George Weasley tossed and turned in an uneasy sleep. He woke up in a cold sweat and sat up abruptly, tears mingling with the drops of perspiration on his face. It had been just a little over a month since his twin Fred died a hero at the Battle of Hogwarts. The rest of the family was recovering from the grief of the loss as well as they could, and they were starting to move on. But George? Every time he took a breath, it felt like his ribs were crushed, making every breath hurt. The world was in shades of grey to him now, there was no happiness or laughter, it was just darkness all around him, closing in as the black bottomless pit in his stomach consumed him alive. Life couldn't even be called life if Fred wasn't around.

George swung his legs over the side of his bed and put his face in his hands. After a moment he lifted his head and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 3:24 a.m.. He sighed, stood up, and walked around the room in effort to get rid of his restlessness. As he passed by the mirror he stopped and took a long look at his reflection. Hazel eyes that had once been full of laughter, happiness, and light stared back at him, now tired-looking, full of sadness and the grief of a loss no one else could understand, the happy sparkle gone. His skin, which had always been pale, had turned even paler to a light shade of grey, dark shadows under his eyes giving him a sickly look. The smile lines at his mouth were gone; he never smiled anymore. His bright red-orange hair was growing longer again, covering the scar on the side of his head where his ear used to be. He looked like an old man who had seen more sorrows than anyone, and the haunting memories were on his shoulders forever.

George turned and walked back to his bed, climbing back under the sheets. As he laid back down on the pillows, he remembered what he had done when they had all come back home from the battle. He had gone upstairs to what was now just his room and locked the door. He stayed there for days, and he neither slept nor ate. While the rest of the family had been downstairs together, crying and grieving on each other's shoulders, George had put a Silencing Charm on the door so no one would hear his wails and sobs of pain and loss. When he emerged a week later, his eyes were dry but bloodshot from lack of sleep. He emerged a trifle thinner, a good deal wiser, an ocean sadder. He now understood true pain and there was a knowledge of suffering in him now too. Over the course of the next few weeks his wrists became covered with deep cuts and gashes from his wand he had been using as a knife when he was alone at night. He began wearing longer robes and sweaters all the time to hide the cuts from his family. He enjoyed the pain, and the sight of his own blood gushing from his wrists made him feel a bit better about everything, it was like the blade understood him-

George snapped out of his memories, he had gone into a kind of daze. His eyelids had begun to feel heavy, he shut his eyes and went back into another uneasy slumber, drifting in and out of dreams….

George found himself standing on a Quidditch pitch. Where, he didn't know, but the stands were empty, the sun high in a cloudless sky. George looked up and saw a small black dot coming out of the sun, growing larger as it drew closer to him. The closer it got, the more he could make out its features. He saw that it was a person with bright red hair riding a broomstick, donned in what turned out to be Gryffindor Quidditch robes. George watched in silent amazement as Fred hopped off his broom and strode toward him with that familiar spring in his step. He stopped just a few feet from George, and looked him up and down.

"You look terrible, Georgie."

George couldn't believe what he saw, he took a few steps closer. "Forge?" he whispered, not yet daring to believe it.

Fred smiled. "It's really me, Gred." Then he came forward and pulled George into a bonecrushing hug that would had made his mother proud. George hugged his twin equally tightly, tears flowing from his eyes.

"Forge, I miss you," he cried into Fred's shoulder.

Fred smiled into his brother's shoulder. "I miss you too, big brother," he replied. He broke the brotherly embrace and then looked George up and down again with a serious look on his face. "Well, I miss GEORGE, anyway."

George looked puzzled. "But Forge, it is me, it really is-"

Fred cut him off. "No. The George I knew wouldn't look as dead as you do by age 21, he was able to pull through anything, and he sure as hell wouldn't stay locked up in his room for days cutting himself. You're my best friend, Georgie, this isn't you." A sad disappointment replaced the seriousness on his face.

George looked down. "I know Freddie, but I'm not the same person I was when you died. Life can't even be called such anymore, it's more of a living death, like a dementor sucked out half my soul. You have no idea what it did to me, what it's still doing to me!" the tears came faster now. "They used to call us 'Double Trouble', Forge, and now-"

Fred stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder. He bent his head down to look into his twin's sad hazel eyes, eyes that no longer sparkled or smiled. "Gred, I DO understand. When I left, I felt incomplete, and that I was never going to be whole again. But we're still with each other, Georgie. In memories, in dreams, and in our hearts. Hearts don't have to beat to still be able to love. And we ARE still Double Trouble, we always will be. No one else could serve that title properly." Fred smiled again. "But you HAVE to get past this George, you HAVE to stop cutting yourself, and you have to try and help the family move on. I don't want you to cry when you think of me Gred, I want you LAUGH at all the great times we shared, all the memories we made. We're still with each other, promise to do those things for me?" he asked.

George smiled for the first time in more than a month. "I promise, brother mine." He pulled Fred into another tight hug. "I love you, little brother. I'm sorry we have to say it now, after it's too late to say it in person," he said.

Fred's grin got bigger. "I love you too, big brother." Then he pulled away and started walking slowly back to his broom. "Sorry Gred, but I have to go. But don't forget what you promised me, or I will haunt you."

George grinned. "Never. Find a good spot for us to play Quidditch for when I come join ya one day, will you?"

"But of course!" Fred laughed. He mounted his broomstick and rose a few feet in the air, then he stopped and looked back down at his twin. "Oh, and do something with your hair, will you? If we're supposed to be identical I don't want people thinking I look like a scraggly old wizard."

George grinned and nodded as he gave Fred a salute as he rose into the sky, flying back into the beyond.

George opened his eyes and smiled. He got out of bed and the first thing he did was go straight to the mirror and cut his hair to a decent length again. Then he put a Healing Charm on his wrists to heal the cuts into thin scars, threw on a t-shirt and went down and had breakfast with his family. When they asked if he was feeling better, he smiled, much to their surprise, and told them truthfully that he was feeling a bit better. Later that day he Apparated to Diagon Alley and went to the tattoo parlour next to Flourish and Blott's, and got 2 tattooes, one for each wrist, partially covering up the scars. At first he wasn't sure what to get, wasn't sure what would honor Fred best, but then it came to him. He smiled to himself as he walked out into Diagon Alley with his new tattooes: Double Trouble. He still felt the loss of his twin brother and other half, but he also felt slightly better. He was on his way to recovery.

I was going to make the tattooes say "Mischief Managed" instead, but first, I thought "Double Trouble" described them better, and second, "Mischief Managed" sounds like the end of something, and Fred and George's bond never broke, and their friendship never ended. Rate and Review, friends, I love hearing what you all have to say. Ta! xxx