A/N: This, seriously, is torture to write. I feel tears pouring down my cheeks, because somewhere I know that this is not canon. Yet I implore you all to remember, the one good thing about the series ending is that we never saw the aftermath of this, never saw George alone, we never even saw evidence that an Avada Kedavra was ever cast! So just stick with me please, Fred Weasley lives on if we choose to believe it.
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Chapter 2: Neither Can Live
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He heard the wails of grief from his mother before he saw what had caused them. The Death Eaters were retreating, and George had been outside, making sure they kept their word, and that everyone else made it back into the Great Hall safely. A body was just visible under his mother, who was desperately clinging to whomever had fallen – George felt a sense of increasing dread. He half wanted to just stay where he was, avert his eyes, hold on to this moment where he didn't know who was dead, where he could pretend like no one was. Percy, however, had spotted him, and from the look of shock and renewed grief in his eyes…
No, was all George could think as he passed the Great Hall in fewer strides that would seem possible, No, no, no, his mind was echoing, because it just could not be. It must be Bill, or Charlie, or anyone else, and they would grieve together, because that was just the way it was… his mind stopped working as he neared the group of mourning Weasleys, and he got a glimpse of the body they were all gathered around. It was as if time had stopped, it seemed the others were all retracting slightly, giving him space, all except for their mother, who was still sobbing over Fred's body. George fell to his knees at Fred's head. He saw a flash of two young men, standing side by side and admiring their new dragon hide suits – how hideous there were, but how wonderfully expensive! Someone had closed Fred's eyes, it was obvious he had been AK'd quite suddenly, his last grin still on his face … Fred's voice echoed in his head. "We've had a pretty good life, eh Forge? If we die now, I'll say I'll be pretty satisfied with what we've accomplished, wouldn't you?" And George's reply, equally cheekily as they prepared to leave their flat, stuffing their pockets with Skiving Snackboxes and Peruvian Darkness Powder, just in case, "Sure will be Gred, we've come a long way. Of course, if only one of us…" he'd trailed off, the merest trace of uncertainty marring his features as he caught Fred's eye. "That won't happen," Fred had assured him, seeming quite sure of himself. At George's continued scepticism, Fred only grinned more broadly. "Come on mate, Forge couldn't exist without Gred, and vice versa! We've always been together, you and I, I don't think we could ever be separated! That's just not possible!" and then they'd done something they hadn't done for many, many years - they hugged each other, however briefly and with quite an overload of manly claps on the back. They'd never had the need for such signs of affection, just like you would never need to hug yourself to emphasise how much you loved you. But the situation had seemed to call for it. And then Fred and George - or Gred and Forge, it really didn't matter at all – walked side by side through the doorway, and Apparated away. Always together. They'd never even tried to have it any other way.
George's vision was obstructed by unshed tears, as he stared down at the hard, cold reality. He hadn't honestly thought it possible, not really. Maybe because facing a future alone had just been unimaginable. And as he sat there, aware of the many eyes upon him and the lifeless shell of his twin in front of him, he wondered how he could not have known when it happened. It seemed preposterous that one could have died without the other realising, unreal. Yet here he was. Alone. It wasn't a joke, and George knew in that moment that there would never be another. Fred had been right. One twin could not live without the other, indeed.