87 ADD (After Dark Days)
George wasn't really sure what would happen when they all met in the room. Harry had tried to describe it, sure, but beyond 'being reborn' and 'new world' he honestly didn't understand most of it. Actually, the main reason he'd agreed at all was because out of the few people who made life worth living anymore, most of them were already going or agreed to join him once he'd asked.
So, he'd figured, what was the harm? This world sucked—they'd tried their best, and still not much changed—so why not try again? Perhaps the next world would be a bit more amenable to improving, or at least being half-decent human beings to begin with.
This characterization was perhaps a bit harsh, but little in his life motivated him to be kinder, so he was more than ready to abandon the wizarding world in a pile of ash.
There was something deeply wrong with a world that didn't give a damn that an eleven year-old girl was possessed by Voldemort and had to be saved by a twelve year-old boy going up against and defeating one of the most dangerous creatures known to wizarding kind.
There was something deeply wrong with a world that allowed everything that followed that event, too.
Still, even though he'd agreed—even though he was more than ready for his second life, for his take-two, George hadn't quite believed anything would actually happen. Too much of his life had been devoted to showing him, to screaming at him, that nothing, good or bad, should ever be taken for granted, should ever be expected, should ever be thought to be a guarantee...
He had no problem if it did happen, but up until the very last second George was still convinced Harry would snap his fingers or something and then they'd all wait while nothing changed.
While everything stayed exactly the same.
So when they'd got to the room, when they'd stood clustered together with nothing but the clothes on their backs (Harry was quite clear that this would be much more of a rebirth than an apparition), George had expected nothing to happen at all.
And then something did.
He wasn't quite certain how old he was when he finally became aware of his own identity—his first few months, at least, certainly passed in a blur of new feelings and confusion and the inhibitions of an infant's brains being rapidly taken over by his memories and his sheer will, but eventually he realized that it had actually happened, that it did actually work.
He was in a new world, one of thick air and coarse blankets and dozens of children raised together for hours at a time while both his mother and father and their mothers and fathers worked. A world of sickly coughs, of childish laughter, of fist fights in the streets and whistling tunes in the air.
The realization that it had actually happened, had actually worked, however amazing-insane-wonderful-stomach turning that little factoid was, was dwarfed by another realization, by something which made him immediately realize he owed an immeasurable debt to Harry, and Death, and whatever other force was even marginally involved in allowing this to happen, in putting together everything that happened between the end of the world and now to get him to this point:
Fred was here too.
Gred and Forge—or, more accurately, Sean and Conor—were back together again, ready to take an entirely new world by storm.