Leave Out All the Rest

Prologue

"I'm with Percy!" Fred called back at George as he hurried after their older brother.

"I'm coming with you," George said, running up behind them.

"No! Stay with Lee," Fred said. "Guard the corridor in case--"

"You guard the corridor!"

"Come on, Percy's just come off a desk job, he needs back-up--"

"Don't do this again, you arse," George said angrily. "I can fight as well as you can whether I'm missing an ear or not! Don't make another stupid excuse to go to the more dangerous--"

"Think I'm leaving you where it's safe? Did you see those bloody giants trying to get through?"

"Bollocks!"

There was a shout and a crashing sound from around the corner. "Bloody hell, Percy's going to get himself killed and Mum'll never forgive me," Fred muttered and they both started to run towards him, then stopped at the sound of Lee's voice.

"Erm, a little help here!" Lee was saying nervously, and Fred took the opportunity to shove George in Lee's direction and bolt off after Percy.

George growled in annoyance and sprinted back towards Lee.

May

"Bloody hell, Lee!" George forced out through gritted teeth. "Watch what you're doing!"

"Doing my best here, mate," Lee snapped, holding his wand steady and squinting at George's arm as if it offended him. "If you'd rather wait for Madame Pomfrey-"

"No, she's got enough to do. Just patch it up without murdering me, all right? I swear it feels like you're Splinching my arm."

"Not trying to." Lee winced in sympathy as George hissed in pain, and he put on one last burst of effort that wrung a cry from George's throat. "Right. That's done it. I won't envy you the scar, but at least it won't fall off in the next few hours."

"That's all I need. Just need to use it right now; who cares if it looks like shite or drops off tomorrow."

"Don't say that, mate, Fred'll kill you if you lose any more body parts. Kill me too, for that matter."

George sniggered. "He's pissed enough as it is, us not looking the same. I told him if it's that big a problem, he could just try to lose an ear himself. Said he would, but he couldn't decide whether he should lose the same one, so we'll look the same to everyone else, or the opposite, so we're still mirror images."

Lee laughed and rubbed his eyes.

"Speaking of which, where the hell is he?" said George.

"Dunno. He went off with Percy, didn't he?"

George nodded, wiping sweat off his forehead. "Yeah. Percy. Bloody hell, Mum was glad to see him. The git."

"Weren't you?"

"Well, yeah. It's good to have him back, and Mum's been so upset about him, the ungrateful prat. Better late than never, I suppose. I dunno what Mum would've done if he'd never come back. She's like a mother hen, always counting us. First time in years she's had all her chicks in one place, except for Charlie."

"Didn't look too pleased that we brought Ginny."

"No." George pressed his lips together. "I'm not either, to be honest. Only I was more afraid to leave her behind; she'd have killed the lot of us when we got back."

"She's underage," Lee pointed out.

"So were all of them when they fought at the Ministry," George said grimly.

Lee nodded.

"Bloody hell, where's Fred," George muttered, his eyes roving restlessly over the crowd in the Great Hall. "Goes all mental on me after I lose my ear, worse than Mum even, but now that we're in an actual battle, he can't be arsed to check in."

"You worried? About that whatever-it-was you felt earlier?"

George shook his head. "Not really, it was just a twinge. I'm sure he felt it when I got this," he nodded at his arm. He glanced around the Great Hall nervously. "Still..."

"You told me, though," Lee pointed out, "that it's not that accurate, whatever the connection is. He's probably fine."

"Yeah."

"Maybe he's working at that wall that blew in."

"Only takes a moment to send sparks. Speaking of which," George took out his wand and fired a perfunctory trail of sparks in the air. "There, now at least he can't blame me for leaving him in the dark."

Lee smirked. "You're no better than he is, you know. You all worry about each other."

"He's been a real pain about it, though. Ever since the ear thing."

"Come on, mate, he's just looking out for you. And believe me, what you're seeing is only the tip of the iceberg. You didn't see him that weekend."

"I saw him afterward," George sniggered. "I still haven't paid you back for letting him get that drunk, by the way. Git forgot our security wards on the flat were making cleaning charms go funny. I am never cleaning up puke by hand again."

Lee laughed and shook his head. "He was a mess before he got drunk; the drink just helped calm him down. He was bloody terrified, mate."

George rolled his eyes. "What, did he think all this talk of resistance and fighting was going to end with nobody getting hurt?"

"No, he knew it might happen. I think he just didn't expect it to happen to you, or so soon. He was..." Lee trailed off, shaking his head. Fred Weasley scared out of his wits and unable to deal with it was a sight he hoped never to see again.

George smirked. "You know, that's one of the things we've always appreciated about you, Lee. Your discretion and your ability to keep private whatever one of us tells you."

Lee snorted. "Right. As if either of you ever kept any of my confidences to you private."

George laughed too, and rubbed the side of his head.

"How's the arm?" Lee asked.

"Feels all right. Hey, do I look any better?"

"Well you're not really my type, but you'll do. You're still grey but I think that's just stone dust. Can you stand up?"

"Think so. I was thinking we should go help, especially at that wall. Who knows what happened there. We've only got..." he checked his watch, "forty-five minutes? Til they start up again?"

"That's assuming You-Know-Who keeps his word."

"Fair enough," George said, glancing around again. "Where the hell is he... you saw Bill and Dad, and I'm pretty sure I heard Mum and Fleur, and Ginny's hopefully still at the Room of Requirement, but Fred and Percy and Ron and Harry and Hermione..." He squinted as a figure approached them through the crowd, then smiled in relief. "Percy!"

Lee looked up and felt his mouth drop open as he took in Percy's tear-stained face, his ashen features and helpless look of dread and sorrow. He glanced back at George and saw the smile of recognition fade and his eyes widen, face going pale. Percy stared at him, hand covering his mouth, trying to hold back his sobs long enough to speak, but he couldn't. George's wand dropped from his hand unheeded as he stood up shakily.

"Who..." he whispered, and shook his head as Percy gulped and tried to speak, closing eyes now streaming with tears and reaching out to George blindly. George caught his arm and shook his head. "No. Not - no. No, God, no..." he whispered, and Percy nodded.

"Where?" Lee asked, his own voice coming out as a croak. "Is he just - is he hurt, or-"

"Dead," Percy choked out.

"Are you sure?" Lee asked, horrified. "Maybe he's just injured-"

"N-no," Percy shook his head, crying harder. "He's gone, he - was next to the wall, he--" he broke down again, his words unintelligible.

"Where--"

"Harry and I moved him," Percy choked out, taking George's arm and tugging him. "I didn't want - anything else - to happen to his-" he sobbed, tears tracking down his grimy face unheeded, and George shook his head, eyes huge and dark as he and Lee followed Percy silently.

"He's-" Percy was shaking, unable to say more than a few words at a time. "I - I couldn't - I tried - George, I couldn't - he, he was - he was right next to me - the wall burst apart, I couldn't hold - I tried-"

George patted Percy's shoulder absently, peering through the dust, coughing a bit.

"He's - is that-" Lee said, spotting a shape in a niche through the dust.

Percy nodded, and George slowly approached the small niche, shaking his head slightly, and Lee realized he was silently mouthing something.

"No, no, no..."

Lee swallowed hard as they approached the nook, and his stomach gave a sickening lurch.

Oh God, Fred.

Fred was lying on his back, covered in dust, eyes sightlessly staring at the ceiling, mouth in a slight smile. The cause of death wasn't immediately apparent, but Lee guessed it had something to do with the copious amount of blood pooled beneath him. George was sinking to his knees, staring at Fred's body, still whispering, "No, no, God, no..." but his eyes were taking in what they were seeing and he reached out tentatively, touched Fred's face. He pulled back quickly, swallowing hard.

"Oh God. He's cold," he whispered, putting his hand back on Fred's cheek, brushing his hair off his forehead.

Lee sank down beside him, his throat tightening and his vision getting blurred. Percy was still shaking, arms wrapped around himself, and Lee looked up. "Does anybody else know yet?"

Percy nodded, wiping a hand across his face and only succeeding in smudging the dust and tears. "Ron. He was there too." He gulped. "Harry and Hermione, too. They were all right, we separated when the wall blew; Harry helped - helped me bring Fred here."

George nodded, staring into Fred's open eyes as though trying to will life back into them.

"That's one of the Weasley twins," Lee heard from a passing student.

"Oh Merlin, that's the other twin--"

"We have to find the rest of your family," Lee said. "They can't hear about this from somebody else."

Percy nodded and Lee touched George's shoulder. "D'you want me to stay here, or find your family?"

George didn't move or indicate that he'd heard Lee at all. Percy turned to go and Lee got up, shaking his head. Percy had done enough.

"Wait with him. I'll find the rest of your family," Lee said numbly and gave Fred one last look before heading back to the Great Hall.

Fred. Fred Weasley, who had been joking and eager to fight not long ago at all, was now lying still and pale and would never fight again. Lee couldn't take it in. It didn't make any sense; Fred was one of the most alive people he had ever met, Fred and George were a force of nature, unstoppable, unbeatable, and yet now somehow one of them was lying motionless on the floor and the other sitting mute and blank beside him.

Lee's head was spinning as he stumbled along, seeing others carrying bodies, some still feebly moving, most limp, and he stopped short at the entrance to the Great Hall as he watched Mrs. Weasley cry out and grab Fleur into a tight hug, and Mr. Weasley heaving a sigh of relief.

"Thank God - Bill!" Mrs. Weasley called out. "Fleur's here, she's all right!" She let go of Fleur and glanced over her, as Bill rushed towards them. "You're not hurt?"

"Only a bit, somezing fell on me, eet ees all right," Fleur said, grabbing Bill with a cry of relief. "I was so worried!"

"I'm all right," said Bill. "I ran into Ginny - she's all right, Mum, she's looking for you - we haven't found Percy or the twins or Ron, have you seen them?"

"Mum!" Ginny called out from across the room, and hurried to her side.

"Ginny! You were supposed to be at the Room of Requirement!" Mrs. Weasley said, her face darkening.

"So eet ees only zose four still meessing?"

Lee gulped and approached the group. Fred's family looked at him, the evident relief in their faces quickly turning to pale anxiety as he struggled to find the words, and his heart felt like a stone in his chest. He opened his mouth and plunged ahead. "George is fine. So's Percy, and Ron and Harry and Hermione were all right as of a few minutes ago." He swallowed. "Fred - Fred was next to the wall when it blew, he's..." He choked, not able to actually say the words, and looked away as Mrs. Weasley gave a sob.

"Is he still..." Bill's voice broke.

Lee shook his head, his eyes prickling with tears. "George - George and Percy are with his - with him."

"Where?" Bill said hoarsely, clutching Fleur's hand. Lee turned to lead them to the corridor, stumbling over and around all the people milling about, snatches of conversation mingling with cries of pain as they wound their way silently through the crowd.

"Colin!" a young girl was calling. "Colin!"

"... too late, she got in their way, there was nothing we could--"

"She's with the Healers, Morag, she'll be all right--"

"... that werewolf? Because he wasn't with the Death Eaters, you idiot!"

"Rookwood, the bastard, blasted him right out-"

"...and one of the Weasley twins too--"

Lee closed his ears and just concentrated on leading the Weasleys to George and Percy. And Fred.

*****

No no no no no no no no no no no

Wake up wake up wake up wake up

No no no no no no no no no no no

It was funny, George thought vaguely, how his brain seemed to be stuck on that permanent litany. Like those Mimic Macintoshes he and Fred had made about a year ago; they were supposed to take the most annoying thing somebody said and repeat it until they were hit. And his brain seemed stuck on those two things. He supposed it was probably shock; supposed shock was normal at a time like this. He'd felt something like this when Sirius had died, when Dumbledore had died, this intense need to block the unpleasant and pretend, wish with all your heart, that the horrible was just a nightmare. He didn't know whether the Wake up wake up wake up was aimed at Fred or at himself.

Didn't matter. Neither would do any good. He tried to grasp his emotions, convince himself that this was real, but gave it up fairly quickly as a bad job. Reality would surely kick in soon enough; he was kneeling before the dead body of his twin, seeing him sprawled there pale and unmoving, listening to Percy's broken sobbing, and it was all bound to get through to him eventually. Right now, he should probably just feel grateful that he was obviously still in emotional denial.

No no no no no no no no no no no

Wake up wake up wake up wake up

No no no no no no no no no no no

Percy was crying so hard it felt like he would probably shake apart at some point soon, knees drawn up, head buried between them, racking sobs shaking all of him, and George put a hand on his arm. Felt a bit better than the hand he had on Fred's shoulder, which was growing colder by the second. He could feel it, actually feel it getting colder and colder, minute by slow slow minute.

No no no no no no no no no no no

Wake up wake up wake up wake up

No no no no no no no no no no no

A woman gave a small shriek and George looked up, barely registering it was his mother before she fell to her knees before them, taking Fred's hand in hers, a wild, desperate look on her face, staring into Fred's sightless eyes.

"Fred..." Mum leaned over him, and George swallowed hard. "His eyes are still open," she said, and George reached out and gently closed them, his mind distantly telling him he would never see Fred's eyes again.

"We should move him to the Great Hall," Bill said, his voice hoarse. George nodded and knelt behind Fred and lifted him by the underarms, shifting to support his neck as his head fell limply back. Ginny folded Fred's arms onto his chest and then she and Percy took his torso and legs, and they formed a slow procession back to the Great Hall, where they laid him down on the floor. Mrs. Weasley sank down and lay her head on his chest, her tears finally spilling over, while George knelt back at his head, blankly gazing at the floor in front of him as his mother wept.

No no no no no no no no no no no

Wake up wake up wake up wake up

No no no no no no no no no no no

And it was odd, how time was slowed down as he sat in silence. The calm in between the storms, thought George. People were still being brought into the Great Hall. Between one slow heartbeat and the next, Remus and Tonks were lain down a few corpses down from Fred.

Teddy Lupin was now an orphan. Just like Harry.

Lee was back. George didn't know when that had happened, and then Ron and Hermione were suddenly there, but not Harry. None of it mattered much. What did matter was that Fred's skin grew colder by the moment, and George felt dizzy. Must be the ear; it still twinged him once in a while.

People were still moving about, and Ron was sobbing tiredly in Hermione's arms, and then Ginny pushed her hair back from her face and got up.

"Where are you going?" asked Dad, his voice so small.

"There are still people who need help in the castle," Ginny said dully, and trudged away, and Mum and Dad didn't try to stop her. Poor Mum, her worst nightmare had come true. She didn't have the strength to try to prevent another one from happening.

And then others were leaving, trying to find more survivors, and it was just him and Mum and Percy left with Fred's body, all of them just too dead themselves to be able to cope with seeing any more death. Or to even think of moving, ever again.

They'd have to move some time, though. It might feel like time had stopped, but soon enough they'd all have to face its relentless forward march.

"You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity," Voldemort had said. "Treat your injured." And then of course he'd kept going, babbling dire threats at Harry, because Voldemort liked nothing more than the sound of his own voice.

"Lord Voldemort is merciful?" Lee had said, and George had started as Lee used the name before realizing that, really, triggering the Taboo wasn't exactly their biggest worry right now. "Merciful would be if he shut up for once."

George had laughed, then, despite his own injury, even though Fred was dead. It had only been about ten minutes later that Percy had come to them...

He glanced around. There were fewer people sitting around next to unmoving forms, but others were still stumbling in or being carried into the Great Hall.

Injured. There might still be people out there who were injured, not...

George glanced down at Fred's still form. There was nothing to be done for him, and Merlin knew if Fred could speak he'd tell George to concentrate on the living right now, while there was time. George stood, and it seemed Mum and Percy had come to the same conclusion because they stood as well, and left the Great Hall with him, in search of fallen fighters.

George stepped aside as a girl from the DA - Lavender? Ron's ex? - was carried past them. Alive, but horrifyingly wounded, and George wondered if she'd like her meat very rare from now on like Bill did, assuming she survived. A Death Eater lay crushed under a crystal ball. And another. And another. And there was Professor Trelawney, blindly stumbling towards the Great Hall, her enormous glasses shattered. George stopped to help her make her way to the Great Hall, then went back out again, searching for movement, sound, a flash of colour where none should be, blood, signs of hexes...

Sound kept coming and going, and the disorientation was intense. His ear, again, no doubt. Ever since the injury he often felt unbalanced at the oddest times, as though sound was playing tricks on him.

He stepped aside as Oliver Wood carried little Colin Creevey past him. Wasn't he in Ginny's year, underage and a Muggle-born to boot? Bloody annoying little hero. Arithmancy Professor Vector, barely moving, was being carried past by McGonagall and Filch. He suddenly wondered if Professor Flitwick had survived; last George had seen him he'd been fighting a huge Death Eater named Yaxley, but later he'd seen Yaxley sprinting past sans Flitwick...

There: a glint of purple, another body. This one, a tall Ravenclaw if memory served, was merely stunned. George levitated her and brought her to the Great Hall, to Pomfrey and her assistants. So many wounded, so many unmoving on the floor. Voldemort was outside with his army, and there were so many of them...

They were going to lose. This battle, definitely, and possibly the entire war. Tonight.

Another Death Eater, lying in a pool of weirdly crystallized blood and good riddance. And Draco Malfoy, the little snot, cowering in a corner, his wand on the floor, staring down at another dead man with a mask hanging off his face. George passed him by without a second glance.

Well, if Yaxley was still alive and Flitwick wasn't, and if George could possibly manage it, he'd take him down, for the sake of the brilliant Charms professor who'd taught him and Fred so much. Who had refused to get rid of their swamp after they left school, forcing Filch to ferry students across it, and who had kept a corner of it, even after Umbridge was gone, declaring the swamp a brilliant piece of magic. If there was an afterlife, Fred would probably now be thanking Flitwick for all he'd taught them, and apologizing for all the trouble they'd caused him.

Soon enough, George might be joining them. That might be nice.

And if there was no afterlife, that might be all right too. At least this scattered-thought, off-balance, empty feeling would end. He and Fred would go down together, the way they were supposed to. Fred had come into this world a few minutes before George; it was only fitting that he'd leave it a few minutes earlier too.

It couldn't have been an hour since the fighting stopped already. Could it?

It could, apparently. The survivors were being called down to the Great Hall. George picked up his wand from where he'd dropped it, and joined his family at Fred's side once more.

"You haven't seen him, have you?" Ron was murmuring to Hermione. Hermione shook her head and they shared a look of equal parts fear and exasperation.

"He wouldn't have gone, would he?" she said. "Just because... he wouldn't take Voldemort at his word, would he?"

Ah, they were talking about Harry. "He would, if he thought there was no other choice," said Ron. He wiped at his face, the dirt and blood and tears making him look about a million years old and filthy beyond belief.

They were all filthy. And old. And nearly beaten. And if Harry had gone to--

"Harry Potter is dead," said a cold voice from outside, making them all jump. "He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him."

The voice continued and George didn't bother listening, as he gave a glance down at the still, cold thing that had been his twin.

Fred, I think we'll all be joining you very soon.

Not yet, said a voice that wasn't quite his own, almost clear enough to hear, and George didn't care that it couldn't possibly be Fred. A hallucination was better than silence. It's not over until the Fat Lady sings. And I think she and Violet got piss-drunk somewhere in the third floor, so you've got time.

Not much.

So go down fighting, Fred's voice said grimly. Every miserable arse you take down is one less that'll torture and kill Muggles and Muggle-borns for the fun of it. Take down as many as you can before they get you.

George stood up, following the others out of the Great Hall as they filed out to meet the end.

They'd talked about this, of dying in this war. Somehow they'd thought of dying together in the middle of a fight, or dying so that others could live free. They hadn't really thought of not dying at the same time. Or dying as their cause died with them.

Then they were all outside, facing a crowd of jeering Death Eaters, and it was true: Harry was dead, and it was almost over, but it didn't seem to matter much. Harry was dead, and Voldemort was babbling, and Neville Longbottom was going to get himself killed, and none of it touched the bubble around George - and then with sickening suddenness the battle was on again and chaos reigned and there were giants and a snake and and and, and it didn't matter what was happening around George, because he wasn't really there. He fired off curse after curse and barely missed curse after curse thrown at him, but it didn't matter because when you didn't give a rat's arse about protecting yourself, when you were already dead, you could be so much more effective, like you had an extra surge of magic or something - and Yaxley went down to him and Lee, and George was dropping Death Eaters one by one, and they were still going lose in the end, they all knew that, but better off dead than serving Voldemort now anyway.

Dimly he sensed that their side's numbers had swelled in the last few moments, with centaurs and hippogriffs and skeletal flying horses, and some professor in pyjamas was firing off amazing curses - and was that Charlie's voice? - but it was all a jumble of noise and fire and hatred, and--

"NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!!"

George whipped around, his mother's shriek breaking through the wall of numbness around him. His mouth fell open as his mother, Mum, who knitted sweaters and made treacle tart and who only minutes ago had been sobbing and heartbroken over Fred's body, duelled with fury and fire and he had never been so proud to be her son.

But fuck, Bellatrix was evil, and insane, and powerful, and Mum was going to be killed right in front of him, and there had to be a way to hit Bellatrix and not Mum, and he turned to say Fred, can't we--

Right. Fred wasn't here.

No, I'm here, but bloody hell, what can we--

George watched in frozen admiration and fear as his mum gave back as good as she got, and Bellatrix taunted her and knew she was only seconds away from killing her, because motherly protective instincts aside, a middle-aged grieving mother of seven was no match for--

And then it was over. And Mum... Mum had killed Bellatrix Lestrange.

Fred, I can't believe--

I can't believe it either--

Then Voldemort's scream of rage rang out and he raised his wand to hex Mum, and George knew every single Weasley in the room had raised their wand at the same time to defend her, he swore he could feel even Fred's magic with them, even as he knew it was too late--

"Protego!!"

Harry.

And it was all a blur, incomprehensible. Harry couldn't be there, alive and fighting, and yet he was. He had just seen Harry, seen him as dead as Fred, as dead as Remus and Tonks and Professor Vector, and yet there he was. And George didn't give a toss as to what they were talking about, wands and Snape and all sorts of things, it didn't matter, the border between dead and alive was blurring and they would all be on the other side of it soon anyway, but it was all taking an interminably long, long time...

And then it was over.

Over.

Voldemort, lying there, like a broken doll.

Victory.

A space full of nothing.

A roar of joy. Relief. He felt himself caught in it, Lee pulling him towards the others, Fred there with them too, and then amidst the hugs and the cheers he and Lee suddenly stopped and stared at each other, then recited the spells they'd feared they might never be able to say. And the fireworks the three of them had hidden on school grounds a long, long time ago, just in case the final battle was held here, burst into spectacular celebration against the rising sun.

And that was that.

It was over. It was done.

We did it, Fred, he whispered. There was no reply.

*****

"A wizard's family stays by his side for one full day after he dies, to make sure his spirit doesn't wander," Mum said to Fred and George when Uncle Bilius died, and Dad had to leave.

"Can't we go stay with Dad, Mum?" asked Fred.

"No, Freddie," said Mum. "Dad's got to do this without us."

"But we loved Uncle Bilius too. Remember he used to make flowers come out of his--"

"Boys, I know you loved him, too. But he was Dad's eldest brother. His brothers are all going to stay with him, and it's going to be boring."

"Uncle Bilius wasn't boring," Fred protested. "He'd want us to tell jokes."

"He probably would," said Mum, and Fred and George exchanged a grin at her dry tone. Uncle Bilius hadn't exactly told the sorts of jokes Mum liked.

"There will probably be a lot of jokes at his funeral," said Mum. "Not at the vigil, though. Now, we are going to make something to feed everyone there. And no funny stuff in it!"

"Is Dad going to be very sad?" asked Percy softly.

Mum thought for a moment. "Yes, probably, but remember Uncle Bilius was a lot older than Dad, and he's been sick a long time. You know we all thought he'd go four years ago, when Ronnie was born. Uncle Bilius led a good, long life." She picked up Ginny from her high chair and ruffled Percy's hair. "Everyone dies some time; we all hope we can go in our old age, with people we love by our side. Uncle Bilius had that."

"We're never going to die," said Fred, and George nodded firmly. "We're going to live to be a hundred years old!"

"A hundred isn't so old," said Mum, amused. "Many wizards live far past that."

Bill and Charlie laughed at Fred's indignant expression.

"We'll be two hundred, then!" said George to Fred. He peered up at Mum. "That's pretty old, isn't it? Are you two hundred years old?"

*****

It still didn't feel real. Even two days later, it didn't feel real.

George raised his wand and cast a lightening spell on the heavy stone before him, raising it slightly off the ground. He put his shoulder to the stone, and he and Lee carefully stood, straining with the effort.

You could live without your heart, he had found. You could keep placing one foot in front of the other and working and fixing things and cleaning, and if you did all of that from the moment you woke up to the moment you collapsed, exhausted, onto a cot in the Great Hall, it was remarkable how well you could pretend to still be alive.

"George, there you are," said Hermione, coming around the corner of the half-rebuilt wall.

He half-turned in her direction, carefully maintaining the spell as he and Lee heaved the stone up the moving staircase they'd nudged closer to the spot where the stone was supposed to go. Merlin, even with lightening spells, there was no way to make these bloody things any easier to manipulate. Though at least they didn't have to do this while standing on rickety ladders like Muggles did.

"George?"

He grunted in acknowledgement, and pressed his lips together with effort as Lee took one hand from under the stone and pointed his wand at the top of the wall.

"Your mother--"

"Hang on, Hermione," Lee grunted, waving his wand to make sure the area they were going to deposit the new stone on was relatively free of dust. He gave it another glance, then took the weight from George and nodded at Hermione.

"Your mum would like you to come home, George," she said, and George shook his head impatiently. She sighed. "I know, I know, there's too much work left to do here. But she needs to speak to you. Could she come see you here?"

George shrugged, looking at the trowel and mortar on top of the wall, then looked at Lee to make sure Lee was ready to take the greater weight of the stone.

"Not quite," said Lee tightly. "Give me a minute." He took a deep breath, then nodded. "All right. Go ahead."

George eased a hand out from under the stone, and smoothed the mortar with the trowel left on top of the wall.

Hermione cleared her throat. "She's finished planning. The funeral is tomorrow, you know." Lee's control of the stone slipped slightly. George dropped the trowel and propped it up. He nodded at Hermione, who stepped back, unsure.

"Got it?" asked Lee.

George nodded, breathless. They slowly brought the stone towards the mortar, setting it down.

"Not quite on," said Lee. "Nudge it a bit."

There it was, settling in. Perfect.

George lifted himself off the staircase and straddled the wall, reaching out for the trowel to wipe any mortar that had seeped through the joining areas. Lee joined him, wiping from the other side, overextended and cursed as he slipped off. Hermione uttered a small squeak as he looked about ready to plunge to his death, before the safety spell kicked in and he bounced harmlessly to the floor.

"'M all right," he muttered, not that George had been worried. They'd all fallen off the rising walls too many times for it to be worth even a twinge, except for the person who fell.

Hermione gave Lee a hand up as George finished wiping the mortar from Lee's side of the wall as well.

"Can't you get him to come home?" Hermione asked Lee, her voice low, and it was odd how people were starting to speak about them now. Him. About him, not them.

"He's all right here," said Lee.

"But... look, I know I don't know much about wizarding customs, but I don't think him staying here is good," said Hermione earnestly. "The vigils are done. Everyone's going back to their lives, or back to their families. George staying here isn't healthy." She paused. "Him not talking isn't healthy either."

"What do you want him to say?" said Lee. "Besides, he does talk."

"Not more than one word at a time."

"A lot of people are staying here," said Lee. "There's a lot of work to be done. What would he do back at The Burrow?"

"Be with his family."

"He sat vigil with them here for an entire day."

"But..."

"Look, if this is what he needs to do, we should just let him do it."

Hermione blew out her breath in frustration. "Fine," she sighed, and left.

"George?"

George came down the staircase and turned to the next stone.

Lee cleared his throat. "George?"

George looked at him.

"I... I don't mean to go Hermione on you, mate, but... she may have a point. Have you stopped, at all, since the Battle?"

George gave him an impatient look and went back to the stone, gesturing to Lee to take up the other side.

Lee waved his wand to make the stone lighter, but didn't move to pick it up. "Only... I know that there's a lot of work here, but it's been three days, and..."

George moved the staircase over to the next spot on the wall, nudging it bit by bit so it wouldn't knock against the stone they'd just placed and send it tumbling back down.

"You look tired," continued Lee. "And... you're doing well, but... d'you think..."

George pressed his lips together, silently willing Lee to be a mate and shut up as he moved to pick up the next stone.

"Is there anything I can do?" said Lee. "I mean, d'you... need someone to talk to, or--"

"No, bloody hell," George finally snapped, and Lee's eyebrows shot up. George took a breath. "Sorry."

"I really don't want to push you, George," Lee said carefully. "Only... you're almost acting like nothing's changed."

"How am I supposed to act?" asked George.

Lee shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, mate. Nobody in my family's ever... been lost. Nobody I was close to, anyway. Only it seems you're acting like everything's fine."

George turned away, shrugged. "Maybe it just hasn't really hit yet," he said. "And I'm not in a hurry for it to do so."

"What are you--"

"I'm just pretending everything's all right and we're just working on different parts of the castle and don't tell me that's not healthy or useful because it's bloody useful right now. I'm not going to keep this up forever, just until things are a bit more settled around here. Now, can I please get back to trying to rebuild this wing of the library? There used to be some dead useful Transfiguration books over here. One of the only places in the library we actually went into voluntarily."

Lee blinked, and George reflected there was probably a reason for that; that was more than he'd said to anyone in days. He turned his back on Lee's worried expression and went back to the blessedly silent stone.

*****

That was that, then. The funeral was over, the coffin had been lowered into the ground, and the pile of dirt was rising up overtop it. Within a year, his brother's grave would be indistinguishable from the hundreds of others at this graveyard, save that it would probably have fresher flowers.

The ceremony had been lovely. The man in black had said a lot of impressive stuff about Fred, Lee had made a bunch of jokes, and people had laughed through their tears - which George knew Fred would've appreciated, even if he couldn't handle telling any jokes himself, or even laughing, right now. And then all six of Fred's siblings had carried his coffin to the gravesite (Auntie Muriel never had a chance trying to keep Ginny from being one of the pallbearers) and all six of them had lowered him into his grave.

All six of them. They were an even number, now. No more middle child. Appropriate, as Fred had technically been the middle child. They'd even fallen into birth order at the very end: Bill, Charlie and Percy on one side of the coffin, George, Ron and Ginny on the other, Fred in the middle.

He'd never be among them again.

George made his way away from the gravesite and back to the seats that had been placed nearby for the funeral, unwilling to watch as the dirt piled up on top of his brother. He closed his eyes and vaguely felt Dad sitting down next to him, and he tried to turn his mind away from the graveside, away from his brother's final disappearance from the land of the living. Away from the ache beginning in his chest, a sense of despair so deep he didn't want to face it, sorrow so overwhelming he couldn't bear to let it touch him.

It's all right, mate. Let it go.

God, that sounded like Fred again. Dead Fred, In My Head.

Let it go. You've been wound up for three days.

George shook his head, trying to delay.

It's like you've got a bad batch of U-No-Poo, mate. Don't be a bloody coward. You can't say you don't have time, not any more. You've done the vigil, my funeral's just been held, I'm very definitely gone. It's probably a bit past time to drop the denial act, before it stops being brave and tragic and starts being a bit of a joke.

He closed his eyes, biting his lip and feeling a scream inside him fighting to get out. A scream that said No, I don't want to, please don't make me--

You're a Weasley. You've lived through Death Eaters and Dolores Umbridge and Mum on a tear. You can do this.

I can't. I don't want to.

I know, mate. And he'd never heard Fred sound as gentle, or as fucking sad, as Dead Fred in His Head sounded right now. You don't have much of a choice, though. I'm in the ground now. I'm gone, and I'm not coming back.

He caught his breath, feeling himself start to shake, eyes clenched tight, a wail of sorrow building within him.

"George?" Dad's voice was soft by his side; Dad's hand was tentative on his shoulder.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"I'm sorry, George," Dad whispered, and the depth of grief in his voice tore at George, this was like dying, nothing had ever felt like this, he couldn't possibly take it--

Then Dad was pulling him into his arms and George was turning, burying his head in his father's shoulder, holding on desperately as if Dad was still able to make the pain of a skinned knee go away just by being strong, as he probably hadn't done since George was maybe five or six and he and Fred had got old enough to rely on each other instead of their parents.

The sobs were about to break free and he held on tighter, Dad make this stop make it stop make it better make it stop- "We knew... we knew if this happened, it would hurt," he gasped. "We just... we didn't realize how much--" and a strangled sob broke through and he let go, no words were possible now, and when had Dad become so frail, so bowed with sorrow himself?

God, he would never see Fred again. They would never again finish one another's sentences, they would never again invent a single thing, they would never reopen Wheezes together, he would never know what Fred thought of the new post-Voldemort world, he would never tease Fred into asking out Verity, or trying again with Angelina, they would never open a Hogsmeade branch together, they would never tease Mum or Ron or Ginny together, they would never tell their kids or nieces and nephews about the things they'd done together, they would never hope that one or both of them would end up having twins and watching it all start again - oh God every pregnancy in their ridiculously fertile clan would fill him with dread, because twins popped up like weeds among both Weasleys and Prewetts, and how could he ever watch another pair grow up without aching for what he'd lost forever...

He couldn't stop this, he was shaking uncontrollably, worse than Percy, worse than Mum. He couldn't stop it and if he could've died at that moment it would've been a blessed relief, but nothing seemed to help. He couldn't stop, the memories and the grief and the wrenching sobs just kept going on and on and on...

"Georgie," Dad was saying, and he wanted to answer, but he was crying too hard, choking. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't stop, couldn't hold it back and everything hurt so fucking much - not just emotionally but physically, his chest ached, and his stomach muscles were cramping from the heaving sobs--

And then Pomfrey was kneeling near them. "He can't stop," she told Dad. "Mr. Weasley," she murmured to George, "I'd like to cast a spell that will relax your muscles and put you to sleep. You need to rest now, let your body heal. You've been under stress for too long and you need to rest. Will you let me cast it?"

George nodded blindly. God, anything to stop the hurt. He felt Pomfrey's hand, cool and soothing and uncharacteristically gentle on his forehead. She whispered a spell, and it felt as though the comfort of her touch seeped into his body, slowly quieting muscles that were shaking with grief.

"It'll take a few moments to work fully," she murmured, then sighed. "Of all the times you and your brother ended up in my office for silly things you'd done to each other, or sent other students to me with your pranks... I wish so much that this was a prank too." She stroked his forehead, now smoothing itself, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He felt his world grow dark and peaceful, and then he knew no more.

*****

Work helped.

It really did help, Lee repeated to himself, as he and George half-carried Morag MacDougall to the hospital wing. Despite the fact that George still looked shaky and unsteady, and every time Lee closed his eyes he saw George being carried away from Fred's funeral cradled in Hagrid's arms like a child, which made the image of Fred being carried into the Great Hall slam into Lee like a blow to the solar plexus. Staying concentrated on work was much, much better. Staying too physically exhausted to concentrate on anything but pushing their bodies to keep moving.

"I'm all right," Morag said, a sudden gasp of pain immediately belying her irate words and tone.

"What happened?" asked Pomfrey, hurrying to them as they stumbled into the infirmary.

"Accident," said Lee, shaking his head at Pomfrey as she immediately tensed. "Nothing bad, don't worry, nobody was seriously hurt. Only Morag, and two others coming behind us--"

"I'm all right," Morag protested.

"You had a wall collapse on you," Lee pointed out, depositing Morag on a chair and stepping back to give Pomfrey room to treat her. "You're bleeding."

"I'm not Draco Malfoy, you know," Morag said snidely, wincing as Pomfrey murmured something and the shallow scrapes across her face started to knit themselves closed. "I can take a bit of blood without going spare."

"No doubt," Pomfrey said, "but lie down anyway. You too," she told Morag's rescuers, and nodded towards two of the beds. "Sit." She looked up as Neville Longbottom came in, limping and supporting an elderly witch with a long, steadily bleeding gash along one arm.

"I'm fine, I'm all right," George said. "Morag's the one who--"

"Yes, yes, I know," Pomfrey said brusquely. "And she's being seen to, isn't she? You two are covered in dust, who knows what you may have hurt without even notici--"

"I wasn't anywhere near the wall!" George protested. "I ran over because Morag looked like she was going to be buried in it!"

"And you probably did a fair bit of heavy lifting, getting her out of there," Pomfrey said, still squinting at Morag's face and indicating the other beds to Neville and the elderly witch. "And I'm sure there were things falling all over the place. You're all going on the rush of having survived the fall and getting Morag out, and if I know Gryffindors none of you will have noticed if you did something as minor as losing a hand or two in the process."

"Two hands, five fingers each, two arms, two legs, two feet," George rattled off. "Only one ear, but that's hardly the fault of the wall. Now can I go?"

"Just sit, for heaven's sake, and let me tend to the other patients." She turned to the elderly witch. "All right, Vesta, let's see this arm - Mr. Jordan, Mr. Longbotton, neither of you get to get out until then either. I'm setting you all to watch each other. Is that clear?"

They rolled their eyes and sat back as she concentrated on Vesta's arm gash.

"Bloody daft, this is," Lee huffed. "Nothing happened to us."

Neville shook his head. "You don't understand. Let her fuss. She had little enough chance to do that all last year."

George shuddered. He'd heard.

"What's happened here?" Rosmerta rushed into the infirmary, looking around wildly.

"What?"

"The WWN just interrupted their regular program, reported that there's been an explosion at Hogwarts! It's all over the news."

Lee groaned. "Oh bloody hell, whose bright idea was that? I've got to get a job out there, this is ridiculous. Oi, George, d'you want to join me in an emergency airing?"

Rosmerta blinked, her panic dying down as she glanced around the infirmary. "Not an explosion?" she said.

"No, for god's sake," Lee said wearily. "Just a wall that hadn't been propped properly. Nobody was even badly hurt. We've just got to be more careful with not relying solely on magic, that's all."

George chuckled tiredly as Lee swore again, and brushed his hair back from his forehead, settling back against the bed. "Down, intrepid spreader of truth. You'll get a chance to clear things soon enough, I'm sure."

Rosmerta sat down on the nearest bed, still a bit shaky. "It was horrible - the way the WWN reported it - there were parents showing up at the Hog's Head already, I think..."

George shook his head and sat back on the bed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, noting that he was completely covered in stone dust. Would be sneezing it out for days, no doubt - and suddenly George sat up, his stomach dropping out from under him.

"Oh. Oh fuck." He interrupted Madam Rosmerta, who was deep in conversation with Flitwick. "There were parents at the Hog's Head?"

Rosmerta frowned, glancing at him. "Yes, I think Professor McGonagall was going to let them in when it was safe to--"

"FUCK!" George scrambled off the bed. Oh, fuck. He glanced at the mirror in dismay. "Oh, fuck, Lee my parents cannot see me like this."

Lee looked puzzled for a moment, and then his eyes widened as they took in the greyish dust covering George, and the blood on his shirt. He blinked rapidly, mouth open in uncharacteristic speechlessness.

"God in heaven," Pomfrey whispered, and Rosmerta frowned at him, totally lost.

"God this'll give them nightmares forever, Lee, fuck, where's my bloody wand, I have to get cleaned up," George's heart was racing, and he'd never been so unbelievably sorry to be a twin in his life. He frantically tried to wipe away the dust, knowing it was futile. The stuff was everywhere and he looked exactly like Fred, fuck, exactly like him, down to the dust and the blood and Lee was trying to help him but everybody else who'd seen Fred that day was gaping at him in horror, an Inferi Fred was what he was, risen from the dead--

And then it was too late, and Mum and Dad were rushing into the hospital wing and stopping in horror, gaping at him, Dad rushing forward after a hesitation and grabbing him tightly.

"Dad, I'm all right," he said, his voice shaking, unable to look away from his mother, who looked about ready to faint. "Please, Mum, I'm all right, nobody was hurt, it was just an accident, it's not what it sounded like on the wireless." He shrugged his father's shaking arm off and stepped closer to his mother, stopping in dismay as she flinched.

"Mum..." He softened his voice. He knew he sounded like shit, scared stiff that she was going to go mental on him, have nightmares forever, but he had to talk softly. "Mum, nobody got hurt. It's all right, everybody's all right. Morag was the only one near the wall. She's right over there, she's fine, all right? Nothing bad happened, just an accident, and nobody got badly hurt."

Mum was nodding slowly, her eyes glassy, and bloody hell, his vision was blurring. "Mum, don't look like that," he said softly. "We're all right-" fuck! Not we, not we any more, and she'd flinched at his bloody unfortunate choice of pronouns. "I-I'm all right. All of us, all of us working at the castle today, we're all right. Nobody's being foolish. We're being really careful, Mum."

She was breathing, and blinking slowly, and god, she was trying to see him and not Fred. He smiled tentatively, let out his breath as she drew closer and put a hand on his sleeve. "It's all right, Mum," he said, and felt something warm on his cheek. Somewhere in there he'd apparently teared up a bit. Which was fine; with tear tracks down his face, he'd look even dirtier, but at least not like Fred. There had been no tears from Fred; he hadn't even had time to close his eyelids and keep the stone dust from settling onto his open eyes. Mum drew him closer and buried her head into his neck, shaking. "It's all right, Mum, it's all right," he whispered, closing his eyes as she held on to him so tightly he had trouble breathing.

Well, at least she wasn't crying. That was something, wasn't it?

"It's all right, nobody was seriously hurt," Pomfrey was saying, as the trickle of friends and family of the Hogwarts volunteers became a flood. Panic and confusion reigned as mothers and fathers and siblings milled about, all talking a mile a minute, and then a Wireless reporter appeared. Pomfrey shoved Lee at her, waving them both away from her patients.

Finally Mum was all right, sort of, and made her way to the hospital wing washroom to get herself under control. Somewhere in there somebody had produced a handkerchief, and George hastily wiped at his face, not particularly caring for the way Ginny and Harry and Percy had averted their eyes from his face after their first gaping panicked look upon entering the infirmary. Many of the onlookers started clearing off, the panic of the accident settling down. And George was very much wishing his own family would clear off too, because they were bloody well distracting him from his work as he and the other volunteers talked about what to do next, and what could be salvaged, and whether the entire wall that had partially collapsed needed to be brought down.

At least his family wasn't panicking any more. They weren't leaving, though. Just conversing in low voices, Dad talking softly to Mum, who cried a little now and again. George firmly turned his thoughts away from them. He had a job to do, and his own control over himself was far too tenuous to help them in any way.

It was getting a bit dark, much later, when Pomfrey finally cleared all of the volunteers to go back to work. Dad approached as George and Lee prepared to leave. "George, can I talk to you?"

George gave Lee a small wave of his hand, letting him know he could go on ahead. "Yeah?"

Dad cleared his throat. Looked away. Cleared it again. George felt a prickle of unease.

"George, please," said Dad. "Come home. Don't... don't stay here."

"I beg your pardon?" George said, his heart sinking.

"Please. Stop working on the building. We're all... we're all worried about you."

"We were being safe," he said, fighting down rising dread.

"I know, son, but you don't understand."

George swallowed. "I can't--"

"You don't understand!" Dad took a deep breath. "Your mother and I - hearing, on the radio, and then coming in and seeing you - how do you think it felt for her? For all of us? You don't understand--"

"You think I don't understand?!" George interrupted, and now his dread was suddenly joined by anger. "You're not the one who looks like a fucking dead man!! I know it scared you and Mum - how the hell d'you think I felt?!"

"George--"

"You want me to come home, to The Burrow, to - to our old room, to our old chicken coop and--"

"You want to stay here instead? Where he died?"

"Where a lot of people died, Dad! Over fifty! Where I'm bloody well doing something and not sitting and reminding everybody of--"

"You're working here, you ran right into a wall that collapsed. How do you think that makes your mother feel - how do you think it makes any of us feel, that you'd be so eager to go right into the same thing that kill--" Dad cut himself off and the room suddenly hummed with tension.

"Wait a minute - you think I went to help Morag because... because what, you think I've some sort of... of death wish?" George said incredulously.

"You didn't even stop to think--"

"I didn't stop to think because for all I knew somebody else had died just like he did!" George shouted. "And I'm sorry, I didn't stop to think about traumatizing you or anybody else because I didn't want anybody else to die! Why the hell do you think - d'you think everybody here has a death wish, or just me?"

He was breathless, almost speechless with unexpected rage. "You - you think it's easy - I spend every fucking moment of the day trying to push myself to keep going without going insane and trying to not, not do anything that would piss Fred off and it's taking everything I've got to not fall apart and you - you just - you decide it's out of some need to - to what? Make some dramatic gesture and follow Fred into the grave?! FUCK YOU! I was trying to save Morag's life so her family wouldn't have to go through the hell we're going through!"

"George, I'm sorry - don't go, please - son, please, don't go." Dad was white and his eyes had filled up, and he was shaking almost as badly as George. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered, and the pounding fury seemed to seep out of George faster than he could summon it back, because it had felt good, for a few moments there, to not feel the heavy weight of sorrow and dragging depression.

"Please, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," said Dad, trying to speak through tears. "What you're doing here, it's... it's a good thing. And your mother and I are proud of how you're coping with this, but... but she's frightened half to death. And so am I. We can't lose you too, Georgie."

George bit his lip, realizing he was going to have to sit down because his legs were going to give way otherwise. He reached blindly for the hospital bed behind him.

"Please. Please come home."

He looked up at Dad, dread filling his chest. Not home. Not home, with everything he could never have again surrounding him. Not home; not now, maybe not ever. He glanced around the room, met nervous eyes. He'd probably scared the hell out of them all, Ginny and Harry and Percy looking at him like he'd grown a new head.

"I don't..." there was no support from them. Nobody would help him stand against his parents. And they did need him. Mum, definitely, he could've guessed that, and hadn't wanted to think about it, but Dad too. Dad, crying and asking him to come home, and how could he say no?

How could he say yes?

"I don't want to come home, Dad," he said, his voice shaking.

"Please, Georgie. Not forever. Just... for now. Please."

I don't want to, please don't make me, he wanted to say, but there was nobody to hear it. Fred-in-his-head was no help at all. Totally silent.

George bowed his head, feeling like a noose was going around his neck, and nodded.