Disclaimer: I don't own Fred, or George, or Harry Potter. I wish I did.

"Fred..."

The soft voice of George Weasley echoed against the howling wind, diamond tears dripping down his freckled cheeks. His thin, lanky form was pressed against a tree as cerulean eyes were cast towards the storming sky, and his body trembled with the agony that still consumed his body. All of his life he'd been with Fred. Fred was the older twin (albeit by ten minutes), the wiser twin, the twin that everyone noticed more. Though they were both equally mischievous, Fred was always more open about it, whereas George was the laid back one. But now Fred was gone, and George was alone.

Nearly a year had passed since the fateful June day. For weeks George was numb, refusing to believe that his best friend, his partner in crime, his business partner, his twin, was gone. Forced to accept the cruel reality, George now stood before the ivory stone. It was rather worn, as it was a cheap stone because of his parent's financial situation, but Fred's name was still visible, as well as his date of death. Long fingers, fingers that should have played the piano, danced across the words engraved in the stone. "Frederick Harold Weasley," George mouthed to himself, tears streaming even faster down his angled cheeks. "Born April 1, 1977." It was a day that George now dreaded – this past birthday had been one of the worst days of his life.

"Make a wish, George!"

Molly's voice was strained as she made a rather weak attempt at enthusiasm; as George looked over to her, he could see the tears glistening in her chocolate eyes. It hurt her to be celebrating only one twin's twenty first birthday, and everyone could see the remnants of Fred's name etched in the vanilla icing. In her happiness of having another child reach a birthday, and in a way out of habit, she had also carved Fred's name into the icing, forgetting that he wasn't here to celebrate this birthday.

A small smile, clearly forced, spread across George's weary face as he spared a glance for his mother. "Thanks, Mum," he murmured, attempting to weave some happiness into his voice. His eyes quickly flickered to the empty wooden chair to the right of him; George never let anyone sit to his right anymore. It didn't feel right – Fred had always occupied that seat. Tears quickly blurred his vision as his thoughts were consumed by the twin who wouldn't see his twenty first birthday, the twin who would never have the wedding he dreamed of, the twin who would never sell another joke item, the twin who never got to finish the life he worked so hard for. Few believed that Fred ever took anything seriously, but George knew that he did. Clear tears were now cascading down his visage and, wiping them desperately from his face, George fled from the table. Heads whipped around to follow the tall redhead, and as he dashed from the room he could hear their sympathetic murmurs.

Rain pelted through the leaves of the tree, and George could feel his body collapse onto the grave. Open sobs now wracked his frame, tearing through the male as he wept for the twin he felt so incomplete without. The remaining Weasley twin had yet to forgive himself for being absent during the moments of Fred's death. Despite Harry's reassurances that a laugh was etched on Fred's features as he entered the void, George could not be comforted. How could his twin be truly happy when, during the last moments of his life, his twin wasn't there to comfort him and assure him that everything would be all right? "I need you, Fred," George whispered silently. "I've always needed you. You know that. Why did you leave me? Why?" His voice slowly grew in volume until it was a gut wrenching cry, twisting his handsome features grotesquely. Pallid hands curled up into balls and he thrust them at the gravestone, not even noticing as the skin tore and crimson tears ran down his knuckles. He continued to batter the marker, sending bloody rivers over the rivets and bumps of the stone. It bathed Fred's name and blood before sinking into the ground, staining the already moist earth.

For hours he remained there, assaulting the stone until the bone on his hands was obvious beneath the twisted tendons and muscles. "Shit," he muttered to himself eventually, quivering as the pain finally registered in his mind. A low whimper passed his mouth as he slumped against Fred's grave, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his weary head against the bony pillow. George's body was worn from the damage and loss of blood he'd inflicted upon himself, and his eyes begged to be shut. But he forced them to remain open, peering out from behind the light, slightly reddish, lashes. The rain was coming down in torrents now, and the river that ran near the grave churned and splashed with unfamiliar fury. Thunder clapped in the sky, soon accompanied by a flash of bright white light, not unlike the light of a spell. Each thunder clap, each lightning bolt, brought back terrible memories of the battle, memories that George longed to repress.

Midnight was fast approaching, and for some reason George Weasley was not worried. A small smile crawled across his lips and, despite the sensible voice in the corner of his mind that reminded him that he was dueling a masked death eater, a sense of relief crawled through his body. As soon as midnight came, Voldemort would be forced to come out of his hidey-hole and come find Harry, and Harry would kill him. It would all be over in a flash of green light, George was sure, and his family would be together again. Percy, despite his strange habit of being an arrogant git, was back, and through he had some explaining to do George had to admit he was relieved. He'd hated the separation of his family, and now that they were all reunited and all healthy it would be all right. Harry and Ginny...well, who knew where they were going? That was a complex matter for another time – right now, it was necessary to focus on the battle at hand. Hexes and curses danced from George's lips as fast as he could think of him, though his unnamed opponent was returning them with equal merit.

It didn't take much longer, though, for a well placed Stunner to get the death eater in the chest. A smirk grew across George's lips as he dashed around the immobile man to the Great Hall. For some reason it was strangely quiet in there, and a gathering of redheads caught his eye. Worry consumed him as his stride lengthened, nervous as to what he was dashing to. A streak of carroty hair, identical to his own, was sprawled across his floor, and lead seemed to fill his extremities. An agonized Molly Weasley turned her tear and blood streaked face towards her son, lips mouthing his name over and over. "Fred?" George whispered as he drew closer, his legs losing strength as the body of his identical twin came into view. "No!" he cried, his voice hoarse with the tears that were already choking his throat. "NO!"

The rain finally stopped, and George turned his tear sodden face towards the sky. Slim rays of sun peeked through the thick gray clouds, dancing across the stormy water and illuminating the emerald shoots of grass. The area quickly became beautiful, and a bitter smile slid across George's lips as he examined his mutilated hands. Blood trickled down them in cruel streams, but the agony didn't bother him – for some reason, it was like a release. Wiping his hands on the sides of his tattered jeans (incidentally, the same pair he'd worn during the battle of Hogwarts), George withdrew his wand from his jeans and tapped both his hands, muttering "Episkey" each time. The action was superfluous – it could never heal the true hurt inside, and he laughed his familiar hollow laugh at the thought of it.

As he wandered towards the river, kicking small pebbles out of his way as he walked, George turned his head back towards Fred's grave. Stains of dark red coated parts of the stone, making the words stand out even more. A quiver of sorrow shivered down his long spine, and tears threatened to spill over his eyes once more until a ghostly hand touched his shoulder. Contentment spread through his body as George turned around to face his twin, identical grins spreading across both of their faces. "I love you, Fred," George whispered softly. "I'm sorry I never told you that while you were alive. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." Tears began to stream down his face as Fred merely smiled at him, nodding slowly as the fragile sunlight streamed through his insubstantial, silvery form. No words came from the illusion of Fred, but a simple nod was all that was needed to tell George that Fred would never truly leave him.

The fantasy of Fred did not last long, and it soon vanished. But instead of returning to his usual state of misery, George felt as if he was accompanied by his twin brother. Rubbing the dark hole where his ear used to be, the young man set off at a brisk pace for the Burrow.

Please Rate and Review! This is one of my first fanfics, and I know it doesn't depict George's agony as much as I wanted it to, but...yeah. I love the Weasley twins, and I had to write about them.

-- Rose