A/N: Just to clear things up with everyone who didn't know this: JKR said that Hermione went back to school the year after the battle so she could attend her seventh year, since she didn't before
George lay in bed for hours, curled into a ball. The smell of the broth was still lingering in the air, and his stomach was aching. He rolled over, grabbing the bowl in one shaking hand. He lifted the spoon to his mouth. The broth was cold, but delicious. He swallowed it all within seconds. He set the bowl back on the table, and rolled back over to his side.
Hours passed before the door swung open. Fleur stepped quietly into the room, walking to the bed. She stooped to pick up the bowl. Her fingers rested softly on George's shoulder for a moment when she saw that he had eaten. "We all love you, George," She whispered. Then she was gone, and the door was sliding closed again.
…
Back at the Burrow, Molly Weasley sat at her kitchen table, staring at her clock.
The hands representing each member of her family, along with Harry, Fleur and Hermione, were pointing at "Home". Except for Fred and George.
She remembered when the family had come home from the battle at Hogwarts. She had been so distraught from losing her son, her baby, that she hadn't noticed the clock until George burst into tears.
A new label had appeared on the clock and Fred's hand was pointing to it. "Elsewhere."
Now, Molly watched her clock, staring at George' hand. George's hand had been on "Lost" since they had come home from the war.
…
Some nights the darkness was empty, easy to hide within, but that night the dark was suffocating, pressing the fear and grief deeper into his mind.
George slid from the bed, grabbing his sweater from the floor. He pulled it on as he walked shakily out of the room. In the hallway, he leaned against the wall, already exhausted from the short walk. He could hear Harry and Ron talking in the living room, their voices hushed. He sighed, pushing himself upright. George's hand clasped the banister as he walked slowly down the stairs.
Harry and Ron looked up when they heard the stairs creak. George looked away from them as he stepped off the final stair. He wrapped his arms around his middle and shuffled into the kitchen.
Ron looked at Harry, keeping silent.
A few moments later, George walked out of the kitchen, holding a glass of water. He sat on the chair opposite Ron and Harry, staring at his hands, which he had wrapped so tightly around the cup it was in danger of shattering.
"Feeling any better, George?" Ron asked, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
George sipped his water, pointedly looking away.
Ron sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Harry leaned back against the couch, one of his fingers absently tracing his scar.
George looked out the window at the pitch black night sky. He couldn't see any stars tonight. He knew they were there though. That was oddly comforting. He sipped his water again, then looked at his younger brother out of the corner of his eye.
Ron looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was pale. His hair was slightly too long and he needed to shave. His eyes flicked up to George and George hastily looked away.
He wanted to say something to Ron, but how could he? What was there to say to make everything alright again? He had been silent for so long because it didn't feel right, trying to make things better with empty words. Back at the Burrow, when he had screamed at everyone, he had said all of the words he needed to. There was nothing left to say anymore.
George's hand was shaking as he took another sip of water. He set the glass on the table in front of him, the sound of the glass hitting the wood loud and hollow.
A door closed upstairs and Bill walked down the stairs. He froze in the middle of the staircase, looking at the three young men. "Oh, you're all awake still?"
Harry nodded and Ron grunted. George picked up his cup of water.
Bill sat down on the couch with Harry and Ron. The three of them looked at George, who stared into his glass of water.
Bill and Ron glanced at each other, and Bill leaned back, his long arms stretching out along the back of the couch. Harry rested his chin in his hand, staring at the carpet.
George suddenly sighed loudly, slamming his glass of water on the table and clutching his head with both hands, his long fingers tugging at his hair.
"George?" Bill said, leaning forward, one hand touching George's shoulder.
George shook him off, breathing heavily.
"Maybe you should get back to bed," Bill stood.
George shook his head. He didn't want to go back to the crushing blackness. It hurt to be out in the real world without Fred, but it hurt even more to lay in the dark thinking about him.
"I'll stay here with you then," Bill said, sinking back down onto the couch.
"So will we," Ron said, glancing at Harry, who nodded.
The four of them sat in silence as the moon dipped low in the sky, the stars swirling around it.
…
The next morning, Fleur walked down the stairs and saw Bill, Harry, Ron and George fast asleep in the sitting room. Ron was draped over the arm of the couch, his mouth open in a snore. Bill's head was tipped back, resting on the back of the couch, his hair in disarray. Harry appeared as though he had been on the couch at one point, but had since fallen off. George was curled in a tight ball on the chair, his knees tucked to his chest.
She couldn't help but smile as she shook her head and went to start breakfast.