«A» Lethe - George Weasly x Reader
Lethe: In Greek mythology, Lethe was the daughter of Eris (Strife) and the personification of oblivion. Lethe is also the name of a river or plain in the infernal regions.
In Orphism, a Greek mystical religious movement, it was believed that the newly dead who drank from the River Lethe would lose all memory of their past existence. The initiated were taught to seek instead the river of memory, Mnemosyne, thus securing the end of the transmigration of the soul. At the oracle of Trophonius, which was thought to be an entrance to the underworld, there were two springs called Lethe and Mnemosyne.
[A]Lethe> A-letheia> Not Forgetting; the truth.
Your heart was hammering and for a split second or so, it was the only sound inside the apartment. You took a deep breath in. When he opened his eyes, you were packing your backpack. You wouldn’t stay there, not tonight. You had to go out. He had no idea how to fix it, but seeing you ready to go just broke him.
“Don’t leave” his voice made your heart squeeze, but you ignored it. You tried to zip the bag and the zip broke, making you go from zero to a thousand, letting go of a scream you had been holding a while. It made his blood freeze. It was desperation, not just anger and pain.
Fairytales and storybooks had gotten it all wrong. You were taught that love was a feeling, but feelings were fleeting and unreliable. Feelings were not a true source of support for you or your partner. A relationship couldn’t be defined by something as unpredictable as your feelings or your emotions in the moment. Love was a choice, and you were choosing to be there. You were choosing to love him despite how afraid your heart was. You were choosing to let him in regardless of what your past had taught you. You were choosing to place your heart in his hands and hope he will not break it. Suddenly, you threw the bag across the room, breaking the lamp on his nightstand, and you turned to face him, an angry expression was twisting your face. He had never seen you mad, let alone mad at him.
“No, you don’t get to ask me to stay” you threw at him and it pierced him like an arrow. You wanted to tell him that you were choosing to wake up every day at 4 a.m. to watch the sunrise because you wanted to know why he liked sunrises so much. But, instead, you were accusing him of acting the way you were, really. You were angry and sad and lost and guilty and so much in love and it broke you down. The frustration was enough to make your way towards him and then not recall it.
He didn’t have anything to say. His mind was screaming at him how awful he was, waiting for his brother to die to be with the girl he always liked. Because that was exactly what he thought he was doing, and it was crushing him. He couldn’t justify his actions in any other way, something you were thinking about yourself… The thing was, you got a second chance at happiness, in love, in companionship and you were going to throw it away because of its irony.
You smiled, in a sad way, because you knew that it would end in flames. You couldn’t go back and it hurt you but it would be for the best since you weren’t just friends anymore.
“You might be afraid, but I know that love is a choice, and you happen to be mine. So, no, don’t try to make me stay when all we can be is almost something. I cannot keep doing it” you blurted out and you turned away to get out of the door, but you never made it. He knew that if you walked out that door, he wouldn’t be seeing you again. He knew you would actively avoid him and it killed him to know that. He had to convince his mind to shut up and the guilt to stop existing for a while, but he wouldn’t be losing you this time.
“I am terrified I am going to lose you because I love you” he breathed, and your mouth hit the floor. For him to say it out loud, it would have been one hell of a battle. You could tell that there was this tension again, gaining over you but you couldn’t handle it, so you slowly took a step back. You needed time to wrap your mind around everything and to have a talk with someone else because the guilt was eating both of you alive.
You shook your head, wanting to let go and be happy again, but you needed space, time and possibly someone else to tell you that it was okay to be happy again, it was okay to be in love again, it was okay to be with someone else again.
“I need you to think about your choices and the choices you make because someone else thought they would suit you. You know mine. When you figure out yours, you know where to find me” you let out and kissed him, a simple peck on his lips. It was about time. You had to take care of yourself and give him space and time to figure out his own needs and choices. All those years, he was the second one, the one who did what people expected him to do. So many choices weren’t his, even if he had thought of them as such for the longest time. This time, you wanted him to take his time, deal with his own trauma, in his own pace, by himself for himself. You wanted to leave, not because you didn’t want to be there but because you wish to give him time and space.
“Don’t leave” he said again, but this time his voice wasn’t fragile; it was broken but not all that delicate. A soft desperation had crept up his spine; he knew that this… in its entirety had to be wrong but he couldn’t ignore that it felt as right as right can feel. There was a twisted irony, bitter and vile, running through his veins; he bit his lips hard to stop it from lacing his words.
You saw the battle inside of him. You weren’t stupid. The same guilt, the same pain, the same agony, the same hatred – you felt them too. Ever since you tried to ignore why you were staying with him; not because he was reminding you of Fred but because he was George.
You stared at him, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might split your chest wide open. George stood there, unmoving, but the look in his eyes was raw, fractured. There was something so desperate in the way he looked at you, a kind of vulnerability that made your legs tremble beneath the weight of it. His lips, still slightly parted from that simple kiss you’d given him, looked like they were on the verge of forming a protest—one last plea. But his words hung suspended, the space between you a chasm filled with the past, the future, and all the impossible choices neither of you knew how to make.
You wanted to leave, you had convinced yourself you had to, but your feet wouldn't move. His last "don't leave" wasn’t just a request—it was a crack in the armor, and it spilled out between you, thick and aching. You could hear the unsaid words in the way his voice broke, the way his body shifted closer to you, as if drawn by some invisible tether neither of you had the strength to cut.
You saw it then—the war raging in him. The guilt, the self-loathing, the unspoken fear that had been gnawing at both of you for far too long. It was written all over his face, in the tight clench of his jaw, the trembling in his hands as they clenched into fists at his sides. He looked as though he was fighting with every fiber of his being to keep himself from reaching out to you, from pulling you back into his arms and burying his face in the comfort of your skin. But you saw it—the part of him that wanted to give in, that wanted you to stay, that wanted to be selfish enough to ask you to forget everything else, just for a moment, and be his.
Your throat tightened, and you wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. You had loved Fred, and part of you always would, but now, now it wasn’t Fred’s ghost that made your chest ache. It was George. George. His crooked smile, his quiet wit, the way he always tried to keep it together even when the world was crumbling around him. The way he made you laugh when you didn’t think you ever could again. But you couldn't say it. Not yet. The weight of it was too much, pressing down on your lungs until you felt like you might suffocate under its pressure. And still, you couldn’t move.
“You are the only thing holy to me,” he whispered, the words coming out like a confession, like a prayer, and his voice cracked on the last syllable. “It has always been you”.
You swallowed hard, your fingers clenching the strap of your bag as if it could anchor you to the moment, to anything. You were afraid—afraid of what staying would mean, of what it would do to both of you. Afraid that the weight of all this guilt, all this love, would crush you both. And yet, as much as you feared staying, the thought of walking away, of leaving him behind in this suffocating silence, felt even worse.
You took a shaky breath, and your bag slipped from your shoulder, falling to the floor with a soft thud. His eyes widened, watching the movement like it was the beginning of something inevitable. You didn’t know what made you do it, what invisible force was propelling you forward, but suddenly you were in front of him again, your hand reaching out to cup his face. The only thing holy to him.
His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, and he closed his eyes at the contact, his breath catching in his throat. His stubble grazed your palm, rough and real, grounding you in the present moment. And suddenly, all the pain, all the guilt, all the unspoken words between you faded into the background. All that was left was him, standing before you, broken and beautiful.
"George..." His name slipped from your lips like a sigh, and before you could think, before you could convince yourself otherwise, you leaned in and kissed him. And it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t simple. It was fierce and raw and desperate, filled with all the things you couldn’t say. His lips crashed against yours, and this time, he didn’t hold back. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him with an intensity that stole your breath, that made you feel like you were falling apart and being held together all at once. His hands roamed your back, rough and insistent, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go.
You moaned into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer. You needed him, needed to feel his heartbeat against yours, needed to know that this was real. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing down to your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake.
“Please…” His voice was ragged, broken. He kissed along your jaw, your pulse, the spot beneath your ear where you were most vulnerable. “Stay, stay, stay.”
Your chest tightened, and you couldn’t think straight. His hands were everywhere, searing your skin, claiming you in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. You felt him scoop you up, lifting you with ease and carrying you across the room, never once breaking the kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your back pressing into the wall as his body pinned you there, hard and wanting.
He kissed you like it was the last thing he’d ever do, like he’d waited too long to feel something real, and he was afraid this moment might slip away if he didn’t hold onto it with everything he had. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling gently as his mouth devoured yours, and you kissed him back with all the pent-up need, the unspoken desire that had been building between you for months.
You gasped when his lips found your collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and you arched into him, desperate for more. Your heart was pounding, your breaths coming in shallow bursts, and all you could think about was him—the way he felt against you, the way his hands moved with a mix of hunger and tenderness that made your head spin. You realized that you were heading towards his room, and you found yourself lost.
It was messy, imperfect, and full of desperation, but it was real. So real it hurt. And as his lips found yours again, the world melted away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in each other, holding on like your lives depended on it. And maybe, in that moment, they did.
The morning light filtered in slowly, casting soft gold across the room, but it did nothing to quiet the storm inside you. You lay there, still tangled in his sheets, your body warm from the night before, but your mind was anything but settled. It wasn’t just the heat of his skin against yours or the memory of how easily you had fallen into each other—it was everything that came with it. Every unspoken word, every glance that had passed between you over the months, heavy with the weight of your shared loss, had led to this moment. And now that you were here, the quiet aftermath of the night felt almost too fragile to touch.
Next to you, George stirred. His arm was draped loosely over your waist, his fingers splayed across your skin as though he was holding on to something—maybe to you, maybe to the moment itself. His breath was slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest grounding you, pulling you back from the rush of thoughts swirling in your head. You had memorized that sound without meaning to—the sound of him breathing through the long, quiet nights you had spent beside him, both of you trying not to drown in your grief. He was sleeping. Peacefully.
But this morning was different. The silence now wasn’t the same as the heavy, choking kind that filled the spaces between you on those other nights. It wasn’t quite peaceful, but it didn’t suffocate you either. It was quiet, yes—but not with regret. You didn’t feel regret. Not that. You couldn’t have felt that because you wouldn’t regret him – ever. But there was a weight to what had happened, to the way your bodies had come together with such raw intensity, as if you had both been holding on by a thread and had finally let go.
Inevitability. That was the word that kept echoing in your mind. It felt inevitable, something that had been building for so long you’d lost track of when it had first started. You weren’t sure if it began the day you looked into George’s eyes and didn’t see Fred staring back at you—or if it began even earlier, when the lines between friendship and something else blurred into shades of gray you hadn’t known how to navigate. And now that it had finally happened, the weight of that inevitability settled over you like a second skin.
George shifted beside you again, and you felt his fingers move—hesitant, unsure, like he was waking to the same uncertainty you were. You wondered if he would say something. Maybe acknowledge the shift between you. Reassure you that last night wasn’t a mistake, that it wasn’t just about filling the emptiness that Fred’s absence had left behind. Or maybe, you thought bitterly, he’d question it—wonder aloud if this was wrong, if he was just a stand-in for what you had really lost.
But the words didn’t come. Instead, he pressed closer, his breath warm against the back of your neck, and you heard it—the sigh. Soft, almost broken, as though he didn’t know how to hold the moment without it slipping through his fingers.
You turned your head, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in the soft light. His hair was tousled, sticking up in places where your hands had tangled in it the night before. His face was still relaxed in sleep, but there was a crease between his brows, like even in his dreams, he couldn’t quite let go of the weight he carried. You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, you let yourself savor the sight of him like this—unguarded, vulnerable, real. Utterly yours.
But then the memory came rushing back—the sharp edge of it cutting through the tenderness like a blade. Fred. The tangled mess of emotions that always followed his name. You had loved Fred—deeply, completely. He had been your future once, the man you imagined sharing a life with. And now here you were, lying in his brother’s arms, but it didn’t feel like betrayal, not anymore. You didn’t care if you could explain it to anyone else, becaue George wasn’t a replacement. You knew that what you felt for him was different, raw and messy, and it had grown from something so painful and real that it scared you.
But what would Fred have thought? Would he have understood? Would he have forgiven you for finding comfort, for finding something more in the last person who could possibly know what this grief felt like? You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to you like a shadow.
Next to you, George shifted again, and this time his eyes fluttered open, hazy from sleep but searching, like he was trying to make sense of the morning, of you, of everything that had just happened. When his gaze met yours, something flickered there—something so vulnerable and raw that it took your breath away. Fear. Guilt. The same emotions clung to him, you realized, like a second skin. But beneath all of that, there was something else. Something unspoken but so powerful that it kept you anchored in the moment, stopped you from pulling away.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice still rough with sleep. His hand found your stomach, resting there, gentle, but there was a hesitation in the way he touched you. As if he didn’t know if he was allowed to. As if he didn’t know if this—the two of you—was allowed to exist.
"Hey," you whispered back, and the word felt heavy with everything you weren’t saying. The weight of the night still lingered between you, but it wasn’t unbearable. It wasn’t crushing you like you feared it might.
You lay there like that for a long moment, neither of you moving, neither of you daring to break the silence. It wasn’t a silence filled with awkwardness or regret—it was something more complicated, more fragile. A quiet understanding passed between you. You both knew it in your bones: George wasn’t Fred, and you weren’t just the woman who had loved his brother. You were something else now, something neither of you had planned for but had been building all this time, under the surface.
But still, the fear lingered. The fear of what this meant. The fear of stepping into the unknown, of letting yourself want this—want him—without the constant shadow of the past looming over you.
He shifted again, this time propping himself up on his elbow, his face hovering just above yours. His eyes searched your face, and for a moment, you thought you might break under the weight of his gaze, under the weight of all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. His hand found your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, and that simple touch sent a shiver through you. It was so gentle, so full of things left unsaid, and yet it told you everything.
That pull—the pull that had been there for so long, unspoken but undeniable—was still there, stronger than ever. And now, there was no hiding from it.
He brushed his thumb over your cheek again, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his touch seep in, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the swirl of emotions inside you. It was too much and not enough all at once—this moment, this touch, the unspoken words hanging between you. You opened your eyes again, meeting his, and there it was, the same confusion, the same questions, the same quiet desperation that you knew was mirrored in your own gaze.
He didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, though you could see the fear there, just beneath the surface. His fingers curled against your cheek, as if grounding himself in the feel of your skin, as though the weight of his touch might anchor him to the present, might keep him from drowning in the sea of what-ifs and should-haves that had haunted you both.
“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. His eyes searched yours, struggling to find the words neither of you had dared to say for so long. Then, something shifted, resolve replacing the hesitation. “It has always been you. And I am well aware of everything, as are you, but this, us—” His thumb traced your cheek, and his voice dropped to a whisper, raw and urgent. “I’d give everything for it to exist.”
The honesty in his words made something settle inside you, a truth you had long known but hadn’t let yourself fully embrace. It didn’t surprise you, not really, because deep down you had felt it too. All along. And now that it was out in the open, you weren’t afraid of it. Not anymore.
You held his gaze, steady, unwavering. His words echoed in the stillness of the room, and as they did, you realized how much of this you had already accepted. You had come to him not out of confusion, not out of guilt, but out of something far deeper. Something that had grown quietly between you both, unspoken but undeniable.
“I have never known such absolution before”. Your voice was calm, firm. You weren’t running from this anymore, weren’t questioning it. You knew what you felt for him. It had grown through shared pain, through friendship, through love—an unexpected, beautiful kind of love. And it didn’t matter if anyone else could see it – you two did and that was more than you had hoped.
His breath hitched, and for a moment, the weight of those words seemed to hang between you like a sacred truth. This wasn’t a fragile thing to be questioned or picked apart. This was a kind of redemption, a kind of grace neither of you had expected to find in each other.
Slowly, his hand slid from your cheek to the nape of your neck, pulling you gently toward him, his forehead resting against yours. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.
“Ι never thought there could be any redemption in this,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. His forehead came to rest against yours, the quiet between you now thick with something almost otherworldly. The air felt charged, humming with the unspoken truth that you had found each other not by accident, but by something deeper—something fated. The silence wasn’t absence anymore. It was filled with a kind of reverence, a kind of grace that made everything that had come before this moment fade into the background.
His next breath trembled, and when he spoke again, his words were quiet, but steeped in a certainty that softened into something lighter, a hint of his familiar smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Almost playful, but still raw with truth.
“I want you to be alright, to be sure, and certain.” His eyes held yours, steady and unwavering, before his smile deepened, soft but genuine. “And, yes, okay, I want you.”
There was a tenderness in his voice, a mix of vulnerability and the ease you’d always known, like the gravity of the moment had lifted, just enough to let the light in. His smile lingered, but the weight of his words remained, heavy and grounding, though now it was wrapped in something warmer. The air between you felt charged but no longer burdened by all the uncertainty you had once carried. His hand, still resting at the nape of your neck, was gentle, thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles against your skin. It was like a promise, unspoken but felt deeply in the silence that followed.
You let his words settle over you, and for the first time in a long time, there was no hesitation, no lingering doubt. You felt steady, clear, and in the warmth of his gaze, you found something that had been eluding you for far too long—peace.
A soft laugh escaped you, breathless but real, as if the tension had finally broken. “I’m sure,” you whispered, your own smile rising to meet his, “and I want you too.”
His shoulders relaxed at your words, as though he'd been waiting for that confirmation, even though he'd already known it deep down. You could see the relief in his eyes, the playful edge softening into something far more profound.
For a moment, neither of you moved. It was as though you both understood that this was a turning point, the moment where everything that had once been broken, scattered, and uncertain had finally begun to make sense. Not perfectly, but enough. And that was all you needed.
Then, with a gentleness that made your heart ache, George leaned in again, his lips brushing yours—not in desperation this time, but in the quiet, certain kind of intimacy that spoke of something more. Something lasting.
And as he kissed you, slow and tender, it felt like a beginning.
The world outside had changed since that night, but for you and George, it felt like time had slowed, giving you both the quiet space to simply exist together. Away from prying eyes, away from questions you weren’t ready to answer. There was no need to explain what had bloomed between you—it was sacred, just for the two of you. In the small moments of dawn, in the spaces where no one else could intrude, you had found something unexpected, something that didn’t require justification.
For weeks, the world didn’t know. It was easier this way, to keep the fragile, precious thing you had built between you away from the weight of expectation. The world around you had a tendency to crowd in, to question, to press for details you weren’t ready to share. But you knew what you had. George knew it too. And in those stolen hours before the world woke, you shared a kind of intimacy that didn’t need validation from anyone else.
His laughter, always so rare and precious in the months before, now filled the quiet spaces. His touch, always careful, had grown more confident, more certain. You had become something that neither of you had expected, but now neither of you could imagine it being any other way. It felt like coming home, and in those private moments, it was all the absolution you needed.
But the world couldn’t be kept at bay forever. Bill’s birthday loomed ahead, and with it, the inevitability of re-entering that wider, complicated space. You had both known this would come, that eventually, you couldn’t keep hiding behind closed doors. The thought didn’t terrify you, but it did leave a weight in the back of your mind. Not guilt—never that—but the knowledge that eyes would be watching. People would wonder. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t understand.
Yet when the morning of the birthday came, you found yourself smiling as George slipped his hand into yours, giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze. The unspoken understanding between you was enough to calm your nerves. You were ready for this now—not because you needed the world to see, but because you had found something that wasn’t fragile anymore. It had grown stronger, steady. What you had with George was real, and that was something no amount of curious eyes could take away.
The sun was low in the sky by the time you arrived at Shell Cottage, the soft hum of the sea a gentle backdrop to the gathering ahead. The smell of the ocean mixed with the distant sound of laughter, voices already spilling out of the house and onto the beach. You could hear the Weasley family inside, the warm, familiar buzz of conversation, and for a moment, you both paused just beyond the door.
George stood beside you, his hand still wrapped around yours, thumb brushing slow circles against your skin, a silent comfort. You looked up at him, catching his eye, and in that moment, the world outside seemed to fade again. It was just you and him, like it had been for the past few weeks—just the two of you, holding something more sacred than words could capture.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with a hint of that familiar playfulness. You smiled, nodding.
“Nope. But sure, let’s go.” With that, the two of you stepped inside. The warmth of the cottage enveloped you immediately, the familiar sounds of the Weasley family wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket. Bill, already laughing with Charlie near the fireplace, caught sight of you first, his smile widening as he moved to greet you both.
“Hey, you two! Glad you could make it,” he said, his voice bright with the easy charm that had always made Bill seem a little larger than life.
You offered a smile, exchanging polite words, but you could feel the shift already—the subtle glances, the way the room seemed to pause ever so slightly when George’s hand remained on the small of your back. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no grand reveal. But the way you stayed close to him, the way his fingers lingered just a little too long at your waist, told a quiet story that didn’t go unnoticed.
As you moved through the room, offering your greetings and catching up with family, you could feel the quiet curiosity begin to simmer beneath the surface. A glance from Ginny, a raised eyebrow from Percy, the curious look Fleur shot you as she passed by. None of them said a word—not yet—but the subtle realization had started to spread. It was there in the way George never strayed far from your side, in the way you leaned into him just slightly as you talked to Bill about some long-forgotten memory.
It was easy, the way you fit together, even here in front of everyone. And though you hadn’t spoken it aloud, the connection was unmistakable. You felt it in every soft touch, every quiet look. It wasn’t about making an announcement—it was about living in the truth of what you had. That truth was clear now, in the subtle ways you moved around each other, the ease with which you existed in this space. It wasn’t a secret anymore, but neither was it a spectacle. It was simply real, and that was enough.
Later, as the evening wore on and the stars began to scatter across the night sky, you found yourselves outside, away from the noise and the watchful eyes. The sound of the ocean was louder here, the air cooler. You leaned against the railing, looking out at the waves, feeling the peace of the night settle around you.
George stood beside you, his arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side. There was no need for words. The night, the sky, the quiet rhythm of the sea—it was all enough. You felt his breath steady beside you, the warmth of him a comfort against the cool breeze.
After a while, you tilted your head to look up at him, catching the soft curve of his smile in the moonlight.
“So… do you think they noticed?” He chuckled softly, shaking his head.
“Noticed? Probably. Figured it out? Definitely.” His eyes glinted with that familiar spark, playful but tender. “But I’m not worried. They’ll understand, eventually.” You smiled, leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder.
“I don’t care what they think. Not really. I love them, but…”
“I know,” he murmured, his voice soft, steady. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer. “That’s why this works.”
And there, under the stars, with the sea whispering in the background, you felt the weight of everything lift. This was your truth, your love, and it didn’t need anything else. It was enough to simply be—to know that you had found something sacred, something real, and that it would stand no matter who was watching.
And in that quiet certainty, you knew—this was just the beginning.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but its warmth did nothing to dispel the heavy tension in the room. Molly sat across from you and George, her eyes sharp, her fingers twisting the fabric of her apron in her lap, knuckles white. Arthur was quieter, his gaze thoughtful, but it was Molly who carried the weight of the unspoken words, the tension that had been building all evening. You could feel it coming—had felt it simmering under every glance, every unspoken question hanging in the air.
Molly’s voice broke the silence, low and tight, like she was holding back a tide of something sharper, something she hadn’t yet dared to let loose.
“I think we need to have an honest conversation,” she said, her eyes flicking between you and George. “About this.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and accusatory, and you felt the weight of them press down on your chest. There was no pretense, no soft introduction. She wasn’t asking, not really. She was demanding an explanation, her eyes narrowing in a way that made your stomach clench.
George shifted beside you, his hand still firm in yours, but you could feel the way his body tensed, the way his thumb stopped its gentle circles on your back. He was bracing for something, something neither of you wanted to face but knew you couldn’t avoid.
Arthur leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter but carrying the same undertone of expectation.
“We’ve seen the way things are between you,” he said, his gaze steady, though not unkind. “But what we need to know is—why? Why now? And why like this?”
It wasn’t a simple question. It wasn’t about the timing. It was about Fred. About the shadow that hung over the room like a presence neither of them had dared to name yet. And you could feel the air thicken, the unsaid words pulling at the edges of your already fragile calm.
George exhaled slowly, his voice low and firm, though there was a tightness in it that betrayed his own inner conflict.
“We’ve taken our time,” he said, carefully measured. “We didn’t rush into this.”
Molly’s eyes flashed, and her voice came sharper now, cutting through the careful calm George had tried to maintain.
“Time?” she repeated, almost incredulously. “Is that what you think this is about? Time? You think time makes this make sense?”
Her gaze snapped to you, sharp and unyielding, and you felt the full force of her anger—no, not anger, something deeper, something like betrayal.
“You were with Fred,” she said, her voice rising, each word striking like a blow. “You loved Fred. And now, now you’re here with George? His twin? Do you know how this looks? Do you even realize—what this is?”
Each word hit you like a stone, her disbelief, her hurt, ringing clear in every syllable. She wasn’t just questioning your relationship; she was accusing you, outright, of something you hadn’t expected her to say aloud.
“Mum,” George’s voice was firm but strained, and you could hear the edge of protectiveness creeping into it, the way his body shifted closer to you, as if he could shield you from the force of her words. “This isn’t about Fred. You know that.”
But Molly didn’t soften. If anything, her voice grew sharper, more desperate. “How can you say that?” she demanded, her eyes burning into his.
“How can you look me in the eye and say that this has nothing to do with Fred? She was with him. You—” her voice cracked slightly, “you’re his brother. Don’t you see how wrong this is? How it looks? How can it not be about him?”
The silence that followed her words was deafening. Fred’s name, finally spoken aloud, felt like a blow to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. The weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating. You had known it would come, but not like this. Not with the accusation so raw, so pointed, hanging between all of you like a noose.
Arthur shifted in his seat, his eyes still on George but softer now, his voice quieter but no less weighted.
“This isn’t something to take lightly,” he said, his gaze flickering briefly to you before settling back on George. “We’ve all been through a lot, and losing Fred—” he paused, the weight of his words thick in the air, “—it’s changed everything. You can’t expect us not to wonder if this—if what you have—is built on that loss. On something that isn’t real.”
His words felt like they were pulling apart the very foundation you and George had built together, brick by brick, like every moment of grief, every moment of love, was being questioned. And the truth was—you had asked yourselves these same questions. In the quiet moments, in the spaces between you and George, you had wondered too. But you had come through it. Together.
You couldn’t stay silent any longer. You looked at Molly, trying to gather the right words, but they felt heavy, stuck in your throat.
“I know what this looks like,” you began softly, your voice trembling but firm. “But it’s not what you think. Fred… Fred will always be part of me. And yes, I loved him. But George… he’s not Fred.”
Molly’s eyes narrowed, sharp with disbelief. “Not Fred? How can you say that? He’s his twin. You see him every time you look at George, don’t you?”
You shook your head, trying to steady your breath, feeling George’s hand tighten around yours.
“They’re nothing alike,” you said, your voice quieter now, but resolute. “George isn’t Fred. He never has been. And I don’t see Fred when I look at him. I see George—I see who he is, and that’s who I’m with.”
Molly let out a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours, as though she was trying to find the lie in your words, trying to pick apart the truth from the grief she thought you were still carrying.
“But how can you be so sure? How can you say you’re not just holding onto him because… because he’s all that’s left of Fred?”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and you felt the weight of her grief settle over the room, suffocating, as if Fred’s absence was all anyone could feel. You swallowed hard, knowing that the truth wouldn’t make it easier.
“I can’t explain it in a way that will make you understand,” you said softly, your voice raw but steady. “But I’m not with George because he’s Fred’s twin. I’m with him because I love him. Because he is who he is, because he is not Fred’s twin, but because he was the fire that kept burning when eveything had crumbled to dust… and what we have is something real. Molly, no one could ever replace Fred. But George isn’t his echo”.
Molly shook her head again, her disbelief palpable, and you could see the tears forming in her eyes. “It’s not that simple,” she whispered, almost to herself, as though she was trying to convince herself that what you were saying couldn’t possibly be true.
“You’re in love” Arthur murmurmed more to himself that anything, causing George’s hand to tighten around yours, his body leaning forward now, his voice low and edged with something harder, something protective but also final.
“I’m not trying to replace Fred,” he said, and there was an unspoken fury in his tone, one that simmered just beneath the surface. “I could never replace him. And neither could she.” He glanced at you, his eyes full of something fierce and protective, but also conflicted, raw.
“We’ve made our peace with what’s happened – and still making it,” he continued, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “but this isn’t about clinging to what we’ve lost. It’s about what we’ve found.”
But even as he said the words, you could feel the weight of Molly’s disbelief, the way her gaze didn’t soften, the way Arthur’s brows remained furrowed in quiet concern.
“I don’t want to see you both hurt,” Molly whispered, her voice finally breaking, the rawness in her tone spilling out like a wound she couldn’t hide any longer. “I don’t want you to build something on grief, something that will fall apart the moment you realize—”
“We’ve already realized,” George cut her off, his voice calm but hard. “We’ve faced it. And we’ve built something that isn’t fragile. This isn’t about grief anymore. It’s about moving forward.”
Molly looked down at her hands, her fingers unclenching slightly, but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders. Arthur sat back in his chair, exhaling slowly, as though the weight of the conversation had drained something from him.
“We’re not asking for your approval,” George said quietly, his voice softer now but no less firm. “But we’re telling you this because you’re our family. And you need to understand—we’re not going anywhere.”
And for a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, its soft glow casting long shadows across the walls. You could feel the tension slowly easing, not gone, but no longer suffocating.
Molly looked up at George, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just don’t want to lose you too.”
George’s hand pressed more firmly against your back, his eyes never leaving his mother’s. “You won’t.”
And with those words, the room settled into a fragile peace. The questions weren’t all answered, the wounds weren’t all healed, but for now, the truth of what you and George had was enough.
The cold air outside the Shell Cottage wrapped around you both like a veil, sharp and crisp against the rawness still lingering from the conversation inside. The quiet of the night felt too loud after the weight of Molly’s words, the accusations that still clung to your skin like an uncomfortable truth you hadn’t quite shaken off.
George walked beside you in silence, his footsteps heavy against the dirt path leading away from the house. His hand was still gripping yours, not in the easy way it usually did, but tighter, more like an anchor. You both needed one, after the storm of unspoken feelings that had passed through the sitting room, leaving everything raw and exposed.
For a long while, neither of you spoke. There was nothing to say that hadn’t already been felt in the suffocating air of that house. The questions Molly had raised—Fred’s name hovering over everything, like a ghost—had struck deeper than either of you wanted to admit. And yet, as the distance between you and the house grew, the space between you and George felt even heavier, filled with the unspoken truths you were both still trying to hold on to.
It wasn’t until you reached the edge of the ocean that George finally stopped, letting go of your hand and running his fingers through his hair, a gesture full of frustration. His breath came out in a shaky exhale, mist forming in the cold air as he stood there, staring at the sky, but not really seeing it.
“She doesn’t get it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice thick with anger and something that sounded like guilt. “None of them do.”
You watched him for a moment, his posture tense, shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to protect himself from the world. He was trying to hold everything in, keep everything contained. But you knew better. You knew how much the weight of Fred’s memory pressed on him, how much the guilt gnawed at him in ways he would never admit, even to you.
“They’re afraid,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. “They’re afraid of losing you”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he kicked at a loose stone on the ground. “Afraid of what? That we’re living a lie? That we don’t know what the hell we’re doing?”
His words hit the air, sharp and jagged, but you could hear the undercurrent of hurt beneath them. He wasn’t just angry at his parents. He was angry at himself, at the world, at everything that had led to this moment. The loss of Fred had left scars neither of you could ignore, but it wasn’t those scars that worried you. It was the way George carried them, like an invisible weight he thought he had to bear alone.
“You know that’s not what they mean,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “They’re just—confused. They look at us and see something else. They can’t help it. And maybe they’ll never stop.”
George’s jaw clenched, his eyes still fixed on some distant point, his voice a low rumble. “I don’t care if they see Fred. I care that they don’t see us.”
There it was—the heart of it. The fear that Molly’s words had stirred, the one that had been simmering beneath the surface of your relationship for as long as you could remember. You had both found each other in the ruins of what Fred’s death had left behind, but the world would never stop seeing Fred between you. You would always be her—the girl who had loved Fred, the girl who now loved his twin.
You moved closer to George, your hand slipping into his, not to pull him back to you, but to remind him that you were still there. Still with him, no matter what anyone else thought. “I see us,” you whispered, your voice steady but full of emotion. “I see what we are. And I’m not going to let anyone tell me this isn’t real.”
He turned to face you then, his eyes dark, full of conflict. “What if they’re right?” he asked, his voice softer now, a vulnerability creeping in that he rarely let show. “What if… what if this is all just… us trying to make something out of the mess Fred left behind?”
The words cut deep, because you had thought them too, late at night when everything was too quiet and your own doubts crept in. But you knew—just as he knew—that what you had wasn’t built on Fred’s memory. It was something else, something that had grown slowly between you and George, through shared pain, through shared love, but separate from what had come before.
You reached up, your fingers brushing the side of his face, feeling the tension there, the way he tried to hold himself together even as he was coming undone. “We’re not trying to make something out of Fred’s shadow,” you said quietly, but with a firmness that came from deep inside you. “We’re building something new, something that’s ours.”
George closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as if he needed the reassurance, the grounding. His breath was shaky, and when he opened his eyes again, there was something raw there, something broken but healing. “I don’t know how to let them see that,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I don’t know how to make them see me without seeing Fred.”
His words hung in the cold night air, full of the guilt and the love he carried in equal measure. And you understood. You understood because it wasn’t just his burden to bear. It was yours too. You loved Fred, and you loved George, but they were not the same. And yet, convincing the world of that felt impossible.
“You don’t have to make them see anything,” you said softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “You just have to live it. We both do.”
George’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you, standing on the edge of something neither of you could fully explain, but both of you were ready to face. Together.
“What if they never accept it?” he asked, his voice a soft whisper, full of doubt but also hope.
You smiled, a small, quiet smile, and shook your head. “Then we keep living anyway.”
And with those words, the weight of Molly’s accusations, of the world’s expectations, seemed to ease—just a little. It wasn’t gone, but it was no longer suffocating. Because in the end, it wasn’t about anyone else. It was about you and George.
George let out a slow breath, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer, his forehead resting against yours. The tension that had been weighing down on him began to ease, and there was a quiet release in the way he held you, as if finally letting go of something too heavy to carry.
“So you love me, huh?” he whispered, his voice hoarse, full of everything he couldn’t quite say, but there was a lightness there now—something softer, more familiar. The darkness of the night, the weight of Molly’s words, seemed to fade just a little in that moment, and you could hear the playfulness threading through his question. It was the first time all night you had heard it, that quiet spark of the George you knew was still there beneath the surface.
You felt your chest tighten slightly—you hadn’t said it before. The weight of those words, of the truth behind them, had been sitting in your chest for so long, and now that you’d let them out, there was no going back. You hadn’t told George that you loved him yet, not like this, not with the rawness of it so exposed. You’d felt it, every day, but saying it aloud was different. It made it real, undeniable. And for the first time, you felt the vulnerability that came with it.
You smiled, a small, soft smile, and you leaned in just enough to brush your nose against his. “I do,” you whispered back, the words easy, natural, even though they felt so much bigger. “And don’t pretend you didn’t already know that.”
His lips twitched into a half-smile, something mischievous flickering in his eyes as he looked at you. “Well, it’s nice to hear it said out loud,” he murmured, his voice rough but teasing, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed. “You know, just in case I wasn’t entirely sure.”
You raised an eyebrow, playing along, the weight of the night beginning to lift as you felt the familiar tug of his humor. “Oh, you weren’t sure? Should I say it again, then?” Your fingers traced lightly over his jaw, your voice turning playful. “Or maybe I should just make it more obvious.”
George’s eyes darkened slightly, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. His forehead stayed pressed against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered, “I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”
You laughed softly, the sound breaking through the stillness of the night, and for the first time since leaving the Burrow, you felt lighter, the tension that had gripped both of you finally loosening its hold. “I love you,” you said quietly, the words a little softer, a little more serious now, but with a warmth that ran deep. “I love you, George. And I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes softened at that, the playful edge fading just a little as something more vulnerable flickered in his gaze. “Good,” he whispered, his voice low, almost tender. “Because I don’t think I could do this without you.”
You tilted your head slightly, your fingers still tracing the line of his jaw. “You won’t have to.”
The words hung between you, quiet but certain, and for a moment, the world felt still again, the weight of the future, of the questions still left unanswered, all falling away. It was just you and George, standing under the stars at the edge of the ocean, with Shell Cottage behind you, the waves lapping softly against the shore, their rhythm calming in the stillness of the night.
George's lips twitched again, this time into a full smile, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me if I love you too?” His eyebrows lifted, that familiar spark in his eyes returning in full force. “Or am I just supposed to let you carry this all on your own?”
You felt yourself laughing again, warmth spreading through your chest, easing away the tension that had clung to both of you all night. “Go on then,” you teased, nudging him gently. “Say it. I’m waiting.”
George’s smile softened, and for a moment, the playfulness faded into something real, something raw. He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, his lips brushing just against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice low but filled with certainty. “And I’m not going anywhere either.”
You closed your eyes for a brief second, letting those words settle over you, and then pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Good,” you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips. “Because I might just need to hear that again, too.”
George let out a quiet chuckle, pulling you even closer, his arms tightening around your waist as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “I’ll remind you as many times as you need,” he whispered softly against your skin. “Because I’m not letting you forget.”
And with that, standing by the edge of the ocean, with the stars scattered above and the distant waves murmuring against the shore, the world seemed to settle into a fragile peace. The weight of everything else—the questions, the uncertainty—fell away, leaving just you and George, wrapped in something that was yours and yours alone. No, George had never been Fred, and he would never be anything other than exactly who he was. His own. Yours
