It was another three months before George saw her again. Three months of trying to come to terms with his grief over Fred’s loss and rebuilding his links with his family. Returning to them had not been easy. Admitting he had been a colossal arse even worse. But - much to his surprise - it had been Percy who had been the first to throw his arms around him and welcome him back.

“You are a nuisance, George Weasley,” Percy had hissed into his one remaining ear. “But you are our nuisance.”

“And you’re a prat, Perfect Percy,” replied George in kind, hugging his brother as tightly as Percy hugged him. “But you’re our prat.”

Once his mother had seen that, she had grabbed him and almost smothered him with kisses and hugs (and slaps to the back of the head).

And so, life had slowly returned to a semblance of normality.

Or as normal as it could be without Fred’s shining presence.

George spent plenty of time in his room, away from the boisterousness of his other siblings and Harry, but he would allow them in to comfort him when his grief was so overpowering he almost choked on it. And he returned the favour in kind, soothing his mother when he found her crying in the pantry one morning, or listening to Percy admit how much he wished he had been the one to die instead of Fred.

Percy had shaken his head, the tears he’d tried so hard to suppress spilling from his eyes, until George opened his arms to comfort his brother as Augusta Longbottom had done for him so many weeks ago.

Their relationship wasn’t ideal: they still rubbed each other up the wrong way at times. But then, that had been the way of things long before Percy’s estrangement from his family. So, all in all, George accepted it as a return to normal and was grateful for it.

Now, as he stood at the side of Courtroom 10 - the only hall in the Ministry of Magic large enough for the ceremony of awarding commendations to all those who had fought in the war - his eyes searched the crowd for one face in particular.

Or rather, one hat in particular.

He cursed softly. Where the ruddy heck was she? How could he lose a hat like that in a crowd like this?

“And now for our most distinguished awards,” announced the booming lilt of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Acting Minister of Magic. “There are six Orders of Merlin, First Class to be awarded, two of which are posthumous. Before I begin, let it be known that I will brook no disturbance from anyone while I read these names out. I expect all six recipients to be treated with the honour they deserve for all their sacrifices.”

Intrigued enough to halt his search for Neville’s missing granny, George loped up the steps to take his seat beside his beaming family. His mother wore a shiny silver Order of Merlin, Second Class for her ‘outstanding service of ridding the world of Bellatrix Lestrange’ as Shacklebolt had called it (before he‘d grabbed her and kissed her on both cheeks - much to his father‘s annoyance). Ginny had also received a Second Class award for her part in recruiting and training the re-formed Dumbledore’s Army; a task which had proved vital to the final battle. He grinned as he remembered her cheek when she returned to her seat and looked at her brothers awards.

Shacklebolt’s voice pulled him from his recent memories.

“Our first Order of Merlin, First Class, is in memory of a man who fought the forces of Darkness for over eighteen years. Once an agent of the enemy himself, he quickly grew disillusioned by the cruelty of he who called himself Lord Voldemort...”

An automatic shudder swept through the hall.

“...and realised the error of his way. He pledged his very life in the service of Albus Dumbledore, and to using his considerable knowledge of the enemy to infiltrate their ranks and gather vital intelligence for our fight against his former master. It was on Albus Dumbledore’s own order that he - reluctantly - ended the Headmaster’s life. Thereafter he used his skill to ensure that he replaced him as Headmaster of Hogwarts in order to reduce the damage students would be subjected to under the rule of Death Eater teachers. It is with great honour that I award this posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class to Severus Snape.”

There was a gasp after the announcement, and then an even bigger one as Harry stood to receive the Order in Snape’s absence. Over four hundred pairs of eyes watched him descend the stairs and approach the podium. He shook the stately Minister’s hand, they exchanged a few words, then the dark-haired teen returned to his seat beside Ginny.

“That was very well done of you, Harry,” said Mr Weasley, smiling at the Boy-Who-Lived proudly.

“It seemed the least I could do,” Harry replied softly as the murmurs around the hall continued to escalate. George didn’t know if he could be so forgiving of the greasy git. Still, Snape’s true allegiances had been common knowledge to him for a while now, so he’d accept that the man had been an ally. If not a friend.

Shacklebolt banged a gavel on his wooden podium to call for silence. The next recipient was, unsurprisingly, Albus Dumbledore.

“...and much has been written about his younger years, some of it true, some of it little more than an attempt by small-minded bigots to cash in on the death of a great man; to spread wicked rumours about his troubled past. But let it be know: none of us are perfect, and he would have been the first to admit to his own faults. This I know, because I knew him personally. But his past misfortunes were to the benefit of every single wizard and witch present today and all others who are not here to witness these proceedings. Using his own experiences, it was he who rallied us against the power of darkness, he who founded the resistance not once, but twice, as we struggled against the hold of those who would seek to re-order our society into a mockery of what we now enjoy. For his bold planning, his unfailing courage and sheer determination in standing against the most evil dark wizard we have ever known, I award this posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class to the only wizard ever to receive it a second time: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

A huge roar of approval went up as everyone present stood and applauded. Aberforth Dumbledore, resplendent in a brand new kilt (but minus his goat), shuffled over to the podium and accepted the award in his brother’s absence. It was several minutes before the clapping stopped and people retook their seats.

Once more, Shacklebolt addressed the crowd.

“Our next award is for a young man who, along with Ginevra Weasley and Luna Lovegood, defied the authority of evil which presided over his lessons and stalked the halls of a place all our children should have found sanctuary in: his school. Time and again he risked the very same torture that stole his parents from him in his childhood, to ensure that Muggle-born students - and others of what the enemy termed ‘questionable blood-status’ - could be smuggled to safety.

“But what is truly remarkable about this young man is not merely his courage, or his daring. It is his indomitable spirit. For all of us who saw the seemingly dead body of our one hope at peace, Harry Potter; for all who wept as Voldemort crowed triumphantly at his apparent victory over the Chosen One; it was he - and he alone - who stood defiant before the Dark Lord. Pure-blood that he is, when he was offered the chance of safety in Voldemort’s ranks, we all listened with fear and awe as he threw the offer back in his face and incited us all to battle once more. We watched in horror as he burned for his defiance, then roared with approval as he overcame his agony and deprived Voldemort of his last link to immortality. It was this action which allowed Harry Potter to defeat the evil wizard once and for all. It gives me very great pleasure to award this Order of Merlin, First Class, to the son of two of the finest Aurors the Ministry has ever known: Neville Longbottom!”

George, Harry and all the Weasleys clapped and roared just as loud as everyone else as Neville (blushing furiously) descended the stairs across the hall and joined Shacklebolt on the podium. The Minister shook his hand warmly and hung the Order over his neck until it settled on his chest. When it was done, George’s eyes followed his fellow Gryffindor back up the stairs until he saw where he was sitting. Sure enough, next to him, he saw the stuffed vulture he had been looking for wobbling atop the head of Augusta Longbottom. She threw her arms around her grandson and hugged him tightly, making George grin.

Excellent. Now that he knew where she was, he could find her later.

The rest of the ceremony proceeded in the same happy vein. After Neville’s award, Ron had been next (much to Ron’s delight and Ginny’s disgust).

“No more valiant soul was there, than one who would put his life on the line for the greater good and the service of his friend,” Shacklebolt had declared loudly (while George’s mother practically sobbed in ecstasy). “For his unwavering faith in, and outstanding support of, his friend; for the countless times he saved the life of that same friend, our deliverer, Harry Potter...”

Harry squirmed. “If he calls me ‘deliverer’ or ‘saviour’ one more time, I’ll...I’ll...”

“You’ll what?” asked George in amusement. “Hex him? The Minister of Magic? I dare you, Harrikins!”

“I’ll bloody well leave before he gets me up there! That’ll throw a spanner in the works.”

Having no clue what ’throwing a spanner in the works’ meant (although his dad seemed to - he was grinning all over his face), George shrugged and listened to the (in his opinion, deluded) Minister singing the praises of his baby brother.

“...and thus ensured he would be able to complete his task, it gives me great pleasure to award the Order of Merlin, First Class to Ronald Bilius Weasley.”

Another roar of approval from the crowd, but Ron looked strangely mortified. George heard him grumbling as he scooted his way out the aisle of seats and down the steps.

“That’s bloody brilliant, that is. My moment of glory completely ruined. Now everyone knows about my stupid middle name. It’ll probably be headline news in the ruddy Prophet tomorrow. Ronald bloody Bilius Weasley...”

George was snorting with laughter at the commentary. If Fred had heard that, he’d probably be looking for the first reporter he could find just to make sure it did make the front page.

Although, come to think of it, George could still do that...

The ceremony was over in another half hour after Hermione had been honoured for her part in supporting Harry and helping to hunt down and destroy Volemort's Horcruxes, as well as her participation in the final battle. Then Harry himself had been ’hauled up like a prize cow to be paraded before the local farmers’ as he’d so charmingly put it. Photographers took their pictures, reporters noted every word that both the Minister and the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice had uttered in their speeches, and it was a full twenty minutes before poor Harry had escaped the congratulations and handshakes of every Ministry official in sight.

Relieved to have the chance to finally escape and seek out his target, George told his family he’d meet them at the escalators and bounded towards the door to wait for Mrs Longbottom. It wasn’t long before her hat bobbed into view amidst the departing crowds and he patted his purple dragon-skin coat pocket for the fifth time that day to ensure its contents were still there.

“Mrs Longbottom! Mrs Longbottom!” he called out, confused when the hat suddenly stopped, turned about and headed back into the crowds.

What was she up to? Had she forgotten something? Hoping not to lose her, he kept his eyes on the hat and followed it, weaving his way through the crowd as she took a circuitous route back to the very doors he’d been waiting at. He quickly caught up with her and planted himself firmly in her path.

“Mrs Longbottom! Were you trying to avoid me? Didn’t you hear me calling out your name?” he asked, slightly miffed.

Her face, which had been squashed into a frown, lightened instantly. “That was you, George? Oh, thank Merlin for that! I thought it was another blasted reporter. Did I mention that they’ve been banging on my door, hunting for Neville, ever since Shacklebolt announced there was to be a ceremony for the Heroes of Hogwarts? Dashed nuisance, my boy! I’ve had to fend the ghastly vultures off for the past three weeks! Can’t get a moment’s peace to clean the house or do a spot of knitting!”

George laughed as she patted her own ghastly vulture and straightened her coat.

“Still, I’m delighted that it was you, instead of them. I was very proud to see you up there accepting your awards, young man. Special Services to the Resistance, as well as an Order of Merlin, Third Class, eh?”

“Yeah. All those Shield Cloaks and Decoy Detonators seemed to be a hit with Ministry officials and the Order of the Phoenix. Talking of hits, where is your famous grandson?” he asked, looking to see if he could spot Neville’s face.

“Oh, your sister grabbed him a minute ago and hauled him off for a chat with little Luna Lovegood. I’ll wait for him outside - don’t want to spoil his fun, and all that.”

“Now then, Mrs Longbottom! How can you say that? You couldn’t spoil anyone’s fun,” he said with a cheeky wink.

She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Tell that to that Skeeter woman. I spotted her trying to ooze her way here before the ceremony started and hexed most of her clothes off. She’s probably running through the Atrium in her underwear as we speak, trying to avoid arrest by the Aurors for indecent exposure. Tell me, you young scallywag, did you just wink at me?”

He was too busy laughing at the thought of Skeeter being bested by her a second time to answer at first. “You should’ve got an Order of Merlin for that!” he gasped. “And Neville should get another one for coming up with that nickname. ’Diarrita Skeeter’! Pure class!”

“Yes, well, I’m happy to provide you with a giggle, of course, but was there something in particular you wanted? Or did you simply wish for the pleasure of my company, which I would be delighted to offer, of course,” she said primly, but with a definite glint of amusement in her eyes.

Crikey, he’d almost forgot!

“Yeah, I did want something, actually. Well, that is, I wanted to give you something,”

Shoving his hand into his pocket, George pulled out a small pink box and handed it over. She accepted it with a lift of her brows.

“It’s a 'thank you' gift,” he said awkwardly, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. “For rambling on like a fussy old woman when I needed it most. Not that I think you’re a fussy old woman. I think you’re as cool as Bill - he’s my eldest brother - and that’s saying a lot.”

Mrs Longbottom sniffed suspiciously. For one moment, George actually thought she was going to cry. Trying to spare her embarrassment, he plastered a smile on his face and pointed at the little pink box in her hands.

“The shop's not going to be opened for another week because Ron won’t be finished with his Auror duties until then, but Percy and Mum have helped me with the clean-up and I’ve got all the stock sorted. I wanted you to be the first to benefit from it, though. So I mixed up a batch of Patented Daydream Charms and filled them with things I know you’ll like. There are at least a dozen in there, but I shrank the box so it doesn’t look like it just now.”

“A dozen?” she enquired, finding her voice.

This time, George’s grin was genuine.

“Oh yeah!” he declared enthusiastically. “There’s the one that you wanted to see, with Mum finishing off Bellatrix. I’ve amended it so you can take her place and finish the bi... er, witch, off yourself, if you like. Then there’s one of Neville telling old Voldemort to shove his offer and slicing up his pet snake. There’s one of Harry sending Voldemort off to bowels of hell. Another one of Neville, this time shoving Hermione’s wand into MacNair’s eye in the Department of Mysteries - I thought that might amuse you. I...”

He faltered for a moment, before adding: “...I also included the one where you came into the shop not long after that. You know, when Fred was alive.”

As much as Fred’s death still pained him, it didn’t hurt as much to speak of it any more.

“I thought you might like that, too.”

Mrs Longbottom gave one of her rare smiles. “I would like that very much, George. In fact, it’s the first one I’ll view when I get home.”

She stepped towards him and cupped his chin. “You are a very brave and very honourable young man, George Weasley, and it is my very great pleasure to call you ‘friend’, if I may?”

He nodded silently, warmth flooding his chest at her request.

“I am very pleased to see that you have recovered so admirably since last I saw you. You have gained your weight back and the spark has returned to your eyes. Your family must be delighted to have their George back again. And perhaps, in time, you’ll consider having Fred’s portrait done, to hang on your wall and give you some added comfort.”

“It’s finished already. Mum commissioned it the day after his funeral and it’s hanging in the living room at the Burrow. I’m thinking of having another one done, for the shop. He belongs there as much as I do. But I’m not sure if I’ve left it too long.”

“It’s never too late if you already got one. As long as you get the first one done before the first six months, it’ll be fine.”

She dropped her hand and rearranged her features back into their usual look of faint disapproval. “Now, young man, are you just going to stand there like a lazy layabout, or are you going to escort a fussy old woman to the elevators? I believe there’s a party at the Great Hall in Hogwarts and I have no intention of missing it! I also have an overpowering urge to be shot of this ghastly place. Have I ever told you how much I dislike the stupid building?”

Laughing, George held out an arm and bowed gallantly. “It would be my very great pleasure to escort you to the ball, milady. Which will also give me a chance to tell you about the red Yeti daydream I’ve included in your gift. It looks a lot like me, actually.”

“Nonsense. Then it would be a ginger Yeti, wouldn’t it?”

George roared with laughter. “I’ve not forgiven you for that yet. But I’m willing to write it off as faltering eyesight. It’s most definitely a red Yeti!”

She huffed as he led her out of Courtroom 10 and towards the elevators. “Faltering eyesight, indeed. I’ve hexed men for less than that, you cheeky young whippersnapper. And stop winking at me!”

And so, the unusual pair of very good friends set off for the party arm-in-arm, her stuffed vulture wobbling and his dragon-skin coat flapping, as they jovially bickered all the way to the elevators.