Epilogue
George awakened alone in his bed. He catalogued his various aches and pains; they were, of course, too numerous to mention. Since nothing seemed new or unusual, he began the onerous process of getting out of bed. The day would probably come when he wouldn't be able to do so unaided, but that day, he thought with satisfaction, would not be today.
He was, however, a bit tired. Maybe he should skip Sunday breakfast at Winifred's. Her eggs were always woefully overdone anyway. George smiled fondly. That woman had a brain like a steel trap. Just like her mother. Couldn't boil water without burning it, though. Still, she'd insisted on taking over Sunday breakfast after Hermione had died, and thus a new tradition had been born. Every weekend her siblings, kids and grandkids packed into the house, no matter how bad the food was. It was a crazy, noisy, mess of a family, but it was always full of love, a fact of which George was justifiably proud.
But today, what he wanted was not the bustle of family, but silence and solitude. He wanted thinking time. And so, George took his morning meal in his obstreperous garden. It was spring, and every flower in the garden was in bloom. Rose and jasmine spread their scent, and the air was busy with insect and bird life. Hermione had always loved the garden in Spring. It made him feel close to her just to sit here.
Hermione. What a woman. Never backed down from a fight in all her life. The way she took on the Wizangamot…they never even saw her coming. She'd hit that patriarchal outdated mess of an institution, and brought it around to a model of efficiency and justice in just under a decade of focused work. But, important as she became, she never lost her humor. That the new procedures had been posthumously named the Granger Codex would have made her laugh hysterically.
They had had seventy fantastic, challenging, wonderful years together. She'd been the best partner in crime a man could ask for. George sighed…she'd been so beautiful to him that he had never even noticed when her hair grayed and the bloom faded from her cheeks. From the moment she'd sung that birthday song until three years ago when she'd closed her eyes for the last time, she had been his brightest joy.
George teared up, and promptly laughed at himself. He sure was maudlin today, reminiscing like an old fart. Of course, he was 97 year old…If the shoe fit…Anyway, he was entitled to do a bit of musing about his life, wasn't he?
What a life. It humbled him to think of how fortunate he'd been. Joy and sorrow in equal measure. He could see now just how intertwined the two had been, how the losses had given depth to the joys. The pain had highlighted the happiness, so that it was impossible all these years later to pinpoint where one ended and the other began.
It was all so…so rich. Yes, that was it. Rich, like a fine meal, full of complexity, texture and contrast. And love. Such love. Fred. Gods, how he'd loved that miserable arse. Never stopped loving him, did he? Named his first after him, even though she'd been a girl. Winnifred. Always, secretly his favorite. Course, he loved all the kids. So blasted different they were, every single one of them. Then, they gave him grandkids, and didn't he and Hermione have a ball with that one! There was no joy in life like holding your child's child for the first time. And Hermione. His Hermione. How he'd loved her. As he thought about it all he found it amazing that his heart had felt so much love and hadn't burst like an overfilled balloon. He was, he knew, an unfairly lucky bastard.
George, humming contentedly to himself, tipped his heavily lined face up to the sun. What had his brother said? That he'd had a good run? That was it. Precisely. He'd had a damned good run.
A shadow passed over George's face, but he kept his eyes closed. "Think of the devil. I know you're here. I can feel you." He opened one rheumy eye. "Been wondering when you'd be by."
Fred smiled rakishly. "Damn, you're good looking!"
Despite the long years between them, George's smile was still an identical copy of Fred's. "Yes, we are, aren't we? You sure took your time getting here. I've been ready for months now. Business all transferred, odds and ends all put away. Were you on vacation or something? Couldn't rustle up enough time for your dear old brother?"
Fred, unruffled, peered into George's teapot. "These things happen in their own time. Can't be rushed." He poured a bit more hot water from the kettle. "I'm here right when I'm supposed to be."
George scowled half-heartedly. "Look who's all Buddha-like now. Pour me a bit more while you're at it. So what now? Do I get a peak at these famous perks of yours?"
"All those and more. Everyone's waiting for you. Mum, Dad, Ronron…"
"And Hermione?"
Fred smiled, understanding. "She more than anyone. But you knew that, didn't you?"
George reflexively straightened his bathrobe. Wouldn't do to be untidy when he saw his girl again. "Yes, I did." He took a sip of his tea and savored it. "I had a good run, didn't I?"
Fred placed an unlined hand over George's wrinkled one. "We both did."
"So, how long?"
Fred shrugged his shoulders. Can't tell, really. My guess would be a minute or two, not more. I'll stay with you the whole time."
"Damned straight you will. You left without me twice; I'm not letting you leave me behind again."
George took his last minute to look around him. How he'd loved that house! And that willow….how many times had he and Hermione snuck out to make love under its branches? The arbor they'd been married under…how many grandchildren had tied the knot under its roses? Six? Seven? Oh, well, the number was unimportant. What was important was that the love had kept on coming, would keep coming, he knew, long after he was gone.
George was momentarily distracted by a sharp tightening in his chest. It was painful. But he wasn't afraid of pain. And he knew it would be over soon. He found himself curiously pleased that it would be his heart that would do the job. He smiled. Guess the old ticker would burst with love after all.
George Weasley closed his eyes for the last time, and tipped his face to the sun.
Yes, he thought, as the sunlight dimmed, it was enough.
The End.
In dearest memory of John Adalbert Mastny (1972-1992) whose love gave my life incomparable richness.
AN: To my dear readers, thank you so much for taking this journey with me. I set out to write a love story between my favorite character, Hermione Granger, and an "unknown" (to me) George Weasley. Well, it didn't turn out as I'd pictured it. Instead, we have a story of healing; in essence, a love story between George and life. Yes, Hermione was part of that, but mostly, this story belongs to George.
I thank you all for adjusting to this unforeseen change in direction with such generosity of spirit. Your support and encouragement has really kept me going.
In parting, I wish to leave you all with two simple bits of unsolicited advice:
Never forget that the human heart can heal from anything. And never give up on life…you never know what will come next.
Thank you, all of you, for walking with me.
With Gratitude,
Libby/Theolyn