Chapter 2.
George never did go back to work. After a few more glasses of Firewhiskey with Aberforth, he walked back to the shop, told Lee he didn't feel well and then apparated home. When he landed in the front foyer of the Burrow, it was dead silent, save for the echoes of the resounding 'crack!' his apparation made. With a sigh, he slipped out of his jacket and his boots and then wandered into the house, grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl as he passed it on his way to his room. After climbing the stairs with a mild amount of difficulty thanks to his alcohol-reduced depth perception, he got to his room. Said room was much more barren than it once was. Fred's bed had gone to Ginny and Harry's house for James' fourth birthday present, and the night table had gone to Ron and Hermione's as a wedding present. All that was left was his bed, night table, a small dresser, and two portraits of Fred; A large one hanging on the wall, and a smaller one on the bedside. The one on the bedside was the one that George reached for when he sat down on his bed, suddenly regretting all those Firewhiskey shots when the world started to spin as he called to his twin. "Freddie, wake up,"
"'Ello, George" Fred grinned as he sidled into the frame, grinning widely. "How are you?"
George could only grimace. "Horrible. I'm drunk and I miss you" he admitted, cradling the frame in one hand and wiping at his nose with the other because it was running profusely. "You know what day it is, don't you Freddie?"
The painting's reaction was a mirror image of George's. "Funeral or Gargoyle-to-the-back-of-the-head day?" Fred asked, wrinkling his nose and rubbing the back of the head where the flying piece of gargoyle had hit him in the head during the Battle of Hogwarts, crushing his skull.
"Funeral," George said, still wiping his nose, which was getting worse as he tried to suppress the tears that had been building in the back of his throat since he'd gotten home. "It nearly killed me to watch you being put six feet under" he admitted for the umpteenth time since he'd gotten the portrait. Fred nodded knowingly. "It had already killed me," he joked, trying to comfort his twin as best he could. The attempt fell flat as George's sniffling suddenly became bone-racking sobs that made him double over, his tears dripping onto the delicate metal frame in his hands. He both hated and loved the paintings. Sometimes, they comforted him and let him talk to Fred, killing time with endless banter between the two of them. Other days, like today, he despised them; despised the fact that it was only a painted copy of his twin who couldn't really feel or understand. "I have to go," he rasped, choking on the sobs as he set the portrait down. "I'll talk to you later, Freddie" he said, standing up and walking from the room as fast as he could before collapsing on the landing and yelling his misery to the rafters.
Molly got home soon after he managed to calm himself down. She made no pretense of being strong like he had as she sat down with him, cradling his head against her shoulder and stroking his hair. "Oh, Georgie," she murmured, kissing the top of his head. "What are we going to do with you?"
"You could throw me off the astronomy tower," he said miserably, burying his face in her sweater and breathing in the smell of fresh baked bread and lilacs that he'd always associated with comfort and safety. "I miss him so much"
Molly sighed and wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. "I know, love, me too"
George closed his eyes and let himself sleep. Today had been bad, but tomorrow was going to be much, much, much worse.