A/N: This story is very close to my heart. It's the first one I've written and finished since the unexpected death of my father. It was written on my birthday, three weeks to the day of his death. I poured a lot of my feelings, thoughts, and experiences into this. I've lost grandparents before this, but losing my dad is the worst thing I've had to deal with. So I want to dedicate this one to him. Love you, Dad.

Written for The 50:50 Competition. Hallows. Prompt: wish

It was pain worse than anything he'd ever experienced. If it had been physical, it might have been easier to deal with. At least in that case he'd know it would end eventually and he might feel normal again. But this...

This pain was emotional. There was no real way to completely heal this wound, this gaping hole inside him that would never again be filled. What had once occupied that space had been ripped from him with such force that he found it difficult to remember what it had felt like before. He didn't remember what normal even was, even though it had only been three weeks since his brother had died.

George lay in his bed at the Burrow, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind filled with the million different thoughts he'd been thinking for weeks. What if he'd done this or that? What if he'd said something that altered the course of fate? What if he'd been the one to die? What if, what if, what if, so many what ifs.

When he wasn't plagued with guilt, regret, and anger, he felt the stabbing pain of sadness and emptiness. Remembering Fred's face, the sound of his voice, and all of the fun things they'd done together made him cry until his tears were spent. He almost enjoyed these moments after he cried as much as he could. This was when he felt completely numb, removed from his pain, if only for a few minutes.

He didn't hear the light tapping on his door or notice that he had a visitor until he felt movement and lifted his head up to find Harry sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Hey," Harry began. He looked down at his hands sitting in his lap, one palm open and the other curled into a fist. George sat up, looking at Harry curiously. Most everyone in the house had left him alone, with the exception of his mother and one visit from his father, who'd appeared to be struggling to keep his emotions in check, leaving him unable to give his son any comfort. His mother brought him meals regularly, sometimes trying to act normally, sometimes unable to do so. Now, as Harry took a deep breath and looked him in the eye, George wondered what had possessed the boy to visit.

"Look, I know I can't even begin to understand what you're feeling." Harry spoke as though he'd been rehearsing this for a while. "I've seen death, lots of it, and some of those people were very dear to me. But you..." He looked down again. "I've wanted to help, but what could I do or say that would do any good? And then it came to me." He opened his palm to reveal a tiny black stone.

George stared at it, wide-eyed. He had heard the story of Harry's experience with the Resurrection Stone, but he could've sworn that the stone had been lost.

"I went back to look for it," Harry explained. "I knew just about where I'd left it. It took me a while, but I found it after a few days."

"But...I thought you said it could be dangerous." George's eyes hadn't left the stone. He wished to see his brother again more than anything else he had ever wished for in his twenty years. Even the thought of being driven mad by the apparition of his twin wasn't enough to dissuade him.

"This is where I set my condition." Harry looked at him once more, speaking firmly. "You can only use it once. Then I take it back and hide it again, somewhere different this time, somewhere nobody will find it."

George held out his hand, palm up. "Fine. Just let me have it." Harry set the stone in his palm. It felt so small, nearly weightless in his hand. How could something like this drive a man mad?

It's not the stone, mate. It's what the stone does that drives you mad. The sound of this voice made him gasp. It was in his head, it had to be, for he hadn't even moved the stone yet.

That's right, I'm here. Always have been. Fred's voice echoing in his head prevented him from moving. Was he going mad already?

Nope, not yet. Fred sounded casual, almost relaxed. If I have my way, you won't. Do you realize what will happen if you use that thing?

George pondered this for a moment. He imagined he'd see Fred again, see his twin standing in front of him once more, maybe a bit ghostly-looking, but Fred all the same. He'd be able to talk to him and make jokes again and-

But it won't be the same, now will it? This gave George pause. How so? Why wouldn't it be the same? I'll still be dead, won't I? I won't really be a part of the living world, but I won't be in the land of Death either. I'll be stuck in the middle.

Well now, that certainly was a problem. But if this would drive him mad anyway, he'd be joining his brother soon enough.

Keep thinking like that and I'll know you've gone nutters. What would Mum and Dad do if you offed yourself? They've already lost me, and now you want them to lose you too? What about Ginny? And our brothers? What will it do to them? You'll be the only one benefiting. Their pain will be doubled.

"George?" Harry looked at him, concern etched on his face. George realized his cheeks were wet and he was shaking. "What is it? What's the matter?"

Fred was right, of course. It would be cowardly to do this. How would this honor his memory? How would this help the rest of the Weasleys, who were already deep in grief? Looking at the stone in his palm, he knew what he had to do.

Don't let it get you down. I'm always here, you know. I can't promise it'll ever be easy, but you can start again. You can figure out how to live a new life while still keeping the old one close. I'll never truly leave you. We've been together since day one, I don't know how to be anywhere else.

George smiled. "It's nothing," he said, handing the stone back to Harry. "I don't want to do it. It's not what Fred would want. It wouldn't do me or anyone else any good. Even though I wish I could see him again, I just can't do it. He'll always be here." He put a hand over his heart. "That'll have to be enough for now."

Brilliant, George. Brilliant.

"He'd be proud of you for this. I know he would." Harry looked relieved.

"He is proud of me. He is."

The pain never really left him, he never felt truly complete, but George lived as best he could, cherishing the memory of his brother, his twin, his best friend. Sometimes he could almost hear Fred's voice again, encouraging him to keep going when he was at his lowest.