I Just Can't Live Without Him

Since the war had ended, he hadn't slept at all. Maybe he'd dozed off for a few moments, but not slept a full night. His eyes were heavy, but they would not shut. Most of the time, he lied on the couch and stared at the wall on the other side of the room until sun leaked through the blinds. Yes, he slept on the couch. He was incapable of going into his room. He hadn't tried since the first day. He didn't want to try again.

By now, it was likely close to noon. Still, he lied there on the couch, covered by one of his mother's knitted quilts. The hearth was still warm, but there was snow falling outside in the November air. He shivered at the thought of the cold.

He and Fred were building a snow man in the courtyard of Hogwarts. Of course, while he was turned around he felt the sting of a snowball that had hit him on the lower back.

He shot up straight and turned around, glaring at his twin who wore a grin with more snowballs in his hands.

When he heard someone coming down the stairs, he quickly shut his eyes and pretended to be sleeping, even though it was harder with his eyes closed. Behind closed eyelids he could see the smiling face even more clearly...

His mind played tricks on him. He would see his twin so clearly it was as if he could feel him lying there next to him. They were together again.

"George?" his mother said.

He pretended not to hear her. He kept his eyes shut, as hard as it was. He tried to ignore his twin's grin.

She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, gently. After standing there a moment, she ran her hand across his face and brushed his bangs away from his eyes. Was she trying to comfort him or was she wishing he was his twin?

Minutes, maybe hours passed, as Molly continued to run her hand across her son's face. He felt her leave and he was alone in the living room again.

His eyes shot opened. The light coming from the fire blinded him for a moment. After blinking several times, he looked up toward the doorway. It didn't seem as if anyone else would enter. He was safe to stare again.

Time ticked by, as he tried not to feel, not to remember. Even the good times didn't cheer him up. He only wished they would've lasted longer or he would've cherished them at the time. Usually, he felt like he took advantage of having his twin. He didn't hug him enough or tell him he loved him enough. He simply assumed he would always be right there, next to him.

They were always together. Always. They shared a room from the day they were born. In Hogwarts they shared a dormitory. When they left home, they shared a bedroom in the flat above Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, simply because he was used to it. He hadn't been back to the shop either.

The first day they looked around the shop to buy it, the upstairs was a one-roomed flat.

"It's not like it would be a huge change," George said.

"If you can continue to put up with my dirty socks, I can put up with your snoring."

"I snore?"

"Sometimes."

"I've fixed up dinner," Molly called through he house. George wasn't the only one who felt the need to stay home for awhile. Ron and Harry had been staying in Ron's room. Ginny had stayed home. Percy felt obligated to stay for a while. Charlie was even in this week.

Even though he could hear his stomach growl, and he craved the smell, George didn't move. He pretended to be asleep again. When he closed his eyes, he saw that grin again. A sharp pain stabbed his heart and tears leaked out of his tightly closed eyes.

"Why are you crying, mate?" Fred said.

He heard foot steps on the stairs, felt eyes on him. He was probably scaring them all. It hurt to bad to face them all though. He knew what he looked like.

"Maybe you can talk to him..." he heard Percy whisper.

"I don't think it matters if I do. Never has done any good," Ron replied.

"He just lies there. It can't be healthy..." Percy murmured.

"C'mon guys," Charlie said. They all left the hall.

He lied there, eyes still closed, afraid that someone would come back...

There were sounds of panic and desperation. Clanks, bangs, and shattering glass. Sounds of footsteps coming from every direction. They were together, though. Their hands gripping tightly as they ran. They were supposed to be running. Together, they would run, run away from the danger. But death was on their trail.

At the same time, they looked over their shoulder. He looked forward first, facing masked death eaters. In panic, he stopped jerking his twin to a halt with him. Their hands were still clutched to one another.

'Only one.'

'Only one what?' he questioned.

'Only one.'

He was defenseless. He reached for his wand and there wasn't one. But his brother had his.

'We're not afraid,' his brother said, clasping tighter to his twins hand.

Something wasn't right though.

'No, don't!' he called.

'Avada Kedarva!'

The grip on his hand loosened, as his brother fell.

'No!'

The death eaters were gone.

He fell to his knees next to his twin, without letting his grip loose on the hand.

'Why couldn't it have been me?'

He stared down at his dead twin.

'No! NO! FRED! WHY? WHY FRED? WHY WASN'T IT ME?! FRED! FRED!'

"FRED!" he screamed, until his throat felt raw. Until he'd woken himself up. Horrified faces of his family stared down at him. Still, who he wanted to see wasn't there. He would never be there, ever again.

"George..." Molly spoke up first, tears lacing her eyes.

He sat up. He wanted to respond with anything, anything at all. Words just wouldn't come out. Only sobs.

"Go on..." Percy said, shooing the rest of the family out of the room.

Molly sat next to her son. She wrapped her arms around him, rocking him back and forth as he cried. Minutes, maybe hours passed while his mother held onto him. He couldn't stop crying. The dreams always made things worse, no matter if they were good or bad.

"It's okay," his mother whispered.

"No..." he managed through sobs.

She didn't argue. She did let go of him, but held onto his shoulders. As she studied his tear-stained face, with blood-shot eyes and a trembling lip, tears began to fall from her eyes.

"...I wish you didn't have to look at me," George cried.

"Oh...George," she whispered.

"I wish I didn't have to look at me..." he continued.

Molly shook her head, "Please, stop it. There's no need for that. Why don't you come and have dinner?"

"I can't eat..." he replied.

"You have to eat something," she said with a small amount of pleading in her voice, "You're so thin."

George swallowed, "Alright..."

Molly smiled a very weak smile before rising. He followed her into the kitchen without looking at the walls. He concentrated on the back of her head.

"Oi, Mum," Fred called, "do we get a nice big Welcome Home feast?"

"When don't you?" Molly replied, "You're so impatient."

Fred grinned and pulled George by the arm along with him.

"We're growing boys, Mum," Fred said, "they starve us at Hogwarts."

"Only one serving of pudding," George grinned.

"Can't you see me cooking?" Molly said.

"Of course we can, Mum," Fred said.

"We're starving, not blind," George continued.

Molly gave them a look. Then, they kissed their mother on the cheek simultaneously.

"What would you do without us?" Fred asked.

"Be right bit more sane than I am now," Molly said.

The rest of the family was seated. When he entered the room, they looked at him. Clearly, they were shocked to see him. He took a seat at the place he always sat. The chair next to him was empty...

Eleven-year-old Fred was holding tightly onto his Hogwarts letter. "What's Hogwarts like, Percy?"

"Big," Percy said, studying his own list.

"I mean, is it fun?" Fred asked, eyes wide.

"Education has nothing to--"

"It's a blast," Charlie interrupted.

"Can't I go?" Ron asked.

"Two more years," Molly smiled.

Fred looked over George's arm at his letter, making sure it said the same thing.

Everyone stayed silent. It was as if they were afraid to speak. They would occasionally stare at him, he thought. When he caught their eyes, they would look back at their plate quickly. Were they really concerned about him? Did they just see Fred when they looked at him?

They couldn't see Fred in him. Not in this state. His eyes were heavy and he was sure there were bags under them. A smile hadn't come across his face in a very, very long time. He was pale and thin. There was nothing about him that was like Fred anymore.

He stared at his plate. When he looked up again, he noticed that everyone had left the table. Without a word, he excused himself.

Instead of going back to the living room, he went to the bathroom. He avoided the mirror well, until he went to wash his hands. He looked up and met his reflections eyes.

Those eyes were exactly like Fred's at first glance. When he studied them for awhile, he began to notice they couldn't be. There was too much sorrow in those eyes. Too much pain. Not even a hint of laughter.

He put his hand on the mirror, wish he could touch his reflection that looked so much like his twin. Tears began to stream down his face. Even though it hurt, he couldn't peel his eyes away. It was almost as if he was looking at Fred...

"Blimey, Georgie," Fred said, "You look a bit peaky."

George stared at the mirror taunting him.

"You might want to get some rest, mate."

"George?" Molly called, "You alright?"

"I'm alright, Mum..." he lied. With that, he peeled his eyes away from the mirror.

The living room was now occupied with members of the family, which he couldn't face for long. His mother was still in the kitchen.

"Mum, I'm going to go for a walk," he said going toward the door.

"Oh, no, dear," she said, "First you need a coat."

He stared at her. She was enchanting the dishes to wash.

Maybe it was time to try again.

Sighing heavily, he turned toward the stairwell. His steps were heavy. When he began up the stairs, he felt nauseous. When he reached the top of the second floor, he turned toward their bedroom. The door was closed. There were Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes product posters and drawing posted on the door along with cation signs.

He wrapped his fingers around the doorknob. His body almost wouldn't let him do it.

Inside the room that felt empty were two beds. Both were made, covered in home-made quits. On one bed was a bundle of clothing. The walls were hardly visible due to boxes of products stacked. The desk even had boxes on it. The side table had a lamp, a clock, and a picture frame. The dresser had clothes hanging off of the top of it, rather than inside it.

His heart sank when he looked over at Fred's bed again. Those were his clothes. He shook it off.

When he reached the wardrobe, it was already opened. There were quite a few coats and sweaters hung inside it. The sleeve of a sweater his mother had kitted was sticking out. He grabbed it by the sleeve and jerked it from the hanger.

The sweater in his hands had an 'F' on it. He couldn't wear that... He couldn't even look at that...

"Mum always makes us sweaters for Christmas," Fred told Harry, "Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moaned half-heatedly as he pulled it over his head.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid - we know we're called Gred and Forge."

Fred grinned.

He hung it back neatly, like it was. He wasn't ready for this.

Quickly, he gathered a coat and put it on. As he left the room, tears were already beginning to stream down his face. The room was empty without Fred's laugh. It would never be the same, ever again...

"Fred! Fred, will you wake up!" George called.

Fred stirred, "Don't get your wand in a knot..." he muttered, "What?"

"I was kind of worried," George said.

"About what?" Fred said with a yawn.

"Everything. What's going to happen?"

"Who knows."

"Are we even safe laying here in bed?"

"George, You-Know-Who isn't going to come marching into our room," Fred assured his twin, "there's too much junk. He'd trip and fall."

George smiled, "You reckon then we'd have him trapped?"

"Yeah."

"And to think, Mum doesn't like our room messy."

Fred laughed, "Go to sleep, George. We'll be fine."

Without a word, he went out the door. The crisp fall wind hit his wet cheek. He shivered and crossed his arms. He looked down the lane of the Burrow's entrance. It always reminded him of his father's old blue ford Anglia that he'd enchanted to fly. He and Fred always admired it, begging to try and drive it--fly it! They were never allowed, likely due to their mother's judgement. But of course, there was Fred's bright idea to fly the car all the way to Surrey to pick up Harry from his aunt and uncle's. It was Fred's idea. Almost everything was Fred's idea.

There was an empty place inside him now that Fred was gone. Not just because Fred usually held the ideas, he certainly had a mind of his own, but because Fred was always there. It didn't matter what was going on, where they were, Fred was always right there beside him, or in some cases leading him.

Right now, he needed Fred...

"Cedric Diggory has been killed."

There were murmurs in the crowd around. There was distress on Fred's face. Tears were
welling up in George's eyes.

"He's back! He's back! Voldemort's back!"

George felt himself get dizzy. This wasn't real. Not Cedric, the friendly Hufflepuff. That's what they'd always called him. They joked with this boy. And now he was dead...thanks to Voldemort...?

Fred grabbed his twin's hand and squeezed it.

It was time to make that visit he promised he would make once a week.

With a crack, he apparated. A blur swirled around him. When it stopped, he was outside the graveyard. He swallowed, feeling a little guilty that he'd simply left the house without letting his mother know he was going to leave. She worried about him so much...

Pulling his coat tighter around him, he move forward. Among the graves, he knew too many names. The hills, all covered in stone, were quite peaceful. He didn't stop for anything. He knew where he was going.

He reached the row. It was entirely surreal, when he reached the tombstone that read:

Fredrick Weasley
A son, brother, and friend
April 1, 1978 - May 2, 1998

A life measured in memories, not years

Surrounding the tomb, there were flowers. Mostly carnations, roses, forget-me-nots...

"I didn't bring you any flowers..." George said. He sighed, "I just don't understand why..." He chocked on his words, as sobs burst through his throat. He sank to his knees.

"Why'd you have to leave me, Fred?" he sobbed, "You were... everything. I'm not even sure how to live without you. I feel so silly, talking to you here. You're not here... You're everywhere. I just don't want to worry everyone..."

A heavy breeze picked up, and he could've sworn he felt his brother touch his cheek. He would know his brothers touch before anyone's.

"Stop your crying, George," Fred said, taking him by the shoulders, "Things are bad. Just don't cry." He wiped the tears off of his twin's cheek.

"It's hard, because you're such a part of me. It's like part of me went with you..." He reached forward and touched the tombstone. He ran his fingers along the words 'Fredrick Weasley'. There were no more words to describe the way that he felt. It was simply too much.

"But you wouldn't want me to do this, would you Fred? You wouldn't want me to be dead too.

"It's selfish of me to want you back. You're in a place so happy that I couldn't imagine. Why's it that I have to be so sad then? Why can't we be happy together again? You got me through everything, Fred. Everything! Why can't you just be here? I need you now..."

He swallowed back a sob.

"You wouldn't be mad at me if I wasn't able to handle it, would you?" he whispered.

He didn't want to stay much longer. He couldn't bare it. Besides, his mother was probably worried half to death.

With a crack, he was back in the Burrow's yard. He swallowed tears.

"George," Molly called from the door, "Oh, thank goodness."

Yes, he was right. Molly had been worried the moment she couldn't see him any longer.

"Are you alright?" she asked, as he approached her.

"I'm never going to be alright..." George whispered, "It's been six months mum, and it haunts me more and more each day."

Molly was at a loss for words. He pushed past her.

On the walls of the hall were many, many pictures; family portraits, pictures of Charlie with dragons, Bill and Fluer, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Molly and Arthur, Percy when he was a prefect, Ginny in her Quidditch uniform... Every picture he was in, Fred was beside him. Every single one.

He couldn't bare it.

The sitting room was still occupied. He couldn't face them. It was all driving him mad. He continued on up the stairs.

He was back inside the room that haunted him. Fred was everywhere in this room. It was overwhelming. It was unbearable.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Everyone,

Please, don't blame yourselves. There was nothing you could do for me. Nothing.

I love each and every one of you. Ginny, you'll always be my baby sister and I love you. Ronald, I leave the store to you, if you want it. I see you most fit to run it. Harry, thank you for the money for the store. It meant so much to Fred and I. Percy, you may have messed up for awhile, but I never stopped loving you. I wish you well. Charlie, you're my hero. Really you are. Bill, you're the coolest big brother anyone could have.

Mom and Dad, I couldn't ask for more or for better parents. I love you so much.

I'm free now, of the torment and the empty feelings. I couldn't live without Fred. It hurt me. I felt like I was never going to get over it. My body ached. My heart physically hurt. If I slept, I only had nightmares. If I was awake, I only had memories. My mind wasn't right.

Don't think badly of me. Don't feel sorry for me. Everything is going to be okay now. You can miss both of us, the way it was supposed to be. You don't have to look at me and wish I was Fred. I don't have to see myself in the mirror and try to reach for him. We're together now, the way we were always meant to be. Fred is part of me. Part of me died when he did. I'm just making things fully right.

Love, George

He swallowed the whole vial of poison.