Disclamier: Naturally I am not J K Rowling who suddenly felt like submitting a fan fiction, therefore I own nothing.

Half of me

He turns over, knocking the pillow of the bed and his breath changes into the irregular sound of going from asleep to awake. His eyelids flutter, and the moment he becomes aware of that all of the swirling images that keeps waking him at night reshapes themselves into memories and it hits him again.

Fred is gone.

And it happens, again, as it does every morning. A huge black hole replaces his stomach, and it grows, swallows him, eats its way up his throat and blocks every word, and leaves his mind blank and empty. He has already run out of tears.

He's gone.

Since that day he has barely slept at all without the help of a sleeping potion, and even though they are supposed to erase dreams he still feels that he has seen twisted shapes and colours all night. And then he has to wake up, has to remember it all over again. He hates waking up. It's like he starts every day by vaguely wondering why he is feeling so uneasy, and then it takes a fraction of a second and then he knows. But there are still days when his first thought is to ask Fred if they got in any trouble the day before. Worse than usual that is. Those are the worst days.

I just want to sleep and never have to wake up again. Hurts too much to forget and remember over and over.

It just wasn't supposed to happen this way. They had always done everything together. And it was understood that if they were to go, they would go together. But they didn't. He is alone now. The Weasly-twins aren't twins anymore.

I will never talk to him again. Never laugh with him. Never make fun of people, never invent new bestselling products, never play quidditch, never make crazy plans with him again. Ever.

They had always understood each other. Always. Even before they could speak they had communicated, just between the two of them. And as they grew up, they developed a way of instinctively knowing exactly what the other was thinking, they could tell from the tiniest movement or change of voice what was going on in the others head. And both of them always had a million ideas, a thought half forming with one of them, quickly expressed and then continued by the other, jumping back and forth until neither of them new who had come up with what. They were a team, always working together, shielded by the mutual comfort of knowing the other as well as one self.

I know we killed You-Kno… Voldemort. I know that. But I would still revive him and make him headmaster at Hogwarts if I could only have Fred back.

He had never realized how much he took for granted. Having everyone he loved around him and safe for starters. Or how naïve he had been to think that it didn't matter what happened as long as they were fighting for what's right, that it was worth the risks and would be worth the possible sacrifices. Well, it probably will be worth it in the end. It had to be done, he can't argue that. And Fred would hate him for thinking like this. But the price they have paid is still almost too heavy to bear, and he honestly doesn't know what to do anymore. Fred doesn't have to sit around day after day in a room where everything, everything is a painful reminder of what he has lost.

But I don't know what he is sitting around, do I?

There isn't one thing in his life that he doesn't relate to his brother. Practically everything he owns they have bought together, two sets of the same things. (Even their wands, twelve and a half inches, dragon heartstring but slightly different woods, are basically the same for Christ's sake!) And somehow it seems like he has never done anything on his own, because Fred is present somewhere in every single memory.

Guess you never really know what you have before it's gone, huh?

He would never forget that moment, that horrible moment when he met Percy at the foot of the half blown up marble stairs in the Great Hall. He had just sent a hooded death eater flying into McGonagall's army of marching desks when he saw the look on Percy's face, met the wild, desperate gaze behind the dusty glasses and realized, with a jolt so painful that for a moment he thought he had been hit be a curse, that something had happened, that something was wrong, so wrong, and that it would never bee right again.

Afterwards there had been an historic battle just before his eyes. Harry managed the impossible. But he never really saw it. He was there, but the only thing he saw was Fred's face, his pale cheeks, his red hair against the dark floor, his cold, so damn cold hands, his unseeing eyes and the feeling of a smile that still lingered in his expression. All so familiar, and yet so strang. He had always been so full of life.

How do you expect me to live on without you?

That night something had broken inside him. Something essential that he needed to be George. It was like someone had grabbed his soul and ripped half of it out. Right now he was barely functioning, and he doubted he would ever be truly happy again. Of course he would be happy sooner or later, time heals wounds. But it doesn't cover all the scars, and the feeling of complete, true happiness was lost with Fred. Because he hadn't just been his brother or his closest friend, Fred had been a part of him.

He was a half person now. And he had to learn to live with that.

I miss you.

I miss you so much.