Author's Note: This is a Songfic I wrote in memory of one of my favourite Harry Potter characters, Fred Weasley. His death in the books was significant enough for fans across the world to grieve as if they had lost a dear friend. I imagine that George would be simply heartbroken at the prospect of having to live without his brother – his twin – so I only thought the song A Phoenix Lament by Ministry of Magic, was a fitting tribute. This is my favourite Wrock song! Enjoy, and please review.

RIP Fred 3

Behind the Lids of My Eyes

A Tribute to Fred Weasley

I'm tired and thin

Haven't slept since the war

The sun had finally risen after what seemed like an eternal night. There was no sleeping, there was no dreaming in the room that he and Fred once shared for without his other half, George knew that part of him always slept now. Two months after the war, things in the Weasley family seemed to be getting on without Fred. Mum and Dad had stopped crying, though looks that were shared across the dinner table told George that his brother may be gone but no forgotten.

I'm a mess of wounded skin

Like a wine sack that's been torn.

Maybe it didn't help that he insisted on setting a place for Fred even though his dinner chair remained empty. There were times at dinner where he would turn to say something, only to see the wall that stood beside his spot and not his brother. It was then that he lost his appetite, lost his will to do anything and would find solace in the confines of his room.

In the sacred space….

Perhaps his room was the place that provided the most comfort for the simple fact that sometimes, if he focused hard enough on his reflection in the mirror, he would tell himself that it was Fred. A wave here, a smile there, a reminder that Fred still lived within him….

Behind the lids of my eyes

It was what calmed him down enough to sleep each night. Muttering a good night to his Fred, he crawled into bed with the hopes that maybe – just maybe – this was some kind of weird dream that he would soon wake from. With no Fred, things just didn't feel right. Something was always missing – there was nothing that could fill the seemingly vacant void inside of George that his own family just couldn't relate to. They had lost a brother, a son – but not their other half. They hadn't lost their best friend. Fred had always been the brain in their pranks; he was always coming up with ideas and now there was nothing. Just the skills George had to make and break them. There was no brilliance without Fred.

"Good night, Freddie," George whispered to the air and squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to hear the "Night, George! We've got loads of pranking to do tomorrow, right?" in response. The sound was almost just as cheerful in his head as it always had been to hear it out loud. It gave him a sense of comfort and belonging, knowing that Fred had once accepted him for all the flaws he had, because Fred had them too. The feeling of sleep took over him, and George faced the wall, his back turned to his brother's empty bed – the sheets still ruffled and messy from the day Fred had risen from it to fight in the Final Battle. George had never let his mum touch it. Fred never made his bed – what was the point if he was going to get back into it?

It was his dreams that haunted him the most – the war being replayed over behind his eyes and the laugh that blended into a startling, blood-curdling scream from the back of his brother's throat that awakened him in the dead of night. The Auror's around him, some who strangely reappeared though they had been dead long before in reality. Things moved out of focus – to his face, the monster that took Fred from George. It was always tempting to run after him, serve him justice and do him in. He never got farther than the castle doors – something in his subconscious stopped him; too many good people held him back and he was left to watch as Rookwood disappeared in a haze of black smoke.

Mad-Eye darkly holds my gaze

And I can still see Fredrick's laughing face.

Drenched in cold sweat, heart and blood pounding in his head, George bolted upright in bed, snapping his head around, begging anyone above to see Fred sleeping peacefully in his own bed. But there was nothing, nothing but the light streaming into through the open window from the crest of moon beyond the stars. Anger surged through his being, coursing through his veins as his heavy heart plummeted to his feet and the fresh, hot, scalding tears escaped his eyes. These nightmares were his wake up call, providing him with the eerie start to his days as the memory of Fred's cheerful smile mixed, twisted and contorted with pain danced around behind his eyes, and the sound of the wand clattering to the floor echoing in the silence around him.

It's not enough

To say that time

Can mend my wings

That one day I'll fly.

Waiting for the sun rise was the hardest part of George's day. He did not move, only lay still in the minimal comfort provided by his bed and blankets. He wondered vaguely if Fred was really in Heaven – if there even was a Heaven - and if any of his "dear, Fred's" were actually heard. If they were, why weren't they replied to? Was there no magic that could mend severed ties between the dead and living (if George really was living)?

And it's not enough

This ache-less scar

Some wounds are still burning

Let me live as one earning his life.

George had kept Fred's wand even after he died. It sat on Fred's night stand, waiting to be picked up by the wizard it picked. The two brothers had created a charm during the war, a charm to connect them when Fred was away, commentating on Potter Watch. Now, whenever George cast the charm, nothing happened, but he willed himself to keep trying, keep holding on to the only thing that might keep him connected with his other half.

"It's always worth a try," Fred had said whenever their pranks went wrong. "You never know. It could work the next time."

"Coniungere Nobis," whispered George, waving his wand, sitting on the edge of his bed, focusing on the wand that lay still on the table. There not as much of a light flashing when George threw his own wand in anger, a choked sob fighting its way from his throat. And we all fall down, he thought, his own mother's words coming back to him. He gripped his pillow strongly in his hands, like an iron clasp, hugging it to his chest as if it was Fred and he might lose him twice. And we all fall down. He didn't know how long he sat there, with his shoulders shaking as his rough sobs ripped through his body, a slow dull ache crawling across the front of his head.

"Try again, Georgie," something whispered to him. George shook his head to whatever had said it – whoever had said it.

"Don't give up, Georgie!" it whispered, echoing through the silence, a silence so loud that it hurt George's ears. "You can do it. It always worked. It will work. It's our magic."

Darkest nights turn into dawns….

"'Our magic'?" repeated George, wiping his tears away. No one replied, just left him to think and wonder who was speaking to him. He brought his head up from the pillow and glanced around the room, hoping to get a look at the entity that had so aptly spoken to him. But there was nothing there, just the new light of a new dawn that seeped through the crack in the drapes at the window. There was something about the whisperer that compelled him to pick up his wand again, to try one more time to reach out and grab Fred from the Beyond. He practiced the waving his wand, perfecting the wand movement one last time before staring at Fred's wand and whispering, "Coniungere Nobis." With a flourish of his wand and holding onto the hope of seeing Fred again, he relished in the sight of the bright blue light mixed with pink that illuminated his room, running across the walls and encasing George in a brilliant blue glow as the pink connected with Fred's wand. Instantaneously, Fred's wand rattled violently against his night stand, rolling around as though and earthquake shook the table top beneath it. George stood, awestruck, as the pink light rebounded against the wood and a loud crack resounded throughout the room. Squinting against the bright light, George's eyes were gloriously met with the sight of tousled fiery red hair and a long, lean boy that stood before him now in a white glow. George did a double-take, wondering at first if it was his reflection. Then, boy grinned at him. George grinned back, his heart beating fast as his brother stepped forward and embraced him in a bone-crushing hug.

Golden lights are chords of songs of love….

"You okay, Freddie?" asked George, a smile in his voice. He pulled back to see Fred's eyes aglow in wide smile that matched his own perfectly.

"Yeah," said Fred, nodding.

"Me too," said George, sticking his wand in his pocket.

Together, the two brothers sat and talked, George listening to tales of Fred in the Other World as he liked to call it. He told tales of Remus and Tonks, Lily and James, and how he and Sirius loved to bother Snape (who was still as greasy a git as ever before, though a little more forgiving). George knew Fred would have to go back eventually, but for now, this magic was greater than any he had learned in his life.

….Something death cannot erase.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Please review! It'd be great.