Hello all! Fred and George Weasley are two of my favourite characters in the Harry Potter series. They are amazing and hilarious and helpful. Every time someone even mentions that Fred died, o just want to go over to JKR's house and shout at her. WHY DID SHE KILL FRED!?

Anyway, this is a tribute to Fred and also George. Fred was George's best friends, brother and other half. Coming into terms with Fred's death would be traumatic for him. Out of all the Weasleys, George would have the hardest time. I don't think he'll ever fully get over Fred's death.

Anyway, this story just popped into my mind. I hope you like it. It isn't going to be too long, less than twenty chapters I'm sure, but let's see how it goes.

Thanks for checking this out. I got the same on Wattpad (and I've got a pic attached to every chapter there), so you can check that out. Onto the story.

I solemnly swear I'm up to no good!

The cemetery was like any cemetery. Frightening, especially on a night like this. With no stars and no moon to light anything up. Everything was completely dark. Gravestones lined up, some new some old. A twenty six year old man knelt in front of a grave, like he did every single night since the Battle of Hogwarts.

He traced the words on the gravestone, only being able to see because of his wand light.

Fredrick Weasley

Born 1 April 1978- Died 2 May 1998

Beloved son, brother and prankster 'till the end.

George Weasley read the same inscription over and over for almost every night for the last six years. And he had to admit. His life was a mess. A complete and utter mess.

"I'm lost without you, Fred," George whispered to the grave.

George felt so helpless. He didn't feel whole. He sometimes thought that Fred was alive. He saw Fred until he realised it was a mirror. He thought he heard Fred until he realised it was his own voice. He knew, for a fact, that he would never get over Fred's death. And he so badly wanted to join him.

But he couldn't. He tried once, but his wretched family wouldn't let him. Mrs Weasley said she didn't want to loose another one. His siblings said they couldn't handle it again. Mr Weasley had kept quiet, but he had looked so sad that it was scary.

He was stuck. He wanted to join Fred, but his family would most definitely crumble. If he didn't join, he would never be able to live. Because George wasn't living. He heard Ron greet him at the joke shop, heard Angelina trying to talk to him, saw the customers coming and going, but he never acknowledged them. All he ever seemed to think about was Fred.

Everybody knew George was breaking. George knew it to. He tried his very best to put on a cheerful mask and crack jokes, just for his family. He knew his family was hurting as well, but not as much as him.

Fred had been his brother, his best friend, his other half. Why did Fred leave him? Why did it have to be Fred instead of himself? He asked himself the same question almost every single day, Why not me? Why him instead of me?

He sometimes felt that the others thought the same. For the first four years, Mrs Weasley called him Fred instead of George. Every time she did, she broke down crying, and sometimes, George joined her.

Sometimes, George thought that Fred would jump out from behind the gravestone, yell, "You dunderhead, it was just a joke!" and then hug him tight and never let him go.

George got up and waited, like he did every time, for it to happen. It never happened. It never would. He knew he waited all the same. Nothing happened this time around either. There was no hope.

George walked slowly back to his house. He lived separated from the rest of his family, but they visited him daily, to make sure he was alive. His house was close to the graveyard, not far from The Burrow either and wired to the joke shop. He went to the joke shop daily, to keep it going, Ron helped him as well.

He trudged home and sat down in front of the fireplace, a whiskey bottle in hand. He fought the urge to look at the mirror, once again hoping to see Fred. Finally he gave up and looked at the mirror, knowing it was stupid.

He only saw himself. Dark circles under his eyes, pale skin. Dead eyes stared back at him. The worst part, he still had one ear. He always looked to see if he had two ears. If he did, it would have been obvious it wasn't him. But it was. Fred was not there. He would never be.

Which is why he could never produce a patronus. Every happy memory George ever had involved Fred. How could he ever find a happy memory without thinking of Fred. George's heart hurt. He hated his life. He threw the whiskey bottle at the wall and collapsed into the sofa.

He started to sob. He wanted Fred, he wanted to hug him, to say at least goodbye. To tell him how much he loved him, how much he meant to him. How hard it was for him to go on.

George went to the fridge and got another whiskey. After Fred's death, he found that drinking helped a lot. He drowned his misery. He knew that when he woke up in the morning, he would get a hangover, and shout at Ron again. Ron would stay silent but watch him with a pained expression.

Then he would get home after work and drown his sorrows again. He would visit Fred's grave at night and get home and drink. Same thing everyday. He knew it was very unhealthy, but he had no idea what to do.

"Come back, please come back Fred," George said to no one, suppressing a sob.

George cried himself to sleep. Like he did everyday. His life was horrid, and George thought it would never be changing.