His breathing shallowed and petered out, before coming to a complete stop. At the experienced age of 98, George's heart, broken from a lifetime of pain and sorrow, finally gave out.
In his hand, still clutched firmly, was the last prototype he and Fred had been working on for the shop. A single white ribbon.
His last, private memories of the times he had with his twin brother held within, a combination of a pensieve and a diary, lockable, comforting and colour-changing, an inanimate best friend.
It never left his person, from the moment his Freddie was ripped away. White, like the angel he hoped was watching over him. No one else knew the significance of that tiny silk ribbon, but they knew better than to remove it from his cold, dead hand.
Even if they never met again, that small piece of Fred would always remain with him...