Life won't ever be the same. How can it be, when half of you is missing?

He walked slowly and lightly past the long line of bodies sleeping peacefully under the stars of the Great Hall - the ones who have managed to escape the horrors of the present, leaving the living with a great sense of loss and tragedy. Percy was holding him on one side, his father was steadying him on the other. At the sight of Remus and Tonks his knees went weak. He knew what was coming; he had from the moment it happened. He could feel it. As if a part of him died. As if his other ear had been blown off. This was worse, however. Worse than any physical pain he could possibly imagine.

He stopped in his tracks. There he was. His other half. Fred was already cold; lips blue, hair as roaring and bright as ever. Every part of George melted at the sight: his eyes leaked, his nose ran and the entire weight of his body collapsed onto his knees.

George could hear nothing of the chaos around him, but just the sound of Fred filled up inside him, pressing against his skull. All of his senses were telling him that Fred had gone, but he just could not accept that. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't scream, he couldn't ask his brother what to do. Every part of him was useless without Fred. He dragged himself across the floor and lay across his brother's chest where he began to shake. He grabbed the side of Fred's hace and firmly held it.

"Listen to me Freddie." he spoke hysterically, pulling his face closer and closer to his twin's. "Fred. FREDDIE. I said listen to me. Listen... to... me. NOW," He began to shout; their noses now touching. George began to shiver more violently, as his eyes grew wider and watery. The first tear fell and dripped down his face before landing on Fred's stony cheek. "No..." George whispered, repeating it to himself over and over. He couldn't say anymore. How do you say goodbye to a part of you? The main part of you? He felt sets hands appear on his own shoulders: some small and gentle, others big and firm; All, however, were heavy with grief. His brothers and sister, and mother and father were all here. But how could they be? How is it possible for them to be here when Fred wasn't?

The hands of his father appeared under George's arms to lift him away. But he wouldn't go. He clung to Fred. Georde opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out but the noise one would make after swallowing a ton-tongue toffee. Just distressing mumbles escaped his lips. Their mother understood him. She sat next to them; one arm around George and the other stroking Fred's hair. He felt her rocking back and forth, and could hear her silent sobs loud and clear at the front of his mind.

The tears still came. Not as frequent as they used to, but they were still there.

George lightly traced over the wound of his lost ear as his breath forced it's way in and out of his body. He was lying in bed, alone in his room, as he had done for the past year. He looked over to the empty bed; the sheets were crumpled and the duvet was out of place - left just how it had been one year ago.

The red-headed man threw back his duvet and placed his pasty feet lightly on the dark wood floor. He shuffled over to the opposing, ghostly bed and stood, just stood gazing at the indent on the bed.

After a few awfully long moments of bitter silence, George exhaled loudly. He perched on the corner of the bed, tracing the outline of his brother onto the screwed-up duvet. And all of a sudden, just like that, it all came thundering down on him with all the force and might of a tsunami. George crumpled onto the bed, his sobs catching in his throat. He gulped and hiccuped until his throat was sore. He nuzzled his into the duvet under which Fred should be lay, his hands clenching the sheets as he cried out loud. The sobs gradually turned to screams, which were only slightly muffled by his teeth clenched tightly around the duvet.

At the back of his mind, George heard footsteps coming up the stairs outside his room. His head snapped up.

Fred

Ofcourse it was Fred. He was always there with him - why would a simple thing like being dead prevent that.

George flung himself off the bed and stared at the door as it swung open. There Angelina stood, a slow tear gently trickling down her own cheek as she stared at George. She said nothing. She didn't have to. George's face fell as he screamed again. "I just... I need..."

Angelina's heart skipped. "It's okay - I know," She whispered, rushing over to him as he began to sway. She tucked her own arms under his, and together they stood, supporting each other, just as she vowed she always would. Angelina stroked the back of his fiery ginger hair, as his cries, muffled into her shoulder, steadied. She wiped her own eyes quickly and drew back.

"George..." She croaked softly, her hands cupping the sides of his head, as she looked into his eyes. George's own hands crept up and cradled hers. He closed his eyes at the sound of his name, and let his fingers gently stroke the back of her wrists.

"It's okay - I know."