Something was wrong.
A slight tugging in his chest made George turn toward the castle. A jet of green light blew past him, and he dropped to the ground. Percy was running after a hooded figure, cloak forgotten, eyes blazing. George had never seen his brother so possessed.
Something was wrong.
There it was again. A pulling, now in his gut, screaming for him to go inside.
He jumped to his feet as he cast a spell, unconcerned with who he hit. He just needed to go. Was it Ginny? Dad? His feet slipped on blood and mud as he ran and finally reached the steps. A blast of pain in his arm brought him to his knee, but he had to ignore it as his head pounded behind his eyes.
Something was wrong.
There was fighting everywhere inside Hogwarts. Friends and enemies were running, cursing, bleeding, and George ducked and continued forward, throwing a curse here or there if he could help. He passed Ginny, all fire and smiles as she stood toe-to-toe with a hulking Death Eater. There was a flash of red hair to his left, someone tall, but he couldn't see the face. Maybe it was Fred. Thank God. But where was Mum?
Something was wrong.
He sped up, leaping onto a moving staircase as it turned, and ran to the top. Waiting was torture, and George wiped the blood from his arm, threw his robes to the ground, and jumped to the next staircase before they had connected. He knew where he was going and didn't question why or how. What about Ron?
Something was wrong.
His heart was bursting when he stopped. The wall had collapsed in this part of the castle. There was blood and footprints, but no one was here now. He held his wand in front of him as he took slow steps forward, expecting a Death Eater to be hiding behind the rubble or waiting around the corner at the end of the corridor. He glanced all around as his hands began to shake. He couldn't hear anything except his heart slamming against his ribs. His stomach was tied up in the tightest knots as he rounded the corner with a curse on his lips.
Everything was wrong.
His wand fell from his numb fingers and rolled along the stone floor until it hit the wall. His legs would not support him, and he tried to put a hand out to steady himself. He sank to his knees as the tears began. Tears he didn't think would stop until he drew his last breath. There in an alcove, lifeless and alone, was his brother. His twin. His very best friend, and George could not move.
Fred looked peaceful. And bloody. His robe was torn and a red pool was leaking from the alcove someone had gently placed him in. Gently because his hands were folded, his head tilted forward enough to rest against the wall. His legs were bent in front of him, not thrown together without regard for their owner. His face…
George crawled closer to see his brother's face. There was a slash of wet redness above his eye that sank into his vibrant hair. When George was close enough, he held out a hand to touch that spot but could not, as his stomach decided it had seen enough. He fell to the floor, retching far from his sleeping twin. In the back of his mind, he knew Fred would laugh at this moment and remind him about those eggs he'd eaten for breakfast. George tasted them again and continued to vomit until there was nothing left in his stomach. He swiped his sleeve against his mouth and rolled away from the mess. Fred had always sat with him when they were testing the Puking Pastilles. Taking notes, asking questions, cracking jokes so crude and disgusting that George would throw up in earnest even after the capsule wore off.
He leaned against the wall to catch his breath and grinned at the memory until the sadness returned. This time, it cut deeper as he remembered the pranks, the teasing, the family dinners, the punishments (oh, so many punishments), the shop, the customers. All of it running together into one bright vortex of love and misery. He turned his head enough to look at Fred and again reached out a hand.
His hair was matted with gore, but it was still as soft as it had always been. There was a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, like he had never seen it coming. Maybe he was turned away, telling a joke. Or perhaps he was taunting. George smiled. Fred was very good at that. The choking green aura of instant death was not hanging around the area, so not the killing curse. George touched Fred's closed eyes, then his cheek and his mouth, knowing he was patting a mirror image except for the blood and the beating heart.
"Freddy..." The tears came again then, unrelenting and powerful. George grabbed the ripped fabric of Fred's robe and pulled him to his chest, rocking forward and back as if soothing a crying child. But it was George who needed soothed. His twin was dead and had taken half of his heart with him. He cried into the bloodied mess of Fred's chest, uncaring of the crimson on his face, in his hair. There would never be another fireworks display in the Great Hall, no more grand escapes on borrowed brooms, no more pretending to be the other to fool Mum, no more finishing each other's sentence, no more knowing smiles, no more talking until midnight, no more crying on each other's shoulder, no more Fred and George.
No more Fred.
Then there were warm arms wrapped around him, and for a second, less than that really, George thought maybe...
But it was Percy. His tears mixed with George's, his arms desperately clutched at his brother's back as he patted Fred's hair into place, hoarsely saying 'imsorryimsorryimsorry' amidst a chorus of hiccups and sniffles, and it felt more real with Percy there. The betraying brother who wised up at the last second, mourning for his loss, the family's loss, of a brother who was the very best of them all. Maybe not all the time or in the sense that people mean when they say that, but he was, and George cried harder. Because he was alive and Percy was alive, and he had seen Ginny, and maybe Hermione would protect Ron, and Mum and Dad didn't know yet. Were they dead too?
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. The world was spinning, and Percy was screaming 'imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry,' and he thought Fred would be mad because he loved living. He loved it more than Chocolate Frogs and Quidditch and pulling pranks and everything, but he was gone.
He was gone.
For the first and only time, George thought it might not be so bad if Harry lost the fight. Because then they could all go with Fred, and the twins could be twins again. Maybe prank on Dumbledore and Mad-Eye. Yeah, they would like that…well, not Mad-Eye.
So, George Weasley rocked his dead twin, hung on to his estranged brother, and cried with a ghost of a smile on his lips.