A/N;; This is just a short oneshot I thought of, and, being bored, typed out. It didn't come out exactly like I wanted it to, but I like it this way just as well.

It'll probably be pretty obvious, but just to clear things up, italics are Fred and bold italics George.

Disclaimer;; I do not own any of this. Well, maybe a little, but not anything you recognize. That belongs to JKR, as any decent fan should know ;D

---

He didn't feel like anything today. He didn't feel like eating, he didn't feel like sleeping. He didn't feel like talking to other people, or even teasing Ron. But you can't do nothing. And the only thing he felt up to doing was sitting on his bed, saying and thinking nothing, though even that would be painful. Because the bed opposite him would be empty.

He finally reached his room. It was, as usual, a mess. Nobody had been in here for a long time, at least a couple of months. Ever since they had gone into hiding... But he would not think about that, because he didn't want to think of anything. Thinking was painful.

Boxes were scattered pell-mell about the room, sometimes in tottering piles of two or three, sometimes simply sitting alone. Like himself. Some boxes were open, and the insides of them could be seen- a jumble of objects, some normal-looking, some very much not so. He didn't really care about those items anymore. He might keep the shop, he might not, he didn't know yet. But it took two to invent, and he was only one, now.

He stopped next to a box that was blocking his way to the bed. He was about to shove it out of the way, but then he recognized it. It was full of scraps of parchment, papers and even a few napkins. Notes he and Fred had written when they couldn't talk. And then he did feel like doing something. He felt like going over these notes, reliving moments he did or didn't remember. Reliving moments he had shared with Fred.

He sat down, and took a scrap of parchment out of the box.

Fred, I've been thinking.

Glad you finally learned how.

Very funny. But seriously, I just had an idea. Fake wands would be brilliant, no?

Hmm, interesting. Wait, Flitwick is looking our way. Cia!

He didn't remember that class, oddly enough. He remembered the evening after it, though, when he and Fred had made their first sketches of fake wands. And the day about a week later, when they tried it on Lee. McGonagall had been furious about it…

He rummaged inside, and pulled out another one. There was a bit more written on this one, but it wasn't that long.

This is boring.

Tell me about it.

Don't suppose you have a Snackbox on you?

Sorry, no. Umbridge confiscated my stock, the toad.

As if taking our brooms wasn't enough…

These Ministry people are all gits. Look at Percy…

George, promise me something.

Yeah?

Let's never be like Percy. Always stick together with our family, and each other.

Promise.

He couldn't go on reading. He had promised Fred they would always stick together. But they weren't together now, now that Fred was dead… Tears blurred his vision, but he kept on reading. He knew what he would read, but he needed to read it anyway.

And if we ever are separated- by no fault of our own, I hope- I want you to move on. Don't sulk or cry, even if there isn't a chance of seeing me again. Because a Weasley twin's duty is to laugh and make other people laugh. Remember that, yes?

Always.

He brushed the tears from his eyes. No, he wouldn't cry over Fred. Because Weasley twins don't cry, even if their other half is dead. No, he wouldn't cry. He would go downstairs now, and join the others. And he would laugh, and make other people laugh. Maybe not right now. It was hard to laugh right now. But eventually, he would.