George couldn't sleep. He hadn't been able to sleep well in five years; not since his beloved twin had died. He angrily tossed in his bed, slapping his hands over the spot where Fred's sleeping form should have been. Ever since that day, that day of unimaginable horror when Fred smiled at him for the last time, he hadn't been the same. He rarely laughed anymore; hadn't cracked a joke in years. He was moody and depressed, and his tiny shack in the country was a mess.
Finally, he threw off the sheets hopelessly and staggered out of bed. He shuffled downstairs to the living room sat into their old rocking chair… his old rocking chair. It was one of the few things that had belonged to him and Fred that he'd managed to save when the Burrow had burned down a couple years ago in a fire. He sighed tiredly and stared at the floor, absently rocking back and forth.
He sat there, just thinking, for what seemed like hours. He would glance around the room, but every stupid little thing he saw reminded him of his dead twin. Finally his eyes rested on the photo, his favourite one, hanging just above the musty fireplace. It was of him and Fred, their identical faces cracked with wide smiles as they laughed heartily, laughing for all eternity captured in a single moment. George shook his head. It was just a picture, and even the most powerful magic couldn't bring back the dead. Never again would they laugh like that; just the two of them. His eyes began to feel damp; tears began a solemn parade down his cheeks. Gradually, his body began to shake and the tears came pouring; his sobbing was uncontrollable.
He could see Fred in his mind's eye; there was something about the sweetness in his smile, that one smile that he reserved only for George and no one else.
Such a …beautiful smile…
Another memory made its way into his mind. Fred was laughing at some old joke of theirs; he was bent double in hysterics. His face was cracked again by that wide, striking smile; and once again George saw it, that extra something in the familiar grin.
What is it, George? Why are you looking at me like that? Do you…want something?
But George just shook his head to the empty room, still lost in his own mind.
You're so odd sometimes, George, you nutty old man!
George thought he felt the smallest smile play on his tear-stained lips.
You know, Fred. You know what it is.
Yeah, yeah, I do. Fred's face became serious.
Fred, I…
I know, George. I know. Fred looked once again at him and smiled, but this time it was different. This time, his smile was more than just an invitation.
George…
Suddenly loud clap of thunder had struck George's ear as if it were punishing him, immediately snapping him out of his reverie. Fred's face faded and once again there was only the picture, staring at him, mocking him with its soundless laughter.
Come on, George. Come laugh.
George's head began to throb. He continued staring at the picture, his vision blurred by tears.
He hated himself for not being there. He should have been the one to die, instead. Not Fred. Anyone but Fred. Fred, always the one full of joy, full of triumph, sure, and constant; who dared to laugh in the face of death.
I'll always be here for you George. That is a promise.
Slowly, George stood up, angrily smearing away his tears.
Dammit, Fred.
Flinging open the old wooden door, he stepped into the screeching rain.
The ferocity of the storm seemed to fill him with courage. Slowly, deliberately, he drew his wand from his pocket.
That promise isn't the only thing you've broken lately, Fred.
His hand shook violently, uncontrollably. He gently pressed it to his neck, just below the sunken hole where his ear had once been.
You don't have to wait any longer.
The green flash seemed radiant, almost beautiful, in the chaos of the storm.