Author's Note: So...another songfic (I'm sensing it's becoming my forte...:P). The song's "With You In Your Dreams" by Hanson. It popped up on shuffle one day and at first I considered doing a Harry&parents fic. But then I decided that it fit the character's of Fred and George better...and because, well, I like them better than Harry (their humour is much more challenging to write...I like a challenge!) Anyway, this is the resulting fic. I hope you enjoy it! Tell me if you do...or don't... Whatever tickles your fancy! :D

Disclaimer: You guessed it! I own nothing apart from the plot. Characters, settings etc. - we all know belong to J.K. Rowling! And as previously mentioned, the song is Hanson's. (Anyone remember their song MMM Bop?) :D

If I'm gone when you wake up
Please don't cry
And if I'm gone when you wake up
It's not goodbye

Don't look back at this time as a time
Of heartbreak and distress
Remember me, remember me
'Cause I'll be with you in your dreams
Oh I'll be with you

George woke with a start. He had been dreaming of the battle. It had only ended yesterday. He immediately felt the large hole in his chest burning. He didn't wipe his tears away when they fell. His brother, his partner in crime, his other half – was gone. How could he ever be happy again? How could he live without Fred? He felt like half of him had died yesterday. He was only half here. He heaved in a deep breath as he remembered the conversation he and Fred had had before they'd set off for Hogwarts just two days ago. It had been one of their rare serious moments together. They'd both been reluctant to discuss what they knew was necessary.

"George," Fred's tone was suddenly serious, his face solemn.

"Fred?" George felt he knew what was coming, but was willing to prolong this conversation as long as possible.

"I was just thinking, you know, if one of us – if one of us, you know –"

George cut him off; he knew his twin would get straight to the point, "Don't. Fred, just don't. Nothing's going to happen, so why bother having this conversation? We're not the serious type, you know that."

Fred's face didn't lighten though, "No, George, I need to say this. If anything happens to me, if one of us – you know – well, just promise me you won't mope around like Myrtle, alright? Promise me you'll keep the shop open, you'll still make people laugh. Promise me."

George found it hard to swallow and nodded, "Yeah, sure. Of course. Though, the same goes for you, brother, no moping or Mum'll go barmy looking at your sorry face for the rest of eternity. Though, it doesn't seem likely anything would happen to me, I'm holey, remember?" he indicated his ear, or lack of, desperately needing to lighten the mood.

Fred shook his head gravely, before he was unable to contain his grin any longer.

"Right you are George, what was I thinking?"

George's tears were still falling. He'd promised he wouldn't mope around, but he couldn't keep that promise – at least not yet. Today they would be burying the dead. Today he would say goodbye to half of himself – the happy half, the half that completed him. Fred would always be around in some way, though. He couldn't be gone completely, not as long as someone remembered him.

But If I'm gone when you wake up
Please don't cry
And if I'm gone when you wake up
Don't ask why
Don't look back at this time
As a time of heartbreak and distress
Remember me, remember me
'Cause I'll be with you in your dreams

Molly Weasley was sobbing soundly, clutching desperately to her solemn husband. She had always pushed the thought of losing one of her children to the back of her mind. The worry had always remained, but the thought itself had never been allowed to surface completely, for it brought with it too much pain. Yet here she was, standing over the grave of her son, Fred. It was a consequence of war, she knew it. She accepted it, she thought she was prepared for this moment, the moment she would say goodbye to her child. But was there ever really preparation for it? Was she ever really prepared? Even if she were, it didn't stop the hurting.

She wasn't sure which pained her the most; the obvious fact that she'd lost a child, or the fact that it was like she'd lost two. She glanced over at George, who had refused to let her hold him. He was stony-faced, pale and expressionless. He looked ghostly. He looked as though he wasn't really there, like he was the shell of a person, a shed snake-skin; something representative of the living organism that once inhabited it. She felt helpless, nothing she'd said or done since yesterday had had any visible effect on him. He simply sat blankly staring off into the distance, or slept. The one time she'd been able to get him to speak, he'd croaked out a pained "Why? Why him, mum? Why?" She hadn't been able to answer, for there was no answer. Though, she did know Fred wouldn't want to see him – any of them – like this, mourning and lifeless. But she was helpless; she had no idea how to ease the pain – within herself and the rest of her family.

Molly Weasley sobbed soundly, clutching desperately to her solemn husband. She was helpless, and all she could do was weep for her son. Not for Fred, but for the half of himself he left behind – for George. She didn't know if he'd ever fully recover from the loss of his twin, and it pained her that she could do nothing about it.

Oh oh

Don't cry, I'm with you
Don't cry, I'm by your side
Don't cry, I'm with you
Don't cry, I'm by your side

And though my flesh is gone, whoa
I'll still be with you at all times
And although my body's gone, oh
I'll be there to comfort you at all times

George stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. Was this real? Was Fred really back? Was he really standing there in front of him? No, he couldn't be...Fred was dead. He'd died five years ago in the Battle of Hogwarts. He'd been buried five years ago along with the others who'd fought against Lord Voldemort. Yet, how was it that he was now standing in front of George? How was it that he was grinning mischievously as always, when George had, for the past five years, felt as though there was a gaping hole in his chest? George had no idea what was happening, and was startled when Fred paced toward him, his mischievous grin turning down into a frown.

"'Ello Georgie. Bit startled to see me then, are we?"

George was still confused, unsure of whether what he was seeing was reality or his imagination – or perhaps a combination of both. Fred, however, seemed to either not notice, or simply flat-out ignore this.

"Yeah, thought you might be. In case you were wondering, this is a dream. 'S not real, I haven't been magicked back to life like ole Voldy. I didn't make any Horcruxes without informing you first. I haven't – "

George cut him off, becoming instantly angry. "Oi! Shut it! Why the bloody hell have you decided to show up now? Why've you been letting me relive your death and funeral every single night for the past five years? If you're capable of talking to me now in my dreams, why haven't you done it before?" George could feel the warmth of a tear running down his cheek, and realised he was crying.

He couldn't help it. For five years he'd been living a half life, operating on autopilot – existing but not living. Sure, he'd kept the shop open; he'd started up something with Angelina Johnson, his former Quidditch team-mate and Fred's ex. But even that hadn't made a difference. Not really. Angelina had helped him through the toughest of times, when no-one else could get through to him – she'd been close to both of them all throughout school. They'd been together for four years now, and he knew he loved her, but she couldn't fill in the gaping hole that Fred had left in his heart. She couldn't replace that part of him – the part that had made him completely himself. And that made him angry; angry with himself for being so dependent on his dead brother and angry at Fred for dying – for leaving him behind to feel so helpless. But above all, he was angry that he hadn't got the chance to say goodbye properly, that he hadn't been able to save his brother. How could he ever forgive himself for that?

Fred was still grinning mischievously at him, and George was overwhelmed by the urge to punch him in the face. Instead, he rasped out, "Why? Why, Fred? Why are you contacting me now? Why not when I needed it the most? It's been years, and you're contacting me now?"

George was pleased to see a look of hurt flash across his brother's face. But the pleasant feeling disappeared when Fred spoke.

"Because George, now is the time you need it the most," he held out his hand like a traffic-control man signalling stop when George attempted to protest, "No. You're wrong. When I snuffed it wasn't when you needed this conversation the most. As sad and gushy as this is for me to admit and reveal – it would only have made you more desperate to cling to me. And I can see you've gone ahead and done that anyway."

George was dumbfounded. Fred was communicating with him in his dreams and this was what he had to say? Didn't he understand how hard it had been to lose him? They weren't the serious type, but this was different. This wasn't a joking matter.

"Fred ...how – how can you say that? You must know how hard it's been for me. How can I ever be truly happy when you're gone? You were always the funnier one. Don't you remember? It was you who instigated the Extendable Ears, the Skiving Snackboxes – most of our inventions. It was always you who started things when revving up Percy or Ron. I just added onto what you'd started. I can't be that funny on my own. I –"

Fred stifled a yawn, "Why you haven't already changed your name to Myrtle is beyond me. What surprises me the most though, brother, is how Angelina has managed to stay with you for this long. I've no idea how she's done it. How can she stand waking up to your sorry looking face every morning? It must be dreadful. Anyway, you promised me, remember? You promised me you wouldn't mope around like Moaning Myrtle, and for the past five years that's all I've seen from you – moping. D'you know how boring it is to watch over a sorry sod like you? Even Percy's become funnier than you – and we both know that's a dire situation. Try cracking a genuine smile every now and then, eh? Surely you remember how that works. Quite a simple thing, really."

George couldn't help himself, he smiled. For the first time in a long time, he genuinely grinned. Fred knew just what to say. It was how they worked; they knew each other better than they knew themselves. How could he stay mad at him? It wasn't his fault he'd died – that was a consequence of war and conflict. He had to accept that. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could forgive himself – for not being able to save his brother, and for remaining angry and solemn for so long...for not really living.

Fred reached out and touched George's arm. "Look, I'm afraid my time here's nearly up. Dead people don't have all day to hang round cheering up the living, you know. Just remember this George, you made me a promise. No more moping. And bloody hell, no more crying, eh? Am I really worth your precious tears? Save them for something like the birth of George junior."

Fred turned to leave, and George didn't feel the sting of it like he'd thought he would. Perhaps Fred was right; this was the closure he needed. But – that hole in his chest wasn't completely filled.

"Fred, wait."

He turned back, eyebrow raised, "Yeah George?"

"I- I, I don't know if I'll ever really be completely happy again. I'm afraid that I won't be. I mean, with you gone, it's like half of me isn't here."

Fred grinned once more, "Wasn't it you who told me five years ago that we weren't the serious type?"

When George frowned his disapproval Fred continued, seeming slightly exasperated, "Look, I'm not gone. Not really. You're talking to me now, aren't you? You have that shop full of things I helped invent, don't you? And okay, if you get really desperate to see me, just look in the mirror. No-one could ever tell us apart anyway – pretend you're looking through Mum's eyes and I'll be looking right back at you. Well, I'd be a bit better looking than your reflection, but you get the gist."

With that, Fred turned away, waving a hand over his head in farewell. George was still grinning. Though he knew it wouldn't happen instantly, things would be easier now. He could begin to live again.

Cause If I'm gone when you wake up
Please don't cry
And if I'm gone when you wake up
It's not goodbye
Don't look back at this time
As a time of heartbreak and distress
Remember me, remember me
'Cause I'll be with you
I'll be with you in your dreams

Oh, I'll be with you
Oh
I'll be with you in your dreams
I'll be with you
I'll be with you

Oh oh

I don't want you to cry and weep, oh
I want you to go on living your life
I'm not sleeping an endless sleep, oh
'Cause in your heart
You have all of our good times
Oh, all of our good times
Oh oh you have

It was Christmas – the Burrow was packed to the rafters with Weasleys and Potters alike. It had become tradition. Yet, as was with all Christmases since the year of nineteen ninety-eight, one red-headed family member was missing. Fred Weasley. George had long since climbed from the abyss that was his grief for Fred – sure, the death of his twin would forever haunt him and pain him, but he'd overcome that hole in his chest. It had been filled with the joy of loving his wife Angelina and their children, Fred and Roxanne. He'd gone on living his life, as he hadn't wanted to waste any more of Fred's precious time 'cheering up the living'. And when he occasionally became overwhelmed by the loss of him, he simply looked in the mirror and grinned – and there was Fred, telling him to stop moping like Myrtle.

It was Christmas – and for the first time in years, George Weasley could say he was complete. He was surrounded by the family that he loved – that Fred loved – and who loved him. They'd never really spoken of Fred over the years, for he figured most of them thought it too painful for him, and for a while it had been. But now, now he felt he could – should – tell his children stories about their late uncle.

George looked around him; they were in the backyard, the kitchen being much too small to harbour the entire family now, everyone was sitting and talking. Harry was in deep discussion with his sons, Albus and James, about Quidditch; Hermione and Ginny were scolding Ron for allowing Hugo to bother Rose and Lily; Percy looked as though he was boring his two daughters to death with some undoubtedly droll Ministry report; Bill was looking rather uncomfortable under his wife's scrutiny, as she flustered about attempting to smooth the creases out of his shirt; his wife, Angelina, was talking animatedly with their daughter, Roxanne, and George had the uneasy feeling it was about a boy. What made George smile broadly in reminiscence however, was the sight of two sixteen year-old boys (his son, Fred, and his nephew, Louis) huddled at the end of the long table, shooting furtive glances around the table before continuing their hushed whispers. Since learning that their first child would be a boy, George had known his name would be Fred - and Angelina didn't question it. Though he hadn't known at the time just how much his son would live up to his name. He felt the sentiment was confirmed now, as he watched his son replace his mother's wand with what appeared to be another regular wand from his pocket. When his son caught him watching, he bore a shocked and fearful expression. George however, grinned and winked at him, knowing all too well the pleasures that came from annoying Molly Weasley.

The moment he'd anticipated didn't take long to arise. Not moments after his son's secretive activity, his mother was shrieking as she reached for her wand in order to serve dinner.

"For Heaven's sake!" she glared around, looking for the culprit who'd replaced her wand with the fake toy replica. Her eyes flickered for a moment on George's face, before turning to that of his son and nephew.

Fred and Louis shrunk back from their grandmother, trying in vain to suppress the smirks that were making their way onto their faces. Molly, however, quickly flicked her glare back to George, who had been grinning at the familiarity of the situation. She apparently was not impressed that he found the situation amusing.

"George! Don't you dare grin at me like that! I know you were behind this! Really, you'd think after having children you'd become a responsible adult, but no, you're just as immature as you were when you were their age!"

Fred and Louis were grinning now, clearly elated that they'd managed to avoid their grandmother's wrath. George, on the other hand, continued to grin at his mother.

"Bur Mum! I didn't put them up to it, I swear! Besides, I am responsible. In fact, I'm rather Saint-like, holey even, wouldn't you agree?"

Everyone at the table groaned, having heard George's over-used pun about his ear one too many times. Fred, however, felt the need to scold his father further.

"Dad, that joke is rather pathetic, you know. I mean, there's a whole wide world of ear-related puns out there and you go for those two, every time!"

Before George could retort, however, Molly had burst into tears. Everyone seemed rather nonplussed about it. All except George. He knew exactly the reason his mother was crying...Fred had spoken almost the exact words of his namesake regarding the joke.

Fred touched her arm gently, a confused but guilty expression on his face, "I- I'm sorry, Grandma. I didn't know it bothered you that much. It was just a bit of a laugh. I mean, we wouldn't have done it if we'd known –"

He was cut off by Molly's bone-crushing hug and sobs. "Oh, Fred! Fred!"

George stood up from his seat and pulled his mother off his son. She looked up at him, placing her hands on his cheeks, like she had when he and Fred were younger, before they'd begun to terrorise her. She pulled him into a tight embrace, squeezing him like she had the morning after the Battle. She let out a pained, "Oh, George, I'm sorry!" before he gently pushed her away.

He looked at her seriously, attempting to convey that it was alright for her to talk about him. It didn't hurt anymore. "It's okay, Mum. It's okay." Molly nodded as a tear slid down her cheek once more. Desperate to relieve the tension, George added, "He's a little git, just like Fred was. Must be the name, I reckon."

Molly only cried harder, and George realised not for the first time how hard it must have been for her to not only lose Fred, but to also have witnessed him mourning his brother's death. He smiled at her before saying softly, "Oh, come on Mum. Stop crying, you know Fred wouldn't want that. He'd be outraged that you weren't yelling at Freddie and Louis, claiming that it was unfair and unjust...favouritism and all that."

Molly laughed then, and George knew he'd said the right thing. They both remained still for a moment, reminiscing all the times that Fred and George had developed clever plans to annoy their mother.

It was then that a thoroughly confused Fred burst out, "Oi! I'm not a little git! They are pathetic jokes! I mean, come on, for a man who has the largest joke shop in London, don't you think it's just a little bit shabby of him to use the same two jokes over and over?"

George and Molly only laughed harder; Molly ruffling young Fred's hair affectionately, (much to his utter distaste) before returning to the task of serving out food.

'Cause if I'm gone when you wake up
Please don't cry

And if I'm gone when you wake up

It's not goodbye
Don't look back at this time
As a time of heartbreak and distress
Remember me, remember me
'Cause I'll be with you in your dreams

George woke with a start. He had been dreaming of the battle. It had ended thirty years ago. How the time had passed, yet the dreams had remained. Though, now it didn't cause him to sob in his sleep, reliving that tragic night. Now he woke with a smile, knowing that Fred was still with him, all these years later. His body was gone, but the evidence of his spirit still remained. He was remembered, and as long as he was remembered, he wasn't gone from this earth completely. George smiled at the thought. He wondered if those dreams he'd had all those years ago – the ones in which Fred had communicated with him – had been real. He wondered if he'd really had a conversation with his dead brother. He supposed so. Just because it was in his dream, that didn't mean it wasn't real. It was real to him, and that's all that had mattered. And he'd always have that.

He no longer felt distraught or solemn when waking from a dream about the battle. It no longer bothered him. Because if ever he felt he was losing sight of Fred, when looking in the mirror wasn't enough, he'd always find him again in a dream. It didn't matter that in the dream he witnessed Fred dying. He found it comforting now, for Fred had died laughing – and that was how George always wanted to remember his brother; a man who brought happiness to the lives of others, a man who loved life and loved to laugh. He'd forgiven himself for having not said goodbye, for not saving him. Really, he never had to say goodbye. Fred's death didn't mean he'd left, for he'd always be with George; in the mirror and in his dreams.

Oh

'Cause I'll be with you in your

Dreams...

A/N: The end! Hope you enjoyed it... :D