Right, just wanted to make sure you were significantly warned, although I don't know why you'd be reading fanfiction if you haven't finished the book yet. Anyway, I wanted to write this because it was this particular issue that got me crying while reading the book. Haven't quite recovered yet either. It's atrocious--I can't believe J.K. Rowling killed one off without the other! And my favourite one as well! Bloody hell, first Sirius, now this...

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.


George Weasley is quiet.

In any other context, in any of the years before this particular day, particular moment, this would've been entirely horrific to his very being. Because George Weasley was loud, constantly spewing jokes and tinkling with anything that goes bang.

But that was before. This was now. This was George Weasley being quiet amidst the screams of joy and triumph, among the chaos that he would've once oh-so-gladly joined and spurred on. But there wasn't so much as an inkling of relief in his body—maybe, hopefully, it'd come later, or he would go insane—and there wasn't so much as the smallest of urges to make noise.

The most disturbing thing was that that—that feeling— in itself, wasn't at all weird.

In fact, even more terrifyingly, he didn't seem to feel as if he had just watched Harry Potter come back from the dead and defeat the son-of-a-bitch who had started this mess—for all the good it did to his heavy insides, Harry might as well have just…stayed dead.

For all the good it did.

George could be excused for feeling this. He had been torn in two, shattered completely. He was a part of two halves, part of the Fred-and-George double act, a member of those fondly named "Bloody Twins!".

Not anymore.

He could've handled anyone else. His parents, his other brothers, Ginny, Harry, Hermione, Lee, Alicia, Katie, Angelina—for Christ's sakes, anyone. Might've taken a while, but he'd manage it. But this was different. He didn't see how he could manage this one. This utter despair—this burning fire—this horrible need to just top himself, right now, join him—

His twin.

Fred Weasley. He was quiet too. Unmoving. He couldn't celebrate. Couldn't make noise. Couldn't so much as think anymore.

They both knew there would be consequences—both knew they'd come out with losses. Bill's handsome looks utterly ripped apart, Ron running around with his best friend, who was on top of Voldemort's wanted list, Ginny facing turmoil in Hogwarts, Percy—he came back, he came back—Arthur being tracked, threatened—his ear—

They knew the risks. All or nothing, they said. Throw themselves into the fight.

All or nothing.

So why was it that George Weasley, half of the double act, the Fred-and-George works…was completely alone? Why…?

George Weasley lost his ear.

Fred Weasley lost his life.

All or nothing, they said. All or nothing. Live together or die together.

Fred had been the louder one. Had been more experimental, more passionate, more temperamental. They weren't completely identical, after all, not in personality. Not in appearance any more, either, not since his ear—even so—

The air just seemed too still, the world just seemed too quiet, even with this tremendous shouting.

Live together or die together.

They never planned what would happen if…just one of them…

What was he supposed to do now?

How could he be just George?

It wasn't right. It just wasn't. This wasn't how it was meant to be. Fred-and-George. Not George. He felt sick. He felt like the world was about to splinter at the atrocity of it all. Like his heart was about to buckle. Maybe he should just stop living—fix this goddamn wrongness—up and die—


It was Ginny. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.

"He was my brother too."

And that was that. George buckled to his knees, staring in horror at the floor. This sinking realisation that God yes, he was dead—he was alone—finally topping his emotional terror and his hands shook harshly.

All the while, a voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Fred's, whispered reassuringly.

You'll never be alone.

He cried.