Work Text:
George knew everyone was being far too understanding of his attitude. Fred had died, yes, but he also knew he wasn’t the only one who lost him. Or who had lost someone at all. And yet he didn’t care. If they continued to be understanding, then he would continue to need it.
He scratched at his scruffy chin. Fred had not been able to grow a beard, so George was growing one in order to face his own reflection. He hadn’t realized there was an itchy phase to get through though.
“Time to see who mum has left to babysit me,” he muttered as he walked down the rickety staircase of his childhood. He was back at his parents’ house after a breakdown at the apartment he had shared with Fred. His father had convinced him to put it on the market the next day.
He smelled the coffee as he rounded the final stairs, strong and not burnt. He looked into the kitchen, seeing a hot cup sitting next to a basket of muffins. No one was in the kitchen, nor in the living room. He looked into the basket and saw his favorite flavor of muffins. Lemon poppyseed.
Lemon poppyseed. They reminded him of spring and sunshine, something he realized vaguely had to be around the corner. Which… also meant he was closer to the anniversary he would prefer not to think about. He was feeling good today, no need to ruin it.
He bit into one of the muffins, still warm as if they were right from the oven. Whoever was watching him had also left a copy of the Daily Peophet folded and a few letters underneath. One was from Ron, giving George the daily details of how the shop was doing. George ignored it as he did most days. He didnt know why he hadn’t sold the shop, though he could chalk it up to Ron doing a decent job of running it. He should talk to him about taking over as another partner.
Another letter was from his brother Percy. His wife was due in a few weeks, George realized with a start. A girl, maybe? He couldn't quite remember a time before all this brain fog. He needed to visit Percy. And thank whoever had organized his mail, as it was helping him realize the brothers he was kind of neglecting.
He was reading through the rest of the mail, a note from Bill and one from Lee Jordan, munching on a third muffin when a loud crash came from the backyard. George jumped; he had forgotten he wasn’t alone. Usually his babysitters, especially new ones, didn’t let him out of their site for fear of him doing something stupid. Except for Harry. George did like when Harry was over, as he was still as broken as George was. They usually sat in silence, playing a game of chess or something. Or just left George in peace. Hermione was the opposite. She tended to try to get George to converse, discussing business documents, acting like everything is normal. He knew she meant well, and as angry as she made him he loved her for it. Besides, Ron can make the business decisions. Like never letting Hermione go.
But the person George saw through the kitchen window was short and blonde and female. Not Harry or Hermione, though definitely covered in mud. It took George a minute to place her — Luna Lovegood. One of Ginny’s friends.
“You okay?” George called out the kitchen window. She jumped at the sound of his voice, causing George to smile a little at the thought of him returning the scare. She turned around and waved, walking closer to the house.
“Sorry,” she laughed lightly. “The garden gnomes decided a friendly chat was too ominous.”
George debated waving her off and ignoring her for the day, but he was intrigued by her decision to not hover. He watched Luna for a moment as she went back to talk to the gnomes again. He had not been outside in weeks. The feel of sunshine on his skin was all he wanted now.
He flicked his wand, summoning his shoes, then headed out the door to help Luna with the garden gnomes. He stood next to her and held out a muffin.
“You know, an infestation of gnomes is a sign of a blessing for the family,” Luna said, accepting the muffin. “That being said, I didn’t think your mum would appreciate them eating your entire carrot patch.”
George looked at her out of the side of his eyes, keeping his head forward. “So you thought the best way was to talk to them?”
Luna shrugged. “It works in our garden. But I gather yours are a bit more used to force of some sort?”
George nodded. “We don’t use a jarvey or anything, and while we do toss them over the stones, it is never too far. Dad’s got a soft spot for them.” He felt himself tear up at the thought of the last time he de-gnomed the garden with Fred, Ron, and Harry. He tensed, preparing for Luna to start freaking out at the tears.
Instead, Luna smiled slightly, continuing to look forward. “My mum taught me how to talk to them when I was three or four. I would go into the garden with her holding our almost expired produce, while she talked to them gently about how we would help them find food if they would leave our garden. I would then give them the produce as the hopped over the fence.” She laughed slightly. “I actually have never been able to get gnomes to leave like her though. I wish she had shared her talents.”
George remembered that Luna’s mum had died while she was still young. It wasn’t a loss from the war, but he wasn’t quite sure how she lost her. He was debating asking her when she flicked her wand, summoning a bag of fertilizer. “Anyways, I offered to work on your mum’s garden today while she ran some errands. I had some extra fertilizer that my dad uses for our strawberry patches, and I was hoping it would help out with her eggplant patch. Plus, I am writing a paper on gnome culture for my Intro to Magizoologist course. You’re welcome to help of course.”
“I…I mean I have some…” George breathed out, letting all the excuses without it. “I would love to help.” He took one of the fertilizer bags from Luna and summoned some gloves.
While they could easily flick their wands and spread out the fertilizer, George knew Molly would kill him at the idea. “No amount of magic makes up for the love and time spent in a garden,” was something she had said his entire life, and while he would never admit it, he could taste the difference for the better. He asked Luna about her major, listening peacefully as she talked about the different kind of creatures she had studied and the ones she was debating researching for another class project. She talked about how she hated dissecting, but was pleased her professor had understood enough to explain that the creatures had died of natural causes or been donated to science and not raised just for research. But that she also knew she would have to face those kinds of animals if she planned on trying to cure anything.
Several hours past, the work hard and exhausting. They moved on from fertilizer to dropping the gnomes over the wall (with leftover produce and a stern talking to from Luna) and pruned the trees and bushes along the back wall. As they sat on the back steps relaxing before deciding what to do next, George realized it was the best morning he had had in years.
“Did you volunteer to watch me?” George blurted out in the middle of a conversation lull.
Luna blinked at him in confusion. She took a deep drink from her water then replied, “No, I did not volunteer to watch you. I really did discuss the research opportunity with your mum, though I do admit that it was after having dinner with Ginny and hearing about it.” She shrugged and looked at him directly. “If you had stayed in the house all day doing nothing, I wouldn’t have stopped you. But I will admit I had hoped you would help me.”
She summoned a few sandwiches, grapes, and crisps between the two of them. George picked up one of the sandwiches and inhaled it in two bites, realizing how hungry he was. Luna ate her sandwich a little slower, then looked at George again. “When my mum died, I wanted to lay around and do nothing. My dad let me too, for a few days. I cried out everything, then came the anger. To preserve our house, my dad directed me to the garden. I was allowed to bash anything I wanted or yell at the gnomes or just, whatever, but I had to do it outside, and I couldn’t just sit there. I was incredibly destructive for days. It’s amazing the nargles came back after the horrible way I treated them.” George chose not to comment. “After a few days I just began… working around the garden instead of destroying it.”
“Something about keeping busy to ignore it?” George asked.
“Not ignore it. I realize now that my dad had to grieve in his own way, and part of that was him taking care of me. He threw himself entirely into teaching me and The Quibbler. I threw myself entirely into fixing her garden. Something about helping something or someone else stay alive helped me get back to being okay. Thank god it wasn’t a pet though. I can’t imagine that loss later.”
George sat in silence for a few minutes, processing what Luna said. It made sense in a way. The only time George had felt close to okay in the last year was taking care of his and Fred’s owls. He refused to let either of them feel an ounce of despair, and he doted on them more now than ever. He ate a second sandwich.
“Will you come back tomorrow? I am thinking we can clear out the underbrush there and plant some kind of vegetable that doesn’t require as much sun."