Fred. Angelina. Fred II.
It was the day before the wedding. Everything seemed perfect from his tux to the rings down to the tea they will be serving after the ceremony. Everything except for one: there was no Best Man. Excusing himself from dinner, George climbed up and entered what was once Fred and George’s room, now occupied by him, Angie, and little Fred. Memories of yesteryears came creeping in— those summers where they’d constantly blow up their room until Mum couldn’t take it anymore and told them that she’d send both of them to Aunt Muriel for the remaining weeks if they didn’t stop; Christmases where they’d spend endless hours looking for everyone’s presents and opening them up and then try to wrap it back again but fail so they try to put the blame on Ron instead; birthdays where they’d try to guess what flavor Mum used for their cake this year; and just regular days where they’d charm their ceiling into different sceneries and lie on their bed, watch, and take in the beauty of it all while promising each other that they’d one day go on a holiday, just the two of them, and explore these wonderful places.
"What are you doing, just standing there?" Ron’s voice pulls him out of his reverie. George turns towards his brother and gives him a half-hearted smile,
"He would’ve given a bloody brilliant speech…"
"Too bad I’ll never get to hear it."
Not knowing what else to say or do, Ron gives George a light pat on the back and starts walking out of his brother’s room. A sudden crackling sound resonates throughout the Burrow and as Ron looked back, George was gone.
WAIT WHAT WHY?! MY BACK IS PERFECTLY FINE FROM WHAT I CAN SEE!!
The Weasley Stomp