Summary:  What would happen if Harry hadn’t lost the Resurrection Stone?

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Chapter One
Harry sat very still, feeling slightly numb.  Ron was on one side of him, Hermione on the other—the way it’s supposed to be, Harry thought.  But no one was happy, smiling, laughing, joking. . . .

They were inside the Burrow, waiting for the rest of the family to arrive.  Harry glanced at the special Weasley clock hanging on the wall—Ron’s, Bill’s, Charlie’s, and Fred’s hands were all pointed to “Home.”  Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  It was too much, just sitting there, waiting for “everyone” when “everyone” wasn’t coming back.  He felt tears well up in his eyes and Ron wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders.  They leaned into each other, and Harry realized he was crying too, silently.

Harry reached for Hermione’s hand and held it tightly.  Fred was gone.  So was Lupin, Tonks . . . too many lives had been lost in the battle.

But the battle had happened two days ago.  Things were trying desperately to go back to normal, but it was too rushed—far too rushed.

Harry heard a slight whirling, and looked at the clock again.  The hands for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, George, and Percy had moved to “Traveling” and then slid to join the others at “Home.”  Then the kitchen door opened.  Harry only saw George for a second, as he rushed through the room and headed upstairs.  They heard his bedroom door slam.

Ginny entered the room looking downcast, and Harry stood to meet her.  He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.  She was crying, too.  Her parents and Percy came in a moment later—Harry didn’t let go.

“Hi,” Percy whispered, to no one in particular.  Harry extended his hand, and Percy shook it before going to sit next to Ron.

“Hello, Harry dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, hardly any louder than Percy.  She wasn’t crying—but her eyes looked very red and she didn’t smile.  Slowly, she and her husband left the room, Mr. Weasley muttering about needing to talk to Charlie, who was in another part of the house.  Harry led Ginny to a chair, and she sat down.  He sat on the arm and held her hand.  No one spoke.

---

After a few more days, the Burrow forced its occupants into an almost-routine.  Mrs. Weasley spent most of her time cooking, and soon the kitchen was full to bursting point with food it would take weeks to eat.  Bill and Fleur did all they could to cheer up Ginny, or at least keep her busy enough to not think about Fred.  Mr. Weasley and Percy sat in the living room a lot, forcing conversation with each other, trying to get caught up after the years they had missed.  Charlie had gone back to work with the dragons.  George had not come out of his room.

Harry and Hermione were staying at the Burrow as well.  They and Ron spent a lot of time outside, rarely talking, but then, nothing really needed to be said.  Sometimes, Harry could tell the other two wanted to be left alone, so he would go find Ginny and Bill or else go sit in the kitchen—Mrs. Weasley seemed to appreciate his company, even if there was hardly anything new to say.  

One morning, Hermione announced to the breakfast table (everyone except George was there) that she would be leaving to go get her parents.  “It seems cruel to just leave them there any longer,” she said.

“Where did you say they were, again? Africa?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Australia, dear,” Mrs. Weasley corrected.

“Right, okay.  I think it best you not go alone, Hermione.  Would you mind if I tagged along?”

“I’d really appreciate it if you did, Mr. Weasley, thanks.”  Hermione turned to Harry and Ron.  “Do you two want to come?”

“Sure,” Ron said, “I’d like to see your parents again.”

“I should probably stay here,” Harry said.  “If I get too far away from the Burrow, I’d be more of a hindrance than a help, I suppose.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione said.

“Yeah—you don’t need a horde of reporters slowing you down.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes.  Then Bill spoke up, but rather softly.

“I tried to get George to come eat this morning.  He wouldn’t open the door.”

Tension rose around the table.

“Did he at least say anything?” Ginny asked.  “Last I spoke with him, all he said was, ‘Go away.’  I could get him to say nothing else.”

“Yeah, he talked all right.  Sounded exhausted.  Probably still in bed.  Just said he didn’t feel like eating.  I asked him how he was feeling, though, and he wouldn’t answer.”

“He’s going to need a lot of time,” Mr. Weasley said slowly.  “We just have to let him know we’re here for him, whenever he’s ready to talk.”

Tears were rolling down Mrs. Weasley’s cheeks, and when Bill noticed, he dropped the topic.

A few hours later, Harry was hugging Hermione good-bye as she, Ron, and Mr. Weasley got ready to leave.

“Be safe,” Harry told her.  “Keep Ron out of trouble.”

“That’s why I’m here,” she told him and she smiled; Harry couldn’t help but smile back.

“Now, Hermione, are you going to go on and get them settled at your house, or would it be easier to bring them back here first?” Mrs. Weasley asked, stepping out into the garden.

“I guess it depends on how easy it is to lift the enchantment.  I’ve never done it before—would it be all right to bring them back here?  If I can’t get it right away?” Hermione asked.

“That would be just fine, dear, I’d love to have them here,” Mrs. Weasley said, and though she looked sincere, she didn’t smile.

“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said.

“See you later, mate,” Ron said, and he threw his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“Yeah, all right.  Be careful,” Harry said.

“Of course!”

Ron turned to give his mother a hug.  Then he, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley held hands and Disapparated.  

Mrs. Weasley returned to the kitchen.  Harry found Ginny in the living room, playing Exploding Snap with Percy, who was losing spectacularly.  Bill and Fleur sat  on the couch, talking quietly to each other.

Harry sat next to Ginny on the floor and laid his hand on her shoulder.  She glanced around at him, forced a smile, and then returned to the game.  She had been unusually cold towards him for the past few days, but he tried not to question it. She had been through a lot, after all.  He knew it had to be hard on her.

Suddenly, Bill raised his voice slightly and addressed Percy.  “Have you spoken to George?”

“Oh—no sir, not in a few days.”

“D’you think we should go see him soon?  Maybe if you and I went together—”

“I don’t know, Bill.  He probably just wants to be left alone.”

“And we’ve respected that.  But frankly, he’s been shut up in that room long enough.  I know it’s hardest on him, but it’s not healthy—”

Ginny stood up abruptly.  Without a word, she practically ran from the room.  Bill stared after her, his mouth slightly open, shocked by her action.  Harry stood up slowly and followed her—he felt the others watching him.

By the time he reached the stairs, she was no where to be seen.  Harry went up the first flight, and knocked on her bedroom door.  It opened almost immediately.  

“What?” she asked harshly.

“Can I talk to you?” he said.

She glared at him for a moment, but then stepped aside to let him enter.  She slammed the door behind him and then crossed her arms, waiting.

“What’s going on, Gin?” Harry asked, but realized a second too late it was the wrong thing to say.

“Going on?  Going on?” she exploded.  “My brother is dead, Harry!  He’s gone, I’ve lost him!  I’m about a week away from losing another too, we’re in the same house, but I haven’t seen him in days!  And now my other brothers are going to go force him to come out, but he’s not ready, he’s still grieving and they can’t understand that!  That’s just how he handles grief—”

“They aren’t going to force him to do anything.  They’re just worried about him.”

“I’m worried too!  But didn’t you hear him?  ‘Maybe if you and I went together’!”

“Ginny, please, try to calm down.  Just talk to me, come on,” Harry said.

She kept glaring at him, but stopped shouting.

“What do you want to happen?” Harry asked.

Her glare fell.  A tear ran down her cheek.  “I want to see him again,” Ginny said, “I really miss him.  But not like this, I don’t want him to come out when he isn’t ready, you know?  It would just make him even more miserable.”

Harry nodded.  “Yeah, I know.”

And then he was struck with an idea—and he knew what he could do.


Chapter Two

“Hey Gin, I’ll see you later, okay?” Harry said, and walked out of the room.  She stared at him incredulously, furiously, but he barely noticed.

He paused in the hall and grabbed at the pouch hanging around his neck.  He felt around inside it for a few seconds before locating the small stone.  He moved it to his pocket, and then walked up the stairs.  He hesitated outside George’s door, realizing that he had no idea how to convince George to let him come in.

After a moment, he left the door and went up to Ron’s room.  He had to think about this for a while . . . George wasn’t talking to his family, why would he give Harry a chance?

Harry paced around the room and thought back to how he felt just after Sirius died.  As far as he knew, George hadn’t properly spoken to anyone since Fred’s death—what if he started screaming or throwing things, like Harry had years ago?  Dumbledore had allowed it, simply because he was powerful enough to handle Harry without harming him.  But if George tried to attack, Harry would have to fight back—and that would only complicate things.  So what to do?

I could go in screaming, Harry thought.  Shock him, grab his attention.   But that might only enrage him faster, as well as alert the rest of the house as to what Harry was doing.

I could beg, just be honest . . . tell him I have something he needs to hear.  Plead to get in, he thought.  He didn’t know how Bill had tried to get George to leave the room, but something told him Bill would not sink to begging his little brother to do anything.  It was worth a try.

Harry thought about what he could say . . . he couldn’t give away the true nature of his visit while in the hallway, it would be too . . . risky?  That wasn’t the right word.  Brass?  Harsh?  Some kind of mixture, perhaps.

After a few minutes, he still had no idea, but he was getting impatient.  Now that the idea had struck, he couldn’t wait to put it into action.  He checked that the stone was still safely in his pocket, and then went back downstairs.  He stopped once again by George’s door, and listened.  Percy and Bill were talking in the living room, but he couldn’t tell where anyone else was.  It was far too early for Ron and Hermione to be back, Mrs. Weasley was probably still in the kitchen and Ginny in her room.  Fleur was probably will Bill.

Harry gently knocked on the door, praying no one but George would hear him.

“George?” he said quietly.  There was no answer. He waited almost a minute before trying again.

“George?  I need to talk to you.”  

“Why?”

Harry jumped—George sounded like he was standing just on the other side of the door, much closer than Harry had expected.  In fact, he hadn’t expected any answer at all yet.  And suddenly everything seemed very surreal, and Harry understood more fully why Ginny was so freaked out.  Talking to George was like talking to a dead person.  Harry’s heart started to race.

“I—I just . . . there’s something you need to hear—”

“What?”

“I c-can’t say it . . . like this.  Can I come in?  Please?”

“Did my family send you?  Do they think you can understand what I’m going through?”

There was very little emotion in George’s voice, which only threw Harry off more.  Harry shivered.

“No.  No one sent me, I just . . . want to talk to you.”

“Which is it?  Do you want to talk to me, or need to?  You said both.”

Harry hesitated.  “I want to talk to you . . . you need to hear me.”

The door opened as if Harry had spoken a password, and then he and George were face-to-face.


Chapter Three

George looked terrible.  His skin was ghastly pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he was shaking slightly.  He stepped aside and Harry entered the room.  Harry glanced around as discreetly as he could, and was shocked—the room looked perfect.  After Cedric’s death, when Harry had locked himself in his room, he had trashed the place, but George seemed to have actually picked up and cleaned.  Harry decided not to comment.

George closed the door behind him and went to sit on one of the beds.  “So what does my family want you to say?”

“They didn’t send me.”

“Really?” George said, sarcastically.  “I guess they think that, because you’ve been through so much, you must know how I’m feeling?  That you know what to say to make it all better?”

Harry had never heard George sound so cold and cruel—but at least he wasn’t shouting.

“No, they haven’t said anything like that.”

“Is that what you think, then?  Is that why you’re here?  Because you think you understand me?”

“Hardly,” Harry said, and was surprised to hear his voice so cold in response.  He tried to ease up and hesitated.  “I don’t understand what you’re going through,” he acknowledged.

“Really?” George said again.

“Yeah.  I mean . . . I’ve lost a lot of people, but I’ve never had a brother.”  Harry shrugged.  “Closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had is Ron, but even he isn’t my twin.  And I can’t imagine losing him, as it is.”

“Then you can’t understand.”

“Right.”  Harry took a deep breath.  “I’ve lost . . . my parents, my godfather, my mentor . . . I lost the parents of my godson.”  Harry’s voice cracked.  “But I’ve never had someone I was so close to, like you and Fred.  So I can’t understand how you feel.”

George’s expression seemed to soften.  “So why are you here?”

Harry paused.  “I was wondering . . . if you could answer a question for me.”

“What question?”

“If you had the chance . . . to talk to Fred again, for just a few minutes . . . would you take it?”

George looked at him incredulously.  “Of course.”

“Yeah?”  Harry moved over and sat next to him on the bed.  “If you were to get, say, five minutes or so, you would do that?”

“Would you not do that with the people you’ve lost?”

Harry shrugged.  “It seems to me that when they left, it would be like losing them all over again.  And I don’t think I could handle that,” he said evasively.  “Could you?”

“I don’t think it would be that way.  Not if I knew he couldn’t stay, you know?  If I knew I only had a few minutes, I could . . . say good-bye.”  George looked away.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  Why are you asking, anyway?”

“You know the Tale of the Three Brothers?”

George looked at him again, confused.  “Yes?”

“The second brother.  He got a stone that could bring people back from the dead.”  Harry paused, steeling himself for what he was going to say, his heart pounding.  It’s now or never, he thought.  “What if I told you . . . that stone was real?  And that I had it?”

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the Resurrection Stone.  George looked at it, his eyes wide, terrified.

“You . . . you . . .” George’s voice faltered.  His breathing hitched and he swallowed.  “It . . .”

“If you want to,” Harry said quietly, “I can let you use it.  If you think you can handle it.”

George tore his eyes away from the stone and looked into Harry’s face.  “It’s real?”

“Yes.”

“It c-can bring him back?”

The thought flew through Harry’s mind that he might have made a mistake.  It might be too much to ask, for George to understand—but they had come too far now.

“Not really.  He can come back for a few minutes only.  Then he has to leave.  And then you must return the stone to me.  Do you understand?”

George looked back at the stone, horror etched on his face.  After a few seconds, he jerkily nodded.

“Do you want to use the stone?” Harry asked softly.

George was breathing hard through his nose now.  He opened his mouth a few times before sound came out.

“H-have you used it?” he asked.

“Yes.”  Harry lowered his eyes.  “During the battle, I thought I was going to die.  I went to . . . sacrifice myself . . . to Voldemort.  On the way, I used this stone.  My parents, Sirius, and Remus came to me.  They walked with me until I reached him.”

“You can bring back more than one person?”

“Yeah, if you want to.”

George slowly reached out his hand and touched Harry’s so that the stone was between them.  And quite suddenly, the fear drained from George’s face, and was replaced by a look of intense sadness.  It made Harry ache to look at him.

George’s fingers closed around the stone, and he took it.  Harry touched his shoulder.

“Turn it over in your hand three times,” he said, “and he will come to you.  He’ll stay as long as you keep hold of the stone.”

“How long can he stay?” George whispered.

“He’ll let you know when he has to leave.”  Harry stood up, took a deep breath, and then slowly walked out of the room.  When he got to the hallway, he turned and cast a silencing charm over the door, just in case.


Chapter Four

George stared at the stone, unable to believe that he was going to see Fred again, but also unable to think Harry would lie about it.  Harry, who had been through so much, would not, could not joke about seeing a lost loved one again . . . it must be true.

George closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned the stone over three times.

A dry sob escaped his lips as he looked up.  Fred smiled.

“Hey, Brother.”

George’s eyes filled with tears as he stood up.  He inched forward, and Fred held out his hand.

“Are . . . are you . . .” George started, tentatively reaching toward him.

“Solid?” Fred asked.  He shrugged.  “Not sure.”  He stomped on the floor.  “I’m on the floor,” he said.  “I’m not falling through it, nor am I floating above it.  So . . . maybe.  Kind of.”  He extended his hand again, and George took it.  As soon as he was sure they could touch, George stumbled the last few steps, fell into Fred’s arms, and broke down completely.

After a minute or so, Fred pulled back.  “I don’t have long,” he whispered.  

“Right,” George said.  “Right.”

But suddenly, after days of speculating and wondering, George could think of nothing to say.  He touched Fred’s face and finally said, “I miss you.”

“How do you know that?” Fred asked.

George started.  “W-what?”

“All you’ve done is sit in our room, in the dark, moping.  We never did that.  So how do you know that you miss me, unless you try something we did together?”

“I-I don’t know.  I . . . didn’t think about it like that.”

Fred smiled again.  “So, come on . . . why are you doing this, why are you just sitting around?  Who’s taking care of the shop?”

“I’m grieving, you jerk,” George replied, incredulously.  “What would you be doing?”

“What, if you had died?” Fred asked.  He shrugged.  “Probably the same thing.  But that doesn’t mean it’s right.  And the shop?”

“I can’t help it that I feel like this—”

“The shop?”

George hesitated.  “It’s closed for now.  And I don’t know if I can reopen it. . . .”

Fred’s eyes widened.  “Don’t you dare close that shop.  George.  Don’t you dare, I will never forgive you if you do.  We worked too hard and for too long to get that shop.”

George looked away.  “It’ll be so hard to go back.”

“I don’t care,” Fred said harshly.  “Go back.”  He paused.  “And put up a giant picture of me on the wall.”

George’s lips twitched.  “I suppose I can do that.  It’s just . . . I don’t feel like doing anything, you know?”  His voice dropped to a whisper.  “I feel like . . . there’s no reason to do anything anymore.  To work, to invent, to . . . live.”

Fred hesitated, but his voice was strong when he spoke.  “You have a reason to live,” he said coldly, “and its name is Ginny.  And Bill, and Charlie, and Percy,” he stressed.  “And Ron, and Mum, and Dad—what would they do, any of them, if they lost you too?  And what about Verity?  And Lee?  You and me, George, we held the whole world together, but now it’s down to you.”

“I don’t know if I can—”

“You can.  You have to.  It’s just part of it, isn’t it?”

Tears were back in George’s eyes, and after a pause he blurted out, “You were crushed.”

Fred rocked back on his heels, confused.  “What?”

“You were crushed.  When you . . . when you died.  You were hit by the wall.  It wasn’t even a curse that . . . killed you.”

Fred shook his head sadly.  “This is what’s bothering you the most, isn’t it?”

“You were crushed,” George repeated.

“I couldn’t feel it.  George, it didn’t hurt.”

George swallowed.  “Really?”

“Yeah.”  Fred shrugged.  “I was fighting, and then I was talking to Percy, and . . . that’s all I remember.”

“That . . . that actually makes me feel a lot better.  It didn’t hurt.” George let out a harsh sigh.  “I was just haunted by the idea . . .”

“Worry no more, Brother.”  Fred clapped George on the shoulder.  “You know, I would ask you now about how everyone else is doing, but I doubt you know, do you?”

“Not really.  I heard Ginny yelling earlier.  I couldn’t tell what it was about, though.  She and Bill have both tried to get me to come out.”

“They miss you.”

“I know.”  George shook his head and changed the subject. “You—are you . . . okay?  W-what happens—”

“After death? Hmm.”  Fred’s eyes narrowed.  “I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you, actually.  Let’s just say I’m fine—I’m with all four Marauders!”

George scowled.  “Yeah, well, I still have Ginny.”

Fred’s face fell.  “Darn.  You win,” he said sadly.  “I miss that girl.”

But he looked too sad to just be thinking about Ginny—and his eyes were lowered at the floor.

“Fred?” George said.  “What’s wrong?  It’s just—”

“It’s time for me to go,” Fred sighed.

George’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply.  “No,” he said.  “Not yet.”

“I have to—”

“No!” George said again, urgently.  “H-Harry said you w-would stay . . . as long as I d-didn’t let go of the st-stone.  And I w-won’t let go, I won’t let go,” he sobbed.  He gripped the stone harder in his fist.

“I don’t belong here, George.”

“You belong with me!” George shouted.

Fred’s face was full of pity and pain.  “Not anymore,” he whispered.

“Don’t say that!”

Fred reached out and took George in his arms.

“Harry was right,” George said.  “He was right, it’s like l-losing you all over a-again.  I don’t want you to go. . . .”

Fred pulled away and looked into George’s eyes.  “I have to.”

“Please—”

“I’m cold,” Fred whispered.  “I’m exhausted, I’ve been here too long.”

George closed his eyes; he knew the battle was lost.  Fred smiled sadly.  

“Give Mum an extra hug.  Tell Ginny I love her.”

“I will.”

“Love you, George.”

“I love you, too, Fred.  Good-bye.”

George reached up and touched Fred’s face with one hand.  He moved his other hand to his pocket, and dropped the stone inside.  Fred was still smiling as he faded away.

George dropped to his knees and sobbed.

---

When George woke up, the first thing he realized was that he was lying on the floor of his room.  After a few seconds, it all came back to him—the stone, Fred.  His hand flew to his pocket and he pulled out the Resurrection Stone.  It was real, it hadn’t been a dream.  He felt a strong urge to turn it over in his hand . . . but instead, he returned it to his pocket.

He stood up, stretched his tired back, and walked over to the window.  The curtains were dusty and had been closed for days.  He lifted them open.  

The sun was setting and the light hurt his eyes.  He closed them tightly, and then slowly peeked out again.  The sun cast beautiful shades of orange and yellow across the sky and clouds.  He lowered his eyes and saw Harry and Ron walking around the yard slowly, aimlessly.  Harry was tossing a rock in the air and catching it.  George half smiled and turned away from the window.  He walked to his bedroom door and hesitated.

He sighed, opened the door, and stepped out.

The stairs were dark, but he could see light at the bottom, coming from the living room and kitchen.  He walked toward it, slowly, quietly.  He could hear his father and Percy talking in the living room.  Wonderful smells drifted up to meet him from the kitchen.  He breathed deeply, realizing for the first time how very hungry he was.

He stopped when he reached the doorway into the living room.  It took only a moment before his father and brother noticed him.  They stopped talking abruptly and stared, their eyes shocked . . . and a little scared.  He gave them a small smile, but didn’t say anything.  He turned back to the hall, and continued to the kitchen.

His mother stood at the stove, her back to him, cooking away.  George realized at this point that he was shaking.  He didn’t know if it was from his intense lack of food recently, or fear.  He walked up behind his mother, and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.  She glanced around slightly, and he saw her eyes fill with tears.

“I love you, Mum,” he whispered.

She reached up and patted his cheek.  “I love you too, George.”