Dear Family,

I am so sorry. I have to be with him again. Please don't be sad about this. Know that I am so much happier with him, where I belong. We're not meant to be apart, I know that now.

I love you all,

George

George finished writing and left the letter on his pillow. His mother would surely find it. She would come to investigate tomorrow when she did not hear the usual sobbing and cursing coming from her son's room.

It had been two months since Fred died. Fred, George's twin, his brother, his best friend…

His other half.

It had been two months of pure torture and agony for George. He had not known what to do with himself. Each long, horrible day without Fred was like a living hell. He went through his phases; Sorrow, denial, anger, numbness, depression…like the constant drip of a leaky faucet. With each beat of his heavy heart he remembered…Fred…gone…Fred…

He had tried, tried to be strong for his brother. Fred would have wanted him to be happy, to move on. But it was impossible.

He looked around at the room that used to be shared by he and Fred. There was evidence of their happy, perfect childhood together scattered everywhere. This was where they had first started inventing together. He looked at the dozens of firewhiskey bottles in a pile from the times he had tried to drink away the pain, to drown out the numbness…He saw Fred's cold, empty bed…

He knew what he was doing was right. Right for him, anyway. He was being selfish, he knew, but he needed to be with his brother again.

There had been a gaping hole in George the last two months. He imagined what it would feel like to finally be complete again…it was so close he could almost taste it.

He wasn't scared anymore. He had been though, when it first happened. One of the fearless Weasley twins had actually been scared. But now as he sat in his old bedroom, knowing his misery would soon end…he was content.

Then, as he lifted his wand and pressed its tip against his temple, he felt a rush of joy when all the best memories of he and his twin, memories he had suppressed for months, flooded back to him:

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred."

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid - we know we're called Gred and Forge."

"So top grade's O for 'Outstanding,'" Hermione was saying, "and then there's A-"

"No, E," George corrected her, "E for 'Exceeds Expectations.' And I've always thought Fred and I should've got E in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams."

"-but you get these massive pus-filled boils too," said George, "and we haven't worked out how to get rid of them yet."

"I can't see any boils," said Ron, staring at the twins.

"No, well, you wouldn't," said Fred, "they're not in a place we generally display to the public -"

"- but they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the -"

"George," said Fred, "I think we've outgrown a full-time education."

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," said George lightly.

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" asked Fred.

"Definitely," said George.

And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wants and said together, "Accio Brooms!"

"Ready Freddie?" George said. They could feel that the Battle of Hogwarts was commencing.

"Ready Georgie." Fred said confidently.

They knew would always be okay, as long as they were together.

But he had not been there for his brother when he had needed him the most.

Then George murmured, with a crazed smile on his face, "Avada Kedavra."

And, with a flash of green light, everything was gone.

~XX~

He lay facedown, listening to the silence. He was sure he was alone, that nobody else was there. He wasn't completely sure he was there himself.

A moment later, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than a disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface.

He opened his eyes.

All that he could see of his surroundings was silver-white smoke. Or were they clouds? It looked neither liquid nor solid nor gas. Where was he?

"George," said a voice from overhead.

George pushed violently from the ground when he heard the voice. That was it, the only voice George had ever wanted to hear.

And then he saw him.

Standing feet away from George was his twin brother, Fred. Fred's face was the most beautiful thing in the world to George, who hadn't appreciated it when he had had the chance. Only they could distinguish the differences between each other. George knew that Fred had a slightly longer face and a broader forehead. And two ears.

George was overcome by the strangest feeling, one that he hadn't felt in what seemed like a lifetime. It was the feeling of joy, love, peace, belonging, and contentment.

He was happy.

But that wasn't enough. He was more than happy. He was overcome with a kind of impossible jubilation. His heart shot up in his throat, choking him, threatening tears.

He was finally with his brother again. At last, he was where he belonged.

"FRED!" he screamed like a little child.

He charged at Fred, ready to hug him again, to tell him he was sorry he hadn't been there for him. To finally be able to say how much he loved him, something he should've done more when he had had the chance.

But as George reached out to his twin, some invisible force stopped him. His hands hit something like a glass shield, like someone had cast the Protego charm between them.

"Freddie?" he pleaded frantically, tears brimming in his eyes.

Then he looked more closely at his brother. Fred was not smiling, but was surveying George with a disapproving frown.

"George," Fred spoke. "What the hell are you doing?"

George was banging his fists against the aggravating barrier; after all he did to see his brother again, he couldn't even touch him?

"Fred what's going on? Why cant I−"

"What do you think you're doing Georgie?" Fred was completely serious, a mood George had rarely ever seen him in. He spoke in a quiet, assertive voice. "After I died to protect you, to protect our family, you're just throwing it all away?"

George stopped banging and blinked rapidly, clearing his eyes of the stinging tears. "I miss you, Freddie," he said softly, not understanding his twin. "Am- am I…dead?" he asked hopefully.

"No, George. Not yet. I'm giving you a choice. I don't know why you tried to kill yourself, but−"

"I miss you, Fred!" George repeated. "I can't live without you! I tried, but I can't! You took part of me with you, and I came to get it back!"

"George, listen to me!" Fred said, more loudly now. "I miss you too. More than you know−"

"But I do know, Freddie! My life has been hell since you left!" George was in hysterics now, not being able to touch his twin, still not seeing him smile. "Why did you have to leave me?"

"I'm so sorry, Georgie. So sorry…" Fred's eyes were brimming with tears, too. He had always been the strong one, but seeing his brother, whom he loved so much, breaking down like this…it was like an arrow through the heart. "But this is wrong. You can't do this to our family."

"THIS ISN'T WRONG!" George sobbed. "We're meant together!"

"And we will be together George. When it's right. Right now, though, you have to go back, take care of our family." Fred's voice was barely a whisper now. "Please…Do it for me."

"But…but I killed myself! I should be dead! We should be together now, but− but I can't touch you!"

"I know," Fred said gently. "I stopped you. You're not going to die. Not if I can help it. You're going to go back and be happy. Fall in love. Raise a family. I'm giving you a choice."

"How? I can't fall in love. That was your thing. You would be happier than I am. You would have made something of your life. I can't…"

"You can go back, Georgie," Fred pleaded. "It's your choice, but…. if you love me, if you really, really love me…you'll do it."

"Of course I love you, Fred. But−"

"You can. I know you can. You will be happy. You'll do it for me. Please."

George knew he would do anything for Fred, and Fred did too. But George wasn't making any promises yet; he just wanted to talk to his brother one last time, to say what he hadn't gotten to say before…

"Where are you, Fred?" he asked.

"I can't tell you that," Fred smiled. "But I'm happy. Harry's parents are here. And Tonks, and Remus, and Sirius. Did you know they were Marauders? James, Sirius and Remus? And we never even knew…we could have thanked them, we owed them so much!"

And Fred laughed. And in that moment, finally, George was truly whole again. He realized that he didn't need Fred there with him, but that knowing he was happy, that he was watching over them…that was enough.

"Fred, what happens if you send an owl to heaven?"

"I'll get it," he chuckled. "But I won't write back," he added sadly.

"Hey, George," Fred laughed, "Now I'm the holy one."

They talked for hours. George wanted to hear Fred's voice enough so that he would never forget it. He stared at his face, etching every detail into his memory, knowing it would be a very long time until he saw his twin again.

"It's getting late," Fred finally said. "You don't want Mum to wake up and find your letter.

"Are you ready?" Fred asked.

George couldn't speak.

"Georgie…I'll always be with you. In here." He reached a hand out and pressed his palm right over George's heart; the barrier was broken.

And finally, George was able to hug his brother one last time. He cried as the embraced, but the tears were different. They were happy tears. George knew that, somehow, he would be okay.

"I love you, Freddie." He sobbed. "I'll make you proud, I know I will."

"I know you will too, Georgie. You'll make the right choices."

They unwillingly released each other. George knew it would be so much easier just too stay here with his brother.

He remembered something Dumbledore had said, "Soon we must all face the choice between what is right, and what is easy."

This was George's time to face that choice.

"Goodbye, Fred," he said bravely.

The roles had been reversed. Fred, the strong one, was crying. "'Bye, George," he choked. "You know, when you're really ready, when you're supposed to come back, I'll be here, waiting for you. But, until then..."he grabbed George's hand, looking him straight in the eyes. "Mischief Managed." he smiled a watery, crooked smile.

George didn't need instruction. Somehow, he knew, all he had to do was close his eyes and he would return to himself, to his family.

He took a deep breath.

"Mischief Managed," he repeated.

And then he closed his eyes and let the darkness close over him.

~XX~

He was lying facedown again. The familiar scent of his warm bed filled his nostrils. His entire body ached, but his head, where he had hit himself with the killing curse, was by far the worst.

He opened his eyes. There was the beautiful morning sunlight streaming through his window, fitting for his mood, for his extraordinary epiphany.

He sat up. His suicide letter still sat on his pillow where he had left it. He picked it up triumphantly and muttered, "Incendio." It burst into flames.

Then, he sprang off of his bed and ran down stairs, where the rest of his family was gathering for breakfast. He was flooded with guilt at the looks of surprise on their faces; they had scarcely seen him at all the last two months.

"Mum!" he sighed. He scooped her into a hug. "I'm so sorry," he murmured into her shoulder.

"Georgie?" she gasped. She had immediately started to cry when her son appeared. "Oh, George!" she cried. She did not question his motives, but just enjoyed his presence.

He did not tell her what he had tried to do, nor that he had seed Fred, but asked Harry, who had been sitting at the table with Ginny, to have a word with him.

They traveled to the garden where George stopped and turned to Harry.

"It's good to see you, George," Harry said hesitantly, when George said nothing.

"Harry, I'm going to tell you something. But you have to promise not to tell anyone else. Especially Mum."

"Of−of course, George. What's bothering you?" Harry was slightly taken aback; He and George had never been the closest.

"Well," George began, "I, um, sort of killed myself an hour ago."

"…Excuse me?"

George explained what had happened, how Fred had said he had 'stopped him' from dying. How they had not been able to touch at first. How Fred had been so real, so alive...

Harry looked like he had been clubbed over the head. "You...you just came back...?"

"Well, don't get too happy I'm not dead," George scoffed.

Harry's eyes widened and, without warning, he tackled George in a brotherly embrace. "George! That's the first time I've heard you joke since..."

"Huh," George muttered, just as surprised as Harry. "I guess it is."

Harry released him. "It just doesn't make any sense," he pushed. "If there's one thing I've been told more than the fact that I have my mother's eyes, it's that you can't reawaken the dead. Dumbledore always reminded me of that, whenever..." he trailed off.

"But you came back, didn't you?"

"You know that's different," he moved on. "Hey...I think, maybe you're ready now, you seem strong enough...Come here!"

Harry forgot thier conversation and began to run towards the woods behind the Burrow.

"Here it is!" and Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak to reveal a stunning portrait of Fred, snoozing in his frame. "You know, Hermione told me how these things work. When a person is alive, just a small part of their personality makes the picture move and talk. But when their not, they can actually talk through their portraits. It's the closest thing to actually having them back. This one's almost finished..."

Harry tapped the frame and muttered, "Enervate."

The framed Fred's eyes snapped open and he smiled.

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first story on here(: I'm just turned 13, so I hope you enjoyed. This was something I wrote when I had slipped back into my Post-Fred depression /3...please review, I would really appreciate feedback!

Thanks again!