This is a sequel to 'The Children who Lived,'. If I were you, I'd read it first

Also, thanks to FirstThunder13 for helping me develop this.

"It is impossible for you to go on as you were before, so you must go on as you never have,"

- Cheryl Strayed.

"GEORGE! GEORGE!"

He watched as Lydia pushed through the crowd towards her. His heart momentarily stopped beating as he looked at her; her clothes were ripped and dirty, and there was blood covering the left side of her face, slowly dropping onto her neck and chest. He had no idea what had happened, but he knew that whatever she was about to say to him was not good news.

"What's wrong?" He asked, "what's happened?"

But before she could reply, the cold voice of Lord Voldemort sounder throughout the castle and George could not help but flinch. It was as though the Dark Lord was stood right next to him. Lydia whimpered slightly and grabbed onto his hand, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat, immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured,"

There was a flurry of movement as the Death Eaters around them began to leave, and George had never been so happy to see the back of a group of people before.

"I speak now, Harry and Lydia Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of hat hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle commences,"

As much as George hated to think it, Voldemort knew Harry and Lydia well. He knew that guilt tripping them into thinking they were the reason so many people were dead would be the best way to get to them. Lydia opened her eyes and looked up at him, her expression was unreadable.

"Don't. Do do it," George said to her, because he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"This time, I shall enter the fray myself, and I shall find you both, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour,"

Neville had joined them and was shaking his head at Lydia, though George did not think that Lydia was paying him much attention. He glanced over at the doors of the Entrance Hall and, for a moment, he could envision Voldemort walking through the doors, his wand raised high, looking for Harry and Lydia. And yet, the thought of Lord Voldemort was not scary to him. The scariest though was the possibility that he might lose Lydia.

"Potter," George jumped as McGonagall walked over to them, looking weary, "I know what you are thinking, and I implore you not to hand yourself over. We will not be defeated,"

George looked down at Lydia and frowned. She looked defeated and that was not a look that he was used to seeing on her. Even in the darkest of moments, there was a fire burning brightly behind her eyes.

"Lyds, who's dead?" George asked, speaking very slowly, "who is it?"

Ever so slowly, she looked up and met his eyes, "I am so sorry,"

"Who is it?"

"There's nothing I could do. Nothing any of us could do,"

George stared at her for a moment longer and then he realised who she was talking about. It it couldn't be him. No, it couldn't be him because he wouldn't die. He was not the type of person who would die. He was too funny, too clever, too good at duelling for dying. She must have got it wrong. She must have saw someone else die.

"Don't tell me he's dead. Lydia, do not tell me that he's gone,"

She nodded.

He yelled and fell to the round, tears streaming thick and fast down his face as his body began to shake uncontrollably. Fred Weasley was dead. He was gone. The months that George had spent at Malfoy Manor were not nearly as painful as the sickening realisation that his twin was gone. He felt Lydia kneel next to him and wrap her arms around him, pulling him as close as she could to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and sobbed into her t-shirt.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Lydia spoke again.

"Georgie. Georgie we need to go," she was speaking so softly that he could barely hear her.

"I c-can't,"

"George, please," she said, "he's going to come soon. We can't be here when he does. You can't be here when he does. You need to be out of the way,"

"Y-you can't be here w-when he c-comes!" George yelled through his sobs, holding onto her tighter, "You c-can't go too!"

"No, of course not," Lydia said, "I won't be anywhere near him. Just get up, please, Georgie,"

Deep down, he knew that everything she was saying to him was a lie, but he deserved this he deserved to pretend that she would not have to face Voldemort one way or the other in the end. Gently, Lydia took his hands and helped him off the floor. His legs felt weak and he gripped onto her as though she were his lifeline. She might have been in his lifeline.

"In here," Neville said to them, pointing over at the Great Hall.

"Thanks, Nev," Lydia whispered.

The Great Hall was full of both the survivors and the dead, but George could take no notice of anything but his family. They were gathered around Fred's body and George hurried over to them. He was terrified of seeing his brother dead, but more terrified of the possibility that he might never be able to say goodbye to him.

"George!" His mum gasped. She was knelt on the floor next to Fred's head whilst his dad knelt besides her, "Georgie, dear, come here-"

He did not say anything and just hugged his mother. His poor mother, who should not have to go through this. Arthur came up behind him and gently put his hand on George's shoulder, sobbing quietly. The sound of his fathers sobs hurt George in a way that he could not believe; his father never cried.

"I'm so sorry, son," he whispered, suddenly gripping his shoulder tightly, "but we're going to get through this. Here, do you want to - do you want to see him?"

Through his tears, George nodded and turned to look at Fred. His hair, so covered in dust looked almost black and was matted with blood that was starting to form a pool around the back of his head. Both of his arms looked to be completely broken and there was blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. The breath caught in George's throat and he felt himself stagger back. Fred did not deserve to go like this. His did not deserve to go at all. Ron caught him before he fell backwards and held onto him as he slowly sank to the floor and dropped his head into his hands.

"I'm gonna be here for you, Georgie, whatever you need," Ron said, quietly.

George turned to look at his youngest brother and was suddenly taken aback by how much he had grown, "I know, Ron," he turned away from Ron and saw Lydia. She was hovering awkwardly in front of him, her eyes flitting from Fred and then back over to him.

He leapt up and walked over to her, putting his arms around her and resting his chin on the top of her head, "I don't know what I'm going to do. The shop..."

Lydia looked up at him and wiped his eyes, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Whatever happens, we'll get through it,"

He nodded but he wasn't really sure that he believed her. He would never be able to see himself in a world where he could get through this. Harry came up behind Lydia and tapped her on the shoulder. They had a whispered conversation that George knew he didn't have to be apart of and waited until Lydia turned back to him.

"I need to go and do something,"

Fear started up again and the room around him began to spin, "You're not...you're not handing yourself over, are you?"

"Of course not," she said, "I'll be right back,"

And then she was gone.

George stood in the exact same spot as she had left him in for a while and kept his eyes fixed on the doors of the Great Hall. Soon, he told himself, she would be back with Harry and they would have a plan that would fix everything that happened. The war would be over and they would be free. They could go home and start again.

After a while, he began to panic because she still hadn't come back. He glanced down at his watch and the hour that had passed was soon coming to and end. Wanting fresh air, he glanced at Fred and snuck away from his family, but sneaking away wasn't nearly as fun when Fred wasn't in on the joke. Nothing was as fun when Fred wasn't in on the joke.

He sat on the stone steps of the Entrance Hall and stared out into the grounds, wiping his eyes. The trees of the Forbidden Forest were swaying in the distance and George quickly looked away from them; Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were in there somewhere and George was not looking forward to them coming back. But then he felt a sudden rush of anger towards every single one of them. It was them, after all, who murdered his brother and them who would have to pay the price for it. Suddenly he gripped hold of his wand and stood up, as though he was going to charge into the forest all alone, it he quickly sat down and stuck his wand back in his pocket. That would be ridiculous, he told himself, there's no way you could take him on on your own.

"George? George? Oh, there you are,"

He turned around just as Charlie sat down next to him and put his arm around him, "Everyone's in the Great Hall-"

"Have you seen Lydia?" he asked, "she went to Dumbledore's office with Harry but I've not seen her since,"

Tears suddenly sprang to Charlie's eyes and George could not understand why. It was only a simple question.

"Harry just told us, George. Oh, I'm so sorry...but, she's gone to Voldemort. She's had to give herself up-"

"NO!" George roared. He jumped up again and launched himself to the Forbidden Forest. He could still get to her, he could convince her to come back. Or let him go with her. At least then he wouldn't be on his own once it was all over. If he shouted loud enough, she would probably be able to hear him. She couldn't have gone far, "LYDIA!"

He felt Charlie grab him and drag him backwards. George spun around and shoved Charlie in the chest. He didn't understand. Lydia didn't have to die. No one had to die. Not anymore. But Charlie was much stronger than he was and he pushed him to the floor.

"If you go after her, you'll only make it harder for her. And he'll just kill you too. Do you want to put mum and dad through that?"

"I don't have anything - not without them," George sobbed.

"George, listen to me. These next few months are going to be really hard, but you have to get through it. For them," Charlie hauled him to his feet and through a hand around his shoulders, "Come on. Let's get away from here,"

The Entrance Hall was packed with people, all of whom kept on giving him annoyingly sympathetic looks. He didn't need sympathy. He just needed people to leave him alone until he was ready.

"I need -"

"It's alright, Georgie," Charlie said, quietly and kissing his temple, "go be alone for a while,"

Dragging his feet, George walked over to the marble staircase and sat down, drawing his knees up to chest. He remembered standing there with Fred on the evening of the Yule Ball, waiting for Lydia. Fred had nudged him and pointed over to the dungeons where she had just come out of. She was smiling, albeit a little awkwardly, and George might have fallen in love with her there and then. He glanced back over at the doors of the Entrance Hall and remembered the last Christmas they had spent with each other at Hogwarts. Slughorn's Party might have been a bit of a disaster but at least the Mistletoe had made her laugh. He probably fell in love with her a little bit more each day and wondered if that would stop now. Pushing that thought from his mind, he rested his forehead on his knees and for a moment, he could feel her lips against his and realised that he hadn't even been able to kiss her one last time.

Someone's arm brushed against George's shoulder and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry. He could not look over at him immediately; they were both in the same situation. They had both lost people they loved the most and George did not know what to say to him.

"You know, if she knew you were crying this much she'd probably tell you to blow off some steam by blowing something up. Or whatever it is you do," Harry said.

"We were going to get married," George said, looking down at the finger that a wedding ring would never sit on, "Fred was going to be my best man..."

"I know," Harry said, his voice shaking, "I wanted to walk her down the aisle..." George nodded and closed his eyes. He could see it now; Lydia wearing a white dress and beaming as she walked down the aisle with Harry. "But, George, in all seriousness, I want to...I want to say thank-you?"

"What for?" George asked, frowning.

"For making her so happy. For loving her so much," Harry said, "and...and I'm sorry that it had to be this way. I wish I could change it,"

"Let's just make sure they didn't for nothing, yeah?" was all that George could manage to say.

Suddenly, Harry yelped and topped down the stairs, holding his forehead. At once, George jumped up and ran after him just as Ron and Hermione appeared next to Harry. Percy ran over to George and gripped his arm, staring out of the Entrance Hall, his mouth hanging open.

"She's gone," Harry gasped, "He did it. He killed her,"

George felt his knees give way and Percy gripped onto him, pulling him up. They followed Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco outside just as Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were coming out of the Forbidden Forest. At first, George could not see Lydia but then he saw Hagrid holding something, no, someone, in his arms. From where he was stood, he could almost see her. He could almost see her glasses, her ridiculous hair and the not-quite engagement ring that would never become a true engagement ring.

"Lydia...no.." George whispered, and he dissolved into sobs again, clinging onto Percy for support.

"Lydia Potter, your saving grace, was killed when she was found running away from. The battle. She was more than prepared to leave you all to perish," Lord Voldemort said, "Now, join my ranks, or die,"

All George really wanted to do was shout at Voldemort for how wrong he was. He wanted to make sure that every single person know that Lydia Potter was not a coward. She would never leave anyone behind to die and yet he could not get the words out.

For a while, George lost track of what was happening. He could not pay attention to anything that Voldemort was saying and he couldn't even look over in shock when Neville walked forward. His eyes were planted firmly on the ground and he could no longer look over at Lydia. He forced his eyes shut and tried to think of happier times; he remembered the look of triumph on Fred's face after he pranked the Slytherin Quidditch team and how he had thrown a party in Gryffindor common room just because he could, he remembered the look that Lydia gave him when he told her that he and Fred were dropping out of school. And he remembered the things that he loved about the most; he remembered Fred's raucous laughter and how he could cheer anyone up just by saying one word. He remembered the way Lydia's whole face lit up when she smiled and how her muttered sarcastic comments used to be enough to get him through a bad day.

And now he was faced with the hardest days of his life. He would never hear Fred's laughter again and he would never be able to turn to his twin to cheer him up. He would have to learn to live with never seeing Lydia's bright smile and find some other way to get through a bad day. Unless, of course, he didn't survive the war. Lydia might have been dead, but the fight was far from over. He supposed that now, dying wouldn't be too bad. The thought of death had terrified him for months and months, but now that he was surrounded by it, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"You've just walked past the entrance to the dungeons!" George called to her as she practically skipped up to marble stairs.

She spun back round and grinned at him; her cheeks were rosy from the cold and eyes seemed to be brighter than usual.

"Why would I want to go to the dungeons?" She asked him, "it's too cold to be down there. Also too depressing" she added.

"You just want to spend more time with me, don't you?" He replied, catching up to her and putting his hands on her waist.

"Well, Professor Umbridge said that male and female students can't be within five inches of each other, so you need to back up, Mr Weasley," she said, prodding him in the chest.

"There's worse things to get detention for," he shrugged.

"Like lying about the Dark Lords return?"

George kissed her quickly, "you always know how to be depressing, don't you?"

"Realistic," she corrected him, "I know how to be realistic,"

"When you two have finished flirting, I'd like to get past before our favourite Defence teacher finds me,"

They turned around to a smirking Fred stood a few steps below them, his arms folded. "Whilst you, my dear brother, have been distracted by a certain Lydia Potter, I have sold a record number of Skiving Snackboxes,"

George suddenly found himself outside the entrance of the Slytherin common room. He wasn't sure how he'd got away from his family or why he had even thought to walk to here, of all places, but he couldn't be bothered to apply logic to anything. He stared at the bare brick wall and thought about how often he had waited outside here for her. She was usually the first to be out in the morning and always had a story about how Pansy Parkinson was being annoying, or how Draco Malfoy could not go three seconds without insulting her.

"Calling me Potty is just boring at this point!" She snapped, "if he got more creative with his insults I might actually appreciate them. I'm better at insulting myself than he is!"

He turned his back on the Slytherin common room and walked back up to the Entrance Hall. He glanced into the Great Hall but it was too full of people and he already could not deal with the sympathetic looks that people were giving him. He didn't want sympathy, he just wanted Fred and Lydia back. And he could never have them back. He had a sudden burst of hope when he remembered that James had come back after fourteen years of being dead, but that was old magic that even Professor Dumbledore had been shocked by. The burst of hope was quickly replaced by anger towards his old headmaster; he had known that Lydia would have to die and did nothing to try and stop it. He happily watched her move through school, form friendships and even a relationship and not even think about the pain that her untimely death would eventually bring.

Against his better judgement, George hurried passed the Great Hall and up the stairs, his mind set on getting to the headmasters office. This was all Dumbledore's fault. He was the most powerful wizard in the world and he could not figure out a way to win without having to lose Lydia? He could not figure out a way to kill Voldemort without dragging innocent people into it? Could he have not steered them down a different path that would not lead to Fred's death? Dumbledore had always gone on about how love was the most powerful thing in the world, but love wasn't going to bring Fred or Lydia back. It wasn't going to fix anything. Love wasn't going to get him through his grief. He wasn't sure that anything would get through his grief.

When he arrived at Dumbledore's office, Harry, Ron and Hermione were just coming out. Seeing the three of them without Lydia seemed strange. They all looked smaller, somehow. Ron was pale and his eyes were bloodshot, though George was not sure if this was from exhaustion or tears. Perhaps it was both. Hermione was still crying and her hair was falling out of the hair tie that it had been in, but George was sure that the state of her hair was probably the least of her worries. The worst of them was Harry. George could barely bring himself to look at him. His shoulders were sagging and his eyes completely blank. So blank, in fact, that he wasn't even sure if Harry could see anything that was in front of him.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked.

"Up there," George said, pointing to the office.

"Why?" Ron asked.

"I want to - I want to speak to Dumbledore,"

Harry turned to look at him and then nodded, "I get it,"

They all nodded at him and then walked on. George watched them go, wondering if he would ever get used to seeing them without Lydia. They looked oddly misshapen, like a jigsaw with a missing piece. Once they had disappeared around a corner, George walked up the stairs to the headmasters office. He had lost count of the amount of times that he and Fred had been sent to the Headmasters office by Mr Filch. Usually when the got there, Dumbledore would just smile and tell them that they 'ought to be more careful next time,'.

Professor Dumbledore's portrait was hanging above the Headmaster's chair. George looked at it for a moment and then looked away. The other previous Headmasters and Headmistresses were all giving him that same sympathetic look. Even Phineas Nigellus and this made him feel even worse - things must be bad if Phineas Nigellus of all people were feeling empathetic towards him. He looked away from the portraits and at the floor, wondering if this was something ridiculous. He turned to leave but then Dumbledore spoke.

"Mr Weasley, I am so sorry for your loss,"

George turned around and looked up at him, cocking his head to the side slightly. For years, Dumbledore had been somehow who he looked up to. Crazy old Dumbledore who was able to run a school and be respected by the whole Wizarding community. Crazy old Dumbledore who even Lord Voldemort was afraid of.

"Are you?" George asked, his voice shaking, "Are you not glad she's dead? Are you not glad that she had the courage to actually go and do it? Because if she didn't, we'd never win,"

"I am not glad that Lydia is dead, but I am glad that we are finally at peace,"

"At peace?" George asked, "What's peaceful about fifty people dying? What's peaceful about the way that Fred was killed? What's peaceful about all the rebuilding that we're going to have to do? What's peaceful about any of this?" His voice echoed around the room. The other portraits did not react to anything, "How long - how long have you known that she was going to have to die?"

"I always suspected that one of them would have to die," Dumbledore told him, "I realised that it was Lydia in her fifth year-"

"Fifth year?" George repeated, "Nearly - nearly three years ago? You knew! You knew all this time and you never once thought to tell her? To - to warn her that-"

"George, you knew her better than anyone. She would have wasted no time in killing herself," Professor Dumbledore cut across.

"And there was no other way?"

Dumbledore shook his head, "there was no other way,"

"THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU FIND ONE? WHY WERE YOU SO OKAY WITH SENDING A SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD TO DIE? WHY DIDN'T YOU HAVE THE COURAGE TO TELL HER YOURSELF? WHY DIDN'T YOU EXPLAIN ALL THIS TO HER EARLIER? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DRAG EVERYONE ELSE INTO IT? YOU WERE MEANT TO BE MORE POWERFUL THAN ANYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD AND YET YOU COULDN'T KILL HIM?" George was yelling before he could stop himself, "YOU HAD TO RELY ON TWO SEVENTEEN YEAR OLDS TO DIE? AFTER EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE? THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! LYDIA DYING, FRED DYING, LAVENDER DYING, REMUS DYING...THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS! YOU LET THIS HAPPEN!"

"George, there is nothing I could do-"

"BULLSHIT! THAT IS BULLSHIT DUMBLEDORE, AND YOU KNOW IT!" George roared, "THEY SHOULDN'T HAVE HAD TO DIE-" his voice broke, "they all had lives ahead of them...Fred...Lydia had a life ahead of her...we had a life ahead of us together...and now - I have nothing, Dumbledore, I have nothing,"

"Mr Weasley, you know that is not true-"

"James," George said, suddenly, "James, he - he came back! Does that mean...does that mean Lydia might?"

Dumbledore looked at him with a sympathetic look in his eyes and George suddenly wanted to stun the portrait.

"No. Lydia will not come back,"

"Fuck you, Dumbledore,"

With one last withering glare at him, George turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. That had not made him feel better. He did not think that anything would make him feel better every again. When he made it out of the headmasters office, he sank to the floor, sobs wracking his body. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there for. It could have been hours or even days. He only realised that he had not moved for a while when he heard footsteps and felt someone put their hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Daphne Greengrass looking down at him, her eyes sparkling with tears.

"Sorry, George, I don't want to disturb you its just that, um, if you...if you want to see them, you can,"

"Fred and Lydia?"

She nodded, "Madam Pomfrey is gradually letting people in to see people who, you know..." She cleared her throat and looked away, wiping her eyes, "Sorry, I don't want to cry in front of you. I'm probably just making it worse. I'm sorry."

"Nothing can make it worse," he said.

He dragged himself over to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was stood at the doors, wiping her eyes. When she saw him, she clumsily patted his cheek, muttered something about how they would all get through this and directed him to where his family was. Ron was sat next to the bed, not quite looking at Fred whilst Bill stood behind him with his hands on his shoulder. His mum was on the other side, stroking Fred's hair and quietly sobbing as his father stood with his arm around a shell shocked Ginny. He didn't know where the others were, and he almost didn't want to ask. They would probably be with another one of the dead, and he did not have the energy to think about the fact that the number of fatalities stretched far beyond Fred and Lydia.

"Where is she?" George asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ron looked over at him, "The corner. F-Fleur, Harry and Hermione are w-with her," quite suddenly, he burst into tears, "I c-can't go and see her. I d-don't want to believe she's dead,"

George slowly walked over to him and helped him up, "Come on, Ronnie, you'll regret it if you don't see her at least once,"

Harry was slumped forward in his chair, holding onto Lydia's hand and sobbing. Hermione was stood at the top of the bed, her head hung. Fleur was stood with her arms wrapped around her, looking at che ceiling. Ron dropped into the seat next to Harry and put his arm around him. At once, Harry let go of his sisters hand and hugged Ron, sobbing even louder. George slowly walked around the bed and sat down, looking at her. Lydia Potter had never looked as peaceful in life as she had done in life. Her head was turned to the side slightly and if George concentrated enough, he could pretend that she was sleeping. His eyes travelled down her neck and he frowned. There was a new jagged scar there, one in the same shape as on her head. It took him a few moments to realise that this was where Lord Voldemort had struck her with the Killing Curse and looked away.

Hesitantly, he picked his hand up and looked down at it. The words 'I could not tell lies,' could still be seen and George felt another rush of anger. She had died for people who had never cared about her in the first place. Slowly, he ran his thumb over her engagement ring and tears stung his eyes again. Deep down, George had always known that their wedding day had been nothing but a fantasy to get them through the war, but that didn't mean that he couldn't mourn the wife he would never have.

"George," Fleur whispered, "Why don't we take 'er engagement ring off...'ave something to remember 'er by,"

He looked up at Fleur and shook his head, "No. Leave it. I'll never give it to anyone else,"

"She wouldn't want you to be alone," Harry said.

"There's no one else,"

He knew that in time, people would tell him that he was young. He still had his life ahead of him. He could still find someone and fall in love again. But he knew that there would never be anybody like Lydia. There would never be anyone who would understand him like Lydia. She was the first person, outside of Fred, who believed in the joke shop and told him to go for it. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and he would never meet another Lydia. There was no other Lydia.

"There isn't!" He said, when Fleur was looking at him funnily.

"I know," she said in a soothing tone, "I know,"

George did not go back to The Burrow, or even Shell Cottage. Harry suggested that he could come back to James' apartment, where they were going, but he declined. He needed to be alone for a while. He needed to work things through. No one seemed particularly thrilled about him going back to the flat that he and Fred had shared, but no one seemed to have the energy to argue back. George didn't have the energy to do much but curl up in a ball and cry.

"I'll come and see you soon, mate," Charlie whispered, patting him on the back before he late.

"Yeah, yeah...cheers,"

He walked to Hogsmeade and Apparated home. Being away from Hogwarts and back in Diagon Alley felt wrong. The air smelled too clean and the sounds of birds chirping made him uncomfortable. He could not understand how a sound so sweet could be heard on a day like today. For the first time, he glanced at his watch and it told him that it was 6 in the morning. Usually, he and Fred would be waking up around this time to get the shop ready for what was always promised to be a busy day. He would probably write back to Lydia, go through bills that gave him a headache and then drink two too many cups of coffee in a desperate attempt to wake himself up.

And now he would never do that again.

Diagon Alley was deserted except for the beggars that sat in the doorways. Immediately, George's hand went to his pocket to give them some money, but he remembered that he didn't have any on him and that somehow made him feel worse. As he walked towards the shop, he glanced over at Gringotts and felt a small smile creep onto his face. He did not understand how Lydia and the others had managed to break out of the bank without being caught and he turned around to ask her, but then he remembered what had happened. The realisation that he would never hear her tell that story hit him like a tonne of drinks and he had to lean against a wall to stop himself from collapsing. Watching Lydia tell stories was one of his favourite things in the world; her eyes would always been shining and she would be gesticulating so violently that anyone who was sat near her would have to keep on ducking out of the way so not to be hit in the face. She had once accidentally punched Ron in the face when she was telling the story of how she and Harry had snuck in and out of Hogsmeade in their third year.

"Sir, are you OK?"

George turned around to someone wearing Healer robes looking at him anxiously.

"Fine," he muttered.

The Healer looked at him closely, "You've been at Hogwarts, haven't you?"

George raised his eyebrows at him, "you've heard?"

"Hard not to..." He said, "Do...do you need anything?"

"My brother and my fiancé back from the dead. Can you do that?"

"No,"

"Then I don't need anything," George shrugged.

"Is it true?" The Healer asked, when George turned his back on him, "Is it true that Lydia Potter is dead?"

George froze and suddenly felt like someone had punched him in the stomach and he could not bring himself to turn around. News really did travel fast in the Wizarding world.

"Lydia Potter is dead," he said, still not turning around.

And saying those words out loud, speaking them into existence was unlike any pain that George had ever experienced. It was nothing compared to being hit in the face with a Bludger, it wasn't even anything like being tortured with the Cruciatus Curse. It was something much deeper and nothing that he would ever be able to describe, so he did not try to describe it. He just carried on walking home, because what else could he do but carry on?