Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters forthwith. I do, however, like to play with them... even when they make me cry.

She found him in front of the fireplace, keeping watch. Knees drawn up so his tired head could rest, eyes almost closed, but not quite. His hair, reflective red like the rest of his family, was dull even in the dancing firelight. His entire body screamed weariness, but he still would not sleep. He didn't look up at the rustle of her night robe; he didn't shift a bit as she settled beside him.

"I couldn't sleep," he muttered after a while. The stillness had become a tense rope between them.

"I would ask if there were anything…"

"Nothing," he replied, having heard the question a million times in the past few weeks. There was nothing anyone could do. Nothing would ever make this better. Nothing would ever fill this great gaping wound…

"It feels like half your heart has been ripped from your chest," his mother whispered quietly, as if she knew. He felt the tear finally track down his cheek, but it was only the one. The rest were still caught behind his fear. He couldn't let the rest fall. If they did… he might not ever be coming back…

"You know," she said after more or that silence which seemed the swallow all sound in the room. "I used to sneak into Gideon and Fabian's room at night."

He looked over, confused. Why was his mother telling him about her older brothers? What could she possibly say bout them that could help him? She smiled a little smile, one he recognized as the one she wore when pretending like something didn't hurt. She'd been wearing it a lot lately.

"I was convinced that they were planning marvelous things without me. Wondrous things that could be exciting and fun and, oh, just mischievous… you get your wild streak from them I'm sure," her hand rested on his head and tousled his lank hair a bit. "I hid in their closet, waiting with my heart beating, for them to come in and start planning." She scoffed, "I fell asleep in that closet half the time, the rest of the time they'd catch me and tickle me to exhaustion, or start planning the pranks they'd play at Hogwarts when they'd go back. Oh, I couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts…"

He smiled a bit, remembering Bill and Charlie and Percy. They got to go before… He shook his head, refusing to think on it anymore.

"I spent the first part of my life falling asleep, listening to them plot. I'd gone to Hogwarts, and then I got married to your father before they'd died, you know." He nodded, he knew.

"Mum," he sighed, not at all sure where this was going.

"It wasn't until after they were gone that I found I couldn't sleep," she gently tugged her son into her embrace, and kept her arms around him until his body relaxed. "I kept hearing their voices, or feeling a tug, you know, a quick "follow me" tug," he nodded, he knew. "I would stay awake for days, just wondering, just maybe they had something to tell me. Just maybe…" he felt a tear fall down his cheek, but it wasn't his.

"Mum," he fought the shadow that encroached. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to admit it. He wiped his eyes furiously, denying everything.

"Mum," he fought her arms, but she held on. Her tears marking paths down his face. He tired to, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop them. He couldn't stop his throat from burning. He couldn't stop the tears that threatened.

"Mum," He grabbed hold. They were falling. They were pouring from his eyes. They were soaking his mother's breast as they clutched together, as he tried to bury himself, as he tried to fight it.

But the heartbeat that had always echoed his, the heartbeat his had always echoed, was not there. The slight catch of breath that always followed his, the smile that always flashed right before his did, was nowhere to be seen.

His twin was dead; George Weasley was no longer ½ of a unit.

He was a whole.

I was crying while I wrote this. I don't think I could survive something like this happening to me.