Fred awoke the following morning feeling more depressed than ever; his thoughts a combination of if only's and what if's. George was still fast asleep next to him; he'd always been the heaviest sleeper of the two of them. He contemplated getting up and dealing with the mess left by the death eaters himself and he definitely thought that it was the best idea to get out of bed before George noticed he'd climbed in next to him. He knew that he'd cave under the force of his suspicion; he'd never been able to keep anything from George before. Sighing he slipped from underneath the covers, the cold instantly hitting him, making him long for the warmth of his twin's body. Nevertheless, he dressed and proceeded downstairs after leaving a quickly scrawled note for his twin. He didn't want him to worry. Upon entering the shop floor the full extent of the damage wrought by the death eaters became apparent in the revealing light of day. It soon became clear that some of the most expensive items on display were beyond repair. Fred uttered a string of curses aloud, with the fall in profits they weren't going to be able to replace them anytime soon. He muttered reparo over the collapsed shelving and tidied up the broken glass. Fred turned towards the congealed mess of pimple vanisher and love potions, his shoulders slumping. Such a waste. With a flick of his wand the mess vanished leaving behind shelves that were empty of products. There was no point in them opening today with this disorder, as he realised that he'd only made a tiny dent in the clean up job.

Moving between the display stands he noticed the cage of pygmy puffs lying on its side; the tiny creatures were mewling piteously. "I'm sorry, I didn't think to come and check to see if you'd been knocked over". He opened the cage to pick up one of the balls of pink fluff and stroked the soft fur. He righted the cage, but the gilded door still stood open and the pygmy puffs tumbled out and started rolling across the floor, squeaking loudly. "Damn!" Fred ran after them, scooping most of them up and placing them back inside their cage. Only one stubborn puff remained, which had attempted to hide itself by rolling underneath the stand of fireworks. "Accio pygmy puff", the tiny creature was instantly sent towards him and he gently caught it in cupped hands, returning it to its fellows.

George ran into the shop, his pajamas disheveled. "Oh Fred, you didn't need to start this by yourself!" Fred noticed George's pale, bare feet.

"George, step back, there might be some glass that I missed!"

"What? I can't see any. YOUCH!" He yelped as he stepped backwards onto a particularly sharp splinter, which spliced the sole of his foot open. He hopped up and down on one foot, his face contorted in pain. Fred rushed to his side and sat him on the ground. "You daft sod!" He chided, taking out his wand to heal the gash. The skin slowly knitted together easing the pain. "Better?"

"Yeah, thank you. God what a mess!" George took in the shop in dismay.

Fred helped him up and opened the till. He quickly slammed it shut again, quaking with rage. "The bastards" He seethed. "They've robbed us blind!"

George limped over to the till, carefully avoiding the remaining glass fragments and looked for himself. There had been nearly 30 galleons in there and now nothing. Fred still looked completely furious and George could tell that his black mood was going to last all day.


A month later and George was sat at his desk in their apartment's living room. He had been wrong, Fred's awful mood had not lasted all day, it had lasted all month. George could understand why he was pissed, it had taken them days to clear through the debris and it was only now that the shop was fully stocked again; but he couldn't understand why Fred had withdrawn from him even further. Every time he reached out to him, his twin fell further and further out of reach. More worrying still was the fact that some of Fred's anger seemed to be directed towards him. George wracked his brain attempting to discover the reason for Fred's mood, but he knew that he had done nothing. Anytime he attempted to talk to his twin about something other than business he blanked him and excused himself from the room. The tension between them was wearing George down; he couldn't stand it. George knew that Fred wouldn't be behaving like this unless there was a good reason, but he couldn't help him unless he told him what was going on. It had been a huge mistake to drink so much when they'd gone out, as the terrible headaches had reached their zenith in terms of pain. They had left creases across his forehead, making him look older than his nineteen years. To cap it all his eardrum was blocked and he couldn't hear a thing from his left ear. This served to make him extremely jumpy as he constantly looked over his left shoulder, half expecting somebody to be coming up behind him unheard. In the present situation with Fred he hadn't shared this turn in his health, but he knew that if things got much worse he'd need to see a healer immediately.

He glanced down at the accounts piled up in front of him; fair enough it was his turn to look over them but the numbers were making his head pound. He dropped the black quill he had been holding poised above the parchment with a groan. He was becoming desperate, he wanted the pain to stop and more than anything else he wanted his twin.

The twins had made significant progress on their assignment; despite the discord that had sprung up between them. They had spoken to all of the shopkeepers of Diagon Alley; whilst avoiding the more shady characters to be found in the sinister Knockturn Alley. From Madame Malkin's to Quality Quiditch Supplies and the Magical Menagerie, all had been willing to do what they could to support the Order. So far this newfound support had been a significant success, as the twins had been able to report back to the Order on the movements of several known death eaters. It had given them a much needed clue to Voldemort's own movements. Like them , he was rousing support, but in far greater numbers than the Order could ever hope to achieve.

Giving up George went to seek out his twin; he found him in their bedroom his expression stony. "Finished the accounts then?" His tone was abrupt and unfriendly.

"No I had to leave them for tomorrow, I've got a headache". A bit of an under statement he thought.

Fred tutted, his annoyance showing. "So you expect me to do everything do you? I don't know, I bent over backwards for you when you'd been injured, but I think you're taking the piss now."

"I never asked you to...", George was cut off mid sentence as Fred suddenly got up and left the room, leaving George looking after him sadly. Never had they avoided each other like this before. Never before had they had what could be classified as a proper argument. The only thing he could compare it to was when Fred and Angelina had briefly dated. He'd felt so left out, as Angelina didn't seem to like having him around. But that was nothing like this, Fred had still been completely normal with him; they'd just been less inseparable than usual. No wonder I'd felt jealous, he thought.

Rather than feeling sorry for himself, George decided to confront him. Things had gone far enough, he was going to get answers out of Fred and he was going to get them now. Fred had escaped to the living room. It's like a game of musical chairs, George thought dryly; he goes from one room to the other to shun me. Fred looked up as he entered, frowning and made to leave again. George however, remained in the doorway blocking his escape.

"Move George". He ordered, but George failed to budge, regarding him with tight lips.

"No," he kept his voice calm, but felt anger bubbling up. How dare he treat me like this? "You're going to tell me what's wrong with you, you wouldn't be avoiding me if there wasn't something the matter."

Fred paled considerably. He certainly doesn't want me to know what it is, but then I don't want him to know my secrets. However the anger had not left his eyes; the eyes that had had their happy sparkle replaced by a dark stare that George was shocked to see directed at him.

"Move", Fred repeated, ignoring the question.

"Tell me what's wrong Freddie. Please. What have I done? Whatever it is I'm really sorry," George pleaded.

"Just leave me alone! I'm sick of you asking, just bloody shut up will you?" The volume of his voice was incredibly close to shouting. Tears filled George's eyes and he bit his bottom lip anxiously. They never spoke to each other like this, told the other to go away. They loved being together, always and hated being apart for longer than a few hours at a time.

"This isn't like you", George tried again. "We stay together, we don't avoid each other. Please?"

"Well maybe I don't want to be around you all the time!" Fred snapped viciously. "You're always in my face constantly, I can't get rid of you. Now get out of my way before I move you myself."

George wilted under his words, as sadness engulfed him like a tidal wave. He stood frozen in place, struggling to believe that this was his twin saying these things to him. Fred cursed and shoved past him, knocking his shoulder hard against the doorframe. George let a single tear fall as he watched his twin's retreating back; he'd never felt so helpless. A sudden wave of nausea overcame him and he sprinted for the bathroom, barely making it in time before he retched into the toilet. His sides still heaving, George wiped the stench from his mouth and swallowed a tiny mouthful of water from the silver tap at the sink. Shaking he glanced in the mirror, presented before him was a mess. His skin was even paler than usual and clammy, with the tear streaks still shining against the cold skin. He sank to the floor and gave in to the wave of tears; even though he cursed his weakness he felt so ill and emotional. Fred must have heard him throwing up, but he hadn't come to see if he was ok...

He heard the door creak open behind him through his right ear only and quickly turned to hide his face.

"Were you throwing up?" Fred's voice had temporarily lost its angry edge upon seeing George in a heap on the bathroom floor.

"Just go away", George mumbled. He heard the bathroom door creak again. Fred had gone.

George thought that he had never felt worse in his life, as he heaved himself off the bathroom floor. The difficult times in his life had been nowhere near as bad as they could have been, because he had always had Fred. But now George felt lonely for the first time in his life, his secret and Fred's outburst weighing heavily on his soul.


If George had felt that things couldn't get any worse, they soon proved him wrong, as the dissension between them meant that silence descended upon Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and the exuberant, laughing twins seemed but a distant memory. A ghost that lingered over the haunting stillness. Since the argument three days ago, the twins had not exchanged so much as a single word. They both lay awake at night, lost in misery, as Fred cursed the feelings that were destroying his and George's relationship.

Darkness had descended over the alley, as George paced outside the shop in agitation. Fred had gone out hours ago and he had yet to return. Fear coursed strongly through George, as he dwelled on the many different things that could have happened to him. Despite the hurt that Fred had caused, the thought of something happening to him was agonising. And so he waited, the seconds that passed seeming to move slower than normal; as if time itself wanted to contribute to what he was suffering. Finally, a tall figure with rich ginger hair emerged out of the darkness, staggering slightly as Fred had tried to drink himself into sweet oblivion. But the alcohol had done nothing to free him from his grave of despair and self loathing. Look at what I have done.

Relief spread across George's features to be quickly replaced by anger. The selfish git hadn't spared a thought for him worrying; he couldn't even be bothered to leave him a note. He stood with his arms folded as Fred approached. His twin halted seeing him stood there.

"Where the hell have you been?" George's voice was laced with anger.

"What's it to you?" Fred insisted. "Just because we're twins doesn't mean I have to ask your permission to go somewhere."

George shook his head in absolute disbelief. "Have you any idea how much I've been worrying? You could have been lying dead in the street for all I knew!"

"I told you to leave me be! What part of that didn't get through that thick skull of yours?" Fred snapped back.

"You're a git", George said, his voice trembling. "I try to help you and you just throw everything back in my face."

Unshed tears sparkled in Fred's dark brown eyes, which were flecked with lighter hues of chestnut brown. "It's alright for you, you've got no idea what I'm going through. I wish...I wish we weren't twins!" He blurted out.

George reeled. It felt as if he'd been stabbed through the heart. He wishes that we weren't twins. Oh why? He wishes that we weren't twins. He wishes that I wasn't here...

Tears slipped unchecked down his cheeks and he suddenly felt the urge to go; he couldn't stand this anymore. He walked away into the gathering dark; his wand left forgotten inside the shop. He heard Fred sobbing behind him, calling his name. "George, Georgie! I...I didn't mean it like that. Come back, you're not well!" George broke into a sprint, running blindly as the heavens opened. Rain drenched him to the skin as he continued to run; Fred's shouts becoming quieter as he couldn't keep up. He headed down Knockturn alley, becoming lost in the maze of twists and turns. He skidded to a halt completely lost, as he'd never been this far into the alley before. An old crone leered at him from across the dank passage where he found himself. "Are we lost handsome? Come inside, I'll warm you up." George kept tight to the wall in order to move past her, his insides clenching uncomfortably.

Fred had caught sight of George disappearing down Knockturn Alley. No, don't go down there, He panicked. He soon lost him amongst the unfamiliar scenery.

George came to a dead end; in complete and utter dejection he sank to the ground. What had happened? Merely two months ago they'd told one another how much they loved each other. And now... Now Fred seemed to hate him.

"Well, what do we have here?" said Scabior, a gang of unruly snatchers at his back, blocking George's exit. He was cornered, trapped. He reached into the pocket of his jeans to draw out his wand, but was overwhelmed with horror to discover it missing. Where had he dropped it? But then he remembered leaving it on the side. Now he was unarmed against a gang of snatchers; even though he was a pureblood they wouldn't hesitate to inflict harm. Especially considering that being pureblood meant that they couldn't hand him into the ministry and turn him into cash. This is it, this is how I die. Unglorious, undignified, against a dank alley wall. He would have preferred dying from his ear injury; it would have been a hero's death, like Mad Eye's. I would have died with Fred loving me...

"Let's teach this Weasley blood traitor not to prowl around on our territory," he snarled.

George yelped as the first blow caught him around his throbbing skull. He raised his arms to shield himself, but they continued to make painful contact with his body. "Fred", he whimpered...