George hated the Spring. He hated it with all his heart. He hated the small white clouds on the blue sky; he hated the cheery faces of flowers; he hated the Easter eggs and chocolates; he hated the pure, clean, greenness of the world; he hated the memories.
No, he loathed the memories. He stayed awake for nights on end, staring out of the window at the garden of the Burrow, wishing the memories away. He watched the flowers, all wrapped in blue-grey blankets, their heads drooping as they slept, and wondered why he couldn't sleep. Then he saw the empty patch of floor where there once used to be another bed, clearly visible in the darkness. He felt the hole in his head where there once used to be another ear. He wrapped his arms around himself and pretended that there were still two, two of everything—two beds in the room, two ears on his head, two sets of candles on a birthday cake, two Easter eggs filled with home-made toffee, two of him.
Spring was when everything had happened. Spring was when Fred and George had had their first bout of accidental magic, causing Charlie's toy dragon to fly to them as toddlers. Spring was when they had sneaked out of the Burrow for the first time and gathered armfuls of flowers, then filled all the breakfast dishes with them before anybody woke up. Spring was when they had engineered their first 'proper' prank at Hogwarts, bribing several older Ravenclaw students to tell them spells, then enchanting the whole of Gryffindor's Easter eggs to sing and dance across their table in the Great Hall.
Spring was when they had sent every extended relative of theirs (including Auntie Muriel) gifts on their birthday, which most of them had conveniently forgotten was also April Fools' Day, which had resulted in quite a lot of chaos and more than a few Howlers. Spring was when, staying up late at night and talking with Lee, they had first come up with the idea of their very own pranks' shop. Spring was when, finally, they had perfected the first Skiving Snackbox.
Spring was when it had all ended. It was all because of Spring.
It was because of Spring that he would stop in his tracks and turn to his right, staring at where there should be someone, but there wasn't. It was because of Spring that he wore a jumper with a large 'F' on it, just to make sure nobody forgot. It was because of Spring that, in the middle of the night, when the loneliness woke him, he would hear soft sobbing and broken words of assurance coming from his parents' room. It was because of Spring that there was only one of everything now. It was because of Spring that everything had been broken, grabbed from both sides and torn apart, then tossed to opposite ends of existence.
Spring had broken him.
There had always been two. Fred and George. George and Fred.
Except now there was only one. One George, and no Fred.
But in the middle of the night, when flowers bobbed their heads in dreams and the empty spot on the floor showed in the moonlight and all the places that Fred wasn't stood out in his memory, George wrapped his arms around himself and shut his eyes, and if he tried hard enough he could still hear the laughter, still feel the arm around his shoulder, still sense that wholeness in his heart.
Almost.
A/N: So, this is going to be a four-part ficlet, with one chapter for each season. Set after the Second War. Will hopefully be completed within four days! Reviews and ConCrit will be very, very much appreciated.