I've been feeling an overwhelming amount of sadness and worry lately, and so have decided to take it out on my two favorite characters. I cried while writing this, and I suggest that you have a box of tissues close by while you read this.

I know I didn't put 'Review!' at the bottom, but that was because I didn't want to ruin the kind of dramatic ending with an A/N. But, you know, I still want some reviews. Please?

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling…sigh…and I don't own 'Calling All Angels' by Train, either. It just seemed like such a good title…

000

His blood seems to freeze, his heart seems to stop, the air in his lungs seems to solidify, and his limbs turn to stone. He knows he is in the middle of a battle, he knows that he must keep fighting to save his life and the lives of those around him, but he cannot shake the awful feeling of pure, untainted fear.

One word seems to echo through his head…one name, a name he has heard his entire life, a name he has answered to almost as frequently as he answers to his own, to the point where they weren't even sure any more who was who…the name of his best friend, his other half, his twin…

"No…" he whispers, turning away from his enemies, away from his comrades, who shout for him to come back. He doesn't listen. He wants to, he needs to find his favorite brother.

He runs through the corridors, dodging spells and rubble, unaware of where he is going, knowing only that something is pulling him in this direction. He finds himself sprinting through the entrance hall, and realizes that at some point, the fighting stopped, the Death Eaters vanished, and the survivors are carrying bodies into the Great Hall. Some of the bodies are moaning, thrashing around, clearly in pain, but still alive, while some of them are still, and lifeless.

He enters the Great Hall and his eyes immediately pick out the group of redheads familiar to him. They are clustered around a motionless figure on the floor and his heart gives a painful throb. He moves closer, and when he finally sees who is laying so frightfully still on the floor, he loses any shred of the control he thought he had.

His wordless, aching cry, filled with a mixture of horror, terror, and the deepest sadness, rings through the air. Even as they grieve over their own loved ones, the people around him can't help but turn at his heart-wrenching cry. His sadness, his disbelief, his fear is so powerful, so deep, so utterly raw that they feel their own hearts twist in sympathy and a shiver runs up their spines.

He sees none of this. Not the tear-stained faces, not the bloody bandages, not the tired eyes. He doesn't hear the wails of grief, the cries of pain, or the sighs of relief when someone's love or child or friend walks through the door, unharmed. The only thing he can understand any more is that his brother is gone.

"Georgie…" his mother whispers, tears pouring down her cheeks as she reaches out to him. He says nothing, simply drops to his knees beside his twin.

Was he even George? He wonders for a moment as he stares at the face that almost perfectly matches his own. On a single night, months and months ago, his ear had been cursed off. Everyone had assumed he was George, because George was supposed to be flying with Remus Lupin, and that's who had brought him in. Everyone always assumed that the twins liked to switch places to confuse people, and while this was true, they also had, at some point, lost track of who's who themselves. As soon as his ear was lost, though, he had been George and his brother had been Fred.

As he stared silently at his brother's face, tears blurring his vision, a memory rose, unbidden, to his mind from a time before they had been to Hogwarts, and liked to sneak around the house, just listening.

"I can tell them apart for now, Arthur, but eventually, I don't think I'll be able to, especially if they keep up this silly little game of switching places."

"Well, Molly, how do you tell them apart now?"

"Freddie's eyes have a touch of gold in them, and Georgie's are a darker shade of brown."

He slowly raised a hand to brush away the tears for a moment and focused on his twin's eyes. They were a deep, chocolate brown, same as always, but without that spark, that light in them.

There was no trace of gold, not even a hint of amber.

Fred bowed his head and closed his eyes, tears still seeping out. He didn't care if they called him George. He didn't care if the funeral was held for 'Fred' Weasley.

Fred Weasley was dead anyways.