A/N: I want to thank everybody who has reviewed the last chapter! I really enjoy reading your reviews!

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May 9th, 1998

George was hurting.

And he had no idea what to do. He couldn't think, could hardly speak. Couldn't feel anything else but pain. It was eating him up. Swallowing him. Imprisoning him.

It was the night before the funeral – and he had no idea how to make it through. How to bear watching Fred being buried.

Buried.

Alicia was with him. She had been there, almost every minute since the battle.

He couldn't stay at his and Fred's flat these days. Not even at The Burrow. Memories were too vivid. The only place where he didn't expect Fred to come barging in any moment was Alicia's flat.

Right now her arm was draped across his back as they lay in her bed together. She was asleep. He just lay there, thinking. Trying to ignore the pain. It didn't work.

She couldn't help him. No matter how hard she tried. Nothing she said made a difference. Nothing anybody said made a kept trying to get him to talk to her – but there was nothing he could think of to say.

And then there was his mother. She was just as desperate as he was – but she kept asking if there was anything she could do for him.

If only there was.

It was pretty obvious that sleep wasn't going to come. He was exhausted, but he had been in bed since ten and it was well past midnight now. If there had been a chance of falling asleep it would have happened by now. Alicia mumbled something when he slipped out of bed and carefully covered her up again.

Quietly George pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. He took the keys from the sideboard, threw over an old denim jacket and tiptoed to the door. Almost outside he realised that he had forgotten his wand.

Did he need it?

After thinking for a moment he decided that he wanted it with him. When he was back inside he decided that he should also leave a note in case Alicia woke up. He didn't think she would for she was so exhausted herself, but maybe he had better be safe. He didn't want her to worry. The aftermath of the battle was hard for her, too. He knew that. He also knew that she wished nothing more than to be able to help him. But there was absolutely nothing she could do.

He loved her. But right now that didn't seem to be enough.

After he had written a short note, George left the flat as quietly as he could.

Several minutes later when he arrived at the corner where Diagon Alley led into Knockturn Alley he hesitated for a moment. There was no chance he'd find an open bar in Diagon Alley at this time of night, and he really hated walking through Knockturn Alley. But the pain inside him was stronger than his dislike and so he made his way down the dark street.

He soon found what he was looking for, and subconsciously felt for his wand that was tucked up in his jeans pocket. Once he had closed his fingers around it he went inside. He kept his head lowered and made sure that his hair was completely hidden under his hood.

The room was astonishingly crowded, but most of the witches and wizards inside were not the kind George would know. They looked battered and dirty.

George crossed the room quickly and sat himself on a stool by the bar, trying to catch the barman's eye. It took a while until he could get his attention. He was about to ask for the strongest drink they had when suddenly his hood was being ripped of his head and a familiar voice jeered, "Look everybody it's a Weasley! A Weasley!"

George turned around to find himself staring into David Montague's stale grey that were looking down on him scornfully.

"And not just any Weasley – he's just the one I've been wanting to meet for years," he sneered as he grabbed George by the collar of his jacket, "aren't you, huh, Weasley? You and your failure of a brother – where is he by the way? Not dead, is he?"

"Shut up," growled George furiously. He reached up to loosen Montague's grip on his collar but the other man only held on tighter.

"Pushed me into that vanishing cabinet, didn't you? Huh? Been long time – but I haven't forgotten. Thought it was funny, didn't you?"

Yes, very funny actually, piped up a small voice that sounded suspiciously like Fred's somewhere in back of George's mind. Despite everything he couldn't avoid a small grin, and it was enough to send Montague over the edge – before he knew what was happening George had the other man's wand pointed directly at his face.

"Now, do you still think it's funny, huh? Don't feel so smart anymore, do you? Maybe I should just send you the same way your brother went!"

That was more than George could bear and disregarding the fact that he was being threatened with a wand he jumped off the stool and gave Montague a push that sent him backwards a couple of steps. It gave George enough time to pull out his own wand and –

Before he say or do anything he felt like invisible bonds were being wrapped around him, making him unable to move. He fell over and found the barkeeper standing over him, glaring down.

"No duelling in here," he growled. The man bent down and took George's wand before he freed him from the body-bind curse he had cast before. "Now get out of here, Weasley, you're not welcome here."

Everybody inside the bar was watching them now. George stood up, feeling a mixture of pain, anger and deepest loathing towards both, Montague and the barkeeper. He held out his hand. "My wand."

"So you can attack him again? Not a chance," said the barman.

"He was attacking me."

"He'll let you leave in peace. Won't you, Montague?"

The young man nodded, but it was obvious that he did not agree.

"I want my wand back," repeated George hotly, ready to start another fight. He wasn't afraid of the two men – the pain that had been in him all the time and the argument had infuriated him to the point where he couldn't think straight.

"Give the boy his wand back," said a voice George didn't know behind him. He turned around to find himself looking into a pair of prominent eyes. Eyes he found vaguely familiar.

The man who had spoken was short and fat, a huge walrus-like moustache covered his mouth, yet on top of his head he was bald. Racking his brains George tried to remember where knew this man from – and then it came to him; he had been the Potions master at Hogwarts the year after he and Fred had left.

"I said, give the boy his wand back," roared Horace Slughorn to the barman, who glared at him, but did as he had been told. Then he turned to George, giving him a very disapproving look. "What do you think you are doing in a place like this? You should go home, boy, this isn't a place for you to be."

George who had been speechless for a moment felt another fit of anger coming over him. "I am not a boy," he raged, "and I can be at any place I want to be."

"Not in my bar," said the barman, pointing towards the door. "I don't want to see you here again."

More and more witches and wizards were gathering around the four people who stood by the counter, sneering at each other. But George wasn't going to give in just yet – he wanted a drink. He needed something to numb the pain, and he wasn't sure if there was any other place where he could get that in the middle of the night.

"I'm staying," he said adamantly. "I want a drink and I will pay for it. I'll even pay double – just give me the strongest drink you've got."

"I won't sell anything to you," said the barman.

"You should go home," repeated Slughorn. "And you, too," he added towards Montague.

Montague stayed silent for once but he seemed to have no intention of leaving.

Neither did George. "I want a drink," he said stubbornly. "I need a drink."

"Get out," said the barman.

He wasn't getting anywhere. Furiously, George ripped his wand from the barman's hand and swept around to leave the bar. When he heard the door close behind him, he realised that he wasn't the only one who had left. A small, old witch had followed him out; she was wearing dark robes and a pointed hat that kept her face in the shadow.

"You need a drink, dear?" she asked in a high, throaty voice.

George glared at her. "Leave me alone," he sneered. How could that scrawny old hag be of any help to him?

But she didn't leave. "You need it to forget something? Or somebody maybe? Maybe?"

"What do you know about it?"

She pointed over her shoulder at the bar behind her. "I saw the pain in your eyes in there, my dear, pain in your eyes."

"It's not a secret, that I have lost somebody, is it? My brother's death was all over the Daily Prophet along with the other victims, pictures of them and all."

"You are George Weasley, aren't you? Aren't you?"

George wasn't very surprised that the witch knew his name. It had been mentioned in the newspaper almost as often as Fred's during the last couple of days.

"I know you're hurting, and I see why you would want to numb the pain with alcohol," said the witch. "But I know something that works better, much better than alcohol ever could."

"What?"

"It's a potion, my dear, a potion –"

Nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other George considered the offer. He had a vague idea what the old which was talking about – Lethe. He knew that it was dangerous. He had no idea which ingredients were in it and what exactly the effect could be, or if maybe it was addictive. But with how he felt – what did he have to lose?

A lot of people who are desperately hoping that they won't lose you, said a warning voice in his mind, sounding a lot like Fred's again.

"Okay," he said to the witch, ignoring the voice, "okay, how much do you want?"

"Fifty Galleons."

"What? For a potion? No way."

The witch smiled, showing off her greyish looking teeth. "It would help you. I promise, my dear. You would feel better, much better. No pain anymore, no pain."

"And for how long?"

"Couple of weeks. Weeks, my dear. Maybe even longer – you can never know. Try it out."

George hesitated. He knew that what he was about to do was unreasonable.

Mum would kill you, if she knew.

"Okay," said George finally feeling in his pocket for gold, although he knew he had enough Galleons with him. "I'll take it – see if it helps at all."

"Oh it will, it will. Follow me, my dear."

George followed the old witch down the street. He soon began to feel uncomfortable. The further they got from Diagon Alley the darker the street seemed to become. But there was no turning back now. George cleared his throat, it sounded horribly loud in the deserted street.

"How much further –" he started to ask, but at the moment the witch stopped and he almost bumped into her from behind. Disgusted, he stepped back.

The old witch unlocked the door of a house, leading the way into a dark hall. She didn't turn the lights on, and George started to feel scared.

"Wait here, my dear, I'll go get the potion."

While he was waiting George took a look around, but it was too dark to see anything. The anger he had felt earlier when he was in the bar, disappeared, and fear was starting to take control of him. 'Fred's' voice took advantage of that at once.

You can still go home. You know how – just Apparate and you'll be safe inside Alicia's apartment –

Nodding in agreement George pulled out his wand and –

Nothing.

He couldn't Disapparate.

He closed his eyes in concentration and tried again – but the familiar sensation didn't come and when he opened his eyes he was still standing in the dark, cold hall. He shivered. What was wrong with this place? And where had the old witch gone to? Had this been a trap or something? At any moment somebody could whisper the words – a flash of green light could be the last thing he'd ever see –

A creaking sound behind him made him wince.

Then he heard her voice, "Here we are, my dear, here we are."

She came down a flight of stairs George hadn't seen before, carrying a bottle with a silvery liquid in one hand. She was smiling again, but her eyes were still hidden in the shadow of her hat.

With shaking hands George reached into his pocket. He wanted to get away from the place as quickly as possible. He pulled out a handfull of gold that was clearly more than fifty Galleons but didn't bother counting it. He thrust the money into the old hag's skinny claw-like hands and reached for the potion. Then he left.

He ran out of the house and up the street not daring to stop so he could concentrate on Apparating. He ran until he was so out of breath he almost collapsed on the sidewalk when he finally came to a hold in front of Gringotts. He doubled over, trying to calm his breathing.

When he had recovered from his run he pulled out his wand and Apparated home.

Alicia was still fast asleep when he arrived at the flat. He sat the little flask the witch had given him on the table and quietly started to undress. All the time he couldn't take his eyes off the silvery liquid. Would it help him? Was it worth all the trouble George had been through to get it?

When he opened the flask part of him hoped Alicia would wake up and stop him from doing what he was about to do. But she didn't. George emptied the flask in three gulps. It tasted sickeningly sweet and nearly made him retch.

For moment nothing happened. The pain that had been with him all the time was still there – but then, slowly, he was relaxing –

And all of a sudden it was morning. The sun was shining through the window. Alicia was looking down at him with a worried and sad expression.

"It's time, George," she said. "We have to go."

Go where? He couldn't remember. Then it came to him.

Fred's funeral.

They were going to bury his brother. Today.

It was a long day. The sun shone down on the grave as the whole Weasley family and their friends stood watching as they lowered the coffin. George felt Alicia's hand wrapping itself around his. His mother cried. His siblings sobbed. Somebody, possibly Luna Lovegood, was singing a song.

George didn't care.

He was no longer in pain.

XXX