Gift Fic for the Community (part 10/10)

[hpgeorgemods]

Title: Leave Out All the Rest
Author: ????
Recipient: hpgeorgecentric
Pairing(s): George/Luna, hints of George/Angelina and George/Hermione, but mostly Gen.
Word Count: 80,000 words ::gulp:: (11000 in this part)
Rating: R
Summary: Nobody expected the year after Fred's death would be easy. But nobody expected George would have to lose so much, just to live through it. Or: George is doing his best to make his way after the war and Fred's death. Everyone is trying to help, and he wishes they would just stop. Especially Fred.
Warnings: Angst, suicide issues, and occasional inappropriate humour.
Author: Thanks to twistedm, tree00faery, vanseedee and ozma_katiebell for beta above and beyond the call of friendship. Hope you all like it!!



March

"Wow, the whole family's here," said George, entering Healer Lethe's magically enlarged office. "What's this about?"

Lethe cleared her throat. "Mr. Weasley, we need to clear up a few things before we send you home. I've asked your family to be here, because this concerns them as much as you."

George took the chair offered him, at once suspicious and relieved. He took a deep breath. "All right. Is this where you finally let me know what the hell is it that I don't know, that everybody else does?"

"What do you mean?" said Dad.

"Dad, 'you blew up a potion' got old about three weeks ago," he said tensely. "I've been going mental here, trying to figure out what the hell it is all of you aren't saying. And what the bloody hell happened in my lab."

"This doesn't just have to do with what happened there," said Dad.

"So there is something you've all been hiding," George said flatly. Damn it, he'd suspected, the entire time he'd been in the hospital. Everyone so gentle, so hesitant, so relentlessly cheerful and so completely nonplussed over the weirdest things. Added to his own complete inability to remember what the hell had landed him on the Crazy Ward, the bizarre gaping abysses in his memory, and Luna Lovegood's determined avoidance of him, he had started to suspect that if the other patients on the ward didn't drive him 'round the twist, his own family would.

"George," said Charlie. "Remember, we asked you to trust us."

"Yeah, I know!" said George, frustrated. "And I have. But I've bloody well had enough of this! What is so damned important that the world was going to end if you told me? Was I doing something illegal in my lab? Did somebody try to kill me? What the hell happened?"

"We weren't keeping anything from you about your lab," said Mum.

Ron gaped at Mum in disbelief. "Mum?!"

"Well... not really," she said. "That wasn't the main thing."

George's eyes narrowed.

"We had another brother," blurted Ginny, and George could feel the tension in the room suddenly fall, as a sigh ran around the room.

"What?"

"Fred. We had another brother, named Fred."

George stared at her. "That's... it?"

Ginny blew out her breath. "Yeah, that's it," she said bitterly, looking away from him.

George tried to process this. "Did I know him?"

"Yeah."

"That's what you were all hiding?" He looked around the room. "A brother?"

"Yes," said Mum.

George shook his head, completely off-balance. "Well... for God's sake, come on, tell me about him. And why don't I remember him? Was he older or younger than me?"

"Technically he was older, by a few minutes," said Dad, and swallowed hard. "You were twins. Identical twins."

George's eyes widened. "Twins?"

"Yes."

"Bloody hell, that's a hell of a thing to not be able to remember. Why would you..." He frowned. "Was it... was it his fault that I'm here?"

Healer Lethe broke the resounding silence. "Mr. Weasley, I think maybe I should take over," she said. "I'll give you a summary of what's happened, and you can ask me any questions after I'm done. As I explained to your family, sometimes it is very difficult for relatives to give this information while dealing with their own emotional reaction to all that has happened."

And in as few words as possible, Lethe told George. About his brother Fred, and Fred's death, and the piece of his magic, or soul, left in George. About that piece of Fred's soul dragging him down. About his own suicide attempt, and his decision to undergo a painful procedure that would erase all memory or influence of his twin from his life.

"Is there anything else you need to know?" she asked after she had finished.

George swallowed hard and shook his head. "N-no." He shivered, clasping his arms around himself.

"Georgie?" said Mum after a while. "Can... is there anything we can do?"

George started and then shook his head. He looked down for a moment. "Actually, yeah," he said, his mind still reeling. "Erm, any chance you can Obliviate this conversation from my head too?"

*****

"You're ready to go, Mr. Weasley," said Lethe, and handed George back his wand.

George grinned at it. "Merlin, I'm glad to have you back," he said, laughing. He waved it experimentally, producing a trail of sparkles that floated in the air for a moment and then blew up.

Lee smiled. George's wand sparks always blew up. They had done so in an eye-watering, loud way when Fred had been alive, and in a sporadic, fitful way after Fred had died - not that George was in the habit of making random sparks so much after Fred died anyway. This time they just sparkled prettily, and disappeared with a small pop.

"How does the wand feel?"

George blinked. "Erm, all right."

"Do you notice anything different about it?"

George shook his head. "Should I?"

"There have been a few times when wizards who underwent your procedure found their old wand didn't suit them any more."

George shrugged, his grin fading. "Feels fine to me." He put it away, and Lee was hard pressed not to scowl at the bloody Healer. It had only been a few days since he'd been told, but Lee could tell George was already developing a distinct dislike for any reminders of what had happened. As well as reluctant curiosity about why.

He signed out, shouldered his pack with his personals in it - most of it clothing he hadn't worn since he'd woken up, and which Lee suspected would go into a bin when he got home - and nodded to Lee.

"Ready?" asked Lee.

"Yeah, more than ready," said George, and left without a backward glance. They took the lift down.

"Your family's not narked about you telling them not to come with you today?" asked Lee.

George huffed a laugh. "Are you mental? Mum nearly had fits. I had to promise her I'd be at The Burrow for dinner tonight, no matter what." They walked out of the hospital, and George stopped and closed his eyes, turning his face up to the sunlight and breathing in deeply. "Ah, fresh air." He opened his eyes. "I just couldn't take the entire clan and their brave little smiles. Enough is enough."

Lee nodded, and they headed for the Leaky, then Apparated straight to the flat, George having decided beforehand to skip going into the shop until after closing time.

They stepped into the flat, and Lee blinked. Weird as hell to see no sign of Fred. The wall where Fred's door was, was empty, and didn't seem large enough to hold an entire room behind it.

"Hm. I tidied up, did I?" said George, glancing around. "Before trying to do myself in? How considerate of me."

Lee shuddered.

"Sorry," said George with a grimace. "Not a good topic of conversation." He put down his pack.

Lee took a deep breath. "It's all right. You don't have to watch your mouth around me."

George met his eyes, and Lee was surprised at how bitter he looked. He'd become used to the cheerful face George wore before the rest of the world; this looked more like post-war George, and was more than a little unnerving. "Thanks."

Lee hesitated. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About what your family doesn't want to hear."

"About me offing myself? About Fred?" George shrugged, going to his closet and looking at the things hanging there with a bit of a frown. "Doesn't matter."

"Matters to me."

"I'm going to get some new clothes," said George abruptly. "You coming?"

Lee blinked. "Erm. All right, let's go."

Hours later, now attired more suitably in jeans and simple wizarding robes, George was back at The Burrow, and it all felt distressingly normal. He seemed quieter than before, but it was hard to be sure. George-post-Fred had also been quiet. George-without-Fred seemed to be less so. Somewhere in between of George-post-Fred and George-with-Fred. Which made Lee's head ache, but which he supposed made as much sense as anything could, in this uniquely fucked-up situation.

After supper, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went for a walk while the rest of the family sat around in the sitting room, chatting. Lee went back to the kitchen to fetch Butterbeers for everyone.

"You've talked to the Aurors, then?" Charlie was asking Ron as Lee came back, and smiled in thanks as Lee passed him a bottle.

"Yeah, they're willing to take me back," said Ron. "I can even stay in the same year. Only I'll have to put in extra work over the summer break." He took two bottles from Lee and passed one to Hermione. "It's still not official, though," he added, uncorking his bottle. "Not until George gives me the go-ahead."

"I've told you, I'm sure Verity and Naomi are doing just fine," protested George. "Over-protective git." He turned to take his own bottle from Lee, and his eyes narrowed at something over Lee's shoulder.

"He's probably right, though," said Charlie. "You shouldn't make any promises until you've seen what the place looks like." There was a short silence. "George?"

George blinked and brought his attention back to Charlie. "Right, sorry," said George. "Yeah, you're right, Ron's probably got a point." He glanced back over Lee's shoulder, and Lee turned around.

The Weasley family clock. Bugger.

"George?" asked Charlie. "You all right?"

"What? Yeah." George gave himself a small shake. "In my memory, there were only eight hands on this clock."

Lee swallowed hard. There was a tense silence.

"What were you all going to do if you decided not to ever tell me about Fred?" George asked, looking down at his bottle. "How were you going to explain the extra hand?"

Bill glanced around the room. "George, I don't think anybody but Mum seriously considered the idea of never telling you."

George nodded, and idly started to take the label off his bottle. "Why can't I remember him?" he said softly.

"We told you," said Percy. "It was traumatic, and--"

"But it doesn't make any bloody sense, you know? I can't imagine agreeing to something like that. Agreeing to have someone erased from my life."

"Frankly, neither could I," said Lee reluctantly. "But you were in a bad state, George. You didn't have much of an alternative. I think Fred would've agreed with you."

"Well you can say that; I can't. I've no idea. Everyone keeps saying he was a lot like me and if I can't believe I'd do it, how could he?"

Lee sighed.

"What was he like?"

Hermione smiled. "Loud. Creative. Inventive. Bit of a prat."

George nodded. "Did we really get along as well as Lethe said?"

"Yes, you were really very similar," Hermione said. "People couldn't tell you apart. Even your mum mixed you up."

"Wasn't that annoying?"

"Yeah, sometimes," said Ron. "Especially when we'd think we'd said something to one of you and the other one had no clue what we were on about. Mum used to--"

George shook his head. "No, I meant wasn't it annoying for me. Us."

Ron was startled. "Erm. No, you liked it. You kept mixing us up."

"What, on purpose?"

"Yeah."

George's skeptical expression was deeply disturbing.

"I think Fred would've agreed with what you did," said Lee. "And I... I think he would've been proud of you for coming through it."

George shrugged and took a swig of his Butterbeer. "Have to take your word for it, won't I?"

*****

The place was doing well, thought Lee as he opened the door and was assaulted by Wheezes' general din and mayhem. He glanced around and spotted George in a middle aisle simultaneously straightening up a shelf, complimenting a small child who had sprouted fairy wings, and chatting with Mrs. Weasley, as the shop buzzed and whirred full-tilt around him.

George also seemed to be doing well. He was back at work, interacting easily with customers and with Verity and Naomi, and not allowing his occasional memory blanks - or customers' references to Fred - to bother him, as far as anyone could tell.

"Don't you have a Healer's appointment today?" Mrs. Weasley was asking him as Lee approached.

George waved a quick hello to Lee, and checked his watch. "Yeah, in half an hour. Was thinking of cancelling it, though - I've still got to put up Angelina's thing in the display case, and the latest batch of Jumpy Jiggle Jellies isn't coming together all that well."

"George, please," said Mrs. Weasley.

"All right, Mum," he said patiently, gave her a kiss, and hurried to the lab door. "Oi, Ron! Can you watch the Jigglies for me?"

"Can't!" Ron's voice called back. "I'm still cross-eyed from the Eye Sore Sours!"

"Bugger." George turned to Lee. "Lee! Can you watch my Jigglies?"

Lee nodded, bemused. "Sounds a bit naughty, so I'll do it. What do I watch for?"

"Anything green is bad, anything that smells like pumpkin tart is good."

Lee nodded. "No problem. What about green pumpkin tart?"

"Green pumpkin tart? Erm... leave. Leave immediately, and cast a containment spell on the lab." George paused, thinking. "On second thought, no, just write it down and see if you can take a picture. Unless... no, never mind. Just leave, and evacuate the building." Another pause. "Best tell the neighbours to clear out too."

Lee gaped as George started to hurry off towards the window display. "George!"

"What?"

"You can't be serious, mate!" he said. George raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Right." Lee gave him a rude gesture and George chuckled. "Prat." Lee and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look of amused exasperation, and Lee followed George to the window as Mrs. Weasley went to help the delighted little fairy-winged boy find his parents.

"What's this?" asked Lee, as he made his way past a small pile of blue and white boxes with large brains painted on the sides, the words Edible Intellect! emblazoned in silver on top.

"Hello, Lee," said Angelina, peering out from behind the boxes.

"Study aids," said George, arranging the boxes into two precarious towers. "For OWL and NEWT students. You know they always get sold grotty gecko eggs or bat dung, and they're willing to eat the most horrifying things. I brewed up some of Angelina's old Smartie Pants Potions and made them taste good."

"They tasted perfectly fine before!" she protested.

"They tasted like dishwater," said George. "Don't complain about the innovation that's making these sell faster than I can brew them."

"Do they work?" asked Lee.

George paused in the middle of casting a spell to keep the first tower upright. "What? Of course they work! I don't do false advertising!"

Lee shook his head. "No, no of course not - only I thought maybe they might be some sort of joke."

George looked at him askance. "For study aids? Yeah, because kids would naturally find it hilarious to fail their OWLs and NEWTs? Give me some credit. No, they work just fine. Guaranteed to increase your retention or your money back."

"And they're selling well?"

"Started out slow, but it's picked up," said Angelina, finishing off the second tower and casting a spell to keep it from tumbling down.

"People probably thought it was a joke at first."

"Probably," said George. "But their effects speak for themselves, and they taste amazing. I've got them in chocolate, coconut, and lemon flavour."

Lee smiled slightly.

"What?"

Lee shook his head. "Nothing."

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I said."

George blew out his breath and started to make a bridge of boxes between the first tower and the next.

"Why?" said Lee.

"You've got that 'I've just remembered something about Fred and I think it'll be awkward look' about you," George replied curtly.

Angelina dropped a small figure bearing a marked resemblance to a Hogwarts professor and cursed under her breath, and Lee took a beat to compose himself. "Erm, yeah, you're right." He shrugged. "Nothing huge. Only Fred hated coconut. You never had anything coconut flavoured in your products."

George grimaced. "That's it?"

"Erm, sorry... be right back," Angelina mumbled. "Forgot the bag of student figures."

George shook his head, annoyed. "This is really getting on my nerves, Jordan," he said after she had left.

Lee swallowed. "I... I know. I'm sorry. None of us means to do it. It just happens."

"Yeah."

"It's not easy for us, yeah? We're doing our best."

"Yeah, and it's dead easy for me," said George sarcastically. He finished positioning the bridge, and carefully placed a professor doll on it, waving his wand to animate it.

"Look, it's easier than it was," said Lee. "Trust me on that one."

"George?" said Ginny, walking into the window display. "Aren't you done with that yet? Mum says you have a Healer's appointment."

"Help us put the professors and students on the display and I'll be off," he said.

"This is bollocks, you know," she said. "It's my weekend off and what am I doing? Pressed into my brother's shop for indentured servitude."

"Go help Angelina find the student doll bag," said George, picking up a doll with an uncanny similarity to McGonagall and placing it on the bridge. "It's somewhere in the lab, I think."

Lee smiled as Ginny gave George a good-natured eye roll and walked off. Ginny had been distinctly uncomfortable with George since the treatment; it was nice that she seemed to be trying, at least.

"You know, this McGonagall doll is very realistic," said Lee, placing another figure. "Are the dolls for sale?"

"No, they're just for show," said George. He placed another professor doll, and Lee thought he recognized the walrus-mustached professor who had taken over Potions after they'd both left Hogwarts. "Is it really easier?" he asked.

"What?"

"Easier than dealing with this type of thing? Angelina doing a disappearing act, you getting all uncomfortable, just because I made a bloody coconut-flavoured potion?"

Lee sighed and placed mini-Sprout on the bridge. "Yeah. It is." They placed a few more figures on the bridge, and then George placed one onto one of the stacks, animating it to make it look like it was climbing.

"Would Fred have agreed?" George asked.

"I don't know," said Lee uncomfortably. "I mean... on the one hand, he believed in not taking the easy way out." He placed a doll on the other tower. "But he also wasn't terribly sentimental, so he might've said Go for it, mate, if it saves your life." He paused. "Especially since you didn't take the easy way out. You really went through hell, for so long... you tried so fucking hard to cope, and it just wasn't going to happen."

"D'you wish I hadn't done it?" asked George, carefully positioning a diminutive Professor Flitwick.

Lee took a deep breath. "George. You'd be dead. Or nearly dead. And I got tired of seeing you that way, mate." He shook his head. "It hurt like hell. We all wanted to take the pain for you, so badly. It was like a punch in the gut, every single time." He animated another doll. "You did the right thing. If it hurt me that much just to see it, imagine what it was like for your parents. Your brothers, your sister. Yourself."

George nodded thoughtfully, looking up as Ginny and Angelina came back.

"And I think Fred would've said it wasn't worth it," Lee finished. "Hanging on to his memory if it was going to kill you."

"Though he might have said life is only worth living on your own terms," Ginny said, her voice tight as she knelt down to start placing smaller figures on the bridge. Lee glared at her. Amazing how, among all the Weasleys, only their dad and Bill seemed to grasp the concept of knowing when to keep their opinions to themselves.

"I'll never know, will I?" George said slowly.

"I think the point is that you needed to make up your own mind," said Lee.

"What was my own mind, though? I can't even imagine making the decision, and supposedly I'm the one who did it." He shook his head, annoyed.

Lee reflected that it was funny - but not really - how he didn't like introspection any more than old George and Fred did. Though he was at least a bit better at it.

"I think that's done it," said George, placing the last student and waving a wand to animate the entire display.

"I really think people are going to want to buy the professors, too," said Lee, watching the professors chase the students over the bridge and up and down the towers, waving long scrolls at them. "Especially McGonagall. Think we can make her animate little desks?"

George grinned. "That would be brilliant. Might make her bloody uncomfortable, though. Maybe next year, when Ginny's not in school any more."

"Have to hit the market, you know," said Lee. "Everyone still remembers her doing that. They might not, next year."

"Luna! Hello!" Ginny called out, and Lee turned to see Luna Lovegood standing at the entrance to the shop.

George turned and smiled. "Luna!" he said, standing up, and Luna flinched. He started to approach her, but stopped as she put up a hand and backed away.

"No. You're really not the George I knew before," said Luna. She turned on her heel, but Ginny reached out to stop her.

"Luna?" said George, cautiously coming closer to her. "What's wrong?"

"You don't remember," said Luna, a hard expression in her normally dreamy eyes.

"I remember," said George slowly, frowning. "I remember being with you. I don't remember where, though."

"I'd always thought you weren't that interested in girls," she said, and now Lee was completely lost, and if Ginny and Angelina's expressions were any indication, so were they. "Not as much as Fred was."

George looked away. "I wouldn't know."

"You're not who I knew in school."

"You're not much like how I remember you either," said George.

"And you're nothing like the George I fucked."

Ginny's eyes grew round and Lee felt his jaw drop.

"And you're nothing like the Luna I knew before the war," said Angelina, stepping forward. "Look, I don't know what happened between you two, but George doesn't deserve this from you. You know what happened at St. Mungo's. Why can't you accept George as he is now?"

Luna gave her a scornful look and stalked out the door. And after a moment, Ginny followed her.

*****

Arthur walked into the bedroom and found Molly crying on their bed, again. He sighed and went to her, hugging her close.

"What is it, love?" he said gently.

Molly shook her head. "Nothing," she said, sobbing into his chest.

"Come on now. How can I help if I don't know what's wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong. George was here earlier. With Lee. They're doing so well. I think...I think that maybe... never mind."

"You think something about George and Lee?"

"Never mind, it's not important." Molly wiped her eyes.

"Is this because of George's birthday coming up?" asked Arthur.

"That's part of it."

"He's doing so much better, though."

"He is, I know." She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. "He really is."

Arthur hesitated. "Have you noticed that he's not as bothered by mentions of Fred as he was?"

Molly nodded.

"It's good, that he's not that curious any more," he said. "That he's finally accepting this."

"I know."

"I was thinking, I think we should also do something in honour of Fred. At the birthday party."

Molly blanched, and Arthur felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Molly, I'm sorry. I only thought..." He trailed off. Nobody talked about Fred any more. It was far too painful. Before, when George could remember, they could at least talk about Fred when he wasn't there. They could at least take comfort in knowing that in many ways, Fred still lived on, in George - though of course none of them had realized how literal that was. Now...

"Nobody will want that," said Molly. "They all avoid any mention of Fred."

Arthur nodded. "I know, love. It's probably for the best, though."

"Fred deserves better from us," said Molly, her voice hollow. "It wasn't his fault, that what happened with his magic and George's--"

"It wasn't his fault. None of it was. It wasn't his fault he was next to that wall either. And it wasn't Percy's fault he told that joke, and it wasn't our fault that we asked George to come home, and it wasn't George's fault that he didn't understand what was going on and couldn't make us let him stay at Hogwarts." Arthur caught his breath. "It's nobody's fault, Molly. It just happened. We have to deal with what happened, and if letting go of Fred's memory is the only way to do that... I know Fred would be the first to say that's what we should do too."

Molly shivered.

"Molly, please. I know Ginny's still angry at George for choosing this, and it's not what any of us expected, but I think George knew that Fred wouldn't have wanted him to die just to keep his memory alive."

Molly shook her head.

"We just have to make the best of this," Arthur continued doggedly. "Make the best of what we have, and treasure George because he's still with us. He may not be the same as before, but at least he's alive."

Molly nodded.

"And Fred would've agreed. I know he would have."

"That's what I told George. I don't know if he believed me."

"Obviously he did, since he chose to do this."

Molly raised her head and met Arthur's eyes, and he nearly flinched at the anguish within them.

"Molly? What is it?"

"He didn't."

"He didn't what?"

"He didn't choose. He didn't change his mind."

"What?"

"I... I went to speak to him. I wasn't going to - I was going to say goodbye," she said, her voice breaking, and Arthur's heart gave a stab.

"What happened?"

"He didn't move. He didn't respond at all. I looked down at him, and he - he wasn't George any more. He wasn't, he had supposedly made a choice to not go through the treatment, but he was so exhausted and... and broken, and he couldn't make the right choice any more."

Arthur's throat was dry. "What did you do?"

"I... decided for him."

"What? How?" God, none of this made sense, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to slow everything down, make it all make sense, make it all fit. "How - he said, he said he'd changed his mind, and--"

"He didn't."

"What do you mean?" said Arthur, a sense of horror growing in his chest. "Molly, what did you do to him?"

"I told him he was going to wake up and tell the Healer that he'd changed his mind. That he was going to go ahead with the treatment. The Reawakening. I thought of putting him through the Sundering without losing his memory, but you heard Lethe; she had said it might kill him, and I couldn't face making him go through torture for nothing, and..." She looked down at her hands.

"How could you?" Arthur whispered, his mind reeling.

Molly looked up at him defiantly, her brown eyes red from weeping. "I lost one son already! I was not going to lose another!"

"That wasn't your decision to make!" Arthur said. "And you - we - still lost George! You saved a son who doesn't remember his own twin - and that's not George! Fred was as much a part of George as - as his hair and his freckles!"

"He's alive, isn't he?"

"Not the way he would've wanted to be," said Arthur.

Molly glared at him. "You think I should've let him die, then? Were you ready to bury another son, less than a year after the first?"

Arthur closed his eyes in pain, then opened them and reached out for Molly. "No. No, I wasn't." He stroked her hair, holding her close, his heart beating rapidly. Two months, he thought numbly. Two months of telling himself George's choice had been for the best, trying to convince himself losing Fred for good was worth it, if it kept George with them. "None of us could've coped with that. But this... this hurts too, Molly. Watching George be a living reminder that Fred is more gone than he ever was before. And in some ways it's worse that George can't understand why."

Molly drew in on herself.

"Molly." Arthur took a deep breath. "We have to tell George."

Molly pulled back. "What? No!"

"Molly."

"What possible use could there be in telling him now?"

"The Healer said that going through the ritual had to be his choice. She said it wouldn't work without his cooperation."

"That was the Sundering, not the Reawakening," said Molly. "And he's all right now. The Healer said so."

"We have to ask. We have to be sure," Arthur insisted. He reached out and took her hand in his. "Besides, the George we knew would've wanted to know," he said. "And the George he is now deserves to know as well."

*****

"George?" Lee leaned out of the flat's window and craned his neck to look up on the roof. "Are you up there?"

"Yeah."

Lee climbed out the window and onto the ledge and then pulled himself up to the roof. George sat, staring out onto the rooftops of Diagon Alley. Odd; Lee used to find Fred up here all the time, but George only ever came up if Fred was here too.

"How are you doing?" asked Lee, sitting down next to him.

"All right."

"Ready for the big day tomorrow?"

George nodded absently.

"What's wrong?" Lee asked. It was odd, thinking about George's birthday. He knew George had thought of not doing anything, before. They'd all wondered how he'd get through it; the date had loomed in the future like a huge squatting baleful stone idol. Now, though... it would still be weird, and painful, but so, so different from what they had all envisioned.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. No. I'm thinking about my Mum."

"What about her?"

"She's under arrest."

"What?!"

"At the Ministry."

Lee sat down next to him, stunned. "Are you joking?"

"No."

"What's she under arrest for?"

"Performing an Unforgivable." He swallowed hard. "On me."

April

"I am not going to testify against my own mother," said George.

Percy sighed. "You can't refuse to testify, George."

"They can't make me--"

"Actually, they can," Hermione said heavily. "And that's not the worst of it. You will be given Veritaserum before your testimony."

"What?!"

"It's a new measure, passed for the Death Eater trials," said Lee. "The accused and all of the witnesses are under Veritaserum."

"Kingsley didn't want it," said Hermione. "And he's trying to get it removed, but it's going slowly. It's been removed for most trials, but-"

"My mother is not a Death Eater," George said angrily.

"She committed an Unforgivable, George," said Percy. "All trials having to do with Unforgivables are done under Veritaserum now."

God, what a complete fucking mess, thought Lee as he watched George's face go through a myriad of emotions. None of them had looked forward to April Fool's this year, but they'd had no idea it would be like this, with Wheezes unceremoniously closed until further notice, and the entire family gathered at Grimmauld Place to discuss Molly Weasley's trial and hide from the media frenzy. The Prophet and the Wireless were having a field day.

Another Hero Tarnished? Bellatrix Lestrange's Killer Used Unforgivable on Son!

If Lee could ever get his hands on the sanctimonious mediwizard who had leaked the story to the Prophet, or the journalist who had written it or the editor who had approved it, he would make them all pay. The only upside to this entire clusterfuck was that, what with the story going to print today, a sizable proportion of the wizarding population thought it was merely a remarkably tasteless joke. According to Lee's sources, the indignant Owls had been arriving in droves at The Prophet headquarters for hours now, and the birdshit was piling high. Poetic justice, that.

"This is insane," said Charlie. "George didn't want her arrested, and he doesn't want her punished. How can they do this when her 'victim' doesn't want them to?"

"She used an Unforgivable," said Ginny, her voice hard. "And she nearly - nearly killed Fred, is what she did."

"Fred has been dead for almost a year," said Charlie harshly.

"I won't testify against her," said George. "They can't make me."

"They can," said Lee. "And not just about what she did. They'll want to know what you think about what she did."

George's eyes widened. "No!"

"What do you think, George?" asked Hermione.

"How the hell should I know?" he said. He stood up, nervous energy humming through him, and started to pace. "I feel fine, but then I look at the people around me and you all know something I don't and part of me feels like I'm missing something, all the time. And I've got a twin I don't remember. How am I supposed to feel?"

"Are you angry at your mum?"

"Angry at her?" said George. "She put me under Imperius and made me do something that the rest of you are positive I would never have done on my own. How could I not be angry at her? It's still none of the Wizengamot's business!"

"She saved your life, George!" said Charlie.

"Apparently, I didn't want her to," George shot back.

"I'm not agreeing with what she did. Nobody does. But you're alive, for God's sake! We'd already lost Fred, she'd already lost him, and we couldn't have dealt with losing you, too. Especially when there was a way to save you."

"But I--"

"You have no idea how bad it was!" Lee said. "You were hurting so badly, you didn't know what to do, and then on top of that, you had this magical problem and it was driving you insane, and you weren't getting any better - you were getting worse."

"George, we lost Fred in an instant," said Bill. "In the middle of a war. And we were losing you bit by bit, when the war was supposed to be over. He died with a smile on his face, laughing at a joke - you were dying bit by bit, in pain, and there was nothing funny about it. Fuck, George - in Mum's place, what would you have done?!"

George shook his head. "How am I supposed to answer that?" He looked around at them. "And if everybody's so eager for me to forgive Mum, why weren't the rest of you in on it? Why didn't the rest of you cast Imperio yourselves?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Well, now you know," said Ginny. "Are you going to do anything about it?"

Ron looked at her in surprise. "What's he supposed to do? The Healer said the Reawakening was permanent. She said she wouldn't do anything, wouldn't let him change back."

"She said she wouldn't because it was his choice to make," said Ginny. "Only it wasn't his choice. She'll do it now, if he really wants to. It would have to be done very soon, before the person he is now is too firmly entrenched, but she will do it."

"How do you know?" asked Ron.

"I asked her," said Ginny defiantly. "She said what Mum did changed everything."

"And then he'd still have to go through the Sundering ritual?"

Ginny hesitated. "Yes."

"Would it be any less dangerous?" asked George.

Ginny pressed her lips together briefly. "A bit. You're stronger now." She cleared her throat. "But not by much."

"Would you want to?" asked Lee.

Angelina gave him a look. "Would he want to? What kind of question is that? The George Weasley I know would--"

"The George Weasley you knew apparently died about the same time as the Fred Weasley you knew," George said grimly.

Angelina looked for a moment she like she very much wanted to either stalk out of the room or slap George across the face - and then she bit her lip. "You know what? You're right. I'm sorry." She dropped her gaze. "I'm sorry."

George stared at her, then suddenly got up and left the room. Lee scrambled to follow him, waving the rest of them back to their seats. This might be one of those moments when a sibling's opinion might interfere too much.

"I don't know," said George, as Lee caught up to him.

"Whether to try to go back, you mean?"

"Yeah. I don't know."

Lee nodded. "You think you might, though?"

George spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know, Lee. Lethe said it would be dangerous. So dangerous that she said she would never agree to it, when she thought the Reawakening was my choice. Now all of a sudden, she might be willing to do it, just because my mother put me under Imperius?"

Lee nodded. "Why would you want to?"

George sighed. "I'm not who I was. I don't know who I am. I think I know, but then I let Percy make a stupid comment without teasing him about it, or wear blue, or assume I'm going to play Chaser instead of Beater - and all of a sudden I'm not sure again. Like who I think I am doesn't exist for anybody but me."

Lee rubbed a hand through his hair. "You want to, then? Despite the risk?"

"I think maybe I should."

"Why? Who do you owe it to?"

"The person I was. The twin I don't remember."

"They're both gone," said Lee flatly. "And it's your life we're talking about now, not theirs."

*****

"What do you think of your mother's actions?" asked Wizengamot member Ellen McNair.

George took a quick breath and tried to keep in mind what Ron and Harry had taught him in his crash course on evading Veritaserum. "She did what she thought was right. I wouldn't be here to speak for her if she hadn't."

"But do you think she was right to do what she did?"

"She did what she thought was right," George repeated firmly.

"That's not good enough," McNair shot back. "She put you under Imperius."

"She was trying to save my life."

"Do you wish she hadn't?"

"Yes." George bit his lip, his gaze meeting Mum's in the defendant's chair as a murmur ran through the Wizengamot. "I understand why she did it, though. I probably wouldn't be alive if she hadn't."

Ellen McNair nodded dismissively. "Yes, yes, we heard that from Healer Lethe as well. Thank you."

"Are we done questioning Mr. Weasley, then?" asked Kingsley. There was a murmur of assent from the Wizengamot. "Then it is time to hear from Molly Weasley," he said, and gave her an encouraging look. Not more than that - certainly not a smile. It had been difficult enough to persuade the Wizengamot to allow him to chair the meeting, as the Minister for Magic was supposed to, considering his friendship with the accused.

Mum sat up a bit straighter in the accused's chair, looking only at Kingsley.

"Tell us what led you to perform the Unforgivable, please, Mrs. Weasley," said Tamara Nott, a stern-looking older witch whose had spent the bulk of the hearing so far frowning at McNair, and occasionally objecting to her scathing remarks.

It wasn't necessary for Mum to say very much; the facts had been gathered from Healers Radstone, Adams, and Lethe, from Dad, and from George and all of his siblings. All that remained was for Mum to tell what she had felt upon being told that George had chosen to reject all treatment, and what had led her to cast the Unforgivable. The Wizengamot was almost silent as she gave her story.

George glanced around at the packed gallery listening to his mother speak - the press with their QuickNotes Quills scribbling away, a contingent of families of Death Eaters sitting grim-faced and self-righteous, members of the Order, and an assortment of other wizards and witches eager to gawk at the spectacle. He spotted Andromeda, sitting with Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, and gave her a small smile.

"I lost both of my brothers in the first war," Mum said quietly, ending her testimony. "And a son in the second. My son was in pain, and I could help him. I couldn't do anything to save Gideon or Fabian or Fred, but I could not let another child of mine die."

"He wasn't a child," said McNair. "And it was his decision to make."

"He wasn't competent to make the decision."

"He was, according to Healer Lethe," McNair retorted. "And your own husband and children, all of them, believe he should have been allowed to decide for himself."

Mum took a shaking breath. "I know. And maybe they're right. All I know is that I could not let him die. Not like that, in pain and alone. Not when I could save him."

"Do you think you deserve to go to Azkaban?" asked Nott.

Mum sighed. "I killed Bellatrix Lestrange to save my daughter, and I used an Unforgivable on my son," she said softly. "I had a good reason for both, but I will accept the decision of the Wizengamot."

There was a rustle from the crowd.

"Are we ready to vote?" asked Kingsley, glancing at McNair and Nott.

Ellen McNair stood up. "Minister, I would like to say a few words before we do so." Kingsley nodded, and McNair took a moment to gather herself. "I understand that some of you may be feeling sympathy for this woman before you. She is a war hero, after all, from a family of heroes, and she lost a son in the war. Her children have made impassioned pleas, urging leniency in her case. But we must not forget what she is accused of doing." She looked around at the full Wizengamot. "She is accused of using an Unforgivable. Not in the heat of battle, not in a rash moment heartily repented of later. She cast Imperius on her own son, and forced him to undergo a horribly painful process that he had explicitly rejected. Molly Weasley is no better than any Death Eater. She took her own son's free will away from him, stole his memories. Stole his very identity from him." She looked around at the gallery again. "How can we possibly condone that? And what does it say about us if we allow a crime like that to go unpunished, simply because the criminal is not a Death Eater?"

She sat down, to a murmur from the crowd.

George clenched his fists, itching to stand up and address the Wizengamot himself. Because the one thing he'd decided between his mother's arrest and this trial was that the point wasn't her use of an Unforgivable, or whether or not she'd stolen his free will. Using an Unforgivable to save another person's life wasn't a crime, as far as George was concerned. The point was whether or not it was acceptable for her to have essentially erased Fred, a man who George didn't even know, but who hadn't deserved to be consigned to oblivion. And, all issues of wizarding politics aside, that wasn't any of the Wizengamot's business.

Tamara Nott stood up. "Minister, if I may?" Kingsley nodded. "I... honestly don't know what to say here. My friend's speech has left me speechless." She shook her head. "How can you possibly compare Molly Weasley to Death Eaters? She didn't do what she did out of maliciousness, or to amuse herself! She did it because her son was dying and she couldn't sit just there and watch him!"

"The result is the same," said McNair. "She stole his free will."

"And you are stealing my opportunity to speak, Mrs. McNair," said Nott.

"Mrs. McNair," said Kingsley. "Please sit."

Nott nodded at him in thanks. "I don't think anybody truly understands what Molly Weasley went through. This is a woman who brought seven children into the world, and raised them, through her own example, to be members of our society that anybody would be proud of. Of the five children who finished Hogwarts before the war, all were successful, no matter which profession they chose. Of the five sons who reached adulthood before the war, four were members of the Order of the Phoenix. Her youngest son helped Harry Potter vanquish You-Know-Who. Her daughter helped to lead Dumbledore's Army during Severus Snape's Headmastership. And every single one of her children fought in the Battle at Hogwarts. Every. Single. One."

Nott paused. "I understand that we find ourselves in a difficult political situation. We want to show impartiality, and show that we prosecute everyone who uses an Unforgivable in the same way. Harry Potter himself was censured for what he did. But this wasn't done in the heat of anger, and it wasn't done with malice. Molly Weasley, and her family, have lost enough. Enough! Do not sacrifice a grieving mother, who only wanted to save the life of her child, for... impartiality. For abstract principle, or political expediency. She gave us seven heroes. She lost three members of her own family fighting against You-Know-Who for us. She got rid of Bellatrix Lestrange for us. She has given us enough. Now she and her family need us to give her something back: compassion, and forgiveness. Do not let her down."

*****

"God, what is taking them so bloody long?" said George, as Kingsley came into the small waiting room.

Kingsley glanced around at George's family and friends. He cleared his throat. "They're almost done. They've asked me to talk to you first though."

"What for?" asked George.

"Have you decided whether or not you're undoing the Reawakening spell?"

George frowned. "What? Of course not. I only found out I could a few days ago."

"Do you think you will?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Why are you asking?"

"The Wizengamot has decided. If you don't undo the spell, it will be taken as proof that your will was not truly compromised, and your mother will only be given a year's probation. If you choose to undo it, she goes to Azkaban."

George's mouth dropped open. "What?! That's insane!"

"I know."

"How long?" asked Percy.

"One year. And she will not be allowed to use magic afterwards."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"That's ridiculous," said Andromeda. "They can't do that."

"Ellen McNair has many allies." Kingsley looked around at George's horrified friends and family. "You've all seen how all of this has played out in the papers: the people who were sympathetic to Death Eaters have taken this case up as their cause, to exact vengeance for the treatment given to the Death Eaters after the war, and to compensate for the fact that Harry wasn't more severely punished for using two Unforgivables. And they have swayed a great many people to their side, pressuring them into believing that this is a necessary concession, if we're to continue to move forward."

"I told you, Kingsley, you should have let me speak for her too," said Andromeda angrily. "Even Narcissa and Draco were willing--""

"That wouldn't have done any good," Kingsley interrupted. "The Death Eater sympathizers would've dismissed the Malfoys because they cooperated with our side after the war, and the others because they were in Voldemort's camp during the war. We've been over this."

"My Mum doesn't deserve this," said George.

"We will fight it," said Hermione.

Kingsley gave Hermione a brisk nod. "I know you will. And I will do all I can to help you, and hopefully we will get the sentence overturned or at least lessened. But it may take time. In the meantime, though, George has to decide, now. The Healers won't do it at all in a week or so."

George shook his head, heartsick.

"You know," said Ginny slowly, "even if you do undo the Reawakening, it may not work. Your chances of survival are almost the same as they were before, when you said no to the Sundering. You rejected it for a reason."

George stared at her. "You're talking to me, now?"

Ginny bit her lip. "I was wrong. I was angry, and I was wrong. And I'm still angry at Mum, but..." She cleared her throat. "I love you. I love Mum too. Hermione thinks maybe I wanted you to decide to do the Reawakening, but didn't want to admit that to myself. So I took it out on you." She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"You still need to decide what to do, George," said Kingsley.

"Mum did what she did to protect me," said George. "She's already suffered for it enough."

"Can you live with not knowing who you were?" said Ginny.

"Who I was is gone. This is me now."

"Is that good enough for you?"

"I don't know." George looked down at his wand, absently making sparks with it and watching them pop softly. "What would the George I was before have done?"

"I think he would have undone the Reawakening," said Ginny.

"So do I," said Ron. "But you're not him."

"What would Fred have said?"

"I think he would have told you to get on with your life and not risk it again just for the sake of his memory," said Lee. "But I honestly don't know. None of us knew him as well as you did."

"And I don't know him at all any more," said George. He'd come to learn about Fred, had seen pictures of him, had heard stories about him, but it wasn't the same as knowing him. Not at all.

And the point wasn't what Fred would have wanted. Or what he himself would have wanted, before the Reawakening. The point was what he thought now; whether he thought it was all right to live the rest of his life free of sorrow but with an enormous part of himself missing, or whether he was willing to risk his own life again. Not just for the memories of Fred, but for whatever effect Fred had had on the person George had been. He had evidently thought losing Fred wasn't worth saving his own life before, when he'd rejected the option, but he had been sick with grief and exhausted at the time, and...

And if he went for the Sundering now, supposedly he would remember this life, remember what it had been like to not ache for what would be forever missing. Would that help? Would it be worth it?

George looked at Kingsley. "I want to see my mother. Is that allowed?"

Kingsley started to shake his head, then paused and exchanged a glance with Andromeda. He set his jaw. "You know, if being bloody Minister for Magic doesn't allow me to decide this one thing, it's not worth the robes that come with it. Come with me." He led George back to the Wizengamot chamber, where Mum still sat in the chair for the accused, awaiting judgment.

George approached her and conjured himself a chair, not bothering to ask permission before doing so. He reached for his mother's hand.

"What should I do, Mum?"

Mum shook her head.

"Mum, I need your help," he said. "You did this to protect me. What should I do now?"

May

George took a deep breath and pushed the door open, gazing into the empty corridor and mentally thanking Remus Lupin for the map that had allowed him into the castle undisturbed. Though he would bet that McGonagall was perfectly aware that he was here, it was nice to not have to deal with anybody else right now. Tomorrow the school grounds would be full of people, here to mark the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Tomorrow there would be time to honour the dead in the company of the living, in the company of his remaining family and friends.

Tonight was just for him.

He gazed at the portraits in the hall, searching until he found the familiar features, the red hair and freckles, so similar to what he saw in the mirror every morning. He smiled. There was Fred, juggling, to the admiration of a group of nuns. One of the prettier nuns was smiling at him in a decidedly un-nunlike way.

He observed the painting. The portrait painter had apparently used photographs taken at Wheezes, and it showed: Fred's hair had come out a little too red, probably because of the shop's lighting, but was otherwise just right, including the slight tendency to fall to the left side. The portrait didn't have as many freckles as the real Fred had had. And the clothing was too wrinkle-free and neat, but his fingers were potion-stained. Nice touch.

George let his eyes drop down to the names at the bottom of the portraits, noticing that of course Fred wasn't in his own portrait. Which he could've guessed, since the portrait he was in was dominated by stacks of books.

"No, Fred and libraries did not mix," Hermione had said once, about a week after he'd been told about his brother's existence.

"At all," Ron had added. "He wasn't a big reader. Unless it was books about business or Charms."

"Was I?" George had asked, and it had felt so incredibly bizarre to have to ask. His memories felt so real, of spending a great deal of his childhood with books as his closest friends.

All lies.

"No," Hermione had said. "But you did start reading a lot after Fred died. I think you were just trying to get away from everybody who was crowding you, or maybe trying to get into things that wouldn't remind you of Fred, but... well, apparently you're a bookworm. Without, erm, Fred, that is."

Ron frowned. "Though we did find some books in Fred's room. Runes. In Norse. Weird."

Lee had shaken his head. "He did read," he'd said. "Just not that often, unless it was business-related."

They hadn't really known what to say about Fred. None of them had. Didn't know whether to point out to George the differences or similarities between himself and Fred, the differences between the person he'd been before the Reawakening spell, and after... it had all been so bloody confusing for all of them.

George watched Fred glance down at a book and then push it out of the way. The bookish little nun flirting with him looked slightly put out for a moment, but brightened as he smiled at her again.

George swallowed as he finally spotted the portrait where Fred was supposed to be, with a cauldron boiling away and sending up sparkles, and multicoloured bats winging past.

Fred Weasley, April 1, 1978 - May 2, 1998

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"Hello, Fred," said George, and portrait-Fred turned around, a grin on his face. His eyes widened.

"George?" he said slowly. George closed his eyes in brief pain. His hair may have been a shade too red, and his skin tone too smooth, but the voice George hadn't heard in a year was the same. Same as his dreams, same as his nightmares and flashbacks and hallucinations... but not the same as his own voice. Not any more.

"How long has it been?" Fred asked, looking confused.

Portraits never had a good sense of time. "A year," said George. "Almost."

Fred's eyes widened again at the rough tone of George's voice. George could see him biting his lip to not ask why George looked and sounded the way he did.

"Why didn't you visit before? The paintings were finished two months ago, I think."

George shook his head. "I couldn't. You know it's not advisable for people to see their relative's portraits before a year's gone by."

Fred's eyebrows went up. "Since when do we ever do what's advisable?"

"Since you died," said George.

Fred frowned. "Why do you look so different?"

George sighed. He did. He knew it. His hair was sandy red now, what with all the white in it, and with the weight he'd lost and the lines of exhaustion and pain on his face, his eyes looked old.

He didn't look much like the boy in the portrait.

"And what happened to your voice?" Fred said, apparently deciding tact wasn't worth it. Typical.

"Damaged. Doesn't matter."

Fred scowled. "Doesn't matter? Don't give me that shit. I'm your twin."

George ran a hand through his hair. "It's been... a difficult year," he said.

Fred slowly sat down, and waved a hand at him. "Tell me."

"What have other people told you?" asked George, realizing he was stalling. "I know Ginny and Hermione have been here. And Mum, too."

"Nothing," said Fred. "They just said you'd come talk to me when you were ready."

And Fred hadn't pestered them. This wasn't Fred. This was a portrait imbued with some of his personality, that was all. Portraits were probably charmed to not ask difficult questions.

"Was it really that bad?" asked Fred quietly.

"What did you expect?" George shook his head. "Yeah, it was bad. Really bad."

"We'd talked about it, though," Fred said. "We'd talked about what if one of us--"

"We were kids," said George grimly. "And we didn't know what we were talking about."

"But how... I mean, what..."

"It was hell. Worse than hell." George took a deep breath, conjured a chair, and sat down. He fiddled with his wand for a moment. "I don't even know where to begin."

"You don't know what to say... to me?" Fred said, astonished.

George hesitated again. "You know..." he tilted his head to the side. Something was wrong. "You don't look quite right over here. It's not just the hair colour, it's... I know they used photographs, but didn't we have anything more recent that--"

"They did. They did a good job, at first. Only..."

"What?"

"Well... you know... it's not the same without you," he said uncomfortably.

George chuckled. "You don't say."

Fred cleared his throat. "They've had to retouch me a few times. I keep... erm, fading," he said, sounding embarrassed.

George closed his eyes. Of course. "You need me there," he said. "I'll tell them to add me in."

"But you're still alive."

George smiled bitterly. "Yeah. I noticed. I don't mind, though. I think maybe..."

"We weren't meant to be separated," they both finished, and George's breath caught in his throat.

"I can't come see you, though," said George once he could trust his voice again. "Not after today."

"What? Why not?"

"Because this isn't real. It's great, seeing you, and talking to you, but you're not really Fred and you can't really finish my sentences and... and I'm not who you knew."

"What do you mean?"

George took a deep breath, and began.

It was strange, telling the tale to his brother, portrait or no. Watching Fred's eyes widen and his eyebrows go up and his mouth fall open as George told him. Told him about the accident at Hogwarts that made Mum call him home. Told him about the days at home, the magic that didn't work, the time he'd spent looking for answers. Going back to the shop, and the depression that rose and rose and rose and had him testing potions and charms on the off-chance that he might test something deadly.

It was a story, to him. Like it had happened to another person. But watching Fred react, it was like feeling it all, living it.

"I don't know why I opened up to Lee, to be honest. Maybe he was just stubborn enough--"

George looked up at a sound from the portrait. Fred's head was down, his face was hidden by his hair, and George's forehead creased. "Fred?"

Fred shook his head quickly, then took a few deep, shaking breaths. Finally he looked up, his brown eyes glistening. "I'm... I'm sorry," he whispered. "Merlin, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I wish... I wish I'd been there. Somehow. I wish I'd been there to help."

George felt his mouth twitch. "There wouldn't have been much to help with, would there?" he said.

"I suppose not." Fred took a breath. "Were things better, then, after the hospital?"

George shook his head, not knowing how to explain.

"What happened?"

George looked down and forced himself to recount it. The days in the hospital. The potions, the psychiatrist, finally giving up and going back home, feeling not much better than before.

The despair, the desperation, the pull to end everything, the plans he'd made after Christmas. And it wasn't happening to someone else any more; it was happening right now.

"And then Ron found me, in the lab. I was unconscious, stopped breathing, and his timing was incredible. If he'd been just a few minutes later..."

This wasn't Fred, he reminded himself as the portrait bowed his head, his painted shoulders trembling as he started to weep. It wasn't. This was a recording of Fred. But it looked and talked and cried like Fred. Fred when they were both so much younger, Fred with all of his joy and bravado and carelessness suddenly torn away like a flimsy veil. And George felt so protective of him, of the kid he'd been, feeling devastated and guilty that he hadn't stayed behind.

"I wish..." Fred said brokenly. "I wish I'd stayed--"

"No, you don't," said George. "That wouldn't have been any better."

"I--"

"I don't wish you had, Fred," he said gently. "Not any more, not really. You went on because you had to. It was the right thing to do. If there is an afterlife, I'll see you there. We'll trade stories. If there isn't... then it's still the right thing to do, to go ahead to... nothingness rather than linger on as a ghost; something that isn't really real. I wouldn't have wanted that for you."

Fred was sobbing now, arms clasped around his knees, whispering, "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." and George had to remind himself, this wasn't Fred. It wasn't.

He came closer to the portrait, knowing that it wasn't his brother. But it was as close as he'd ever come to him again.

He couldn't tell Fred the rest of the story, George realized. He didn't have the heart to tell him about Mum, or Healer Lethe, or Mum's trial. Real or not, this Fred had nothing to do with any of that.

Besides, it wasn't really that relevant. The magic problem had only been a part of the trouble. Had George been a Muggle, the grief and the loss and the sense of incompleteness would have all felt the same, except that he would not have had the experience of knowing what it was like to not miss Fred.

He wouldn't have known that this was better, despite the pain that would never go away. And Fred wouldn't understand. Fred couldn't understand.

"Fred," he said quietly, after Fred's weeping had died down to soft shuddering breaths. "You and me... what we had, most people only dream of. Somebody who always understands you, somebody who will always get your jokes, who'll always be there for you. Somebody who's the other half of you." Fred drew in a shaking breath and raised his head. "And I'll never get over missing you, I'll never be the same, but I... I'm grateful I got that, got you, for twenty years. It was a bloody brilliant way to grow up." He wiped his own cheek. "I only wish it could've been longer."

George could see Fred's image mulling this over. Fred chuckled, a shaky sound. "You know, it's funny how after all of this, you're still one of the only wizard atheists I've met. You know people who've literally talked to the dead, and you still don't believe?"

"I'm talking to the dead right now, Fred," George pointed out. "It doesn't prove your soul is still out there; it just proves that somebody could do a decent bit of magic. Same with ghosts. They're no proof of anything."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"If there's nothing but an end, then I've still got my memories of you. And I've still got my life to live. And when I'm gone, hopefully I'll be remembered too."

"You'll be remembered before then, if you're a magical portrait before you've even kicked it," said Fred, giving him a small smile, though his chest still shuddered.

George smiled. "I suppose so." He took a deep breath. "I'll make sure they get my portrait in with you soon so you don't keep fading. I won't be coming back here myself, though." He paused. "Nor will Mum, not for a little while anyway."

Fred gazed at him for a long moment. "Will you be all right?"

George spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know, to be honest. I think I will. I've got things to do with my life. People I love, and who love me. Who knows." He thought briefly of his family; of Luna, and Lee, and Angelina. "I think I will."

George came closer to the canvas, and reached towards it. Fred copied him, and their hands touched for the first time in almost a year.

You made me who I am, he wanted to tell Fred. And saying goodbye to you hurts, but I have to, because otherwise I'll never be anything but the 'other twin.' The one who was left behind.

"I love you, Fred," George said softly. "I won't ever forget you."

Fred nodded and wiped his eyes.

"Goodbye," said George. And he dropped his hand, turned, and walked away.

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