MAJOR DH SPOILERS! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Okay, now that that is over with, I don't own Harry Potter, or Fred and George, blah, blah, blah…

Okay, I seriously CANNOT wait for HP7-WHICH COMES OUT NOVEMBER 19th 2010! YAY! It's gonna be torture waiting to see how well they did the death scenes *coughFREDcough* *coughSNAPEcough* though I'll probably bawl my eyes out anyway (btw, the closest I've ever come to crying in a movie was at the end of Lord of the Rings 3- that movie was amazing :)).

ANYWAY, I've decided to do a little angsty ficlet thingy for how George feels after Fred dies. I almost cried when I read it… ENJOY it's another depressing fic so there. AND NO GEORGE/FRED SLASHES EITHER! IF YOU COMMENT THAT THAT'S WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU WILL BE BLOCKED AND BASHED!

"Stupefy!" George shouted. A Death Eater was blasted backward with a flash of red light and rendered unconscious.

George stared at his surroundings. Huge craters had been blasted into the wall, and chunks on the stone floor had been carved out. Spatters of blood adorned the floor and George had no idea as to whom they belonged to.

Fighting pursued all around him, but no Death Eaters turned to attack him. George allowed himself a moment to catch his breath and examine his injuries. Scrapes, bruises and gashes curled their way down his skin. There was nothing too serious, so George relaxed slightly, still on alert.

George stood and flexed his arms experimentally, making sure his bruises and gashes wouldn't stall his fighting. He rendered himself fit to duel, and raised his wand.

Every inch of his skin exploded in pain.

George gasped and groaned, clutching his head and plummeting to his knees. Pain flooded into his very core, and he couldn't control his own limbs. He shook in agony, and images filled his head... memories that were not his.

He and George were laughing, zooming around on Cleansweep Sevens in the orchard next to their house. The sun shined brightly overhead, warming the air and creating a perfect day for flying…

He and George were laughing uncontrollably as the Muggle boy's tongue swelled up massively, the boy's mother tugging on it like an idiot…

"How much is this?" asked Ron.

"Five Galleons," he and George replied.

"How much for me?" persisted Ron.

"Five Galleons," they repeated.

"I'm your brother!" Ron said indignantly.

Fred and George shrugged, and replied, "Ten Galleons." …

"Yeah, imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever," Fred said to Harry, trying to make him lighten up about the situation of the Polyjuice Potion…

"I'm holey, Fred, gettit?" George croaked feebly, attempting a joke as blood slowly oozed out of the side of his head where his ear used to be. Fred couldn't believe it. In the whole world of ear-related humor, he went for holey?

Disbelief plagued him as Percy declared he was resigning from the Ministry…

…immense pain flooded him as the wall next to him blew up.

The whole world went black for the last time.

'No.

No.

NO!

Oh, Merlin, please, no…'

George choked. He couldn't breathe at all. Tears quickly carved their way down his face. Something inside him denied it… Fred could not be dead…his mind would not permit it.

George, still blinded by tears, began to fire jinxes left and right. None were Killing Curses, but he didn't care who he hit. He wanted to hurt whoever did this. He would kill whoever killed Fred.

He fought viciously, jinxing and hexing Death Eaters whenever they dared to show their ugly faces. He hated them: he hated them ALL!

After what seemed like hours, the Death Eaters finally stopped coming. He breathed hard, the burning tears still blinding him. He lost all of his energy and, with a great effort, hobbled down three flights of stairs as his knees wobbled and threatened to collapse. He would not permit the idea of Fred being dead to enter his mind.

"He's not gone, he's not gone, he's not gone…" George repeated to himself constantly.

He finally got to the Great Hall, but he was terrified to go in. 'What will I see in there?' he wondered, but he already knew- countless dead victims, dead fighting for Harry Potter. He tried to tell himself that if he saw a red-headed family grouped around someone, that he would turn 'round and run. He would run, because he knew it would be Fred, and he would run until he got to the Astronomy Tower, and maybe pitch himself off the edge…?

"No," George said aloud to himself. If he killed himself, his family would be shredded apart. There would be no more happy Weasley family.

He sucked in a deep breath, and pushed open the doors.

All of his fears were confirmed in one tiny moment.

His dad was stroking his mum's back as she lay across a red-headed figure's chest. Ginny, Bill, Charlie, Percy and Ron were all grouped around the figure, silver tears interrupting the gray smudges of dust and grime on their faces. George walked cautiously forward as the agony set in and pierced his chest.

The young man lying on the ground was Fred.

A cry of agony emitted from George's mouth at the sight of his best friend, his brother, his twin, his other half lying on the floor- cold, dead, lifeless, unsmiling. He walked to Fred's head and his knees gave out and thudded on the floor.

Then the tears came, sliding thick and fast down his face, slicing through the blood and grime. George choked again and then the tortured sobs racked his body, his whole form shaking. He placed his hands on either side of Fred's head, and leaned down and pressed his forehead to his twin's. The tears slid into Fred's red hair as George sobbed.

"Oh, Merlin… Fred… Please, no… Fred…" George repeated through his shaking voice.

The world had ended.

Fred was gone.

George's fingers curled around the ceramic of the sink. His knuckles blazed white as he tried to dig his fingernails into the smooth glass. All George had done was get out of bed, rather grudgingly at that, shuffle sleepily to the bathroom, and look in the mirror.

That's when the memory struck him and froze up his limbs.

George didn't see himself in the mirror.

He saw Fred.

That hurt much more than it should.

George noticed that tears were sliding down his face and dripping into the spotless sink. He stood rigid, his whole body completely still.

He slowly unclamped his fingers from around the contours of the sink and backed up, thudding against the wooden wall. George slid down to the floor and rested his head against the wall, the silver tears still making their way down his face. No sound accompanied them yet, but he could feel them rising to the surface: the sounds he hadn't tried to hide from his family.

He curled his knees to his chest and finally sobbed into his knees. He rocked back and forth like a little child.

"Fred," he whispered. "Fred…"