George rolled his eyes. But he reluctantly agreed to go to the kitchen. He sat down at the table and looked limp. The other two sat in chairs across from him. No one spoke for a long while. The greasy pizza they had picked up in London before crossing into Diagon Alley looked appetizing, but even his most basic instincts were telling George he couldn't take a bite. Fred would never get to take another bite. Why should he?

Lee had placed a spell on the pizza to keep it from getting cold and ruined, so he didn't force anything onto George. Instead, he let his eyes wander around the flat. On the other side, away from the front door and away from George's room, Fred's closed door was staring at him. There was dust in the hallway leading up to it. Obviously George hadn't managed to leave his half. But Lee hadn't expected him to.

Angelina was also looking around. She couldn't look at Fred's door, so instead she looked behind her towards where George was staying. The kitchen was barren, his bed sheets obviously yellowed from sweat, and papers were thrown around the room from George's multiple breakdowns. Sometimes anger helped. Sometimes anger helped push away the sadness. But eventually your mind needs a break. It can only handle pain, sadness, and anger for so long before it snaps.

Angelina had been sobbing and exhausted since she had learned of Fred's death. She hardly slept and only ate as often as Katie and Alicia made her. They were close to Fred, but Fred, George, Lee, Angelina had really formed a tightknit bond after leaving Hogwarts. Angelina was lost in thought and about to have a breakdown herself when the sound of clanging glass brought her back to reality.

In front of them Lee had set down a bottle of Firewhisky. "We're all taking a shot." He pushed three shot glasses in front of them. "George. I'm going to shove a slice of pizza down your throat if you don't take a bloody bite."

"For fuck's sake, Lee. I'm not hungry—"

"You're a lying sack of hippogriff piss. You're paler than is acceptable even by Weasley standards. Take a bite or so help me—"

"Fine!" George shouted and lifted a piece to his lips. He took a small bite at first. He expected it to come back up immediately, but luckily nothing happened. Instead, George's instincts begged him to take another bite. The emptiness in his stomach was gnawing at him. He still couldn't remember the last time he had had food. All the days ran together anymore.

Suddenly he was finishing one slice and moving on to the next one. And the next one. And finally a fourth piece. George had practically inhaled the four slices. He stopped again, just waiting for the pizza to make its way back up. However, his body still had a shred of self-preservation and was able to keep calm for ten minutes. Deciding he had won the battle, George looked up to the faces in front of him. He didn't say anything. Instead, Lee nodded towards the bottle and George raised an eyebrow.

Lee filled each shot and passed them out. It was quiet. No one was pulling the glass to their lips and the silence was beginning to be deafening. Angelina was about to open her mouth when George spoke up.

"To Fred?"

"To Fred." They chorused and threw the shot into their mouths.

OoOoOoO

George awoke with a splitting headache. The light coming in through the windows was shining directly into his eyes. Which was weird, seeing as he always had the curtains drawn in his bedroom.

That's when he realized that he wasn't, in fact, in his bedroom. He was on the couch in the living room. His memory of the night before was foggy. The last thing he remembered was taking a fifth shot of Firewhisky and looking across the table at Angelina and Lee. All of them looked thinner, exhausted, and sad. The war had changed them. Fred's death had changed them.

As George looked around he was scanning the room for his friends. Lee was sleeping in a reclining chair and still snoring. But he didn't see Angelina. He considered the fact that she may have left earlier before either of them woke up, so he decided to grab a glass of water. The glass barely touched his lips before he practically inhaled the liquid. He was more than dehydrated. Having not ate or drank regularly in the past month combined with his terrible hangover made the water sweet relief.

And, as with all mornings, George felt the urge to pee. He walked to the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat. He had just begun to pee when he heard a cough behind him. George jumped and pulled his pants up quickly. "Merlin! Give a man a warning, yeah?"

Angelina was obviously embarrassed. "Sorry, sorry. I just—" She paused. "I just had to use the restroom. Being hung over makes the rest of my senses not work as well or I would have heard you, I swear."

She backed out of the room and closed the door behind her. George took the opportunity to finish up and brush his teeth before stepping back out. "There. Now you can use it." Angelina gratefully walked in as he left.

George walked back out into the living room and saw Lee was starting to rise for the day. "You alright, mate?"

"Never better." Lee mumbled and rubbed his temples. "I've got to use the restroom."

"Angelina's in there right now. You'll have to wait."

"Isn't there another one on the other—" Lee stopped. Realizing the other restroom was on Fred's half and not wanting to bring it up any further. "Right, well she better hurry."

George didn't say anything. He knew what Lee was about to say and was thankful he didn't finish his sentence. They sat in silence another couple of minutes before Angelina came out. She had her hair wrapped in a towel and was in fresh clothes. "I hope you don't mind I took a shower." George shook his head. "It eases my hangover."

"Right, well I'm taking a shower too, mate. Stealing a towel." Lee said.

George blushed a little. When had he last done laundry? When had he last showered? Was it obvious how little care he had been taking of himself? He looked at Angelina and she was staring right back. Lee ignored him and walked to the bathroom.

"You going to shower as well?" Angelina asked him.

"I—uh—probably not, no." He stammered.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, not going anywhere. Doesn't matter either way."

"You know," She said. "It might make you feel a bit better. We could all go have breakfast somewhere in town and—"

"No." He cut her off. "I'm not leaving this flat."

"George you can't just hole yourself up here for the rest of eternity, y'know."

George felt a lump rise in his throat. "I'm aware of that, Angelina. I just don't want to."

Angelina chose to ignore the tone he had used with her. Instead she got up and started walking past George. "Where are you going?" He asked.

"To take another nap."

"Where have you been sleeping?"

She looked at him. "Well I woke up in your bed, so I must've stumbled back there last night."

George thought about the sweat-stained sheets and unkemptness of his room and his embarrassment showed. "You slept in my bed?"

"Yes. And I'm about to go do so again. Unless you're opposed?"

"It's dirty. You shouldn't be sleeping in it." He was talking quickly. "And there's rubbish all in my room. And it probably smells. I probably smell. I don't think I've showered in three weeks. I don't think I had eaten much then either. I can feel the hair attached to my neck. Fred's room is still full of his stuff. There's dust collecting on it. How do I—" George started crying. He collapsed into a ball on the floor. "I CAN'T DO THIS!"

Lee ran out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. "What's going on?" He looked at George who was on the floor. His crying had changed to weeps. "George, you'll get through this."

"I won't." He said simply. "We always said we would do everything together. We would get a big house; both have families under the same roof, spend every day at the shop together, and then—and then die together. We would just go to sleep one night and both of us not wake up the next morning." He sniffled again. "It isn't fair."

Angelina put an unsure hand on his shoulder. "Life isn't fair, George. You know that."

He didn't respond. "Fred wouldn't want to see you like this, George." Lee said solemnly. "If it had been you instead, would you want Fred to be like this?"

George ignored the important part of Lee's statement. "I wish it was me instead." He rolled onto his back while staying on the floor. His face was red and tear-stained, which had become its permanent state in the last month.

Lee shook his head and walked back to the bathroom so he could properly clothe himself. Angelina disappeared to do her hair. Both came back a few moments later. "Can we at least get you to go to the store for food? There's nothing here to eat. You're going to—"

"No. God damn it, Angie. No. I just want to lie on this floor and be miserable. Just let me have that."

Lee shook his head at him again and lowered it. "Fine. But we're bringing food back to put in the cabinets. Then we will go."

OoOoOoO

George hadn't moved when Angelina and Lee had returned. They both carried bags of food. Neither said a word to him. Instead, they began putting the food away.

George had cocked his neck slightly to look at his friends. "Why," His mouth was dry so he tried again. "Why aren't you just using your wands to put the food away?"

Lee shrugged. "Nothing else to do, I s'pose."

"I find it cathartic." She added.

"I'll finish the rest." George said to them. "You can go home now. I'll manage."

"It's really no trouble, mate." Lee told him.

"You weren't managing very well before we got here." Angelina eyed him.

He didn't respond. It took about fifteen more minutes to get everything put up and the bags put away. George had stayed silent. The other two didn't even have conversation. The silence was biting.

Angelina looked around the flat. "Do you need any help clean—"

"Nope."

"What about the shop?" Lee asked the question and it hung in the air. "I can open it back up, George. You don't even have to be involved."

"No."

"Really George? It can't stay closed much longer you won't have the funds to keep it open. How will you—"

"No, Lee. I've said it already. It's our—my—shop. And I said no."

"But it was my job, too, mate." Lee pleaded.

"I'm sorry." Was all George said. "I think it's time for you two to go." There was an awkward tension in the room now.

Angelina struggled against herself. A noise came from her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but stopped. Instead her arms fell in defeat and she conjured her and Lee's things to them.

"I really think—"

"Out." George pointed to the front door and Lee and Angelina walked out. Both turned and looked at him sadly before it closed behind them.

OoOoOoO

It felt like hours before he moved from his spot on the floor. But the moonlight pooling in the room told him he should get up. As George braced himself against the couch and pulled his weight up, he chanced a look across the apartment. In the dark hallway he could still make out the sight of Fred's door.

He battled with himself, weary and eyes sore from constant crying, over whether he should just go straight to bed or let his feet wander where his subconscious seemed determined to go. "I can't." He whispered aloud to himself.

But even his outward refusal wasn't enough to deter his feet. Suddenly he was in the hallway. It was too dark to move successfully, but he didn't want to turn on the hallway lights. "Lumos." His wand was bright white at the tip.

His eyes looked at the floor beneath him. His footprints left in the dust that he had let settle. His embarrassment that people had been in his flat while he left it in this condition deepened and despite that no one was there he blushed furiously.

While George was lost in thought he managed to walk all the way to Fred's door. All he had to do was reach out and grab the handle. A simple turn of the wrist and he would be in his twin's bedroom for the first time since his death. He pulled his arm up and began extending it when he pulled it back sharply.

Suddenly he was sick to his stomach and bent over his own toilet again. The familiar pain in his stomach was back. Had he eaten today? He couldn't remember, but the point was moot anyways. He had no appetite again.

"Some Gryffindor." George mumbled to himself over the toilet. "Can't even open a bloody door." Tears pooled in his eyes for the millionth time. He pulled the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe the spit from the corners.

He staggered back to his bed and fell in a heap. His hands reached his temples, trying to rub away the headache. His eyes were tightly shut, he was hoping that if he closed them it would prevent more tears from coming. George was starting to get irritated with himself. Every night the same routine: cry, vomit, headache, cry more, sleep, wake up, and repeat.

He felt the pain in his stomach as strong and reminiscent of the night before when he had slices of pizza. His body was aching for sustenance, but his brain was fighting it. George willed himself to forget about the food in the cabinets and in the refrigerator. "I was doing fine. Just fine. And then they bring over that ruddy Firewhisky and pizza and now I'm sick and feel worse than before." He rolled his eyes and positioned his back to his bedroom door. "Nothing's any better than the day before."

And for the next however many days this was the exact routine George followed. Forgetting to eat all day, continuing to cry at night, and never getting a good night's sleep. It was an unrelenting cycle.

George awoke to the feeling that someone was watching him. He didn't open his eyes right away. The childhood belief that if you kept your eyes closed whatever was scaring you would go away took over. But, as he squeezed them shut tighter he heard someone say his name.