Moving Forward

The flat they had shared was tiny. It had one bedroom, one bath, a kitchen that both of them could not fit in at once (hence their excuse for ordering take-out from The Leaky Cauldron nearly every night), and a bathroom the size of a broom closet. They couldn't use magic to expand the apartment, either; the lease they signed with the landlord for the store and the flat was a magical contract that squashed out any way of getting more than what they paid for. It had been what they wanted. It was above their store, it was secure, and it filled their needs for the time.

But as George Weasley paced wood floor of the small apartment, he couldn't help but feel that he was leaving another piece of himself--themselves--behind. This had been the last place that he and Fred had lived together, as twins, as one. He was finding it very hard to come to terms about leaving the apartment, this one last refuge, this place where he had spent the last year of his and Fred's life together, plotting, planning, scheming new items for their store.

He walked to the small window and stared out, looking down at the cobbled road of Diagon Alley. The night was blustery, and he could see only a few twinkling stars above, most of them drowned out by the lights emitted from the bustling street. To the right, the familiar white bank gleamed like some sort of mysterious temple, the front doors finally fixed after five years of painstaking work. He could see down the street past Gringotts, where Diagon Alley split, and where his new home was. He thought he could make out the small cottage down Whimsic Alley that he had just purchased, but he knew that his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Turning away from the window, he took one sweeping view of the now-empty apartment, making sure that he hadn't left anything behind. There were a few scraps of paper on the floor, wrappers from Skivving Snackboxes and Fainting Fancies, and little clumps of dust that would be easily cleaned with a wave of his wand. He had patched up most of the holes in the walls that had come from many of his and Fred's inventions, and there were still burn marks on the floor that no spell could get rid of.

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Well, this is it, then," he said, to no one in particular. He felt the same sensation in that he felt when he returned from Fred's funeral to their flat, the sudden feeling as though the ground had been violently pulled from underneath him, the realization that he would not be returning. He knees became weak and he grabbed the windowsill to steady himself. He gripped the sill, taking a few deep breaths like his therapist had advised him to do when this feeling came along. He felt a little better, and decided that he really needed to leave, to go to his new home and pour a large glass of firewhiskey and hope for the best. He went straight for the door, pulled it open, and tripped noisily down the stairs.

"Took you long enough, George," said an exasperated male voice, as George exited the stairwell into the cool August night.

"Sorry. How long was I?" he asked, locking the door to the stairwell one last time.

"Twenty minutes," answered another voice, this one female and kinder. "Ron's just mad because he couldn't bewitch these boxes to make them lighter without my help."

George looked at his lanky, red-headed brother and grinned. "Still haven't gotten a hang of that charm yet, eh Ronniekins? What is that, 3^rd year magic?"

Ron gave his brother a dirty look and mounted his broom. "Let's just get going, shall we? Everyone's waiting for us at the Burrow, and dinner's probably getting cold." He helped Hermione onto his broom and waited for George to mount his own.

They flew off a short distance, the boxes dangling off the sides of the brooms, suspended with magic ropes. They entered the cottage, where boxes upon boxes were piled in each corner, and swiftly unloaded. They apparated to the Burrow, where the rest of the family awaited their arrival.

They tromped through the yard, and entered the house. George was happy to see his entire family, milling around in the kitchen, waiting for his mother's dinner to finish.

"You've arrived! Finally! We didn't think you were going to make it!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, making her way through the rest of the people in the kitchen. She pulled George towards him and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Mum--" he protested, to no avail, trying to hold her off.

"Your hair's too long, George, you need a trim again. I don't like it when it goes in your eyes like that. And you look thin, have you even been eating since you started to move? No matter, we'll feed you tonight and make sure you have plenty to take back to that nice cottage of yours afterwards," said Mrs. Weasley. She then spotted Ron and Hermione behind George and grabbed both of them in turn as George slipped away, hoping that he would not have to see his mother's scissors before the end of the night.

"Good to see you, George," said a black haired young man, grasping George's hand

"You too, Harry. Ginny's not giving you too much trouble, is she?" George asked, giving Ginny a fake punch to the stomach. He ducked to avoid her hand as she swiped at him, grinning. He grabbed his little sister into a bone-crunching hug as Harry smiled.

Ginny pulled out of his arms and glowered at him, a frown on her face. "You missed my match," she accused, her hands on her hips.

"I know Ginny, I'm sorry...but Lee couldn't cover for me, and they were having that parade down Diagon Alley, I couldn't leave the shop to Daniel, he's a bit of an idiot," he explained. Ginny's first Quidditch match for the Holyhead Harpies had been a week ago and it was becoming increasingly difficult to even find time to spend with his family because of the enormously successful store. "Anyway, I'm sure you were brilliant. They're probably going to all need counseling sessions to get over that score..."

Ginny grinned. "It was fantastic. I was practically following the Snitch the entire time, Wilke on the other team didn't even see it! But George, how was the move?"

"It was fine," he lied. "Wish I had a house-elf to help me unpack. Kreacher available, Harry?"

"Sure," laughed Harry. "Keep him. He mills around now, looking for things to do, and the house is spotless. Ginny does most of the cooking in the kitchen when she's over anyway, she loves all that."

"Ginny Weasley, Quidditch player by day, domestic goddess by night," George said, flashing a wide grin at Ginny.

"Dinner's ready!" called Mrs. Weasley from the front of the room. "And Arthur's home, finally."

They all sat to an amazing spread of food made by Mrs. Weasley, dishes upon dishes of items laid out across the table. Beside George, Percy and Bill were talking about new regulations on broomsticks recently enforced by the ministry. On his other side, Mrs. Weasley was talking to Charlie and Ginny.

George began miming Percy's exuberant hand movements, and Ginny, who was sitting across from him, giggled.

"And, no, really, the broomstick was this big! There's a reason they put restrictions on them! It's outrageous!" exclaimed Percy, pretending not to notice George's hands flailing madly in the background.

"Ginny," interrupted Mrs. Weasley, "don't you have any nice girls on your Quidditch team that need to settle down? Tell them you have a brother--two brothers--that are looking," she said, looking at George and Charlie. George choked a little on his tomato soup; Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Charlie's got a girlfriend, Mum, you just keep asking because you don't like her," quipped Ginny. "And George doesn't need a girlfriend. He's a bachelor; he's enjoying his life right now."

"Now that's not true. George it would be so nice if you had someone, you know...the Morrisons down the street have two daughters, one of them is about your age, and maybe I'll stop over and talk with her--"

"Oh please, Mum, the younger one's a troll," Ginny snapped, cutting her off. "She used to baby-sit me, remember? Urgh...she's got the personality of one of those Muggle cheerleaders. She and George wouldn't get along at all."

"Well, I don't know," said George, speaking up for the first time, "If she looks anything like those cheerleaders then I think I ought to have a go at it." He winked roguishly at Harry who grinned, shaking his head.

Mrs. Weasley looked as though she was making a mental note of it to stop over and talk with Mrs. Morrison about her daughters, as Ginny decided to busy herself with the turkey leg on her plate and tried not to look annoyed.

The dinner wound to a close with a large cake and numerous pies, and at the end, they were all stuffed to the brim and as sleepy as could be. From the corner of the table, Ron tapped his wine glass with a fork. Every head turned towards him interestedly.

"Ahem, erm, excuse me everyone," he started, standing up, his ears burning red, "I-we-have an announcement to make. I mean, Hermione and myself. I proposed, and she said yes."

Exclamations of shock and joy spread across the table. George hooted and began clapping, along with the rest of the table. Mrs. Weasley had tears welling up in her eyes, and Mr. Weasley had his arm around her shoulder, smiling proudly. He waved his wand and a few flagons of Firewhiskey and bottles of Butterbeer appeared and began pouring themselves and they all toasted to the newly engaged couple.

Later on that night, after the hubbub had died down, Ron came to speak with his brother.

"You think I'm doing the right thing?" Ron asked George apprehensively, glancing around and making sure no one was listening.

"What d'you mean? Of course you are! You've been together bloody well long enough, it was about time," George exclaimed, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

"I didn't really know what you would think," said Ron, "but I'm really glad you think it's a good idea."

"Why would I have said anything else? I'm happy for you Ron, you know I would be," George answered, completely understanding his brother. "But you know I'm never going to stop taking the mickey out of you for marrying a know-it-all."

"That's what I was waiting for. And I'll never stop bothering you about being the eternal bachelor," laughed Ron.

George plopped into the cushy chair by the fireplace in the living room, casually folding his arms above his head. "That's about right," he said, half-smiling, "it'll be a much longer while for me than for you, I think."

He and Ron chatted through the night, ending late, after Ron realized that he had to go into the Ministry the next morning with Harry for the last leg of his Auror training. George also had to leave the next morning, but he felt fine falling asleep on the sofa in the living room.

His parents didn't quite know what to do with his and Fred's childhood room. Even George had a hard time going in, knowing that he would replay memories in his head, memories of the hours he and Fred had spent together, where their identity grew as one in this room. Thinking about Fred took him back farther than he wanted to think, across the five, painful years that had followed his death. He had realized that losing Fred was like have half of him die, and never quite felt whole since. He knew, however, that he had to move on, but he still felt Fred there, his presence wherever he went, his mirror image, his best friend.

He slept peacefully that night though, his usual dreams of Fred's blank eyes staring up at him so many years ago in the Great Hall of Hogwarts did not plague him. He woke up to the sounds of his mother banging around in the kitchen, getting breakfast ready for the eight or so people who were still there when the early dawn arrived.

He ate quickly, bid everyone good bye, and received a kiss and promise for a haircut from his mother. He made a mental note to send Ron and Hermione a congratulatory gift when he got back. He went out of the front door of the Burrow, stepped and twisted, and disappeared into thin air.