03
“I’m going to marry Angelina Johnson.” George Weasley leaned back against the sofa, slowly set down the teacup, and folded both hands in front of him.
“Congratulations, then.” Chloe Aiken smiled and wrote something on her notepad.
“Is there anything else you’d like to share? You look a little anxious.” Chloe watched the slight tremor in George’s leg and guided him gently.
“That’s all right — whatever’s on your mind.”
“Do you think this marriage is the right thing?” There was unmistakable tension and pain in George’s voice.
“When Angelina said yes to my proposal, I was happy — but that happiness felt like… like there was a plastic bag wrapped around it the whole time. Suffocating. Wrong somehow.”
“George.” Chloe let his name carry just a little more weight than usual.
George looked up and met her amber eyes.
She held his gaze, her voice slow and sincere.
“George Weasley, you deserve to be happy.”
She enunciated every syllable clearly.
“You haven’t lost the ability to love. These past two years, you’ve handled your emotions remarkably well. Trust yourself — you have everything it takes to build a good marriage.”
George seemed to settle a little.
Reaching for the warm tea again.
“Do you think… Fred would be happy for me?”
“I think he’d tease you for taking this long to propose.” Chloe’s tone lightened, a note of gentle ribbing coming through.
“But yes, he’d absolutely be happy for you.”
George burst out laughing, then something seemed to occur to him.
“Dr. Aiken, do you have any open slots? I think I have a friend who might need your help.”
04
George had always felt that Dr.
Aiken possessed a kind of extraordinary magic.
He’d known it from the very first time he walked into her clinic, two years ago.
Fred’s death had taken half his soul with it.
Everyone urged him not to grieve too deeply.
Everyone told him that with time, he would slowly heal.
But he didn’t.
They were twins.
Fred was woven into every plan George had ever made for his life.
The possibility that Fred might simply be gone had never once crossed his mind.
His wound wouldn’t heal.
It festered and suppurated, was cut open again and again, the blood flowing without stop.
Then, by chance, he wandered into this psychology clinic.
Maybe at first it was only because he needed somewhere to get out of the rain.
That day was his birthday.
And Fred’s birthday too.
The grief had left him so hollowed out he couldn’t even cast a Water-Repelling Charm.
Maybe it was the warmth of the place, natural wood-toned furniture that somehow didn’t feel gloomy, soft lighting, a sofa that looked wonderfully plush.
The fireplace crackled.
Faint flames glowed behind the grate.
Scattered points of light shifted on the white curtains as rain streaked the glass outside, and the sound of it was crisp and clean.
George stared at the hot tea Chloe had kindly pressed into his hands, and suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to talk.
He had no idea whether this Muggle psychologist was any good.
But her expressions shifted as he told his story, her brow creasing with genuine grief for Fred, and that comforted him more than anything else had.
Then she offered him something different.
“Twins often mean they are each other’s soul.”
George looked at her, startled that she could name the root of his pain so easily.
“You don’t have to forget him to escape the grief. You can release it freely, let that grief be your way of mourning him.”
“A soul can’t be repaired. But I want to encourage you to keep living, carrying forward the half that remains.”
“And your soul isn’t broken beyond repair, because you still carry his half within you. The half you thought you’d lost was filled back in by him long before you ever noticed.”
George didn’t even stop to think that he was sitting in front of someone he barely knew.
He began to weep openly.
But after hearing Chloe’s words, he truly felt it: that hollow, weightless body of his had taken on substance again.
He had found the other half of his soul.
The half that had always been there, only waiting for him to stop overlooking it.
➤ Next: Michael Maddy
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