Hello!
Just a warning, this story will get quite angsty - I guess. (I ended up sobbing by the time I was done writing. Possibly this is because I love the Weasley twins.) As I'm typing this, I realize that this is probably bastardized version of what George's story truly was like sense I do not actually have a twin. I had written this a while back but was waiting on my beta. She seemed to have disappeared D:
So, Slytherite, if you manage to stumble upon this, thanks! :D
He was jogging through a corridor with Lee at his side, each of them with a smile on their faces at the chaos erupting from the pictures on the walls as the battles ensued. He knew it was an unforgivable, terrible thing to laugh, of all things, during a war, but George couldn't stop the wonderful opportunity to make a joke to lighten the mood. Despite their multiple attempts, Fred and George had been unable to remove the serious emotion from the room during the lengthy months leading up to the war. A little laughter never hurt anyone, right?
They needed to get to the Great Hall. It was the place the dead would be laid, only to be killed again by excessive amount of tears sure to be shed on their bodies. George and Lee approached the large doors, which were cracked and scarred from many hexes thrown astray. Rubble clogged the doorway and was piled in the corners of the room. George opened his mouth, ready to pop another witty comment to lighten the mood when he saw it.
Him.
On the floor, alongside the rest of the dead. Who no longer needed to breathe. Whose hearts no longer beat.
George could faintly hear the protests of family members begging, pleading for the dead to open their eyes once more, yet he couldn't process anything besides the fact that he was dead. He couldn't see anything;everything was a giant blur.
He was no longer in control of his mind.
He didn't feel his legs turn him around and launch him up the stairs, running at top speed. George couldn't feel anything. His world was just all a mind-numbing buzz. He couldn't even comprehend things as a whole. His whole world was in shreds, fragments of actions and descriptions.
A dark blur. The texture of a battle-worn door. Pieces of the ceiling littering the ground where he fell. The crisp, apathetic temperature of the marble floor under his cheek. A drop of water dripped from his nose.
When he became aware of his thoughts once more, George was in a semi-conscious state of paralyzing sorrow. He noticed the open wounds on his body, their pain pulsing with every beat. His heart made a wrenching noise which brought him to tears with every thump because his heart was still beating. The red, damaged skin, chewed raw from the debris so carelessly decorating the floor. The deep cut etched under his eye from a curse which hit him as he made his way to the Great Hall. Burns wound up his arms from a duel with a Death Eater who had attacked with fired while George's back had been turned. And he remembered how Fred had been there, screaming everything out he had at the two Death Eaters before helping George as best he could before scampering off to assist another in need.
He couldn't forget the gaping hole in his chest. It was a hungry, avenging abyss George wished so desperately was real. If it were real, he wouldn't be in this state right now. He would be with him. And the dull wrench of pain screaming in his mind would be nonexistent.
He was only half a person. Half of a pair. One. A twin. A new experience for him now.
George was never the one to try something first. The fear and logic inside of him would often stomp out all desire to be first. First was for Fre-him. Not George. Fr-He did everything first, testing out sweets to make sure they're they safe, walking first through door-frames only large enough for one person, flying on a new broom to make sure it lived up to its price tag.
A selfish thought crossed George's mind. A thought of self-pity as he pleaded aloud with tears welling in his eyes, "I don't want to be the one left." George pleaded, curling up in a corner of the classroom, tears running freely down his face. He looked up by pure chance and saw the mirror, lying against the far wall, a single crack across its middle.
Overcome with anger, he strode across the room and picked up the mirror by its rough edges, ignoring the pain and cuts now slitting his palms. "Why did you leave?" George spoke softly, staring into the mirror. "Why not me?" he said, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Like a dam breaking, George became overcome with emotion. "I deserved to go!" he screamed, accusing the reflection. "I'm just one! I'm just a single of a twin. Who wants one twin? It's not "twins" if there is only one still alive! Well, now I guess Mum can tell us apart right, Freddie?"
"I don't want to be able to be told apart!" George yelled. "Why would you play a joke like this on me? Why would you leave me alone in this world without a friend or a brother? ANSWER ME LIKE THE PRAT YOU ARE, YOU ARSEHOLE! You git, you probably didn't realize you didn't say goodbye to me. You were so sure of yourself. Too good for me now, eh? Death has really pushed you over the top, right? Well, you're dead. Not so clever now. If you were the Fred I knew, you would have beaten Death!"
He threw the mirror with all of his strength, allowing it to soar across the room and shatter against the stone wall with a deafening clatter. The glass fell like raindrops , sprinkling the ground with a soft tinkling. George dropped to the ground, pulled his legs up under his arms, and rocked from the trauma. He sat in silence, allowing the blood to clot in his clothing as he reflected on the events of the day. George was sick, dry-heaving on air because he had not eaten in a day.
George lay back, ignoring all signs of the battles which had chewed the room and shut his eyes, trying to forget everything. Nightmares of seeing his twin lying cold on the hard ground of the Great Hall, lifeless with his last smile still on his face, kept George from getting any sleep. He woke, was sick again, and cried until his eyes were sore and no more tears would come.
His hands found a sliver of glass from the mirror thrown from his anger, and George looked into it. "I'm sorry," he whispered to Fred. "But why would you do this to me? I'm your twin for Godric's sake!" George continued his quiet conversation with the mirror, clutching the glass like a lifeline, once again tearing the skin on his fingers raw. He tried to ignore the anger and frustration trying to fight their way out. "What do I do, Fred?" George sobbed, his voice small and uncertain in a very unGeorge-like way.
It was Percy who found him in this lowly state, bloody and battered, pathetic and sobbing, crying out with a terrified voice to someone not there. He bit back his own tears before walking over to George and sat beside him, placing a hand on his arm. His younger brother, twinless, sat in his own misery, still muttering to the glass, tears streaking down his face in a way Percy had never seen before. George didn't acknowledge Percy's presence until Percy slid the mirror sliver out from his bloody fingers.
George pulled out his wand with a shaking, uncertain hand and with an equally uncertain tone, whispered, "Leave me alone," without even registering his brother's face.
"George," Percy began softly, to which George covered his ears - or ear and hole - and shook his head with a frown. "I'm sorry. Listen, you can't just lock yourself in here alone. We're all upset, George, and you acting like this is hurting us, too." This brought up old memories of Fred and himself being scolded by their mother. Thoughts of the family hurt as much as Fred did.
George jerked away from Percy's touch, a cold glare across his features. "You don't understand," he whispered ominously. "Please, just don't try. I need to see Fred, but I can't see the family. They're full of pity and tears, I - I can't." George muttered, trying to keep the tears from his eyes as he his voice quavered on the name of his brother. "Please."
Percy alerted the family that George needed some personal time with his twin. Slowly, each of the Weasleys left the body of the dead twin and passed George who was standing in the door of the Great Hall. Some patted his back, others stole a quick glance at his with tears welling in their eyes, but George couldn't bring himself to respond.
Nothing could prepare him for the eyes that stared without seeing. George collapsed next to the body of his brother. He was shaking, bawling like a child, and felt as though someone had hit a Bludger straight into his chest. "F-Fred," George said, before placing his head on his brother's chest. "W-why?" he choked out with a grim face, the tears freely falling down his face. "Do you remember when we got here earlier today? You p-promised you would l-live." He fell silent before lying beside his brother and grabbing his hand. "R-remember when we first came here, to school, Freddie? R-remember opening the shop? R-remember attacking Umbridge? Doncha remember, Fred? Of course you do. You could never forget," he said, speaking softly, a familiar grin growing on his face. "R-remember our greatest feat?" he said, losing himself in the words the tale.
A lengthy amount of time passed since the Weasleys had exited the Great Hall - which was still buzzing with activity - and allowed George private time with his brother. Molly placed a restraining arm around her daughter, who was worried. "Mum," Ginny said with a small voice, tears glazing on her cheeks, "what if he's not all right? What if he needs us to be there?"
Molly responded by kissing and murmuring calming words to her daughter. "Dear, I imagine George had a reason to want to see F-Fred alone. They were twins after all. Just be patient, Ginny, please. For Mummy." Molly stuttered out, her sadness catching in her throat. Then she began to weep.
Ginny took Molly's distraction of grieving as an opportunity to race into the Great Hall. Her family was hot on her trail. She screamed, a noise of pure agony, a high-pitched echoing yell, and collapsed to the ground. The rest of the family didn't need to check for a pulse; it was clear what had happened.
Fred and George. George and Fred. Gred and Forge. Twins.
Together, they lay, identical until the end, smiles evident upon their faces. Each with a still heart. Their chests no longer moving. Twins until the very end.
Death had taken both of the twins. An cruel feat, taking only one twin, knowing that neither could survive without the other.
No one can live with half a heart.