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George will always remember the first of September 1998, seven years to the day that they had first met. He can remember that day so clearly; he was thirteen and he towered over Harry, whose eyes darted nervously around the platform and the train. He was so young, so innocent, so unaware of what awaited him in the next seven years. George swallows a lump in his throat as he thinks of it, of the way Harry’s so hardened , nothing like he was when he was eleven.
On the first of September 1998, seven years to the day they met, George goes to the platform. It’s kind of a spur of the moment decision that morning, to dress himself in a wrinkled tee shirt with trembling hands and apparate to the Burrow to hug his mother and see his sisters off to school.
He didn’t expect him to be there, but Harry is, well, Harry, in that he’s impulsive and likes spurs of the moment, too.
The summer had been a period of grief and funerals and celebration and growing, the most exhausting few months of George’s life. He hadn’t left his bed or eaten or showered or dressed for weeks after the last battle and, according to Percy, who George lived with during those few months, Harry hadn’t either. George figures they’re broken in the same way and they were coping in the same way, too.
They’d seen each other once, in July, once George had managed to get himself up and dressed. It had been Harry’s eighteenth birthday, and Ron and Hermione had convinced him to go for just one drink at the Leaky Cauldron. George went because Ron had invited him but also because he’d been there for so many of Harry’s birthdays and he couldn’t miss this one.
They hadn’t spoken, not really. Harry saw George and he started to cry and George didn’t know what to do so he just held him tight against his chest and repeated it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay until it felt less like words and more like a prayer that only the two of them could understand. Once he’d managed to compose himself, Harry had given George a strange look that he couldn’t quite understand and he’d put his hand on George’s shoulder and just been there.
Harry looks different now, much older than eighteen. George had been eighteen when the war was just beginning to get bad and, when he looks back on old photographs, he can see the youth in his face. Harry, however, looks like he’s been alive for decades, not in an ugly way, more in a straight-backed and hardened way.
He’s got Teddy on his hip. George thinks he looks like a hot dad and he almost (almost) laughs at the thought. His hair is longer, reaching half-way down his ears, and he’s got this tattoo peeking from his collarbone. George can almost make out the date etched onto his brown skin, but he’s more focused on the fact that he could probably drown in Harry’s skin if he was allowed. It’s so much darker than his own and it’s so scarred but so beautiful and oh, no , Harry is coming closer to him and he’s kind of smiling and he’s so beautiful .
Harry looks at him and George wonders how he never noticed that Harry’s eyes are so green, eyes that green should be illegal. And he’s smiling for real now, baring his teeth and bouncing Teddy on his hip and his eyes are scanning George and George feels naked. He can’t believe how quickly he is unraveling under this boy’s stare, this boy who had grown up with him and who had saved the entire world as they knew it.
He’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful.
“Hey, George,” is the first thing Harry says and George doesn’t know how to reply. His name sounds so melodic coming from Harry’s mouth and he feels his heart skip a beat. Merlin, he feels like a pervert, thinking all of this about his little brother’s friend, who was broken like him and who he hadn’t really spoken to in so long. He can’t remember the last time they had spoken about something other than war.
“Hi, Harry. Hi, Teddy.” The last part is directed at the baby, who’s sporting red hair and blue eyes now, just like George. “Very handsome, indeed, little one.” Teddy giggles and Harry bites his lip to keep himself from grinning too much. George doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but he thinks he sees a blush of pink spread across Harry’s cheeks.
“I’ve, er, I’ve missed you. How are you?”
“I’ve missed you, too,” George blurts back before he can even register Harry’s question and, suddenly, he’s smiling, too. He’s really smiling and so is Harry and so is Teddy and he hears Ginny calling them to hurry their arses up, please, because she and Hermione are going to miss the train.
“How have you been?” repeats Harry as the two begin their walk toward the entrance to the platform, Teddy preoccupied with a toy Harry had conjured for him. George doesn’t really know how to respond. He could say Oh, I’ve been doing my best, but now I’m coming undone at the thought of you or I hope you feel the same or I think I’ve fancied you since I was fifteen or Please touch me again, in that way you did on your birthday. He settles for “okay” and he hopes Harry understands everything that okay holds.
Harry does because Harry has always understood. Okay means grieving and fighting and teaching yourself to breathe again and adjusting to a world without your favorite person. He knows and he understands because Harry is doing okay, too.
“What about you?” They’re onto Nine and Three Quarters now and Molly is checking over Ginny while Ron and Hermione share a kiss (or two, or three) themselves. Harry has this smile on his face, this real, genuine smile that George hasn’t seen since Harry was fourteen or so. Harry looks at him, really looks at him, and George feels his breath hitch in his throat.
“I’ve been okay. I’ve got Teddy most days and I’m, er, doing my best.”
George wants to talk, like really talk and tell Harry everything because he knows Harry would understand. They’re interrupted by Arthur who asks them to pose for a photo with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny and they do and they’re all smiling and Molly is crying. George holds Ginny in his arms and he doesn’t ever want to let go. He doesn’t want her going back to that place, but she tells him that she has to. It’s what Fred would’ve wanted. George gives her a smile that maybe looks more like a grimace but he kisses her on the cheek and he hugs her again and he tells her be safe and kick arse, Gin .
Hermione hugs him back just as tight. She’s like Harry; she understands him. She tells him to be safe and he tells her the same and Ron asks if she’s George’s girlfriend or his. Harry smacks him on the shoulder and Teddy’s little giggles at Ron’s pain make George smile. His chest feels a little tight and he feels a little lightheaded when he watches Ginny and Hermione board the train, but he is smiling.
Molly invites them both, George and Harry and, by extension, Teddy, back to the Burrow for lunch. George wants to say no, to go back home and do nothing and count the platform as his therapy for the day, but Ron is looking at him with a look of sadness and pity and anger and love and Harry is just staring him in the face and Molly is still crying and Arthur is silent but wanting. George says okay and Molly breaks into a smile. Merlin, he hasn’t seen this many smiles in a long time.
They apparate back to the Burrow and Molly bustles into the kitchen to make lunch. Arthur follows quick behind her, leaving Harry, Ron, and George alone outside with Teddy. It’s silent for a moment, not too awkward with Teddy’s presence. Harry clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair, and George tries his best not to stare too intently. It’d be weird, to look at him that way in front of Ron.
“Ron, mate, do you think you can take Teddy inside for a bit? I wanted to ask George something about the shop.” George gapes at Harry, his eyebrows raised, as Ron hesitantly takes the infant and walks inside, turning his head back every few steps to watch Harry and George. Ron is inside and the door is shut before Harry motions to the bench nearby and they sit. George tries not to notice that their thighs are touching. They’re so close together that he can hear Harry’s breathing.
“I’ve been meaning to owl, you know,” George starts, and he has no idea where he’s going with this. “I’ve seen Ron and all of them a lot these past few months, but, er, you haven’t been ‘round much.” Harry seems to flinch a little at this and George wants to run away. He can’t believe he’s already messed it all up.
“I’m sorry, George, I really am. I thought you didn’t want to see me.” The last part is almost a whisper and it makes George so very sad. He had wanted to see Harry so bad, ever since that night, in the afterbirth of peace, when George had left Hogwarts as quickly as he could so he could just be away from it all.
“I did. Want to see you, I mean. And on your birthday, I wanted to stay longer and chat or something-”
“But, I was crying.” George smiles a little at Harry’s interruption and Harry looks up at him.
It’s one look, but, suddenly, George is back in that Ford Anglica at fourteen, saving this boy with a scar on his forehead and electricity in his chest from a prison disguised in suburbia. Suddenly, he’s fifteen and he’s giving him the map and Harry is bright-eyed in amazement and Fred is laughing and George is just looking at the way Harry’s face lights up when he’s happy. Suddenly, he’s seventeen and he’s watching Harry, who has always just been Harry, teach them all what it means to be a hero.
George doesn’t know what to say. Fred was always better with words than he was and Harry is all confidence and he’s fidgeting with his thumbs, uncomfortable under this boy’s gaze.
“I fancied you in school.” George snaps his head up, feeling the bones in his neck crack, and he stares, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights, at Harry. Harry’s smiling, but it’s nervous and his eyes are darting around George’s face in a desperate attempt to gauge his reaction. Several moments pass and Harry looks embarrassed and shifty and George still doesn’t know what to say.
“Listen, I’m sorry for assuming you’d care. I don’t know what I was thinking. We can just forget-”
“Would you still?”
It’s Harry’s turn to stare with wide eyes. George’s head is throbbing and his heart is beating so quickly he’s afraid it might burst out of his chest. He wonders if time is slowing down around them or if he’s just going mad.
“Still fancy you?” George’s face is hot as he nods slowly, his gaze meeting Harry’s.
“If the war hadn’t happened and if I hadn’t lost my ear and if everything hadn’t gone to shit, would you still?” George asks, startling himself with the way his voice came out of nowhere, spewing his words. Harry looks down and then back up at George with a fierce look that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.
“George, I probably would still fancy you if you’d turned out to be a water demon or something.” George feels the smile grow on his face and his palms are sweaty and it’s silent. Maybe it’s Fred’s spirit pushing him to stop being a knobhead or maybe he’s just so done with being alone, but he feels the words spilling out of his mouth.
“Can I kiss you?” It’s not as passionate as just going for it, but George doesn’t want to be wrong. He doesn’t want to mess it all up when it’s there, in his reach. Harry is smiling so brightly that George thinks he might go blind just from the light of it all. He’s nodding, Harry is nodding, and George is too busy berating himself for not picking up on it sooner to realize that Harry is waiting.
Harry crashes forward impatiently and his lips connect with George’s and George feels invigorated. Harry breathes life into George and George feels the warmth coming back to his skin and he’s smiling into the kiss and he wonders how he’d survived this long without it. Their noses bump a little, but it’s so perfect that George wouldn’t care if Harry punched him in the face right then.
Harry’s hands are on his face and George feels more at home than he has since Fred died. He feels lightning in his mouth and in his lungs and his hands. He feels so alive . He’s so beautiful.
Harry finally pulls away, lips a little red and swollen but smiling.
“I fancied you, too.” Harry laughs again, and it’s music to George’s ear. George leans forward and they kiss again and, this time, it’s like everything coming together to make such sweet music. They’re both so broken and so afraid and so cohesive, puzzle pieces coming together to make something so beautiful. He’s so beautiful .
“Oh, wow, okay.” Bill Weasley’s familiar voice makes Harry and George jump apart onto opposite ends of the bench. Fleur is on his arm and she’s giggling with pink cheeks and Bill is staring at them with a quirked eyebrow. Harry is laughing and George is smiling and the air is warm with the finalities of summer.
“Eet ‘ees about time,” Fleur says, her accent thick as she laughs.
“You know what, Fleur, I actually couldn’t agree more. Lunch, anyone?” Bill claps his hands together, grinning as he gestures toward the burrow. He and Fleur make their way toward the home, Bill stopping to turn his head and wink dramatically at George.
Harry stands and extends his hand. George takes it.
“It’s gonna be okay,” murmurs George as they make their way to the Burrow after Bill and Fleur. “You’re so beautiful.” The last part is directed at Harry and George smiles as Harry’s cheeks redden in a blush. He can’t believe the day he’s had.
“Merlin, Harry, it’s like you fancy me or something!” George jokes. Harry punches him in the shoulder, but he laughs as he pulls George in for another kiss. This moment tells them both everything they need to know. It’s okay, I’m here, I want to touch you forever, I want to give you forever, I will help you rebuild, I love you .
“Oy!” calls Ron from inside, “We can all see you! Come inside, please, we want to have a meal.”
Harry and George grin at each other, hands still interlocked, feeling the closest to whole that they have in a long time.