Two Halves to a Hole

George Weasley woke up to a scream.

"FRED!" came the high pitched exclamation up through the floorboards. George lay there, smiling a little to himself as deeper voices joined Hermione's. So, I wasn't dreaming. George stretched out on Fred's bed, happily feeling the dent his twin had left behind.

"I cant believe you're back, mate!"

"Are you alright? Is everything okay?"

"Thank heavens you're alright, Fred!"

The jubilant voices were a welcome sound to George's ears. Everything is going to be alright now. The morning made everything a lot less stressed, and a lot less dramatic. By the time George had pulled on his work shirt and a pair of jeans, he was sure that his row last night with Fred had been caused by a crux of emotion in both of them. Hell, Fred had apologized, and had warned his brother about how tired he was. Fred had even agreed to tell him everything about his absence the next day. Today. George reckoned that because of his own high state of stress last night, he had overreacted. Whatever it is, even if there are some things to be worked out, we can work them out. Everything is going to be normal again soon. Not wanting to miss the reunion, George neglected his hygiene and headed downstairs. We've got to work the whole Order thing out today, but Fred'll probably think it's funny, knowing him.

"How could you let us worry our bloody heads off about you, Fred? Why didn't you tell us where you were going?" Ron's admonishing voice was the first thing George heard as he walked into the shop. Fred was facing away from him, but George could see he was leaning on the countertop, arms folded. Hermione stood next to him, looking as if she had been holding onto Fred's arm but had just stepped away. No one looked so happy anymore.

"Really, Fred--where were you?" Harry stood by Ron, both of them looking a little worried.

The stair squeaked and Fred whipped around to face George.

"Why does everyone think I'm dead, George? How many people did you tell that I was dead, George?" Fred asked heatedly. George was so caught off guard by an angry look on his twin's face that he couldn't answer.

"Ah..." he began.

"No, really George, tell me why you told everyone I was dead."

"I didn't..." George felt his fluster show up on his own face; he hated that he was being embarrassed in front of the trio, whose expressions were becoming more alarmed by the moment.

Hermione spoke up in his defense: "George never said you were dead, Fred. We were all just worried about you."

"But did he have to call in the goddamned Order?" Fred asked bitingly, never taking his eyes away from George. The look of surprise on Ron, Hermione, and Harry's face was an unpleasant reminder that his twin was not behaving right. So much for laughing over the matter.

But George made an effort to remain level headed: "Fred, we can fix it. We can just floo to the Order, explain the whole situation--"

"I am not flooing anyplace, I can tell you that right now," interrupted Fred. "Especially to visit the Order. I would rather take a bludger to the brain."

Hermione looked shocked. She had never heard such a difference in tones from twins in all her years of knowing them. She gently reached out and put her hand on Fred's shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was just as gentle:

"Fred--you might still be upset...we can't understand why, because you haven't told us where you've been or what's happened to you. Normally that's your business, and we wouldn't pry. But this is a very different situation. It's unspeakably dangerous for you to have been out like that without informing anyone. You're tied right to the Order, and don't think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named won't know that by now."

Harry nodded. "She's right. You shouldn't get mad at George--he was doing exactly what anyone would have done in the same situation. We had no idea whether Voldemort had kidnapped, or even killed you by now. Going to the Order is exactly what George should have done."

"Now your just gonna have to call mum and explain to her and the Order why you skipped out without telling anyone. But its not like you haven't been in trouble before, Fred," smiled Ron.

Fred moved out from underneath Hermione's hand without so much as glancing at her. "No, I am not taking responsibility for this blooming disaster. But I can tell you what is going to happen. George is going to personally fly to old man Dumbledore if he has to, and tell the Order that he was pulling their leg this whole time."

"What?" Hermione, Harry and Ron asked simultaneously.

"Fred--youre being bloody insane! What is wrong with you?" asked Ron, incredulously.

Harry gaped. "You want your own brother to lie? To the Order?"

Fred, now that he had found his desired exit from responsibility, had calmed down considerably. "Look, I dunno how this is any of your business. This is between me an' George. Meanwhile, you li'l wizardlings need to go open up shop."

Hermione glanced towards the brightly lit doorway and the dozens of shoppers happily making their way by the windows. Then she put her hands on her hips. "Listen here, Fred. I don't know what your reasons were for disappearing, but--"

"'Mione, this isn't your--"

"Don't interrupt me. Your disappearing was a stupid--a very stupid--thing to do at a time like this. We were all wrought with fear for an entire week, especially your poor brother. And now you just show back up again with no feasible excuse for being gone at all, and try to thrust this burden onto George--"

"If I knew that when I moved out that I would be under stricter rules then the one's mum and dad placed on me..."Fred glowered.

"That's not what this is about. You know that. You've have to be responsible! This is just is not the time and place to be gallivanting about--"

"Just drop it, Hermione."

"You were in danger. We're all in danger."

"I was not in danger, Hermione."

"We are currently at war with Voldemort, Fred!"

"I have nothing to do with that stupid war!" roared Fred, causing everyone to jump. He had apparently reached the end of his rope. His face flushed and his eyes were sparkling with anger. Raising his hands in defeat, he stormed upstairs.

"Bloody hell..." whispered Ron.

Hermione had covered her mouth with her hand when Fred had yelled, and had yet still to remove it. The hurt was clear in her eyes.

Harry quickly went over to her and gently patted her on the back. "Don't be upset, Hermione. You said all the right things." She blinked.

"Was I too...hard on him? I wasn't, was I?"

"How can we know?" asked Ron. "He hasn't told us a damn thing."

Harry had never seen Fred this angry...well, no. that wasn't true either. When Author Weasley had been maimed by Voldemort's snake the previous year, the twins had both been upset and angry. But when Sirius couldn't give them answers quickly enough, it was Fred who quickly became livid. He looked as if he were one step away from shoving Sirius up against a wall. Instead, he called Harry's godfather a coward. So, Harry knew that Fred could get quite a temper when he was pushed far enough...but what had fueled this anger?

"What do you suppose he meant by that?" asked Ron. "How could he say he has nothing to do with the war? That's like..."

"I'll do it," said George. Harry flinched. He knew he wasn't the only one who had forgotten George was still in the room. The remaining twin still stood near the bottom of the stairs. His expression was unreadable.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Your not going to do what Fred is suggesting you do, are you? That's ludicrous, George."

George shrugged. "It won't be so bad. If he really needs me to take the heat this time, so what? He'll have his reasons, and I have a lot to repay him for."

"Mum is going to absolutely bury you," said Ron, actually looking worried rather then pleased.

"Probably. But then this whole ordeal will be done with, eh? He's my brother--I've gotta help him out." George made an effort to smile, ruffled Ron's hair, made some poor excuse, and walked out the front door of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

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Normally during the summertime, the twins would be back at the burrow, making mischief and causing maham throughout the household. George would be sneaking newly concocted serums into ickle Ronniekin's morning cereal while Fred would be in the other room, distracting Mrs. Weasley while her youngest turned blue/grew ear hair/shot out sparks. Other then that, they were always together. It was completely natural for them to behave as if they were two halves to the same person. Fred and George. Like breathing. Like blinking. George and Fred. Like eating and drinking. But now George was not with his twin. Instead, he was perched on the railing of their balcony, staring dully into the night below. There were no large meals being cooked underneath him in the kitchen, their smells wafting up through the floorboards. Mr. Weasley wasn't in the shed tinkering with a muggle toaster, and Ginny wasn't out in the garden, banishing gnomes. There were no friendly lights in the streets of Diagon Ally. George just breathed for a little while, resting his forehead on his knee.

Even as he yearned to take a hiatus from the shop and return to his well worn bed in the Burrow, it was no longer an option. His family was furious with him. It took some convincing, lying that Fred's whole dissaperence was George's pathetic attempt at a prank. But when he finally did convince the Order that he had indeed been that foolish, hobgoblins...had he ever payed the consequences. His mother had sent over three howlers over the course of a week; his father had sent a letter saying that not since Percy had abandoned his family had he been so ashamed of one of his sons. Dumbledore had sent an official scolding, suspending George's apparition license for half a year. George hadn't heard from the rest of the Order, but his guess was they weren't happy after all those "wasted" hours searching for a boy who had never really gone missing.

George felt a warm breeze ruffle his hair and glanced up. For a minute he'd hoped Fred had reappeared, joining him on the porch by broomstick. Yes, Fred had run off again. This time he left a note: "Gone. Not dead. Be back soon.-Fred" This had been the second time this week he'd disappear only to return a few days later. After his outburst, the trio had left the red headed bear well enough alone, sending him only worried looks as they went about their chores. Soon though, even they grew uccustomed to his frequent absentness. His new lifestyle. One which George was thoroughly excluded from. George had let a few days pass after the argument, assuming Fred would speak up eventually after he stopped feeling threatened and the Order was off his back. No such luck. It wasn't until Fred was clearly about to scadadle off again in the middle of the night that George had woken up and said something:

"Fred...where are you going?" George had made sure his voice was as non-aggressive as possible. He was just weary and wanted his brother back. That's all.

"I'll be back really soon, George. Don't fret," Fred answered, buttoning up his shirt.

"...Ok. Listen, you know everything with the Order is settled now, right?"

"Yea. I know."

There was a long silence. George sat up in his bed, staring at his twin. Fred's starchy white shirt was a little baggy on him now; the red head had lost weight.

Fred stood up and headed for the door.

"Fred?"

George's voice was so light, he was a little surprised Fred had heard it. But he stopped and looked back over his shoulder, waiting.

"Listen...whatever's been going on? Whatever you can't tell even me? I don't even...I just don't even care anymore. Just know--just know that I'll always love you, alright? No matter what, okay?"

It was funny...not in a long time had that needless phrase passed between the twins. It was so unnecessary, so apparent in every moment of their lives. But now, when spoken, it sounded stale. Fred waiting for a moment, nodded, and walked out the door. George was alone again. Physically, instead of just mentally. He still couldn't decide which was worse.

George slid off the railing. That conversation had been a week ago, and the last time they had really talked. He was feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. Suddenly, a voice drifted up onto the balcony. George stopped to listen closely; it wasn't Fred or one of the trio's voices. He assumed it had to be a friend of the trio--they had stayed late this Friday night to meet up with some of their D.A friends at the Leaky Cauldron, and must have invited some back to the store. Taking a large breath, George decided to go join them. All this moping about certainly couldn't be good for anyone, certainly the trio, who now walked on eggshells around George.

"Hey George!" chirped Hermione, drinking the last of a butterbeer. Harry and Ron were standing beside her, smiling as well.

"Hey there. You guys have a good time?"

"A great time," said Harry enthusiastically. "You need to join us next time. We're just about to floo home."

" You should have seen how much Hagrid drank...woo hoo! Hey, any word from Fred?" asked Ron. Hermione and Harry glared at him simultaneously.

"Oh, you know how he is..." started George. Suddenly, he heard the strange voice once more.

"Er...did any of your friends come back with you?" asked Fred.

"No, why...?" began Ron.

The voice drifted up once more.

"Its coming from the basement," said Harry coolly. He pulled out his wand and started for the basement door. One by one, the rest of them followed.

The basement was dark and dank, even though this is where the twins concocted most of their schemes. Their lab was on the left when the gang stepped off the last of the rickety stairs, but the voice wasn't coming from there.

"The furnace?" whispered Hermione. Harry nodded and slowly made his way around the clutter, George at his side. George brandished his wand as they rounded the furnace.

"Fred?" Ron asked, coming up behind them.

It was Fred. He was standing there, hunched over the fire. His voice was very low, but the one coming from the flames was loud and gritty. When Fred whipped around, they all got a glimpse of who it was he was talking to.

"Oh, God..." mouthed Hermione.

A Death Eater shimmered in the blue flames before quickly disappearing from sight. But it was too late; they all had recognized the garb. And the white-blonde locks peeking out from the hood left little mystery to the identity of this particular Death Eater.

Harry stepped forward, wand still unsheathed. "This is over now, Fred. You can't play these dangerous games anymore. Whatever you're doing, however you think your tricking Voldemort or helping the Order, this is too dangerous. It's done."

Fred shimmered like the flames, angry and combustible. "Leave me alone, Potter."

Hermione just gaped, stupefied. "You would risk us all in your schemes, Fred? You think that Dumbledore, the greatest wizard and greatest mind of our century, cannot stop Voldemort and you can?"

"We have to tell the Order about this, Fred," said Ron. "No more lying. Who knows what damage you've done by screwing around with Death Eaters? What if they can trace that conversation back here, eh?"

Fred looked them all in the face, and sighed. He rolled his eyes and tried to make his way past them and back towards the stairs. But George stepped in front of him. He looked shook to the very bone.

"No. No, No, No." He said, shaking. "You're wrong, Harry, Hermione, Ron. I might not be as close to my brother as I used to be, but I still know when he's trying to pull one on me."

"What are you...?" Harry began.

George stared into Fred's eyes. His twin stared back with a hallow glaze that scared George more then anything else. Grabbing Fred's arm, George yanked up the sleeve and jerked Fred's wrist so that his forearm was completely visible. He quickly threw his brother's arm down. Oh my God.

Scrawled like a scorpion, embedded upon that pale arm amidst the faint freckles, lay the Dark Mark.

George felt himself sink into his brother's arms, reacting upon built up anger, welling sadness, and weeks of hopelessness until only one thing was left: He began to cry. And his brother, shaking anew with his own glossy emotion, smiled.

Then he began to laugh.