Disclaimer: I own nothing, seriously.

Little something I wrote when feeling down.

For Fred Weasley and the end of the legacy of Gred and Forge.

He sat on the old bed in the dark room, staring at the black mark on the wall opposite him

He knew this mark, he remembered the sickly purple liquid splattering all over the planks, the smell of the burning oak as it sizzled from the heat, the panicked rush to clean the mess before they were discovered and the laughter, laying on this bed, laughing until their stomachs ached.

People said that every time you laughed you lived another year, if that were the case he would be well into his 700th year before he died. Though, if the same thing were true with sadness he should have died hours ago. This room was so familiar, too familiar.

He hadn't cried, yet. His eyes burned and his throat was dry and aching from hours of clenching it. He wouldn't cry, crying would mean acceptance and he didn't believe, not even for a second. His fingers clenched and unclenched on the faded blue blanket as waves of emotion swept in and retreated. He knew every warm nook of this blanket, every rip and hole. His finger unconsciously sought out his favorite one near the curved seam, an accident from a blotched spell years ago. He leaned back into the bumpy pillow, his back welcoming the comfort. He had lived in this room for 17 years of his life, even after a 3 year absence with only scattered visits he knew every sound, feel, and smell of the old wood and musty furniture. It carried his history, not only his, but the history of a person who had been more a part of him than any being ever could, who had been half of himself. His throat gripped and he clutched the blanket in his hands, his knees bending, he bent himself over them, breathing hard, his eyes squeezed tightly. He curled on the bed.

This bed held so many memories; it had originally been two beds on opposite ends of the room. It still was occasionally, when they weren't here. Mum said it was like that since they were born, she would set them in different cribs and somehow they brought them together, the cribs became one and they lay snuggled together like puppies. It hadn't changed as they aged; they only found comfort when the other was near. They were two distinct people and yet were one person. Not split into two cleanly divided parts, but one whole, meshed and melded together. They needed each other like a person needed their organs and blood. The cruelest thing in the world would be to tear them apart. He bitterly thought of the family below crying for their lost one, they didn't know pain. They had no idea how it felt to have your soul torn in half, to be left empty with a gaping, festering would in your being and no way to heal it. Only pain.

He stared across the room at the window, it was dark out but the moon was shining brightly; unfit weather for such a night. On the window-sill he noticed a carving, he knew it well, he remembered taking turns cutting deep into the wood with a kitchen knife. Mum had been so angry when she found it dulled from the pressure; they loved to see her riled. He looked away quickly trying not to read them, but the words cut into his mind and heart like a jagged blade Gred and Forge

Why? Why Fred? Why not any of the scores of other Order members? Why did it have to be his Fred?

Something inside him broke and a tempest rose through his mind, something was roaring and the pain was unbearable. Hot tears spilled down his freckled cheeks, his hands gripped the blanket fiercely, his arms shook and his shoulder wracked with sobs. It was so painful! It was so unfair! He crumpled and curled on the comforter wrapping himself up in the warm fragrance and absence of his beloved brother.

Hours later he sat staring at the burned wall before him. His eyes bloodshot and scalding tears still leaking down his eyelashes. He felt drained, there was nothing left, only the deep throbbing ache and the torturing pain. The pain would never leave. He was no longer a twin; he was no longer part of Gred and Forge. He was George. Lonely George.

He wondered listlessly what people would say about them years to come. When Ginny and Harry finally got together and had kids, what would they say? He could imagine the innocent look in their green eyes as they asking about why Uncle George was always so sad, Harry and Ginny would look down into their green eyes, sigh sadly and say, "Well, it wouldn't hurt to tell you a story. Once you had another uncle, he was Uncle George's twin, his name was Fred."

The End