-1Chapter 1: Letting Go

The bottle of firewhisky dropped from George Weasley's hand and he stumbled through the doorway to his flat, nearly tripping over the piles of clothing and paper stacked near the doorway. He swiped a hand across his face as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

The apartment was a complete and utter mess. There were heaps of clothing strewn across the floor, the beds, the countertops, and the dressers. The door to one closet was opened and piles of old quills, broken Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes items, and other unidentifiable items were spilling out. The carpet was stained and dirty, and dozens of empty bottles of Ogden's Firewhisky were scattered throughout the place.

George hobbled across the filthy room and crashed on top of a bed. It took him a second to realize that it was Fred's bed that he was laying across, and the thought repulsed him. He jumped up, head spinning and pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes to keep the tears that always threatened to come when he thought of Fred.

"Mr. Weasley?"

George looked up and was startled to see a small witch with short blonde hair and big blue eyes standing in his doorway. He blinked a few times, trying to place her. The light from the hallway was blinding.

"Verity." He mumbled, the name of his and Fred's assistant finally coming to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." Verity stepped inside. The light grew more intense and George flung an arm across his eyes.

"Close the damn door!" he rasped, and Verity complied without saying a word. George closed his eyes and took a step backwards.

That was a mistake. He had meant to sit down in the chair behind him, but had misjudged the distance. Instead, he fell with a crash down onto the dirty floor. Startled, he blinked a couple more times.

Verity knelt beside him. "George." she said, her tone none too soft. George winced. "Too loud." he muttered.

"I don't care. George, get up." She took his arm in her hand and tugged gently. "Get up."

He was too tired and had too much of a headache to argue. He allowed her to pull him to his feet and then walk him over to the chair, where he collapsed. Verity crouched beside him and pulled his hand down from his face.

"George," she said softly. "You have to snap out of this."

"Snap out of what, Verity?" he said grumpily, wishing she would leave. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not, you're drunk. George, look at me."

"I'm not drunk." he said, ignoring the last part of her sentence. "I'm not."

Verity scoffed. "George, you are drunker than that time when you and Fred first opened-"

"DON'T TALK ABOUT HIM!" George roared, just the sound of his name cutting into his heart. "Don't…say his name."

Verity glared at him angrily. "I'll say his name any time I damned well want to, George Weasley. He was my friend too."

"YOU WEREN'T HIS TWIN!" George hadn't remembered leaping to his feet, but suddenly he was standing, fury pulsing through his veins. "YOU DIDN'T SEEM HIM DEAD! DON'T YOU DARE PRESUME THAT YOU WERE AS CLOSE TO HIM AS I WAS!"

Verity was also standing. Her eyes were filled with anger, but also sorrow and just the tiniest bit of fear. Fear? thought George dully. What did Verity have to be afraid of? Voldemort was dead and gone, never to return again. So what was it that she was fearful for?
"Fred was a wonderful person," she said, tears shimmering in her eyes. "But George, he died almost two weeks ago. You have to learn to let go."

"I DON'T WANT TO LET GO!" George grabbed the nearest object, an empty butterbeer bottle, and threw it across the room with all his strength. It hit the far wall and exploded in a shower of glass and remaining drops of butterbeer. He grabbed more and threw them as well, his words punctuating between each throw. "I-DON'T-WANT-TO-LET-GO! Don't you understand?! I can't let go!" Hot tears scalded George's face and ran unchecked down his cheeks. He swiped at them angrily.

Verity was trembling. She had backed away rapidly at George's first throw and was now all the way to the door. Pausing, she turned and looked at the man that stood before her. "Let go, George." she said softly, before disappearing.

George sank down in the chair again, his strength depleted, and closed his eyes again. His head was pounding, thanks to that little outburst, and now he felt worse than ever. Guilt and shame fled through his mind. He knew that Verity was right, knew that he should let go of Fred. But he just couldn't. Fred was too much a part of him, had always been the other half of him. They had never been separated for more than a few hours at most. All the while they had split up while escorting Harry to his safe house at the beginning of the previous year, George had worried constantly about whether Fred was safe. He had never felt such relief when he was lying on that bed, head bleeding, and heard his twin's voice asking what had happened to him.

It was comparable to losing half of his soul. Fred was in George's mind, and George was in Fred's. Ever since they had been born, it had been like that. They knew each other's thoughts, could finish each other's sentences, could feel what the other was feeling. Whenever they did things, they did things together; took the same classes, had the same position on the Quidditch team, came up with the same pranks.

Now, George was alone. He was only half of himself. And he didn't know how to handle the feeling of emptiness that was always around him.

"…George?"

The hesitant voice from the doorway was familiar and had an odd sense of comfort. George opened his eyes and found his younger sister, Ginny standing in the doorway, along with her newly reinstated boyfriend, Harry Potter. She looked in cautiously, and involuntarily wrinkled her nose at the smell. "May we come in?" she asked, looking as if she was going to come in anyway, whether he let her or not.

"Er, yeah…sure. Of course." George started to stand up, but a wave of dizziness swept over him and he sank back down, instead waving a hand at them. "Come in."

Looking relieved, Harry and Ginny stepped in, Ginny going straight over to George. "Are you drunk?" she asked bluntly.

"No!" George started to protest, then realized that no matter what he said, she'd know right away if he was lying. "…Maybe." he said sullenly. "Not really."

"Can you even stand?" she said disgustedly, putting her hands on her hips. George thought she looked (and sounded) rather like his mother at the moment. He tried to stand, then shook his head. Ginny sighed.

"Harry, come give me a hand." she said, and together, the two of them grabbed George under his arms and yanked him upright.

He swayed unsteadily on his feet. Harry slipped his arm around his waist to keep him from falling back over.

"This way," he said, nodding towards the direction of the bed, which Ginny was in the process of clearing off. She nodded at Harry, and with a wave of his wand, Harry sent everything on the bed, including the sheets, off onto the floor. He gave another flick and sheets flew out of the closet and neatly arranged themselves on the now cleared off bed. Ginny tossed a bunch of pillows on the bed and then Harry sent a clean blanket to spread itself out above them.

He was still supporting George, who had deemed Harry an easy resting spot and was now leaning his full weight against Harry's shoulder. Harry staggered.

"George, keep awake for thirty more seconds, will ya?" he said, and George nodded, although his eyelids were feeling quite heavy. Harry led him over to the bed and all but threw him on it.

George curled up beneath the sheets and Ginny pulled the blanket over him in a very motherly fashion. He had never before appreciated his sister as much as he did right now.

"Gin…" he mumbled blearily, struggling to keep awake. "Ginny."

"Yeah, George?" she said, looking his direction.

"Thanks…" the rest was cut off as George fell into a hard slumber, his dreams clouded with memories of Fred.

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George woke with a start, feeling as if his head was on fire. He groaned, running a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair.

"Oh, you're awake."

George looked over and blinked, seeing Ginny sitting sideways on his couch, her legs propped up in Harry's lap. They both had books in their hands.

"What're you still doing here…?" George mumbled incoherently.

"Taking care of you." Ginny responded in a very matter-of-fact way. "Mum is in too bad of shape to help you, but she's got Dad, so I'm not too worried. You, however, live here by yourself, and have no one to keep you from turning the place into a complete pigsty. And getting drunk every night doesn't help." she added with a glare in his direction.

George didn't answer. He sat up slowly, holding a hand to his head. It was then that he realized that his apartment was sparkling clean. All the clothes and heaps of trash had

disappeared, the dishes washed and put away, the countertops cleaned off and shining, and the closet doors shut. The carpet had even been rid of its stains and was as clean and white as it had been when the twins had first bought the premises.

"It was mostly Harry." Ginny said, noticing his gaze. "I figure I'm allowed to use magic, since the ministry is still mostly in ruins and they probably wouldn't be bothered with a bit of underage magic. But Harry said we better not take the chance, even if Kingsley HAS been appointed Minister of Magic."

Harry patted her leg. "Not everyone is willing to cut us some slack."

She snorted. "Even if she is the girlfriend of the boy who killed Lord Voldemort and saved the entire world? I think they could make an exception."

George wasn't paying attention anymore. He was staring dismally across the room at the empty bed across from him. The covers were still thrown back as if Fred had just gotten up and went downstairs to open the shop.

"What…" he said, tearing his gaze away. "-time is it? How long did I sleep?" His head was pounding.

"It's nearly three in the afternoon." Ginny said. "You slept for about twenty-one hours."

"Merlin's beard…" George mumbled. "Twenty-one hours?"

Ginny reached over and looked at Harry's watch again. "Well, we better get going. We wanted to wait for you to wake up before we left, but Ron and Hermione are waiting for us at the Burrow."

They stood up and walked towards the door. At the last second, Ginny turned back. "Please get better, George." she said softly. "I know…I know you miss him. I do too. An awful lot. But George, I hate seeing you like this."

All the fight and anger from earlier had long since left George and he just nodded dully. "I know, Gin, I know."

She nodded and walked out, Harry murmuring a quiet "G'bye, George." And then George was back to being all alone.

He didn't get out of bed. Instead, he hunched himself deeper beneath the covers of his bed and tried to pretend that the past two weeks had all been some horrible nightmare that he was going to wake up from soon.

Fred's funeral had been the worst. His family had arranged a small, separate service after the massive funeral held for the fifty-three students and thirteen aurors and teachers that were killed at the Battle of Hogwarts, as it was commonly beginning to be known. George had sat stonily throughout the service, oblivious to anyone else, nodding numbly at the sympathies and condolences of everyone, but not really hearing anything anyone was saying. It was his brother, Percy, that had broken down in front of everyone, and Bill, tough Bill, who had collapsed in sobs during his speech. George had spoken his eulogy with his usual flair and flashing smiles, trying to keep the mood light, and the remembrance of Fred the same. It had worked, for the most part, and most of his friends and teachers got that he was trying in his own, desperate way to keep Fred with them, to keep his humor and his.

After the funeral, there had been a flurry of actions taken. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been appointed temporary Minister of Magic, and Percy, his personal secretary. Mr. Weasley was promoted several stations up to become Head of Magical Cooperation, and Bill was working for him.

Kingsley had awarded Harry two awards for Special Services to the School, three Order of Merlins, first class, and a place on his staff, but Harry had refused that last one. He still wanted time to think, to process everything. He had returned to Ginny's side, however, and was rarely seen away from her.

Ron had been different. He had sunk into a depression afterwards. He had also received awards, but the deaths of Fred, Lupin, and Tonks had deeply affected him. For almost a week and a half, he had refused to come out of his room, until the girl he had been madly in love with for years had finally shaken him out of his stupor. Hermione Granger knew what she was doing when it came to Ron, and she had flat-out refused to let anything happen to him. He remembered a time when Hermione had threatened to call Mrs. Weasley after Fred and George were using Gryffindor students to test out their latest products.

George tried desperately to block out the thoughts of Fred that were starting to push their way to the front, but once started, the flow wouldn't stop. Memories of Fred rushed through his mind like a waterfall cascading down a mountain. Fred, their first year, and only their second day, getting into trouble with Argus Filch already; Fred, learning that he and George were going to be the Gryffindor Quidditch team Beaters; Fred and he, huddled in their shared room at the Burrow, concocting Ten-Ton-Tongue Toffee recipes; Fred and George, arguing with Ludo Bagman over his cheap tricks and cheats after the Quidditch World Cup; Fred and George, flying through the halls of Hogwarts on their broomsticks, setting off none-explodable fireworks, wreaking havoc, and breaking through the ceiling to soar off to the sky above; Fred, learning that he and George had finally earned enough money to complete their dream of opening their own shop.

Tears dripped down his nose and landed on the red sheets before George realized that he was crying again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

The shop hadn't opened for almost a year. After having had to go into hiding, Fred and George had continued with a mail-order system, but the store had had to be closed for the time. George didn't have the energy, nor the heart, to reopen the shop. He wondered fleetingly how much it would sell for.

Then he was both ashamed and angry with himself. This store had been Fred's dream, his dream. It was what they had both been passionate about since their first year at Hogwarts. He wasn't going to sell it; not to anybody, no matter what the price they offered. But opening it again without Fred by his side, cracking jokes…the thought was almost too much to bear.

George rolled out of bed and almost passed out, the pain in his head was so great. He wished he had had something to get rid of the immense hangover. How many bottles of firewhisky had he had last night, anyway? Ten…twenty? After Harry and Ginny had left, he had lain in bed for a good six more hours.

He wandered over to his closet and pulled it open. Ginny and Harry had hung all of his clothes back up and folded everything else. He briefly glanced at the neon-green dragonskin coat that he and Fred had bought together when they had first opened. George leaned against the door to the closet, suddenly feeling as old and feeble as a one hundred year old man.

He extracted from the closet something nondescript: a plain black shirt and jeans. He left his wizarding robes where they were in a heap on the floor and slipped on his trainers. Picking up his wand from the bedside table and stuffing it into his pocket, George looked around the small, tidy flat once more before stepping out and closing the door firmly behind him.