Half
George Weasley was half of a whole. Half of a brilliant prankster team. Half of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Half of dangerous experiments, half of equally dangerous results. Half of Griffindor pride, half of Weasley stubbornness. Half of invention, half of loyalty, half of boisterous happiness. Half, half, half… George Weasley was barely half-alive when Lee Jordan found him, curled around his brother's cold body tucked into an alcove. Half-alive at the funeral, crumpled against Lee's shoulder, while Lee's hand ran slowly through his flame-bright hair. George shivered against his side, half-crying, looking startlingly small and broken as the other boy drew him closer with one broad, dark arm around his waist, the other hand still moving slowly through his flame-bright hair. And then, suddenly, Lee felt a ghostly half-warmth against his other side too, and then, as plain as if they were all back prank-playing at Hogwarts, he heard Fred's voice, low and gentle in his ear:
"Don't worry about me, mate—I'm gonna have a ball. And George is only half-broken. Make him whole, Lee. Make him whole."
And as quickly as he came, Fred was gone, rollicking and laughing off into the next great adventure. Lee drew George closer still, and this time George gave him a weary squeeze back, burying his wet face in the other's neck as the funeral wizard droned on.
"Don't think I didn't hear that," George whispered, a smile in his eyes for the first time in what seemed like half of forever. "Sounds good to me."