He woke up screaming, desperately clutching at the sheets that were now strewn about him in a million different directions.
"Fred! Fred, you have to run!" he shouted into the empty blackness, not yet fully awake. The facts of life had not kicked in. Fred wasn't there. His room was just down the hall, sitting untouched. George hadn't ventured into its depths since before the battle… the battle.
Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he used his spare to fumble for the wand on the night stand. A faint 'Lumos' was heard, and then light flooded the room, illuminating every single nook and cranny. George forced himself out of bed and padded over to the calendar on the wall opposite. Sure enough, he was right. Today's date was circled in red pen. May 2, 1999. It was truly the one year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts – one year since George had been broken in two.
With this revelation, the ginger-haired man found himself shaken to his very core. He had to lean against the wall just to stay standing. Had it really been that long? To him, it seemed the battle was still not over. He relived it, again and again, every night in his restless sleep. Every time, he saw his twin and did everything in his power to save him. Every time, he was still too late.
Tears welled up in his eyes and a choked sob rang out through the otherwise silent flat. It wasn't pain or sorrow that caused him to weep. He had none of that left. Instead, it was the overwhelming nothingness. Normal people would have felt sadness. They would feel longing for those they had lost. But George Weasley didn't feel anything. From the moment he saw his brother's lifeless form lying among the wreckage of the battle, he had practically been dead himself. He put on a smile. He laughed and made jokes. He ran Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to the best of his ability, but that was it.
Other than that, George slept. He wasn't pulled into the dark pit that others know as depression. He dove headfirst – volunteered. Life was meaningless now. Everywhere he turned, there were reminders that Fred should be there. The shop, the empty room at the end of the hall – even the wand that he still gripped tightly in his shaking hand was his brother's. They'd always been 'Fred and George'. He'd been part of a matched set. But now… well, now he was lost and alone. Despite the fact that he still had his mum and dad, along with most of his other siblings, this was the undeniable truth.
Still trembling, the wizard managed to lift himself to his feet. There would be no more sleeping tonight, and most certainly no more wallowing in self-pity, so he might as well start his day a little early. He flipped the light switch on the wall, whispered 'Nox' to douse his wand, and started walking toward the bathroom. As always after his nightmares, he was drenched with sweat from head to toe and felt, admittedly, more than a bit gross.
Just outside the door to the bathroom, though, something caught his eye. The door at the end of the hall, the door he took great care to close every night, was cracked open.
"H-hello?" he called out to the emptiness. He paused, turning his head so that his good ear was facing the room. It was ridiculous, of course. If someone was there to burglarize or murder, there was no possible way they would answer him. George was glad, though, that he still had his wand in hand. He held it out in front of him, trying to make sure he wasn't visibly trembling, and slowly began inching forward. With his heart in his throat he reached the entryway, cautiously extending his hand and swinging the door open to find…
Nothing.
The room was empty, as always. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. The bed was made, the little trinkets on the bookshelf were in perfect order, and it was just as Fred had left it weeks before the battle. Something still gnawed at George's insides, though. So, after a moment of hesitation, he took the fateful step forward.
To tell the truth, the room looked different, somehow, outside of his little bubble. He now clearly saw a film of dust covered everything. The bed sheets had holes at the bottom, and upon picking up one of the many toys his brother had gathered over the years, he could see that it was discolored. More importantly was the dreary feeling that filled the entire space. It was suffocating, drowning George in a feeling of deep sadness for the first time in months. Fred had been the light in this place, and without him, this room was the equivalent of George himself. It was nothing.
Upon looking at the bed, he could barely even recall the image of his twin sprawled across it, scribbling ideas for new products in a notebook that was still sitting on his desk. It was clear to him, now, that he'd never see that sight again. Fred was gone. It wasn't a nightmare, and there was no possible chance of George simply waking up one morning to find him there, as a little part of him always hoped. He would never hear his brother laugh again, or see the triumphant expression he wore whenever they pulled a prank.
In that moment, all the feelings from the night of the battle came rushing back. It hit him at full force, like a tsunami or an earthquake. He was gasping for breath, crying out for someone to help him. The tears – real tears – were streaming down his face, wiping away his façade. He wasn't okay. He was never going to be. It was as simple as that.
Why did you have to leave me by myself, you git!?" he screamed suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing!" Sitting there on the floor of his brother's old room, knees pushed up to his chest like a child, he broke and started sobbing uncontrollably. The walls he'd put up to keep out the hurt had finally come crashing down, and he felt as if someone had shot him through the chest, leaving a big gaping hole. He couldn't move – couldn't do anything. So he sat, taking it in.
After what seemed to George like an eternity but in reality was only an hour or two, the phone started to ring. With the slow, measured movements of an old man, he forced himself up and out of the room. He was in a dreamlike state as he picked up the receiver and muttered a greeting.
"George?" came from the other end. There was no denying that voice.
"Hello, Angelina. Couldn't sleep again?" he asked, leaning against the wall.
"Yeah. It's just that it's been a year, you know? Everyone's been gone that long." Her voice, normally sounding cool and collected in even the most heart-wrenching of times took on a different tone. George knew what she meant. Fred had been gone that long.
"I know. It's sort of unreal. It doesn't feel like a year, does it?"
"No. But, hey, are you okay? Did I wake you up? I mean, you sound like shit." Somehow, the insult was a comfort. Angelina was always a comfort. He wanted to confide in her, like he always did during their recent late night chats, but something stopped him. For once, he didn't want to tell anyone about how he felt.
"Don't worry, Angie. It's nothing."
A/N: Alright, so, since this is my first attempt at fanfiction, I'm just going to ask y'all to be a bit gentle, okay? Constructive criticism is encouraged, of course, but just remember that I don't have a beta reader and I'm only human. Anyway, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise or the characters. All credit for that goes to J.K. Rowling (the queen), and, yeah. I hope you guys enjoy it!