We, Alvarin and Ellwina, were out on a walk and realized that we should write a fanfiction together. After a while we decided that we would write respective chapters based on two different characters' perspectives. Of course, it was Fred and George who first popped into mind.
It was mine, Ellwina's, mission to write the first chapter, from George's point of view. This means that the next chapter is written by Alvarin from Fred's. Eventually, we might write a few chapters together as it can get tedious reading the same thing twice. This story has been translated from Swedish so we apologize if the grammar is not perfect.
We hope you will enjoy our story about Fred and George's different views on the same adventure, and that you write what you think. If you like this you are more than welcome to read our individual fanfictions! ~Ellwina and Alvarin~

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Chapter 1 George – Left. Behind. Alone.

George opened his eyes and peered into the familiar face that looked back at him. More worn than what he used to be, and his eyes lacking the spark that they used to have.
Fred was dead, but he still sat in front of him. Followed him with his eyes, breathing slowly. George sat there and watched him. Saw a breeze from the open window make his hair flutter around his face, saw his eyes blinking briefly before they looked at him again. George held out his hand and felt the fingertips hit the cold glass.
The mirror, that was leaning against the closet door, reflected the sun and cast a bright spot in his forehead. He did not care about the heat that it caused, or the heat on his back. Nor did he care about the hammering noises from Bill and Charlie, who were fixing the exterior of the house. Nor the fly that had landed and was now walking around on his hand. Nothing mattered any more, everything had been destroyed.
George closed his eyes again. Felt how the burning, choking lump in his throat grew and left a stinging feeling behind his eyes. He slowly drew in air through his nose and waited a while before letting it out, as if prolonging the breath would stop the pain he had felt for almost three weeks. A cold, hollow pain that he knew never would go away.
He raised his head and looked at the mirror once again. His left ear shone with its absence. He hated his remaining ear, hated the irony. It was all alone. It, that previously had been one in a couple, now stuck out from the head and created an imbalance. The knot in his stomach pulled together. He was all by himself. Fred was gone. And he would never see him again.
A heavy thump shook the house when someone slammed a door, which caused the mirror to flip over and land with a dull thud and a clinking sound upside down on the floor.

George had barely left his room since he arrived at the Burrow. He wore the same clothes he had had during Fred's funeral, and he only ate in order to appease his mother.
But she was still worried. Every other minute she stuck her head through the door, asked with a quiet and friendly voice "Would he not come down and eat with everyone else?" or "Was there nothing she could do?". Of course, there was nothing she could do. Nor did he want to eat with the others. As soon as George met any of the others, they looked not at him but at the gaping emptiness next to him. The empty space that might as well have been a black hole that attracted everyone's attention. He could not stand how they confirmed his twin's absence. How it, all the time, felt as if they got false hopes before realizing that George was not Fred. That he was only one, not two.

The funeral had been unbearable, as several of the guests had started to cry as soon as they laid eyes upon George. Relatives and friends had expressed their sympathy about what had happened. Angelina Johnson had avoided eye contact with him throughout the whole evening, and Lee Jordan had seemed uncomfortable in his presence. He would rather not think about the ceremony itself. The speech he had written on a piece of parchment was still crumpled in his pocket, but he had never read it. Some of the guests seemed to blame him that he, who were Fred's twin, did not hold a speech, but he did not want others to hear. It was something between him and Fred. No one else.
But even though he was shut in his room, he could feel the atmosphere that lay as a dense cloud around the house. Like a mist that seeped in through the gap under the door and every crack in the wall. It choked everyone with grief. The final battle was over, but no one seemed to celebrate. He-who-must-not-be-named was gone, but no one was happy. All the battle had left behind was death and loss.

George ignored the mirror on the floor in front of him and stood up. He could feel how numb his legs were, after sitting in the same position for too long, as he slowly walked across the floor and lay down on the bed. He turned, so that he wouldn't have to see Fred's empty bed across the room, and closed his eyes for a while before falling into oblivion

It was completely silent, except for the train's rhythmic thumps against the railway. Outside the window, white structures and forms whizzed past in a white haze. The whole train compartment was lit up by a white light that seemed to come from every direction at once. George leaned back in his seat. Across from him, Fred was leaning back with his hands clasped behind his neck, studying him with a cheerful smile and sparkling eyes. He said something. The lips moved but no sound came upon them. Fred laughed, and George with him. They gesticulated and talked to each other in a soundless conversation. Time passed, but it was impossible to keep track of it. Someone knocked with his fingertips on the glass pane. George held his breath as the door silently opened and a thin, bony hand reached in through the doorway. Fred jumped down from his seat and held a white ticket out that the hand received, ripped and returned. The hand disappeared and the door slid back. Fred laughed triumphantly, but not the same inaudible laughter as before, but with a loud sound that echoed between the walls. Suddenly they found themselves at Hogwarts, surrounded by flames and falling rocks. Fred ran past George with a broad smile and he followed without hesitating. Through the familiar corridors, over fallen bodies, under broken pillars, still with Fred's laughter ringing through the castle. Finally, they entered a room whose walls, floor and ceiling were covered with mirrors. Fred stared at him from all directions with the same broad smile as before. The fire still flickered behind him. "I must go now," he said as his smile faded. "I must go, and leave you alone." A crack split his face in half and suddenly shattered glass rained down on George.

George woke with a start and sat up. The feeling of uneasiness lingered after the dream. Immediately the pain of longing came crawling. The discomfort was replaced by a sense of meaninglessness. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made an attempt to get up, but remained seated. The sun had wandered across the sky and the smell of food was floating through the house now. His eyes wandered towards the mirror on the floor. He had to put it back before anyone could wonder where it had gone. He stood up slowly, walked across the floor and crouched down. The frame that the mirror had sat in was empty and glass lay shattered on the floor. George stared at the wooden bottom which remained in the frame. No reflection. No Fred.
It took time before he found his wand under the bed. He had barely used it since the battle at Hogwarts. Now, he pointed it towards the shards and cleared his throat. "Reparo". He looked briefly into the mirror before picking it up. He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. The bathroom was only a few steps away and soon the mirror hung on its place over the sink once again.
A scream followed by a loud crash came from the kitchen below. George ran down the stairs and stopped in the doorway. Molly was slumped on the floor with a terrified expression that matched Ginny and Fleur's, who sat at the kitchen table. It was just barely that George noticed that they were in the same room, because in the middle of the room, hove Fred.

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We both had trouble choosing a twin, since we had to either empathize with either what it's like to lose a twin brother, or what it's like to be a ghost. It fell upon me to write about poor George, since Alvarin grabbed Fred, and this is the result. We're planning to publish the chapters one week apart (on Fridays), and chapter two is finished and really good (according to me anyway), so be sure to read it then. ~Ellwina~