Beginning Again

"Courage is not a man with a gun in his hand. It's knowing you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do." -Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

AN: Because George's new beginning is the very definition of courage. Mentions sex, generally depressing thoughts, and Hermione's movie scar. It wanted to show up in this piece, so I let it.

George never really noticed it until was on his own - but being a Weasley was positively exhausting.

There was always someone to talk to at the Burrow, but now it was never the one person he would give anything to talk to one more time. He found it extremely difficult to even think straight, to the point where he wondered if he had been connected to his twin through his brain and now that he was gone, so was a large part of his cognitive ability.

He might have actually expected that, though. What he never could have predicted was the numbness.

In his darkest moments, when he had pictured losing loved ones, he always imagined feelings of rage and sorrow, but he barely felt those at all anymore. Really, he barely felt anything. And while relishing in the apathy probably wasn't healthy, he couldn't seem to find the energy to stop it.

He actually did try to keep up, at first. He would spend all his time with the remaining members of his family, trying to let a few of their many emotions rub off on him. He even attempted to make conversation for the first few days, but it all became so much that he eventually just stopped talking, and he reveled in the bitter chill of his own indifference.

It had been three weeks since he had even heard his own voice.

At first, it freaked everyone out. They would all approach him – sometimes alone, sometimes together – until Ron (Ron, of all people) finally told them all off and demanded they leave him be.

He spent two more days in his room, just to make sure they had listened.

Then he grew tired of himself, and he joined the rest of them. He stayed silent - he couldn't really think of anything to say, anymore – but he joined them. And he was struck by just how much he could take in, when he wasn't always concerned about what witty thing he was going to say next.

For example, he discovered that Bill and Fleur could have conversations without speaking. There were several tense moments at dinner over the past few weeks where George could see them talking, as strange as it sounds. Fleur would start to open her mouth, and Bill would glare at her - then there would be several different looks back and forth before she either decided to speak, or not to. As far as George could tell, she spoke about half of what she thought- and that seemed to be the right amount, considering how much the other women in the family seemed to have warmed up to her lately.

His oldest brother, however, was downright boring compared to his youngest. George hadn't expected to become so fascinated with Ron, but he couldn't help it - he barely recognized the young man moving around the house in his younger brother's skin. While George sat in the corner overwhelmed by the Burrow's seemingly revolving door, Ron seemed to grow more confident with every entrance and exit. Beyond his usual bond with Harry and his new relationship with Hermione (which was far from shocking, to be honest), he also found himself in numerous and seemingly important conversations with the rest of their family and quite a few order members too. Hell, he even managed to survive a long-overdue "When a witch and wizard love each other very much" conversation with their father. George was only listening in from the other room and he nearly lost his composure.

George wondered what had happened to Ron while he was on the lam that changed him so drastically. And then, almost immediately, George wondered if the change was really drastic at all - or if he had just stopped paying attention so long ago that the end result seemed much more radical than it was. He was curious enough to find out, so he continued to watch his youngest brother (and by association, his friends), vowing one day to ask him which one of his hypotheses were true.

When he finally decided he had come up with a thought worth vocalizing, he was seated next to Boy Wonder in the back garden. Ron and Hermione were not too far away, although for how much they noticed the world around them they might as well have been in their own galaxy. Harry, to his credit, didn't seem to mind. In fact, George suspected that Harry actually appreciated his company, possibly because he knew it would be silent.

In the end, it was probably Harry's expectation of his silence that led him to speak.

"Were they like that the entire time you three were gone?" George asked, his voice hoarse from underuse. If Harry was surprised to hear from him, he managed not to show it.

"No," he said, with an exhale that probably would have been a laugh, had he been a different young man in a different world. "Although, really, it's possible I didn't notice. I was kind of out of it for a while there."

"Hmm," George said, by way of a response. He intended to let the conversation end, but it seemed that now that he'd started talking, he wasn't quite ready to stop. "You know, for a while there I couldn't figure out why they were even friends. They didn't seem to have anything in common at all… besides you, I guess. I thought maybe they just put up with each other for your sake."

Harry regarded him with a thoughtful expression that George had never seen on his face before.

"I thought so too, for a while. But I was all wrong," Harry responded with a satisfied smile, as if he had just said something profound- but George was lost.

"How so?" he asked

"Well, it's the other way around," Harry continued, as if his statement made perfect sense. "Ron's the one who keeps us together."

He spoke with such certainty that George instantly believed him. Of course, it was his brother that kept the golden trio functioning - who else would it be? The Boy-Who-Lived-In-A-Room-With-Bars? The Girl-Who-Needs-You-To-Know-That-She-Knows-It-All? Neither were exactly known for their social skills. It seemed obvious, now that it had been pointed out to him. How could he have missed it?

George's chest clenched with what he assumed was shame, but it had been so long since he had felt anything but loss he almost couldn't identify it. He didn't know how to respond to Harry's revelation-that-should-not-have-been, so he didn't.

As far as he could tell, Harry hadn't told anyone about their conversation in the garden. No one had been treating him any differently, and if George knew anything about his family, it's that they couldn't keep anything to themselves- so he assumed that they didn't know.

It took 3 days' worth of silence to pluck up the energy, but he finally decided he was ready to start another conversation.

"What's wrong with your arm?" he asked Hermione as they watched Ron, Ginny, and Harry throw the quaffle around over their heads.

Hermione was not nearly as discreet as Harry was. She stared at him wide-eyed for a long minute before answering.

"There's nothing wrong with my arm," she lied, as she pulled her long sleeve even further over her wrist.

"Bullocks. It's hot as fiendfyre out here and you've been wearing long sleeves since we got back. What's wrong with your arm?" he repeated.

"It's not hot as fiendfyre," she protested, her eyes looking more through him than at him.

He huffed and shook his head in disbelief.

"I suppose you know that from experience," he said, needlessly, for it was quite obvious from her far-away look that she was caught up in a memory. "I'm sorry," he apologized. You don't need to tell me. I was just curious."

"Trust me, you don't want to know," she answered, picking absentmindedly at the blades of grass that tickled her ankles and bare feet.

"Can't be as bad as the hole in the side of my head, can it?" he asked with a shrug.

She turned toward him again, and she wasn't looking through him anymore. He held her gaze as she regarded him thoughtfully, before rolling up her sleeve.

"You tell me," she said, looking away again.

He looked down, and he saw red. He found the anger strangely satisfying,

"Please tell me that you killed the son-of-a-bitch that did that to you," he growled, clenching and unclenching his fist, enjoying the rush of blood through his veins. He could almost see the blood pumping through his fair freckled skin, and he marveled for a moment about how he could feel so alive and not at the same time.

"I tried," she admitted with a wry smile that no one her age should know how to make. "Couldn't get her. She's dead, though," she continued. "You can thank your mother for that."

Hermione didn't look eager to continue their conversation, and George didn't press her. Instead, he focused on the heat that was still coursing through his body and the insistent (and surprisingly not unwelcome) beating of his heart.

George started his next conversation just as he had the last three - with a question.

"Why's The Chosen One so jumpy around you?" he asked his sister late one evening in the sitting room.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him before smirking, and he instantly regretted his question.

"I suggested we celebrate his birthday in a way that he thinks might jeopardize his friendship with Ron," she said, with a glint in her eye he recognized all too well.

George actually flushed with embarrassment. His ear grew warm in a way it hadn't in years, and he squeezed his eyes shut to rid himself of that flirty look on his little sister's face.

"There are some things an older brother does not need to know," he informed her, opening his eyes wide enough to see her reaction.

"Georgie, did I make you uncomfortable?" she laughed, tugging on his one remaining (still very warm) ear.

"Aren't you 8 years-old? Last time I checked, I could have sworn you were 8," he insisted, shrugging her off. Ginny snorted.

"Some days I feel like I'm 80," she admitted. He grunted in agreement.

"He's right, you know," George said after a moment of silence.

"Who?"

"Harry. Ron'll kill him," George declared. Ginny laughed.

"Oh, that depends."

"On?"

"On whether or not Hermione's let him in her knickers," Ginny said flippantly. George choked on a breath he was attempting to inhale, and Ginny patted him on the back, laughing.

"Please," he gasped, straining to get the words out, "Please please please let me be the one to find out that information."

Ginny regarded him skeptically.

"Are you offering to help me convince Harry to -"

George put both his hands over his remaining ear and interrupted her.

"No! I am going to pretend that my embarrassing of Ron is completely independent of your corruption of Harry Potter," George declared.

"But you're going to tell me the result of your interrogation?" she inquired.

"I'm going to tell everyone the results of my interrogation," George assured her.

They shared a conspiratorial look and shook on it, before breaking out in identical laughter. The familiarity of that moment pained George at first, until Ginny winked at him and flounced out of the room wearing that flirty look that had disturbed him earlier. George made an exaggerated gagging noise in her general direction, and genuinely smiled warmly when she stuck her tongue out of him in response.

Ron had been watching George out of the corner of his eye for days now. George supposed that meant his secret was out, but he still wasn't quite up for daily conversation so he pretended not to notice. As far as he could tell, though, Ron was the only one looking at him differently- so he supposed word of his recent break of silence hadn't traveled outside the fearsome foursome that was his younger siblings and their significant others.

It took a few more days for him to approach Ron, however, because it was almost impossible to catch him alone these days.

He finally found his opportunity on the other side of their Outback Adventure, when Hermione decided to spend a few nights alone with her parents in order to help set things right. George happened on Ron brooding at the kitchen table with a tumbler full of Firewhiskey, and he knew the perfect question to ask.

"Is there enough in that bottle for the both of us?" he rasped.

Ron looked up and grinned at him.

"I thought you'd never ask," he responded, pouring his brother a glass. "Nice to hear from you."

"Aw, was ickle Ronnie feeling left out because his big brother was ignoring him?" George pouted facetiously.

Ron rolled his eyes. "You know, I was fine drinking alone."

"Nobody who is fine drinks alone," George reasoned.

"I'll drink to that," Ron said. And he did.

"I'm surprised your prefect girlfriend lets you drink," George stated, wincing as the familiar burn warmed his insides.

Ron shrugged instead of taking the bait.

"Not going to defend her honor?" George goaded him. Ron laughed.

"The last thing Hermione needs is someone to defend her. She can handle that all on her own."

"Ah, but you're admitting that she is your girlfriend?" George questioned. Ron shrugged again.

"I guess you could call her that."

"What do you call her?"

"Hermione," Ron stated, grinning. George rolled his eyes.

"Seriously. Is Hermione your girlfriend?"

"We're together, if that's what you're asking," Ron finally replied, and he finally had the decency to blush. George couldn't help it; he smiled.

"How 'together' are we talking?" he pressed, his eyebrows waggling suggestively.

"You're kidding, right?" Ron responded, after taking another gulp of his drink. "You don't speak to me for weeks, and when you finally do, all you want to talk about is…" Ron trailed off, waving his free hand as if looking for an appropriate word to complete his question.

"Aaaaand there's my answer," George sighed dramatically, slouching in his chair in mock disappointment.

"How is that an answer?" Ron spat.

"If you can't say the word 'sex' in a conversation with your big brother over a drink, you're not having it," George explained. "Well, you'll have to let me know when you do. I want to know if what they say about the bookish ones is true."

George barely finished his sentence before Ron all but slammed his glass onto the table in front of them. He looked up to find Ron glaring at him.

"Don't talk about her like that," Ron grumbled, looking away. George raised an eyebrow.

"I thought she doesn't need you to defend her honor?" he asked.

"She doesn't," Ron answered. George waited for him to elaborate, but Ron seemed to grow tired of talking. Instead of continuing the conversation, he chose to stare at the bottom of his empty glass.

George, however, was not yet finished speaking - not now that he had just started - so he attempted to defend himself.

"Hey, come on now - we're drinking. Blokes talk about girls when they're drinking."

"I don't mind talking about Hermione," Ron said frostily, "but if all you're going to do is pry enough information out of me to make fun of her later, you can just go back to not talking."

"Look, I'm sorry," George said, finally, his face heating up with guilt. "I'm just trying to bond, all right? This shite isn't as easy when you can't read the mind of the brother that you're talking to."

His admission seemed to soften Ron a bit, for the anger in his eyes dimmed and he poured himself another drink.

"It's complicated," Ron breathed finally.

"Your sex life?" George risked. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Our relationship," Ron admitted. "I know her better than anyone, but at the same time I don't, because everything's different now."

It was probably the truest thing Ron had ever said, and George couldn't do anything but grunt in response. Ron seemed to realize who he was talking to, and his eyes widened.

"I'm sorry!" he rushed, "I didn't mean - I mean, compared to you - Of course you know -" He ran his overlarge palm over his reddening face. "I'm sorry," he repeated plainly.

"Don't be," George said gruffly. "I know what you mean." He looked Ron over briefly before asking the question that started this whole journey, so many weeks ago. "When did you get so wise?"

"I'm not," Ron denied quickly. He must have caught the look of disbelief on George's face, because he clarified. "I don't feel that much different. Everything else just is, I guess."

"It is, isn't it?" George asked rhetorically. His chest tightened before the words got out, and the heat prickling behind his eyes threatened to give way. He couldn't tell what was more overwhelming - the unfamiliar rush of affection he felt for his little brother, the unforgiving pull of grief for his twin that seemed to remember where it was supposed to reside at that exact moment. Because he couldn't decide which one to focus on, he let them both overtake him.

Being a Weasley was positively exhausting. George still wasn't sure he could handle it on his own, but lately, he felt a little more like trying.