Carrying on

SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7

Rating: PG-13 (For safety)

Genre: Angst/Comfort

Summary: George can't go on without Fred there beside him.

Characters: Percy Weasley, George Weasley

Pairings: None

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

A/N: This takes place a couple of months after the war. Angst is not my strong point, so be civil, kay?

"George?" Percy tapped on the closed door. He listened, there was no answer. He sighed sadly and pushed the door open. His brother sat on the bed, staring into space, his face raw and blotchy from days of salty tears coursing down his face. Percy padded across the room, closing the door behind him, "I brought you some toast." He placed the plate on George's bedside table. No reaction.

"You've got to eat something." said Percy, unable to keep a tinge of frustration from his voice. Indeed, George looked drawn and pale, his wrists and face, alarming reminders of how much weight he'd lost.

Percy sighed again and sat gently down on the bed, burying his face in his hands. He thought back to Fred's death, to George clutching his brother's body, his tortured howls echoing horribly across the Great Hall of Hogwarts castle.

For the first couple of weeks George had sat at his brother's grave, every day and long into the night until he eventually succumbed to a troubled sleep and had to be recovered and carried home in the arms of his father or eldest brother.

Eventually he'd stopped trekking down to the graveyard every morning and had just sat in his room, saying nothing, doing nothing, eating and drinking little and staring, as if enchanted, into space.

Sometimes he'd see fragments of Fred's clothes surrounding the bed, and once, a coloured jumper with a worn letter 'F' knitted across the chest. But he'd not seen George move at all.

Percy ran his fingers through his hair and pushed his horn rimmed spectacles up his nose. Wracking his brains for something to say, willing himself to think of something that could make his brother grin, or smile…or look at him.

"I know how you feel, George, I really…."

"No you don't."

He jumped and turned to face his brother, whose voice was thick and croaky from lack of use.

"How could you possibly know how I feel?" George growled, staring straight into Percy's eyes. "You can't, no one can, he wasn't just my brother, okay, he was…me, he was part of who I am!"

"I know…"

"No you don't!" He was standing now, fists clenched, teeth gritted. "I feel like half of me is missing, half my brain, half my heart, half my soul, Percy, how could you possibly know how that feels?"

There was a silence, disturbed only by George's heavy breathing.

"I don't." Percy whispered thickly, his voice breaking. "But I do know that I blame myself and I know you blame me too." George's gaze broke and he looked away, his hands uncurling.

"I don't…"

"You do." Interrupted Percy, "I know you do, and I know that sometimes you wished he had lived instead of me."

"I never! You can't…" George's voice cracked and he collapsed onto the bed, tears suddenly trickling down his cheeks. Percy reached out and took his brother's hand. George turned to look at him.

"I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be, I may not understand completely what you're feeling but I do love you, George, we all do and you can't just sit here and wither away." He gulped, "He - Fred would have wanted you to carry on."

There was a pause as George detached himself from Percy and scrubbed at his damp face with his sleeve. Percy grimaced and handed him a neatly folded handkerchief. George blew his nose. There was a pause and, for a few minutes, the two brothers sat in companionable silence.

"I don't wish you were dead, Perce." whispered George, his expression serious.

"I know." Percy stood and gestured to the plate of food, pushing his glasses up his nose with his other hand. "Eat. Mum will worry."

He left the quiet room, shutting the door gently behind him, a small smile gracing his lips as he heard the soft clink on the china plate being lifted off the wooden surface.