George Weasley has not had proper sleep in over two years—no, even longer. Three years. Three years of wretched sleep.
All this time, he had figured that he would finally be at ease when Fred woke up.
The second war was, as war tends to be, difficult for everyone. The twins and their trusted colleagues and friends (Lee Jordon and Kingsley Shacklebolt, to name two) made it their duty to inform those on their side about what was really going on in the world.
Though it was a service for everyone—Hogwarts students, worried parents, distant family members—the twins had started Potterwatch for Ron. They wanted a way to let Ron know everyone was all right.
And so it began. They had to find safe spaces to de their broadcast. Though most of their guests on the broadcast were safe, the twins knew it would be obvious they were hosting Potterwatch. They knew they would eventually be on the wrong end of a wand.
They didn't care. So long as they were with each other, they could take on the world.
Mrs. Weasley had told them stories of their uncles Gideon and Fabian. They were twins, too. They had died heroically in the first Wizard war. They had taken down as many Death Eaters as possible before they were killed.
Fred and George were not going to die without causing as much havoc as possible for the Death Eaters. And they were terrified.
They would stay up together and talk about what would happen when Harry finally took care of Voldemort. There was no question that that was how things would end. To the twins, that was the only way. There was no other option.
The final battle came. George couldn't fight his excitement—finally, it would all be over. He and Fred could sleep at last.
But, of course, that is not how things always work.
A wall had collapsed on Fred. Everyone thought him dead. Luckily, George could still feel his breathing. He did not yet feel like something was missing. Fred was alive, but he was in a coma.
George found himself at St. Mungo's for hours a day. He would have to brew sleeping draughts for himself most nights just to get himself to close his eyes for a bit.
"You wanker, you finally get some rest and here I am all up in arms because of it."
It broke the hearts of many witches and wizards to only see one half of the rambunctious and always vividly colored Weasley twins.
It was even worse for them to see how terribly it affected him.
A year into what would come to be known as the worst time in George's life, something he did not expect happened.
Ron had showed up at the hospital while he was there.
It wasn't unusual for George to run into members of his family there. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there almost as much as George was. Percy visited once or twice a week. Ginny would come every once in a while, but she usually brought Harry along.
That's when Ron would show up. With Harry and Ginny, and most of the time with Hermione in tow.
Ginny would come see Fred on her own, but not often. Harry had always made it a point to go one Sunday every month by himself. Even Hermione would pop in with fresh flowers—why she did, George would never know. The mediwitches would charm the flowers to stay alive for ages—but she would come with flowers.
She would toss out the old ones, though they were still fresh, and she always managed to bring the brightest colored flowers. Once, she brought one that would burst into flames when someone would smell it! George thought they were brilliant.
Unlike Fred's other visitors, Hermione never asked George if any progress had been made. She came in, banished the old flowers and replaced them, then look at that chart at the foot of Fred's bed.
"His vitals are rather normal. That's a rather good thing, don't you think?"
George never responded.
"That way, when he wakes up, he should be healthy. And with the potions he is administered, there will be no muscle atrophy."
"Any way that chart says when he'll wake up, then?" George would ask bitterly. He would always later feel bad for snapping at Hermione.
"There's no possible way to tell."
Hermione would leave. George liked that she wasn't sad or sympathetic. She came in, checked up on Fred, and then she would go.
When she would come with Ron, she always tried to check in on George, as well. But everyone in his family did that enough.
But Ron was there without her—without anyone. He pulled a chair next to George and sat there for what seemed like hours, and never spoke a word.
It had irritated George. "What do you want?" He asked his younger brother angrily.
"I wanted to be with my brothers." Ron said. His voice hinted at no specific emotion.
"Well, all right, then." George allowed.
Though George thought that Ron was still a prat, his now more frequent visits to Fred eased him a bit. He talked to Ron—really said what he was feeling. He cried at some points. Ron just listened. Ron told him details about being on the run with Harry and Hermione. He told him how hard every night had become. The three of them had horrific night terrors.
"Hermione and I might actually end up killing each other in our sleep." He once said.
A few months went by. All the visits kept up, including Ron coming alone. He mentioned his sleep was getting better, though Hermione was still the same. He reckoned talking with George made things settle in his brain a little better.
He wished Hermione could do the same. He could only listen to he recount their worst nights so often.
But, besides Ron's improved manner, nothing changed. Fred would lie there, breathing quietly. Everyone visited at their usual times. Hermione would bring flowers. Ron would sit with George and they would talk.
Until, one day—a day that started no different, Ron was next to George asking if he needed help in the shop, and George was accepting more help—there was movement. No one noticed it. How could they? It was the slightest bit. But George felt it.
"Hold on," he said to Ron, "What was that?"
"What?"
"Watch." George was watching his twin intently. Ron followed George's sightline to Fred's face, specifically, his eyes. But Ron saw nothing different. George grinned wildly. He leaned over to whisper in Ron's ear. It was nearly inaudible. Ron smiled like mad.
"I guess I was wrong." George said, a little louder than he usually spoke.
"I suppose I should get home. See you, George." Ron departed.
George remained seated for twenty more minutes, staring at Fred's face, still grinning.
"What's wrong? What's Ron going on about, George?!" His mother screamed as she burst into the room. The entire Weasley family was with them, worried looks on their faces.
"George, tell us right this instant—"
"—Glad you asked, mother." George said. "It's been about two years, and if I know Fred—and I like to think I know him as well as I know myself—he would have woken up by now. He wouldn't lie there for this long. So, as his twin, I have decided to put an end to this. We should no longer have to watch our beloved Fred suffer."
"But he's not suffering!" Hermione shouted.
"Any moment he isn't playing a joke is suffering." George said plainly. "I wanted us all here to say goodbye."
"All right, all right, I'm up, you arse!" A voice yelled.
Everyone in the room stood there in shock, except for George and Ron.
"Fred?" Mrs. Weasley asked timidly.
Fred blinked a few times. "Hey, Mum." He greeted. Before he could get the words out properly, Mrs. Weasley had him in the tightest hug he had ever experienced.
"I knew you were awake." George said.
"How?"
"I saw your eye twitch. I was wondering how long you'd fake your coma. Twenty minutes by my count."
"Felt like ages."
-0-
When Fred woke from his coma, George was the happiest he had ever been.
For about a day, at least.
Nights became hell. Fred would scream impossibly loud—reliving the moment where he thought he had died.
Fred would angrily throw himself around his room. He would curse things, break things, he would scream. George had no idea how to help.
He was sure, by then, that everyone had gotten over the war. He knew for sure Ron was better, and thought Harry and Hermione were, too.
Fred was not himself in the day, either. He was distant. He still experienced the fear of getting caught by Death Eaters or losing a loved one as if it were still happening around him.
George needed to find help.