"I answer the heroic question 'Death, where is thy sting?' with 'It is here in my heart and mind and memories.'" - Maya Angelou

George was standing in the sixth-floor corridor when it happened.




A bang from above. A blast of rubble and hot air from the ceiling, the sound and feel of what he'd always remember as the world caving in.




He ran for it, wand in hand, arms shielding his head, to the end of the corridor, where he could see clean light. When he reached the fresh air streaming in from the broken windows, he fell to his knees, pain shooting through him. It was the worst he'd ever felt - He was sure it was the Cruciatus curse, sure that he'd been stabbed, sure that he was going to die from this horrible, inexplicable pain that seemed to be coming from his chest- Then, suddenly, it stopped. He opened his eyes to find that he had collapsed on the floor. So he was still alive, then. But where had that pain come from? It had been at once both physical pain and not physical; he had felt it on two different levels of conciousness. The pain had now faded to a dull, throbbing ache where his heart was, and he felt curiously empty there - as though he'd lost some vital organ, one he'd not been aware of until it was gone.



He rose slowly to his feet, and a voice spoke in his head. 'Fred. Something's wrong. Something's happened to Fred. Find him.'




He didn't know where the voice was coming from, nor did he question its assertion. He had to find Fred, that much he knew. That was all that mattered now.



***

He was running, sprinting down a seventh-floor corridor when he heard a terrible, drawn-out scream. It was coming from ahead, and as he rounded the corner he saw something that made his heart stop. Percy was writhing on the ground, and standing above him, back to George, was a hooded Death Eater. The man was laughing, clearly enjoying his sadistic act.




George raised his wand, cold fury coursing through his veins. "Crucio!" He roared. The Death Eater was blasted through the air from the power of the curse. He screamed, then hit the wall, sinking to the ground. "Stupefy!" George yelled, then to be safe, "Expelliarmus!" The Death Eater's wand flew into his hand, and he stuffed it inside his robes. Turning back to Percy, who was lying with his eyes closed, glasses askew, George knelt down and shook him by the shoulders. "Perce! Wake up!"




Percy opened his eyes and squinted at George. "F-Fred?" He said. "Is that you?"



"No, it's just George."




Percy groaned and fell back to the ground, then began to sob. "George, there's something you have to know," He said. "F-Fred's d-dead."




"What?" George didn't understand what Percy was saying. Fred wasn't- couldn't- be dead. 'But why would he say that if it's not true?' A small voice nagged in the back of his head. George pushed the voice away. He helped Percy to his feet, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest, terror, more terrified than he'd ever been in his life.




"George..." Percy was shaking, and his face was streaked with tears and grime. "He's gone..."




"What are you talking about?" George demanded. "Fred's fine."




"No, he's not," Percy whispered. "I-I was there. Just a little while ago..." His voice shook. "Come on."




He turned and strode down the corridor, wand clenched in his hand. George followed blindly, wondering if this was a dream, or some kind of joke. Maybe he'd wake up, or Fred would jump out from behind a statue, grinning, and George would jinx both him and Percy...

But Percy wasn't walking anymore, he had stopped beside a niche in the wall where a suit of armor had previously stood. A pair of legs were sticking out, and George wondered for a moment if this was part of the joke. But as he got closer to Percy, he saw something that made his heart speed up. The legs were Fred's, and Fred was asleep, only he couldn't be asleep because there was a battle going on, and Fred wouldn't do that, and besides, he was grinning, and this was part of the joke, but it wasn't funny... George seized Fred's shoulders and shook him. "Wake up!" He screamed. "This isn't funny! Fred! Goddamnit Fred!" George collapsed, shaking, sobbing, onto Fred’s body. This couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t. Fred wasn’t - but the truth was there, right in front of him- He couldn’t take it- The pain was too great…




The world went black.



***



George opened his eyes. He was in the great hall, lying on his back, because he could see the enchanted ceiling. He sat up, his whole body aching, but nothing so much as his chest. His heart.




Fred.

Fred was dead. It rhymed, a macabre poem. A horrible truth he could not deny. The pain made him feel sick. He turned on his side and retched violently, then rolled over onto his hands and knees, choking. A soft hand touched his shoulder, whispering his name, and a wand appeared by his ear, vanishing his mess wordlessly. He began to sob, gasping the name of his twin, his soul, his best friend, and warm arms enveloped him, drawing him to an unknown shoulder. He sobbed freely, not caring, because nothing mattered now that Fred was gone. Surely death was better than this…




“George,” said a disembodied voice, close to his ear. “George, look at me.”




He lifted his head weakly, and met the face who the voice belonged to. Big brown eyes, surrounded by long brown hair. Alicia gazed into his eyes, sorrow meeting sorrow, before breaking the look and getting to her feet.




“Where’s Percy?” George couldn’t see him.




“He’s with the rest of your family. They’ve been looking for you. Come on, I’ll take you to them.” She helped him to his feet, and he leaned against her lightly, grateful for her support. They walked across the great hall, towards the center, where bodies were laid out in a long row, from the platform almost to the doors. People were walking up and down the rows, perusing the faces of the lost for ones they knew or loved. Here and there, small groups were clustered, all with shoulders slumped, most crying silently, and some sobbing outright. One such group, all redheads, were at the end near the dais. George and Alicia walked towards them slowly, each step feeling like an eternity, yet not long enough to prepare for what he knew lay ahead.

As he reached his family, he felt himself growing weaker. How was he supposed to do this? Not just now, but for the rest of his life. How do I go on without you, Fred? In a daze, feeling drugged or half asleep, he walked to the only empty spot by his twin, towards the shock of red hair so like his own, that was his own. He knelt by Fred’s head, a spot that seemed to have been saved for him alone, on pure instinct on part of the other Weasleys. He felt himself begin to float away, up and out of his body, and he saw himself kneeling on the floor of the hall even as he floated in the air, watching his life as if from a great distance. He saw his Mum lying across Fred’s chest, her body shaking with sobs, and he saw his Dad stroking her hair even as tears made tracks down his tired, aged face. He saw Bill, crying like a small child, being embraced by Fleur, tears falling down her beautiful face into her husband’s hair. He saw Charlie and Percy, arms around each other’s shoulders, both trying to hold back tears and both failing abysmally. He saw Ginny, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth, her face blotchy and ridden with sorrow. He saw Ron and Hermione join the rest of them, saw Hermione embrace Ginny, saw Ron, one arm slung around Hermione’s shoulders, saw himself being embraced by his younger brother. He saw all this both from the air and from his body, and watched the soul-stealing grief of himself and his family for an unknown amount of time; it might have been ten seconds, ten years, ten thousand millenniums; it was all the same to him then.

He watched from the air as those wizards and witches lucky enough to be alive and without loss levitated the bodies into an empty classroom on the first floor, then moved the injured to the hospital wing. He watched Fred float away, and saw himself and his family still huddled around the spot where he had been. He watched as Lupin and Tonks, pale and looking as if they were asleep, floated out of the Great Hall, side by side. He wondered, just for a moment, what they were dreaming of, what made them look so peaceful. Then he remembered. Death.




He saw Colin Creevey, for once without his camera, being carried inside by Neville; who had changed so much George almost didn’t recognize him. He saw countless others, more and more of the lost, the ones who had given their lives for a cause that now seemed pointless in light of the horrible loss that had befallen so many of them.

With a jolt, he came back into his body, because a voice had filled the room, a voice like none he had ever heard, a high, cold voice; the voice of Evil. The voice of the monster who had taken so many lives, who had torn so many families apart, who had stolen so much already, so much from all of them. The voice of the monster who had taken Fred from him. The voice that was now taunting them with a lie; because Harry Potter would never run away: that voice would not be allowed to continue spreading such poison.

That voice had to be silenced.

George got to his feet, and all around him, family, friends, and fellow soldiers in this battle for everything that was right, stood too, and prepared to fight.