I don't have to answer the voices in my head

It took him some time, but George Weasley learned how to be one, rather than one-of-two.

He kept the shop open, and without Fred there to steal the show (keep them laughing), he learned how to make Verity laugh on his own, and how to kiss her, and how to ask her to marry him.

He raised children of his own: Annie, Ben, Caroline, David and his twin Edmund, Gracie (Verity wanted to call her Fiona until he begged her not to), and Hugh. Not one of them went into Gryffindor, and George found he didn't mind at all.

Verity was a very wise woman. She never asked the obvious questions, and George never forgot to tell her how important she was, nor to credit his parents with teaching him to leave no doubts in the hearts of those he loved. Verity was wise enough not to point out that Molly and Arthur were probably a lesser influence in that respect.

When Verity was a memory of nearly seven years and all of his children were themselves great-grandparents, fifty-three Weasleys and fourteen Potters through Hogwarts and more always to come, George went to bed alone one warm spring night, and woke to the sounds of a busy train station.

He sat up and found himself on a bench at King's Cross, surrounded by faces he knew. There was Harry, gone two years before Verity, and Bill and Fleur together, gone only a year. Victoire sat near them with Teddy, playing something a bit like Exploding Snap, only the cards didn't blow up when Teddy slapped them down.

"Well bugger, I've gone and died, haven't I?" he murmured, and wasn't surprised in the least when a warm hand clapped down on his shoulder and a laugh like a mad jarvey sounded just behind him.

"Took you long enough, Georgie-old-son! You know, your Annie -

(scarlet fever, such a Muggle affliction to take a witch)

- says you've kept it all going, the shop and the Wheezes. What's this I hear about a new range of marital aids, hmm?"

George cackled and leaned back so he could see Fred. "You would've had fun, Freddie. Harry and Ron and Hermione, they did a lot to move us forward. Changed a lot of minds about Muggles and their ideas."

"Yeah? Brilliant. Thought you were going to follow me sooner, you know. Didn't want that. Who'd keep the authorities on their toes if we were both dead, hey?"

George grinned, relaxing as he surveyed their surroundings. "This place isn't so bad, but why hasn't anyone got on a train and left? I mean, train station, there's got to be a way to leave."

"Wasn't time yet," Fred informed him. "There isn't really a set schedule, but we've all been waiting for something. Oi, Colin! Look who finally made it!"

Creevey waved as he passed, smiling. "George, good to see you!"

Fred came around the end of the bench and sat next to George. "So you know I've a question for you, don't you?"

George knew. "Go on and ask it, then."

"Was it worth it? Any of it?"

George swallowed hard once, twice. "I lost you, Fred. I was lost. But yeah, it was worth it. Look around, they'll tell you too. It was worth it."

Annie Weasley, perpetually thirteen, bounded out from behind a pillar and waved frantically at everyone. "The train's come!"

I jumped on the bandwagon again. A shock, I know. Inspired by celandineb, and my own uncontrollable urge to promote pretty much any pairing involving a happy Snape. 327 words, G-rated, single-voice crack.

---

5 Reasons Snape Puts Up With Harry, or, Love Isn't One of Them
An interview with Rita Skeeter

You people ask the most intrusive questions. Why must you persist? Does it really matter, why I don't send him to live with Weasleys, or on his own?

Oh very well, Albus. Why I agreed to hang your bloody portrait in my home, I'll never know. Meddling old bugger, I'm sure it was actually Potter's idea.

I do not send Harry Potter away because he keeps the place in order. I know all of the standard housekeeping charms, but Tergeo and Scourgify are not the same thing as on-your-knees effort, are they?

I have yet to evict The Walking Bird's Nest for the simple reason that I am not used to a great deal of discussion. While he keeps house here, he also usually manages to deter fools who feel it necessary to track me down and pester me with questions, the answers to which are most assuredly none of their bloody business. Do not drip that vile pink excuse for ink on my furnishings, Skeeter.

I permit the annoying twit to inhabit my home because he's a reasonably good cook. His holiday meals are quite satisfactory, despite the company he insists on including. Weasleys. It's always Weasleys. And Granger. And that positively insufferable French bint who married one of the Weasleys. And their children...

I keep the Boy-Who-Lived about the place as a reminder that we are not who we believed ourselves to be when we were young. I am not a glory-seeking Dark Master. Potter is not a golden idol to be followed by the masses. Neither of us is the child who first set foot in the Great Hall of Hogwarts... and it is entirely possible that we never were.

Besides all that, I love the little green-eyed idiot, don't I? Dearest Merlin, I knew you'd drop your quill. Spell that ink out of my rug immediately, or I shall not be held responsible for what happens to you.

And Albus... do shut up.

Title: Her Hair
Author: soberloki
Word Count: 400
Prompt: Ginny thinks about her hair.
Notes: Hey, nobody said the 'her' had to be Ginny, right?


( Her hair... )