I read somewhere once that George wasn't able to produce a patronus anymore after Fred's death, because all of his happy memories were with Fred. So I decided to use that as a starting point for this story. I hope you guys like it.

The rain fell in large drops over a quiet street. Not a soul could be seen walking along the flooded pavement. The ice cold wind and the freezing water pouring from the heavens was enough to keep almost everyone out of the rain. The weather was monstrous and everyone took to the comfort of their homes, everyone except a young man walking alone along the water-filled pavement.

As the youth and the adults alike gathered around a blazing fire burning in their hearths, George Weasley, continued on through the streets, clearly oblivious to the skies bombarding him with rain. Neither the roaring air nor the icy droplets of water falling from above seemed to faze him. He just, unrelentingly, went on, unaware of anything but the thoughts from his head that threatened to smother him.

It had been a year since Fred had passed away, but to George it only seemed like seconds ago. He would never be able to forget the look on his twin's face as he lay on the ground, his last laugh still etched upon his face. His mirror image, his brother, his best friend gone, and only his cold shell left. The memory haunted George wherever he went. He was never safe from it and he would never be, because like a parasite, it had crawled into the inner recesses of his mind and he had no idea how to get it out.

The pain that he had gone through when he had lost his brother was always there, like a monster lying in wait. George tried to put on a brave face during the day, especially when he was with friends or family. But at night, when everyone was gone, when everyone had left him, the façade that he had so patiently built crumbled around him.

At first, these subtle signs of mourning didn't seem to register in his mind, but as time wore on he started to see that the weight on his chest grew heavier every day. And as the load grew he found that the simplest things that he would do caused him pain. He would never admit it to his family, but at odd times in the day George would find himself staring at the mirror for hours on end pretending that his brother was still standing in front of him, breathing and alive. Sometimes he would write letters to himself and then sign Fred's name on it instead of his, just so he could pretend that Fred was merely out of town, and not buried ten feet underground. Most of the time though, George would simply just lie in bed holding his brother's hand-knitted sweatshirt in his hand; unmoving and silent as he stared off into space. And it was during these times in the day, that the mere thought of what had happened would reduce him to tears.

George's jaw clenched, his thoughts consuming him once more. These days it was becoming harder and harder to stop the barrage of memories from attacking him, because try as he might, he would always be reminded of his brother. His twin's death, although over a year ago already, was still fresh in his mind and it hurt him to remember, but he knew that he needed to be strong, he knew that somehow he needed to try and carry on. His family, his friends, they all wanted him to be alright and sometimes it was comforting to know that he had people who would listen to him, most of the time though, it was difficult for him to tell them that he was still hurting inside. It was at these times that he wished everyone would just leave him alone.

Unfortunately, today was one of those days. George, just simply wanted to be left alone. He just wanted to be given time to think, but it seemed that Fate had somehow conspired against him. Now, he was being forced to put up his mask once more and return to his home, the joke shop, and pretend to be okay in front of his family, who were becoming increasingly annoying in regards to their frequent visits to his house, despite their good intentions.

George looked ahead and realized that he was nearly home. A few more blocks and he would arrive at the joke shop, the shop that he and his brother had built... George choked back a sob as he realized that in a few days it would be their birthday, and he would have to face it alone. I don't want to be alone, he thought as a cold wind whipped around him. Images of his last birthday with his twin resurfaced, and it took all of his strength to try to keep the tears at bay. His lip quivered from the effort and he sucked in a sharp, deep breath trying to calm himself. But, no matter what he did, the image of his twin blowing out the candles of their cake slipped back into his mind, and it was then that he realized how cold it had suddenly become. George, with a sudden fear that gripped his heart, whipped his head around. At first he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but then, a wisp of white from the corner of his eye, caught his attention.

Fog, he thought, as a shiver ran through his body. It couldn't be, they're all supposed to be gone by now, he said to himself. The fog was moving closer and closer, its wispy tendrils reaching out like fingers laying hold to the air around him. George's head was spinning and his heart started pounding in his chest, but he couldn't move. He was frozen to the spot, eyes wide and unbelieving. No, no, he murmured as a dark, black, figure appeared from within the fog, its arm outstretched, and moving straight towards him.

Dementor, he said to himself as the hooded figure, clad in what could only look like the attire of Death, glided straight for him. George whipped out his wand, his hand trembling in the process and pointed it towards the dementor.

"Expecto patronum!" he shouted as a feeble strand of white light shot slowly out of his wand. "Expecto patronum!" he tried again but his patronus refused to appear. Think George, the happiest moment of your life. Think, he said to himself as the dementor drew nearer with every second.

"Expecto patronum!" he shouted into the still air, but his thoughts were clouded. All his memories, all his happiest memories, had been with his brother and as the dementor grew closer and the weight on his chest heavier, he knew right then and there that it was the end.

"E-expecto... patronum..." George whispered feebly now, his legs failing him as he fell to the floor. Fred's last words... "E-expecto... p-p-patronum." The dementor was closing in on him, and he could feel the little joy he had left draining slowly away. Fred's last smile... "E-expecto... e-e-expec-to..." He could feel the cold breath of the dementor as its hand stretched out towards him. Fred's last breath... "E-expecto..." The dementor was directly in front him, its ghoulish breath ice cold on his face. Fred's last smile... still etched on his face... "E-xpec..." The dementor closed in him, its mouth opening, ready for the kiss of death.

"George!" a voice screamed, shattering the stillness of the air. Mum? George thought as he saw a figure a few feet behind the dementor, whip out a wand. "EXPECTO..." the figure shouted. Ginny? The dementor whipped its head around trying to find the source of its distraction. "PATRONUM!" the figure finished, sending a bright, silver, patronus towards the dementor as it tried to propel itself away.

The last thing George remembered as his vision blurred and he swam into unconsciousness was the voice, angelic yet filled with fear, saying his name and a blur of chestnut colored hair as his last thought consumed him. Hermione...

Comments? Suggestions?