emotions. Those nights I woke up, sweating, screaming, the hair I'd recently dyed a random colour because that was one way I could stop looking exactly like him, plastered to my forehead, shaking so hard she sometimes had to give me a potion, after having nightmares about Fred's death, she just held me, or kissed me, or talked to me about something completely unrelated. When I asked her to marry me, I never expected her to say yes. I believed she loved me, and I loved her, god I loved her. But I always thought she was too smart to end up with someone like me. Someone hurting and broken and in so much pain he lashed out at himself rather than the world. But she did say yes. I guess I was thinking about the Ravenclaw in her when really she'd always stay true to her Gryffindor side, getting married to a broken boy. She said yes straight away, and for some strange reason, I almost cried then, but then she squealed and threw her arms around my neck, kissing me passionately on the mouth, and the smile came back to my face as I kissed her in return.

At our wedding, all my brothers were groomsmen - Bill, Ron, Percy. Charlie even took a portkey from Romania. And Harry was a groomsman too, along with my good friend Lee - but I refrained from having a best man. Fred and I were always going to be each other's best men, and just because he was dead didn't mean anyone else could take that role. Everyone understood. Angelina had two bridesmaids - Katie and Ginny - and Alicia as her maid of honour. As she walked up the aisle that day, beaming, I thought of how lucky I was. To have my family here, my friends, to be getting married to the girl of my dreams, but even as I watched Angelina float towards me, even as I admired how beautiful she was; the way her thick black hair was loose around her shoulders, her gold wedding dress making her dark skin shine even more than usual, her chocolate brown eyes, framed by her impossibly long lashes, fixed on me, I thought of him. I thought of Fred, wherever he was right now, joking about the fact that I was marrying the girl he'd taken to the Yule Ball back in Sixth Year. I thought of the fact that he should be standing beside me, smiling at me encouragingly, or more likely making some sort of gesture only I would understand. And when Angelina reached me at the altar, I could almost feel his hand on my arm, squeezing reassuringly, telling me, as usual, that everything was going to be ok. Then I was stumbling down the aisle, brushing past Angelina, ignoring the outstretched hands of my family, and I ran until I was at the front door of my house and when I opened the door I swear it slammed against the wall so hard the old wood chipped on the frame, and raced up to my old bedroom - our old bedroom - and sunk into one of the twin beds that was neatly made, the bed I knew was his. I'd been sitting there for a while, staring into space, occasionally glancing around the room to look at boxes of products we created before Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was a thing, at framed photographs stuck haphazardly on walls by mum, photos of us, pulling faces at the camera, shoving each other, or with our arms around each other's shoulders, when there was a knock at the door.
"George?" A soft voice said, and Angelina entered the room before I could answer, still in her wedding dress, and she hoisted it up to free her feet as she made her way across the room to sit on the bed opposite me.
"Oh, George," she repeated, and I don't think I'd ever heard her voice that sad. "I'm so sorry. This is about Fred, isn't it? About him-" her voice broke. "About him not being here."
I nodded mutely, eyes trained on a stain on the floor, probably from one of the many explosions Fred and I caused.
"I'm so sorry, George. So, so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, not mentioning it. His death. I thought you got enough of that from everyone else, and that it'd be better if I was just there with you. I wanted to be all you needed - I wanted you to need me over advice, therapists, support, discussions."
She fell abruptly silent, fingering the engagement ring on her finger, and I glanced down at my own, twisting it around subconsciously.
"I wanted that too," I said, and I was surprised at how weak I sounded. How desperate and alone and scared. "I did need you - I always have and I always will. But... Fred isn't coming back. I need to face the fact that- that-" I cleared my throat at this point, my eyes welling up with tears. "I won't see him again for a very long time. And it's ok. I have mum, and Ginny, and you, Angelina. I have you." I swiped a hand across my eyes, and Angelina smiled a watery smile at me before moving to sit beside me on the bed.
I put an arm around her, and she leant into me, resting her head on my shoulder, and I reached for her hand and held it tightly. After a moment, she lifted her head from my shoulder to wrap her arms around me, because I was crying, crying, crying, the sort of loud, wailing crying that you only think is real in melodramatic movies, but trust me, it exists in real life too.
And Angelina buried her face in my neck, hiding her own tears, and I was holding her tightly, so tightly, too tightly, but she didn't complain, just held me even tighter in return. I laughed then. Maybe because of the situation - my bride and I, up in my old bedroom, reduced to tears on our wedding day. Maybe because I was thinking about Fred and all the times we'd cried together and ended up laughing, and all the times we laughed together and ended up crying. Or maybe because I would always be a jokester, just like Fred. Angelina reached for my hand and intertwined our fingers and I felt her smile against my neck.
"We'll get through this. You and me. Together," she murmured, breath warm on my skin, and I smiled through my tears because that is the sort of thing Fred would have said.
"We should really finish this wedding," I croaked, voice strained after crying harder than I've ever cried in my entire life.
"We don't have to. We've got plenty of time."
"I know," I replied, pushing her hair behind her ears gently, grazing her cheek with my knuckles. "But we really should. Wouldn't want to waste the cake. Mum spent hours on it."
"It is a pretty amazing cake," she agreed as she stood up, pulling me up beside her.
She brushed down her dress and asked me one more time if I was sure about this, and I said yes, of course, and she smiled at me, a smile full of hope and faith, but also tinged with sadness.
"I love you, Angelina," I said, grabbing her hands as she walked out of the bedroom, and spinning her around to face me. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, George," she said softly, thumb stroking the back of my hand. "Now come on, or we'll never get married!"
I laughed and told her I'd just be a minute, and she blew me a kiss and I watched her take the stairs two at a time, and I was happy, so happy, to give her that little bit of joy.
Before I left the bedroom - our bedroom - I looked back at one of the photographs. I studied the photographic me, grinning at the camera, ducking as the photographic Fred ruffled my hair - my hair which is so like his. But photographic Fred didn't just look at the camera. His eyes flicked between photographic me and real me, laughing eyes, just like the last time I saw him alive. And I knew that he was watching me, laughing with me, maybe even crying with me. Because the Battle Of Hogwarts was the first time I cried over Fred's death. But it's not going to be the last, and when I was back at the altar, hands linked with Angelina's, aware of my mother crying happy tears into a handkerchief, of Ron barely paying attention as he stared at Hermione, of Ginny beaming at me, I knew that that was okay.

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A/N

WHY DID FRED HAVE TO DIE?!?!