Hello, I do not own Harry Potter or anything even related to that rollercoaster, or else I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.

I miss Fred. Terribly, I must say. So I wrote this. I would like to say, while this isn't song-fic (ohgodno), try, if you can, to listen to Iris by the Goo-Goo Dolls while you read this. I did while I wrote it and the song took on a whole new meaning.

Enjoy.

Mirror

Ginny found him three days later, on his bed, staring pointedly straight at Fred's.

He had pulled his knees up to his chin and lines from endless tears ran down his cheeks. His nose was red, and his eyes were puffy. His lip was swollen, and Ginny could tell that he had bit it to try to keep himself from crying. Probably from last night.

They came home for the first time since the last battle last night, and when they had found that their old clock was missing a hand, George lost control of his strange, calm composure that he had built. He fell to his knees and wailed. He threw back his father and his eldest brother, causing Bill to fall on top of Charlie and Percy who both crashed and toppled over the old sofa. Harry held back Ginny while Hermione did the same for Ron. Molly had tried to get near, but he screamed at her, telling her to get back.

She did.

It broke the woman's heart to see her son fall into such despair, such unbecoming of his character, but she let him go. He pulled himself up the stairs and poured himself into their old room.

His old room - he reminded himself. He'd have to get used to that.

He sat on his old bed, and had been staring at the other side of the room ever since.

Ginny, being the only girl in the family of six - five, she reminded herself - boys, took it upon herself to set out the emotion in George. She lost one brother, she was not going to lose another, even if it were to grief.

He ignored her presence, as Hermione said he would. But she didn't care, she sat next to him on his bed, put her arms around her big brother, laid her head on his arm - away from the hole - and cried. He didn't move to hold her, or to cry with her. He sat, unmoving except for unsteady breaths and let her be. That was her plan - to let him know that he was not completely alone in his grief. She said no words of comfort, she had none. She gave no words of wisdom, she had never lost a brother before. She said no words to George, and deep down - he was thankful.

That night, the house was full of silent tears and hidden sobs. Not just for the fallen brother, but for the one left behind - as he rocked the house with his shouts and screams and shrieks.

Two weeks later, George had become a shell, only to leave his room to play with food sat on the table before him. The only person he would seem to acknowledge was Ginny - and even then it was as she were a ghost.

The wails at night soon became less and less frequent. The night that Andromeda brought Teddy to show off, he seemed to snap out of it for a bit, giving his family hope. He played with the kid, and even smiled when the little tyke burped louder than even Charlie could manage. But it was when Teddy changed his hair red to match George's own that the family knew their hope was false.

Harry took Teddy at the first sign of tears. George did not move for the stairs as he would in the previous nights when the pain hit his consciousness. He stood up slowly - as slow as his tears were - and walked calmly to the old family clock. He stared at it for a bit, crying softly to himself, and Andromeda and Harry left with Teddy not long after.

It was two o'clock in the morning. Right on the dot, Ginny remembers, when George broke the clock's glass. She was downstairs to get a glass of water, and he was still standing there, the rest of the family off to bed already. She heard the glass shatter, and his soft curse float to her ears.

He walked into the kitchen, more emotion on his face than had been in weeks, and she hated what it was: pain. He had punched the facing, angry and had caused deep gashes in his left had.

Why had he punched with his left hand? Fred was the lefty? She thought to herself.

She helped him clean himself up, and then up the stairs to bed. She tried to ignore how he made a point not to look in the mirror at the top of the stairs, but she couldn't.

The next day he wouldn't leave his room.

The day after that, a month to the day of Fred's death, the Weasley family (that is to say, Arthur, Molly, Charlie, Ron, and Ginny) awoke to find that every mirror in the house was destroyed. Shattered beyond any Repairing Charm. They all had been brought to the sitting room, sat up to face the center, where George sat, and then shattered. Some by spells, other's by George's now bleeding fists.

He sat in the middle of the mess, crying. Glass sticking out of his arms and feet, muttering to himself:

"He's in the mirrors."

The family had to take him to St. Mungos for his wounds, and a professional said that he was grieving as only a twin could. Of course Fred was in the mirrors, because of the simple fact that George was in the mirrors. They were identical, you know. Molly thought they were inept.

He broke every mirror he ever saw for two more weeks, including the ones that graced him with Fred's image at St. Mungos.

Charlie and Percy eventually convinced him that if he kept it up that they would make him stay at St. Mungo's with Lockhart, and that seemed to convince him to stop, but Ginny knew he didn't. Years later, she would visit him to find that he had to buy a mirror - at least once a week - to destroy it. She found them in one of the rooms of his home. The broken mirrors. Scattered in an organized mess. She let always it slide.

But right now, he was a right mess. He ate his food alright, but for about a week straight, forced Molly into setting Fred a place, and when - at the end of dinner - no body had eaten the food, seemed to retreat back into himself. Charlie and Ginny always tried to take food when he wasn't looking. Molly discouraged this, being in her own stage of grief herself, not wanting to let her son go on pretending that his brother was there.

He just sat in his room all day, staring at Fred's bed. Or talked to himself, like Fred was there, about tricks to play on Snape - or their latest ploy on Ginny's latest boyfriend. Some days, when Harry came over and they played a good round of quiddich, he would get on his broom and stare stupidly at his bat, unsure of what to do with it. He would always throw it down in anger and have to find another mirror.

It was year later that Harry decided to step in to help. George was like a brother to him, as much as any of the Weasley boys were, and he pained him to see a brother suffering. He had to try, and with Hermione's help - it just might work.

Hermione and Harry walked into Fred and George's room - wait - George's room, solemnly. Careful not to touch anything that looked even slightly like it belonged to Fred they tried to avoid. That in itself was a feat - considering the two shared everything.

"George, do you know The Tale of the Three Brother's?"

He nodded, "yeah, mum used to tell Fred and I . . ." he stopped and swallowed, "I know it."

Harry leaned forward, "What if I were to tell you that that fairy tale were fact? That three brothers had three extraordinary gifts? That one could let you talk to the dead?"

"Your mad. No magic could ever bring someone back from the dead. I've checked."

Hermione gasped.

"What were the other two gifts?"

"The Elder Wand the Invisibility Cloak." he seemed to be on auto-pilot.

"What if I were to tell you that I inherited that Cloak?"

Hermione jumped at George's confusion, "That the story, is much more than a fairy tale?"

George sat up, straight, "You're telling me that I could see Fred again?"

Hermione nodded and George heaved. "Yes, George, if that is truly what you are meant to do."

His head shot up from his dry sobs, "What?"

"George," Harry began, "The search for the Hallows can not be easy - and one must do it alone. But I warn you - the stone is from the story - and if you use it like the second brother . . ."

". . . I have already thought of taking my own life, Harry. Death is not a new idea to me."

Hermione gasped again, "That is the last thing we want. We want you to be happy. The only person left who could talk any sense into you is Fred." A sideways glance to the mirror and he almost cracked a smile.

"We will give you a hint - because we had many." Hermione straightened at Harry's words. "I was on my way to Voldemort last time the stone was turned. At Hogwarts, near the shrieking shack."

Hermione sighed, "If you choose to go looking, then we've have done all we can."

"Why didn't you guys tell me this before?"

Hermione cast a look at Harry before answering, "We did not want to lose you too."

The next day, all they had of George was a note that said:

Off to find Fred, be back soon. Promise.

Molly cried, fearing the worse, and Arthur sat up a ministry search party. Harry did his best to track his movements and to keep him safe. Hermione leading the party away from him on purpose.

Ron would never agree to such a deceitful mission - so they chose not to tell him.

Ginny knew something was up - Harry was an awful liar, especially to her - and demanded. She was told she would be told the whole story when George returned. She was angry at them, and she and Harry broke off their engagement for a little while due to the whole affair.

But this is not about the happenings of Ginny or the love life of Hermione and Ron, but the grieving of a twin - forever lost without his second half.

They were once told, back when they were innocent eleven year olds, that the wand chooses the wizard. It just so happened that their wands shared a core, like that of Voldemort's and Harry's wands. They were told that wand makers make duel core wands because of a few sets of twins. Not all twins come in and go out of a wandmaker's shop with the same outcome, but they did.

They were told, once, that twins were really two people with the same soul, and so - their wands mirrored them.

No matter what would happen to George, no matter how happy he would try to get, or others tried to force on him, he knew that he would never be anywhere near the same. Fred was gone, and so was part of his soul.

He found the stone - after lots of trial and error and due to pure accident. He almost gave up and kicked the ground in frustration, making the pebble road to the shrieking shack move before him. He was yelling at himself for being so stupid as believing in a stupid children's tale, and how he was nothing alone. Standing in a snow covered Hogsmead, his brother appeared before him, and George felt normal.

"Forge."

"Gred."

They smiled at each other, and then hugged, as best as an aspiration could. George broke down again - for the first time in six months, he cried, and his brother, his twin, his best friend, held him.

"I have to go back, George."

"No," he said through sobs, "why?"

"Because someone has to make people laugh while they are waiting on loved ones. Apparently James Potter's jokes were getting old."

George laughed.

"How's everybody?"

"You can't tell? You can't visit?"

"I do. But someone keeps destroying all the looking glass."

"The mirrors? I wasn't going crazy?"

Fred shook his head, "Well, that is still under heavy debate, but - no."

Meek and confused (although something told him he was supposed to be confused), he whispered, "What do I do now?"

"What we've always been good at: making people smile. I've been doing it. So should you. I haven't really felt close to you since I've crossed over. Dumbledore reckons it's because we aren't on the same wavelength anymore."

"Well duh we aren't on the same wavelength, you idiot, you're dead!"

Fred came forward and placed his hands on his brother's shoulders, "the one's that you love never really die." George started crying again. "George. I know you miss me, I miss you - it's because you're moping and you're moaning and you're not you. The brother I shared a womb with wouldn't have been this bad. The brother I know wouldn't have kept up crying for as long as he did."

"You're not with me anymore, Fred," he cried.

"Don't you ever listen to me? As long as you love me, I'm never going to leave you. I'm here, and whether you can see me or not, I'm here." He pushed on George's chest, "It's cliché but it's true."

"I don't know if I can do it."

"You see - I knew we weren't completely identical - I know you can."

"Fred. . ."

"I know. Twin thing." he tapped his head, "I know." he was smug, and smiling with half his mouth. The one George had known as the 'I have a secret and you'll find out when you eat that tart - you loser' smirk that had graced his own face as often as it does Fred's.

Did Fred's - he reminded himself. He would never get used to that.

Fred grabbed George in another hug, "I better not see you for at least sixty more years, you got it?" Fred himself began to cry.

George had to nod - how could he not?

Then Fred left, "see ya' 'round, Holey", dancing on the breeze around his brother.

When George arrived at The Burrow for Christmas that year (just in time too) he gave his family the greatest gift they could ever ask for . . . their son, and brother, and friend back. Granted, it would take years for him to be able to talk about Fred without having to go to the other room and cry to his hearts content, but he was smiling, and making a few small jokes - mostly about Percy. And Bill - due to his very pregnant veela wife.

He started to work on WWW again, and he felt happier than he did in a long time - closer to Fred too. He even re-started Potterwatch, now meant as a late night talk show where he had a go at the current events. Hermione once told him that the muggle's had a very similar genre of show - and she was glad he started it again. "Rapier Nightly" was one of the most listened to shows in all of Magic London. Close to Fred. That's all he wanted.

At the ten year celebration of Voldemort's fall, George visited his brother's grave for the first time. He had gotten better over the years, and while the mirrors still fell prey to George's anger from time to time (sometimes he wondered if his vision of Fred in Hogsmeade that day was real - or if he was imagining it and the Fred he kept seeing in the mirror was truly a figment of a pre-psycho self) he had never brought himself to visit his brother. His grave was at Hogwarts, along with many others that had fallen in the war. The celebration, this year, would be held at the school - and he was one of the few men of honor. Few, only because the rest were dead.

That and Katie made him go. Katie Bell. Kate - as she was called today in Wizarding court rooms - met George when he was reopening his shop in Diagon Ally. They had a one night stand that resulted in seven incredible years of marriage and two healthy boys. It was George's curse that he was blessed with twins.

Seven years old and they were already mischief makers that could rival both their father and namesake.

He placed a small mirror on his brother's grave, and a hand on top of the tombstone. Fredrick Weasley - A Man of Smiles and Hope - Beloved Son, Brother, Friend, and Twin. Closed his eyes, and said a small 'thank you'.

Fred and Rick grabbed onto their father's sleeves, causing him to topple over in the sudden intrusion. "What are you two boys doing?"

Fred and Rick. He thought it was funny, both his boys together would be named for one man. Katie went along with it because she knew that George needed it to happen that way. Currently watching them run down the hill to their father, she decided that she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Playing Harry and Voldemort!" Fred replied happily.

"Oh? And who's who?"

"Rick is Harry, just 'cause I'm better at being bad!"

"Being bad isn't good, ya' dummy!" Rick stuck his tongue out to his brother. George couldn't help but smile.

"Who is this dad?" Fred asked, looking at the tomb. "That's creepy." he said after further investigation, That's me!"

"No it's not . . ." George said with a smile, "That's my brother. Whom you two are named after."

"We had another Uncle?"

"Yep," George confirmed, moving to a more comfortable position on the ground and smiled up to Katie, "He was my twin brother. And he died fighting for what he believed in."

"What was that?"

George smiled, catching a glimpse of red in the mirror that didn't belong to his boys or himself, "Making people laugh." He jumped his boys, tickling them for all that they were worth. They squealed in delight, Rick jumping onto his father's back and Fred refusing to let go of his arm, even as he stood and walked, with much drama, toward their mother.

"Fred?" asked a boy from his shoulder.

"Yeah, Rick?"

"If we have to die like Uncle Fred," the pain hit George, but he was curious to what Rick wanted. "Can we go out together?" George stopped, unable to contain himself.

"Yeah, Rick. That's how I want to go. With you!"

"Now, now you two! No more talk of that until you are well into your one hundreds you hear?" he wiped his eyes with his free arm. "Now, first to your mother, gets to ride with me on the way home!"

Squeals came up again, and weight lifted from George's shoulder's as they jumped and raced. He let a few more tears fall before he joined his family. He was shocked to find that Molly and Arthur weren't far behind Katie.

"George! I'm glad to see you made it!" Molly bounded toward him and captured him in a hug he could only describe as 'mum'. She pulled back and nodded, holding back her own layer of tears. Out of the whole Weasley family, all the brothers and Ginny, his mother still truly mourned Fred. That bond made them closer over the years. He turned to his father and gave him a hug. He and Katie began talking about something as Molly fretted over the boys:

"Goodness, Fred," she cooed, "What has your mother been feeding you?"

The other boy flattened his arms to his side, "I'm Fred, Granma!"

"Oh! I'm sorry, dear!"

George chuckled to himself. The breeze blew over his face and he smiled - he knew that joke well.

Okay, so you hated it because of the obvious plot holes, loved it because you are in Fred-grief like I am, or don't care and didn't even get to this point. But if you did, let me know. You could even rant/grieve about Fred if you wish. I know that this was my way of doing that. Even if it dosen't make sense. Sometimes grief never does.