Unlikely || George Weasley

Chapter 2 - Dawn

The Burrow, 4 May 1998

George's eyes snapped open and he jerked awake with a start. His heart was beating furiously and it took a few seconds for him to realise where he was.

He wasn't in the Great Hall. He was home. Safe.

Specifically, he was in the Burrow's front room. He listened for the rhythmic ticking of the old family clock and the creaking of the rusty pipes, familiar even under the cover of darkness. It was early, before dawn, and he could just make out the figure lying under multiple blankets and snoring softly on the sofa in front of him.

George cricked his neck and rubbed his eyes, knowing more sleep was no longer a possibility. Had he really slept all night on the arm chair? He definitely didn't remember adding a pillow and blanket. No wonder his legs were cramping up as blood surged back into them - he was dangling off the chair, sprawled from one end to the other. He wasn't the small boy who could fit in his father's lap comfortably, while he listened to stories about dragons and merpeople.

Shit, the sofa.

Quietly, George shrugged off the blanket and crept over to the weathered sofa by the fireplace. He crouched down, and reached out a hand to pull the quilt aside -

"Morning, creepy." Said a low, hoarse voice.

"Merlin's PANTS!" George yelped, nearly knocking the coffee table behind him over in his haste to back off. He froze, praying he hadn't woken the entire house up. Heartbeats later, he relaxed as the house stayed silent.

"You're - you're awake?"

"Duh." Fred rolled over, smirking. George blinked, confused.

"How are you feeling?" George sat on the edge of the sofa as Fred groggily pushed himself up into a sitting position.

There were a few bruises and scrapes on his arms, and a gash on his forehead that their Mum had patched up with gauze. Other than that, Fred looked completely fine. Completely alive. Impossible.

"I'm fine, honestly. Just really, really tired." Fred said. George grimaced, feeling guilty for waking him up. Fred seemed to pick up on that instantly and waved his hand.

"It's ok. I wanted to talk to you away from everyone else at some point."

George raised an eyebrow. "How come?"

Fred looked at him like he was being thick.

"Because, apparently, I came back from the dead...?" He made it sound so obvious. George swallowed.

"Bloody hell, Freddie, flare for the dramatics much?" He joked half-heartedly.
Fred gave him a lazy smile, scanning his face for an answer to a question George didn't know he was being asked.

"I just - I couldn't believe you were really gone." He eventually whispered. His stomach knotted again, so painful that he closed his eyes and tried to block out the vision of his twin, pale and unmoving on a bloodied stretcher. Glassy eyes unseeing.

"I'm sorry." Fred squeezed his hand.

"You're sorry?" George felt his mouth drop open. "You're actually apologising for dying? I'm not sure you can actually do that - in fact, I think you're the first person in the world who has!"

He paused for a second. "Oh, wait. Harry. Yeah, never mind."

Fred chuckled and rolled his eyes, but then fixed George with a much more serious look. "I meant that I'm sorry I left you. Even for a few hours."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Fred grimaced, "I can't imagine how that would have felt. I'm sorry."

They regarded each other for a few moments. George turned and saw the faintest edges of dawn light bleeding through the front windows of the Burrow. Morning was on it's way, and the sun would rise again.

"As long as you don't go dying on me again any time soon, you're forgiven." He teased, turning back around.

He couldn't stop the next question from tumbling out in a rush.

"How did it feel?"

Fred shook his head. "I feel exactly the same as before. There's just a blank gap in my memory and I don't even know what happened, something about the resurrection stone?" He looked at George expectantly, but just received a shrug in return.

"Nobody knows yet. Just that there was some kind of energy connection between you, the school, the stone and..." George trailed off, not wanting to say the last name.

Fred narrowed his eyes. "Say it."

"Voldemort."

There was a long pause.

"Ok." Fred sighed, leaning his head back against the sofa. George had no clue what to say.

"Well I can tell you now, that I don't want to murder any muggle-borns and I still hate snakes. So, that's something."

George snorted. "I think Hermione's found a new project." He added as an afterthought.

"What do you mean?"

It was George's turn to look like Fred had just missed the most obvious thing. "You're alive. And magic happened in the Great Hall that nobody has ever seen before. She's gonna research the shit out of it, and find out what happened."

"I'd expect nothing less." Fred agreed, a smile pulling at his lips. He stifled a yawn behind his hand and sunk down further into the sofa.

"I'll let you get some sleep." George muttered, standing up and walking over to the window.

The sun was halfway up across the field, the sky merging from indigo to light blue at the edges. He thought of the last sunrise he'd watched, just twenty four hours ago. How different things were now.

"Georgie?" He turned, seeing Fred had one eye open, grinning at him from across the room.

"Yeah?"

"I'm still the better looking one."

George shook his head in despair. "Whatever you say, zombie." He smiled to himself, his heart fit to burst. "Now shut up and go back to sleep."

Fred was alive, home, safe. And still very much Fred.

He was snoring softly before George had finished watching the sun come up across the hills.

Making sure to be quiet, he padded over to the bottom of the stairs. George pulled one of the soft blankets - he still couldn't remember bringing it down earlier -around his shoulders, stuffed his wand in his jeans and grabbed a glass of water as silently as he could. Blast those damned noisy pipes. 

He opened the front door and felt the ripple of a breeze across his face. He pulled the blanket across him tighter, and sat down on the porch steps.

He didn't expect anyone to be up any time soon.

Still, once he finished his drink, George placed the cup on the floor by the collection of walking boots and pulled his old pair on.

Might as well make myself useful.

Trudging through the Burrow's overgrown garden, he reached the edge of the protective spells and could feel the encasing bubble of wards. He raised his wand and began checking the defences. It was methodical, important work that he was sure his Dad and Bill had already done, but George had to check it himself. Better safe than sorry.

The chorus of birdsong in the nearby trees grew louder as the time passed. How long he'd been out there, walking around the house and testing the spells, he couldn't say. He watched the shadows dance and morph around him as the sun diligently climbed higher and higher over the line of hills.

Eventually, George lowered his wand and walked slowly back to the house. He let his hands graze the tops of the tall grass and felt petals between his fingertips.

Enough, now.