The next morning, everyone except George sat at the kitchen table, as Fleur and Bill cleared the dishes from breakfast. Fleur glanced outside at the sky, "It looks like it is going to rain. I will go get ze clothes."
She pulled a jacket over her shoulders and headed outside.
George stepped into the kitchen just as the back door closed. He pulled a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water. He leaned against the counter, staring at the floor.
The back door opened, banging against the wall as a cold breeze blew through.
George jumped, water sloshing out of the cup and onto his shirt. He blinked at it for a moment, then looked back at the floor.
Fleur rushed into the house, the clothing piled high in her arms. Bill hurried forward as the clothes tipped forward, catching them in his long arms. He planted a kiss on her forehead, then followed her out of the kitchen.
George sipped his water, then stepped forward, closing the door.
Ron and Harry shared a glance. This was the first time George had stayed in a room with them for more than five seconds.
A sudden rumble of thunder shook the house and George clenched the counter behind him, his knuckles going white.
"Are you okay?" Ginny asked her older brother.
George paled as thunder made the cottage shake again, and hurried out of the kitchen. He rushed past Bill and Fleur, who were in the sitting room, talking to each other in hushed voices. He ran up the stairs and into the guest bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
He leaned against the wall as the house shuddered again, sinking to the floor. He buried his face in his knees, sobbing.
He remembered once, when he was six, there had been a terrible thunderstorm that had made the entire Burrow shiver. Fred had thrown an arm over George's shoulder, and whispered into his ear, "Just close your eyes and pretend it's fireworks."
George had closed his eyes, leaning against Fred, and pictured fireworks exploding outward, purple, red and gold lights dotting his vision.
Now, alone in a room where he didn't belong, George closed his eyes. This time, there were no fireworks. This time, all he could see were the flashes of green light that had killed his teachers, friends, and Fred.
He opened his eyes, trying not to cry out with fear. He crawled to the bed, his head spinning. He pulled the blankets over his head as another round of thunder made the cottage shake.
…
The storm ended around midnight. George got out of his bed with shaking legs. He walked out of his room, jumping slightly as the floor creaked under his feet. He heard Bill snoring in the bedroom, and heard Harry tossing and turning on the couch downstairs. He passed the room Ginny and Hermione were sleeping in, darting past the door quietly when he saw that a light was on. He heard Ginny murmuring to Hermione.
George walked down the hallway to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, leaving the light off as he knelt, retching into the toilet. Once the small amount of water he had managed to drink left his stomach, he sat back on his heels, rubbing his eyes. He heard movement in the hallway outside and got to his feet quickly, grabbing the edge of the sink with one hand as his head spun. He looked up, and saw Fred's face in front of him. For a split second he felt a rush of exhilaration, his mouth curving into a smile for the first time in months. Then he took in the sallow skin, the gaunt face, the hollow eyes. He turned away from the mirror as the pain washed back over him, making him double up over the toilet again.
There was a light knock at the door, but George couldn't hear it over the pounding of his heart in his head. The beat sounded again and again, only acting as a reminder of the fact that Fred's heart would never beat again. In a split second, Fred and George had become George. Just George.
George straightened up, smashing his fist into the mirror. The shards of glass flew outward, cutting his hand open. His hands flew outward, pulling the shelves from the wall and throwing them at the window. He grabbed a shard of glass from the sink, feeling it sink into the skin of his palm.
The door burst open and Ron and Bill ran in. Ron pulled the glass from George's hand as Bill grabbed him around the waist, pinning his arms to his sides.
George allowed his brothers to pull him into the hallway, away from the mess he had created. His head spun and his heart pounded. He gasped for air, blackness on the edge of his vision. Then, he went limp and the blackness took over.
…
George was at the shop. Fred was at the front desk, his eyes twinkling as he handed a bag full of merchandise to a little boy. He turned to George and grinned.
The show melted away, and Fred fell to the ground. His eyes were frozen open, the light within them gone. His mouth was still curved into a smile, but there was no laughter behind it. The realization that his brother, his other half, was dead hit George like a tidal wave, washing away all happiness and hope and love in his mind, and replacing it with loneliness so piercingly painful George knew he would rather be dead than live alone.
…
George woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in his bed. His back ached, and the cuts on his hands throbbed. Sweat was beaded on his forehead, plastering his hair to his skull. His eyes stung as the curtain swayed slightly, a blade of sunlight roaring toward him. His hands flew up, covering his eyes. He fell back on his pillows, curling in on himself. He could feel the emptiness creeping in on him and he whimpered in fear.
The door opened and George turned away from it, fixing his eyes on the wall.
"You're awake," Bill's voice was deep and calming.
George shivered.
Bill walked over to his younger brother, pulling a blanket up over his shoulders. "You have a fever. Fleur says you aren't eating." He sighed, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. "George, can you look at me?"
George didn't move.
"George, please."
George stayed frozen.
"Please," Bill was almost pleading with him.
George slowly rolled to his other side, a bolt of pain shooting up his back.
Bill looked at him. George was a shell of the man he used to be. Even his eyes were empty. There was a sorrow so deep and bottomless in George's eyes that just looking at them, Bill wanted to cry.
Fleur stepped into the room, a bowl in her hand. She stood there for a moment, eyes filling with tears when she saw George. "Should I come back later?"
Bill shook his head, "George needs to eat."
Fleur stepped into the room and walked over to Bill and George. She sat at the edge of the bed, clutching the bowl of broth.
George rolled away. The broth smelled delicious, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. He pulled his knees to his chest as he shivered again.
He heard Fleur set the bowl on the table next to the bed. Her footsteps faded away, and the door clicked closed.
Bill sighed heavily. "Ginny and Hermione were supposed to go back to school two days ago, but they're refusing to leave until they know you're okay." Bill stood, "You've been in and out for the last few days. Fleur says your fever is breaking now. You should start feeling better by tomorrow."
George glanced over his shoulder at Bill.
A soft expression came over Bill's scarred face and he laid a heavy hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "I'm going to send the girls. They need to see you before they leave."
Moments after Bill left, Hermione and Ginny entered the room.
Ginny sat on the edge of the bed, and Hermione sat in the chair Bill had just vacated.
"We'll be back for Christmas," Ginny said after a long silence. "And if you need either of us, just send an owl. After what Hermione did for everyone… I don't think the teachers would mind if either of us missed a few more days of school."
Hermione's hand found George's shoulder and squeezed lightly, "We'll be here when you need us."
"We love you," Ginny said earnestly.
George looked over his shoulder at his younger sister, his only sister. She was so strong, so brave. His eyes flicked to Hermione. The smartest girl he had ever met, and no doubt the cause of Ron's new attitude. He rolled away, curling in on himself and letting out a sigh when the door closed.