Hello, this is my first English fanfic. Although it's relatively short and in one-shot, please leave your comments and tell me what you think :D
Since I'm not a native speaker, please pardon me if there's any grammatical error!!

The story happened after the war was over, and during Harry's search for his friends.

I do not own Harry Potter.

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Never Died

Fred x George

Covered in Invisibility Cloak, Harry thanked Luna in his mind and strode off towards where Hermione and Ron were. Secretly, he did not want to share what he experienced in his death-like dream with Albus Dumbledore back at the King's Cross Station, or so he thought. For a moment, it seemed extremely private. Judging from what he had already told Ron and Hermione, about his deepest fear and yearnings before the battle, he wasn't really blamable if he had kept the conversation to himself.

Mindlessly, he passed through the reunited families, laughing friends and teachers. He searched for the two companies, but they were nowhere in sight. Slowly, he turned into the corridor outside the hall. Blood and broken pieces from the walls were left everywhere. Harry spotted the stained carpets with bitterness welling up his heart, but he concentrated on searching his friends. He still had things to do.

A minute or two later, he was standing in the end of the corridor. Ron and Hermione were still nowhere to be seen. Where did they go? Harry guiltily hoped that Ron and Hermione didn't sneak to somewhere private to show their accumulated affections for each other… at least not now. Standing completely quiet for a while, he started noticing that he wasn't actually alone. Despite the gleeful exclaims of victory from the portraits, there was somebody, though incredibly quiet, inside the classroom next to him.

Harry wasn't surprised to find himself utterly calm at the thought of remaining Death Eaters inside Hogwarts. Strangely, he was shivering in excitement. After all, he did defeat He Who-Must Not-Be-Named, and proved to those despicable followers that their master had failed to prevail.

He automatically drew out the Elder Wand, and gave a slight wave at the door. Slowly, it swung open. Muttering the Silent Charm to the creaking door, Harry stood into the doorway, still in his cloak. There was indeed somebody, but that wasn't a Death Eater.

In the dim room, he saw George Weasley sit on one of the desks with his back at him. He was shaking hard. Harry narrowed his eyes, and came to a halt when realizing that George was panting hard and gulping tears as quietly as he possibly could, yet in vain. So focused was he that he didn't seem to realize the door had been opened and that Harry had taken off his cloak, watching him.

"George?" Harry tried to call the red-headed boy, and yet his voice sounded all glued up by the Nargles. Even though Harry thought he really should overcome his discomfort and make his presence known, he wasn't stupid enough to pop questions like "Are you alright?" because no one could possibly be, not after his beloved twin brother had gone forever. Harry did not know what to do.

He knew that he was supposed to leave as silently as possible, and made no signs afterwards that he had observed George crying. But he could not do so.

Much to his horror, there were voices in his head, shrieking something that he could not understand. He was trembling at the sight of this. And all he could do was remain where he was and speechless. He started to feel weak. He felt that all the walls were coming down to him because he heard George start mumbling Fred's name over and over again.

All at once, a particular sense which Harry thought he could avoid, or at least hide himself from, was errupted out of him. And it was guilt. It was remorse. He knew that families would be lost, friends would part, and the innocent would sacrifice if a war broke out. He knew that it was inevitable that every single one of his dear fellow schoolmates (perhaps not Slytherins) would want to participate in making this glorious history. But he did not foresee how bad it'd be for him when someone who died was as close as a Weasley.

It felt worse than ever…even worse than what it was like at Dumbledore's funeral. Harry couldn't help but wonder if it was because Harry had long thought Weasleys to be his family.

George's sobbing became lower. He was wiping his eyes with his stained sleves, making the blood patches wet. The room became suddenly quiet again. Harry stood very still, panicking that George might whirl around and rage at his presence. Gently, George Weasley simply raised his wand, and muttered something Harry could not recognize.

All of a sudden, a flash of white flames burst out of the tip of his wand, causing shadows of everything reflected on the walls and Harry's backing off instantly. He was shoved against the wall, watching the flames stretch vigorously towards George, who seemed undaunted and rather patient. The red-headed boy waited and circled the wandtip over and over again. Harry's heart missed a beat when the white flames entwined itself tight with George's body. He tried to shout and pull George out of the blazing fire, but he was once again patrified from his legs. Harry kept his eyes fixed, almost hurting. His tears became likely to break through the barrier as the thought of George killing himself crashed like thunder. To Harry's immense relief, the roaring fire ceased with no trace of the former fury as George flicked his wand once more. He seemed to have conjured it into a vague human shape.

Harry gasped.

The silvery, liquid-like figure was standing before George, shining bright, making Harry's eyes blink and his twin brother's body reflecting. It, no, HE was grinning, with his arms folded and one of his eyebrows lifted. His silhouette was soft but clear, and Harry could make out every strand of hair and freckles Fred had across his face. That was indeed, Fred Weasley.

"Hello, Fred," whispered George, gazing at the figure. "Seems like you're alive and well." His voice was so serene as if he were greeting Fred who had just returned from a pleasant excursion. "The spell we developed was a real success," he continued in his almost pleased voice, almost singing, "Oh come off it, it's all you who came out the brilliant idea!"

Harry's eyes were wide and he felt his jaw drop. That was impossible! Fred Weasley was supposed to lie in the Great Hall along with other lost war heroes. Dumbledore had once told him that no spell could bring those who died back, not in the slightest possiblity, not even the Resurrection Stone. Had the Weasley twins found out the way to summon the dead? Harry quivered at the idea of Fred and George experimenting Dark Arts. What if that was a fatal curse? What if that was simply a low-profiled ceremony George held for himself before joining his brother? He couldn't just stand there! He had to do something!

As Harry's heart raced and his brain pondered over what he could do, Fred's figure started to move. He paced and manuevered himself closer to George. The other red-headed boy smiled as he sat down, his eyes still fixed on Fred's familiar expression. There was a long pause. George did not speak, nor did Fred. Slowly, their hands gently brushed each others, and finally met. "It's like touching Nearly-Headless Nick!" George's voice danced in midair. "I wonder what it feels like to be in your shoes… oh how thick of me, you haven't got any!" He chuckled at his own poor-taste joke, which even Harry thought was not at all like him.

George, however, didn't care. He caressed the white hands with much love, closing his palms with his own, and brought them to the cheeks. "Remember you used to do this when I couldn't fall asleep? When we were on the run?" Those words were low but clear, quietly said but profoundly delivered. Harry began to sense the bitterness in George's voice. It wasn't so cheerful anymore, as if spring were swiftly replaced by autumn's ghastly cold.

George kissed the hands. Making no sounds, but Harry could easily make out that he brushed every single fingers with his lips. He wasn't sure if George was intending to kill himself now. He simply emerged in the sibling love. Perhaps a more intimate one.

Fred had not spoken. His face was mingled with expressions, with a smile and a mischievous look deep down his pupils. He withdrew one of his hand from George's grasp, stretched it deep into his red hair, combing it, feeling it. To Harry's surprise, he did not feel any discomfort.

"Do you know what I loathe most?" said George, his voice was hoarse. "That I wasn't able to be there when you were hit," he did not wipe away the tear drops. He let them fall down the cheeks, and he did not turn away from Fred's gaze. Fred's right thumb gently touched the tears, sweeping them away. His bit his lips pitifully and pulled George into a consolating hug.

"I know you didn't mean to leave," George said, as he put his arms around Fred's neck, whispering into his ears. He was now breathing into Fred's shoudlers, with his back at Harry's direction. Harry, as a result, met Fred's eyes rather fixedly. He perceived reluctance in those sorrowful eyes, and caught a slight nod from Fred as he mouthed, "I'm really sorry."

It was time for Harry to leave. The room, penetrated by gradually shimmering sunlight, regained its warmth as George stopped sobbing. "He would be fine," Harry turned his eyes from George's bowing head and looked again into Fred's face, smiling. "It's alright," Harry sent his greeting, "I won't let anyone enter the room."

He backed into the doorway, swinging the door shut with his wand and the Silence Charm. Whether the magic was of dark force or if Fred was truly revived by the unknown flames, Harry suddenly could not find why they matter. Somehow, the broken souls had found a way to be mended, and the burden on his shoulders had lightened a bit. He did not wish that all those who left him would come back to him, but he knew that those he loved had never left.

As he started off towards the Great Hall searching for his friends again, he secretly swore to himself that what he saw would always be burried in his mind, including the single kiss which Fred bestowed on George's lips when Harry shut the door. Harry knew that years later he'd still wonder if Fred's spirit had really come back, but Harry knew that he never died. Not really. Not for George.

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Thanks for reading!