Sitting quietly in a corner, sipping coffee that had long become cold, the young man watched the other occupants silently. They all moved about the kitchen efficiently, never running into each other and all had an appointed task.

Idle chatter flowed easily from one person to another, incorporating everyone at some point in their conversations. The subjects were never thick with arguments and they never spoke of worries of the outside world.

He used to be a part of that seamless unit. He had been able to move about the sunlit kitchen with ease, able to discern where someone was going to move next. He had been able to speak with them, joke with them, laugh with them.

But he couldn't any longer. He was alone, adrift with nothing to anchor him.

Their laughter surrounded him. Where it had once been liberating to hear, the sound was now suffocating.

Placing the nearly full mug down onto the table, the man stood. While he pondered what he should do, he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

He knew he couldn't stay. Everyone was at ease, happy - as they should be. But he wasn't and he couldn't stay. He couldn't. He was still incapable of feeling anything, but frustration and loss.

Moving swiftly to the back door, the man left the house. No one paid any heed to his departure; he had often up and left without a goodbye.

He didn't glance back.

He didn't know where he would go, what he would do, but he knew what he wanted - needed: a reason to live.

He needed to understand why he lived and Fred didn't.

I know you're all wondering why I left or where I'm going.

It doesn't matter and it's none of your business.

Those reasonings are mine alone. I don't want any of you to follow me or try to find me. And I don't want you to wait for me.

I don't really know where I'm going and I don't know how long I'll be gone. Maybe a week. Maybe a year. Maybe longer.

I'll keep in touch.

George

George wrapped his hand around the paper cup in front of him, warming his fingers. Bringing the cup to his lips, he blew the steam away without a second thought before taking a cautious sip.

The flavor of hazelnut seemed to explode in his mouth. He just barely contained himself from spewing the flavored drink onto the table. Swallowing the mouthful, he glared down at the offending cup.

For a moment, he could hear his twin's laugh. The sound was so acute that he turned to his right and snapped loudly, "This is your-"

Fred wasn't sitting beside him. The couple in the booth over eyed him strangely before they went back to their conversation.

"-fault," he finished quietly, turning to sit forward again.

Brown eyes, filled with unshed tears, fell back onto his paper cup filled with what people called a drink. He barely noticed that his thumbnail was viciously scratching at the textured, brown sleeve wrapped around the cup in agitation.

He wouldn't cry.

If he hadn't cried at the funeral, with his family or on his own, he wouldn't break down in the secluded café filled with muggles.

Taking another sip of the disgusting brew, he fought back the urge to cringe. He continued to drink the abhorrent coffee in an attempt to ignore the voice that sounded like Fred, 'Stop being such a pansy and drink it already.'

George,

Please come home. Molly's beside herself with worry, we all are.

Ginny and Harry's wedding is in two months. Please come home by then.

We miss you,

Dad

London wasn't helping. He went to all the muggle sites - Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Benjamin Franklin House - and visited nondescript places - Pollock's Toy Museum. He had dined at restaurants - Hackney Pearl, Albion at the Boundary, Pavilion Cafe - and drank in pubs - The Heights, Zeitgeist London. He chatted with anyone who wished to and chatted up any bird who caught his eye.

He slept with muggles. He watched crap telly - once he figured out how to use one. And if he ended a night alone, he slept on couches to avoid the nightmares that seemed to plague lonely beds.

No matter what he did, Fred was beside him, talking to him - but whenever he turned to confront his twin, no one was there.

That was how George found himself in an airport, everything he needed in his shoulder bag.

The redhead waited patiently in the queue, knowing that if Fred were there his twin would be shifting his weight from foot to foot and complain about the wait.

"Next."

George walked forward to stand in front of the counter the other man was behind. The man was in his mid-thirties and with thick brown hair that curled about his sharp features. Hazel eyes met George's, the only emotion the younger man could see was boredom.

"How can I help you?"

"I need a flight."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere," George shrugged, shifting his pack back onto his shoulder when it slipped down his arm. "Preferably leaving today."

If everything had been normal, George would have laughed and smiled when he saw that the boredom in the man's eyes had been replaced with curiosity. He and Fred would have teased the man ruthlessly in order to make him laugh. They would have pranked the muggles as much as they could.

"There usually is a wait-list for certain trips, but I'll see where the nearest opening is. If there's any today."

Except if Fred were there, George wouldn't have found himself in a muggle airport and he wouldn't have been planning to board an airplane to a yet unknown destination. Especially after having watched that movie 'Alive'. It was about a plane crashing and those blokes turning to cannibalism to survive, but planes didn't crash often... supposedly.

"Thank you."

And George wouldn't have been quite as polite if Fred were there.

"Looks like you're in luck. The next available flight is in six hours to Miami, Florida. In the United States. Would you be interested?"

United States. Wasn't that the place where you went to if you wanted a fresh start? Or some shite like that? Either way, he would go and maybe he could find what he was looking for. Maybe he could escape Fred's voice.

"What do you need?"

Dear George,

I want to say I understand why you left, but I don't. Not really. At least, I don't understand completely. Everyone lost someone dear to them in the war and each of us have had to deal with it in our own ways.

I've heard that twin's are two parts of a whole. That while they're different, that if one is missing then it seems as if something was removed from the other.

All I can say is I hope you find whatever it is that you're looking for. And - I think I've spent too much time with Hermione - please don't expect someone to ever take Fred's spot in your life. They won't and all that will happen is that you'll get hurt in the end.

Be safe and come back to us when you can.

Best,

Harry

P.S. Ron says that he would like some pictures. Something about taking Hermione places.

Even though it took longer to get to their destination, George decided that he prefered muggle transportation over wizarding. They were less traumatic and gave him time to relax.

He also found that a well timed confundus charm worked exceptionally well on someone who didn't know or believe in magic compared to those who knew how to counter or block. What was a passport anyway and why did anyone need one to travel someplace?

Finally exiting the airport, George look around and took a look at America for the first time. He couldn't really say he was impressed - it was too hot and way too humid for his liking.

He took in a deep, shuddering breath. He made it to a new place.

In all honesty, George didn't know what he would do if he found answers to his questions.

Straightening his back, George moved out into the sunny day to find a place where he could rest.

Georgie,

I just wanted to let you know how everything is going here. I suppose I should start with the store. The sales are still through the roof. Every day we see new faces, all eager to see what we have to offer.

Lee is enjoying his time helping the customers and giving them a reason to laugh. Katie likes being able to close the deal behind the counter. She's actually quite skilled at it. Many walk out of the store with more than they meant to buy. Not only that, but the job is doing wonders for them ever since... well, I'll just leave it at that, shall I?

Your brothers... I should actually put their names as you have so many. Charlie and Bill help out on the weekends when they're able. It seems they enjoy spending their free time being salesmen and using the merchandise on each other. It's fun to watch... when you're not the victim.

Expect letters from them soon.

Be safe,

Angelina

George sat, his face covered by his hands. Letters were scattered over the bed; ones he had written, but most were ones he had received.

'What are you doing lazing about? You're in Canada! Enjoy the weather! Don't mope!'

Fred's voice caused George to shudder. "What, enjoy the stormy sky? Enjoy the rain hitting my face as is it come down in sheets? Or perhaps I should enjoy the biting wind? Which do you mean?"

'Exactly! All of them! Go outside.'

George dug his fingernails into his scalp, giving a humorless laugh as he refused to look up. "We'll get sick, you berk."

Silence met his words for a moment before Fred answered, 'You know I can't get sick, Georgie.'

The redhead's shoulders shook, but he dug his nails harder against his head, pulling at his hair as he did so. He only had to focus on the pain. If he did that, he wouldn't break down crying.

No matter what happened, he couldn't cry.

'Go outside. Georgie, please go outside.'

But George didn't listen. He knew what Fred wanted him to do. Fred wanted him to go outside, to give in and cry. To cry in the rain so no one could see his tears.

He didn't want to cry. He wanted to be alone.

When George didn't hear Fred, he lowered his hands slowly. His fingers swept under his eyes. They pulled away dry.

Glancing to his right, he saw the coffee mug that he had filled hours ago. Since then, he had only drank a few sips before he gave up and left the mug on the beside table.

Coffee was disgusting.

Moving his gaze to the window, George watched as the world seemed to mourn outside.

Hey George!

I figured you'd like some pictures of the wedding. Gin was beautiful and you should've seen Harry! He looked as if he were about to faint when he was waiting for Gin to go to him.

We held the wedding in the backyard, like Bill's.

There were so many reporters that were trying to barge in to get pictures of the 'Chosen-One's Wedding'. Dad went ballistic - well, in Dad's own way. He threatened to hex them if they continued trying to break down the wards.

Dad! Not Mum. Can you believe it?

Kingsley was able to sort everything out without Dad having to actually back up his threats.

I'm about to head back to Romania and see my dragons again. I'll keep stopping by at the shop on any free weekend that I have.

Working at the shop was more interesting than I first thought it would be. Though it was almost a hassle because of the children trying to touch everything - which you know would end in disaster.

The job reminded me why I don't want kids...

The pictures of Canada were nice.

Everyone sends their love.

Love,

Charlie

George never stayed in one place for long. He would visit a town or a city for a few days before he moved on to the next.

What happened during the day differed depending on where he was and what there was to do or see. But the mornings... the mornings would usually started the same way.

He would bolt upright, his heart racing and Fred's name tearing past his lips in a scream. Once he was aware of his surroundings - understanding that he had only been dreaming - he was able to sit and try to get his breathing under control and his heartbeat back to normal.

Then he would go into the bathroom and stand in the shower. The water started as a scalding heat, but he would simply stay under the stream until his body started to shiver once the water turned cold.

At the moment, George sat at a little table under a large green umbrella outside the coffee shop, staring blankly into his cup. His eyes didn't actually stay on the drink, they would move from his cup to the assortment of sweeteners in front of him. He had yet to add anything to his coffee.

Fred always added something before taking the first sip. Fred would then sigh happily before downing the rest of the beverage in one go, not caring about scalding his tongue. The twin claimed that coffee was the reason magic came into being - so that people could heal their burnt tongues.

George never understood his twin's appeal to coffee, ambrosia of the gods.

Staring into the murky brown liquid, George shrugged before bringing the mug to his lips without adding anything. He blew the steam away and breathed in the heady scent of the beverage.

He took a small, cautionary sip, remembering his brother's aversion to black coffee. His eyes closed slowly, the warmth of the drink spreading throughout his body.

When he opened his eyes, he finally took in the scenery around him.

The breeze, soft and chill with the hint of salt, caused the water to ripple. People wandered about the beach, their feet leaving footprints behind.

Every step took them forward, but their footprints would remain until either the wind, water or another person removed them from existence.

George continued to watch the people and their footprints, drinking coffee until the sun set.

George,

Thanks for the pictures! They're wicked! I already have ideas where I want to take Hermione. She has really liked looking at the pictures. You know, I'm thinking of asking her to marry me soon. We've been together for so long that it seems to be the right time to do it. But I'm... worried she'll say no or that she wants to wait or...

Sorry. I wanted to thank you again for sending the pictures, not tell you about my worries.

Auror training is difficult, especially since Harry's still on his honeymoon with Ginny. I understand their need for a long honeymoon to get away from everything, but six months? At least he'll be back soon.

We were so tempted to simply skip auror training. Kingsley had guaranteed us spots in the program, but me and Harry didn't want that. We wanted to do something right for once, without bending or breaking the rules. We wanted to earn what we get. When we told Hermione she burst into tears and suffocated us in hugs. I think it's safe to assume she was proud of us.

She's having a blast at University. She tried to explain her courses to me, but I was lost pretty much as soon as she started.

Oh. Looks like she's waking up, so I'll stop here.

Miss you, George,

Ron

He had the urge to go to the shop. To go home.

George had began packing when he remembered that Fred wouldn't be there. Fred wouldn't be at the shop, laughing with customers, pranking anyone he could. Fred wouldn't be in the lab, to bounce ideas around or lose himself to laughter when something exploded. Fred wouldn't be there in the flat they had created above the shop. They had agreed if either of them married, their spouses would have to be ok with the other twin living in the other bedroom.

Falling onto the bed, George curled up into the fetal position, tears threatening to fall.

He flinched when he felt the first tear. He snarled in anger at the second.

The tears stopped. He wouldn't cry.

Yes, he missed Fred. He wanted Fred back. Fred didn't deserve to die. Crying would mean that George was moving on. That he would forget Fred. That he didn't miss his twin.

He wouldn't cry.

He couldn't. Not ever.

Dear George,

I hope all is well. I hope your finding whatever it is you need. I hope you're healing.

I know we rarely spoke to each other during school and that I have never sent you a letter just from me, but I wanted to tell you something without Ron reading it.

We all miss him. I know it's not to the same extent as you, but we do.

No one mentions him to you because they're so afraid to lose you, too. I'm probably stepping over a boundary I shouldn't, but I can't stand to see the people I love mourn someone who is alive.

Please, George, speak of Fred. To yourself, to your family.

I don't know what it's like to lose a twin, but I know the pain of losing your family. It's like you can't breathe, as if you can't move. So you keep moving so you don't become consumed by despair.

We are all here for you. We won't let you be consumed if you let us help.

With my love,

Hermione.

Consumed by despair. Was that what was happening to him?

George walked to the mirror above the sink so he could stare at his reflection. The first time in a long time. His face was gaunt and his eyes seemed devoid of emotion. His hair was brushing past his shoulders. His face looked like Fred's.

Did he look like he was consumed by sorrow?

'I'm gone, Georgie.'

He tensed, turning around to find the owner of the voice, but he couldn't find Fred. "Then why can I still hear you?"

'Because you know what you need to hear, but won't tell yourself. That's where I come in. The voice of reason, as always.'

George snorted at the blatant lie. He had been the voice of reason, but... "You always are blunt with me."

'Were, Georgie. I'm dead.' Though the words were soft, George flinched. 'You know I'm not here. But you try to keep me alive by talking to me as if I weren't gone.'

"That hardly works, though, with you keep reminding me you're dead." George moved to his bed and sat on the cushions. "Are you going to remind me every day for the rest of my life?"

'No, Georgie. We were two halves of a whole, like all twins. You were me, I was you, but we were both different. You hear me only because you know what I would say.'

"Will you ever stop speaking to me?"

'When you are you.'

George didn't understand, but he knew he was about to cry. So instead, he picked up his quill and wrote.

My dearest George,

You've been writing to Angelina again, I see. She always stops by to let us know that you've written to her. She's a sweet girl. She tells us you speak of many things, but she never speaks of what they are.

I love you. And I will be here if you ever need anything.

Love you always and forever,

Mum

It had been a year since he left. Two months since he first wrote to Angelina about Fred.

George still visited places around the world, but he wrote to Angelina regularly. He came to depend on her letters. They spoke of many things, ranging from important to inconsequential subjects.

Her letters were the one thing that brightened his days.

Every day he would look in the mirror, forcing him to face his reflection. It was painful at first, to see Fred staring back, but George persisted.

A month later, he stopped seeing Fred looking back at him. His brother's hair had been lighter, his cheekbones had not been as pronounced as his own.

He finally understood what Fred meant.

He and Fred were one in the same. They were created at the same time. They were two halves of a whole.

But George was also himself. He looked different, acted differently and had a different personality than his brother.

Two of one, but two different people.

He had stopped hearing Fred's voice and he knew why. Fred's voice was actually his own voice talking back to him in a way that Fred would have. He had been right. He did know his brother well enough to fool even himself.

Walking off the plane, George took a deep breath before moving towards his new destination.

Dearest George,

I'm having Bill write this for me since I still have difficulty writing in English.

We have wonderful news: I am bearing Bill's child!

We have a question for you, George. I know it's sudden and we aren't expecting an answer right away, but would you be our child's godfather?

Please consider our request.

We missed you at Ron and Hermione's wedding.

All our love,

Fleur and Bill

Two more years passed before George found himself in front of the Burrow again. He wasn't sure what to do. Did he just walk in? Did he knock? Was he even welcome anymore?

Before he lost his nerve and disapparated, the door banged open and he was smothered in a hug.

"Can't... breathe."

Ginny eased her hold on him, only slightly, but it was enough for him to hug back. Her tears seemed to soak into his skin as she whispered, "I've missed you so much. You're home. You're finally home."

As the rest of the family joined in the hug, George murmured in his sister's ear, "I'm home."

He did not sleep at the Burrow, instead he went back to the flat above his store. Soon he would go and see Angelina, but not yet. He wasn't quite ready.

George went into Fred's room. It was exactly the same as it had been before his twin died.

All these years he hadn't cried, but the tears came forward unbidden.

He did nothing to stop them.

Falling to his knees, George wept. He cried out in anguish and his heart beat rapidly in his chest as he cried.

Finally, finally he mourned Fred's death.

Freddie,

I don't know what I'm trying to do. I miss you. I miss you so much. We were always together. If one of us got sick, the other would stay until we were both sick; Mum was always so mad at us for that. If one of us wanted to skive classes, we both skived; it drove the professors barmy.

But now... now you're gone.

I'm missing something, Freddie. When you died, you took a piece - a large piece, by the way - of me with you. The piece that belonged only to you.

I wish you can still come back. I wish we can still create new inventions together. I wish I can still tell you when you've gone too far in a joke. I wish you were here.

But you're not.

You know, I finally cried. Even with the tears, I know I won't forget you. I can never forget you. But I finally understand I can't live for you because I have to live for me.

I'm moving on, but I'll never forget.

I think the first thing I'm going to do is spoil my goddaughter. She's lively, that's for sure.

I'm going to run our shop. I'll come up with more pranks that will surely drive Minnie crazy.

I'm going to cut my hair.

I'm going to take Angelina to a restaurant... if she'll let me. She was furious when she realized I had come back without telling her. She was even more so when she found out the family knew and kept quiet about it like I asked.

She'll forgive me eventually. Hopefully.

I'll write again, but who knows when?

Love you always,

Georgie

Placing the note in the bin next to the window, George set the note on fire. He watched the parchment burn and fold in on itself. He watched as the flames forced the words to blacken and disappear.

When all there was left was ash, George picked up the bin and flung open the window.

The breeze toyed with his hair, causing the young man to smile. He tossed the ashes into the sky.

The wind took the ashes and flew away, scattering the letter into the morning. No one would know he wrote that letter but him and Fred.

And that was how it was meant to be.