The Dark Lord was defeated, and the ever-present panic and fear had subsequently vanished. For the first time in years, the Wizarding world was able to sleep soundly, without any horrid nightmares (or in Harry Potter’s case, visions of Voldemort) interrupting their dark oblivion. Hermione and Ginny had stalked off to the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory, and Harry and Ron to the boys’, plopping face down onto their individual four-poster beds with long, relieved sighs. Free of the burden placed upon their shoulders at last, they were asleep within minutes. But George Weasley, who had graduated from Hogwarts long ago and therefore lacked his own bed, had sought comfort on the plush couch in the Gryffindor common room. And he couldn’t sleep.

He heard rowdy cheers and explosions of fireworks outside the window, and kneaded his forehead exasperatedly. It was nine in the goddamn morning, he thought, and probably no one among the celebrations had slept in over twenty-four hours. So what the hell were they still doing out there? Weren’t they even tired?

George bit his lip. He knew that any other day, he would have been in that large crowd by the lake, amidst the fireworks of his own creation, screaming, laughing, hooting. Him and Fred.

Fred. That name brought a pang of loneliness to his heart. Fred Weasley, his twin. Fred Weasley, his other half. Fred Weasley, the co-founder of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. George’s hand flew to the side of his head, feeling the hole where his ear once used to be. The war had cost him an ear. Unfortunately, the war had cost Fred so much more – it had cost him his life.

He rubbed his eyes. He was so tired…if only he could just sleep. As his insides seemed to turn over and tie themselves into a tangled mess, George painfully recollected that moment, that horrid, tragic moment when he had looked into Fred’s eyes, blank and dead and unseeing, and for a split second he thought, or rather he hoped, that Fred was just joking, that he was simply pulling his leg…

---

He ran. He ran amidst the falling debris, narrowly dodging the jets of light spurting this way and that, carrying curses and hexes and sometimes even death. He ran as fast as he could, neither knowing nor caring that a Killing Curse had just flown over his head, rippling his hair, or that one of Trelawney’s crystal balls had missed him by a mere inch. The only thought that went through his mind was the news that Lee Jordan had whispered in his ear, that his best friend, George’s twin, Fred Weasley, had…had…

His heart pounding, he ran and ran and ran, as if running as fast as possible could somehow take him far, far away from the truth, this war, everything – as if running could somehow, bring Fred back –

He approached his parents and the lifeless body, and knelt by his twin’s head. His mother was sobbing wretchedly, cradling Fred’s corpse, screaming his name again and again…His father was attempting to comfort her while staring into the distance, panic-stricken, tears coating his cheeks… and all George could do was stare, at the ghost of Fred’s smile, at the lighthearted glimmer in his otherwise lifeless eyes…even after his life had left his body, his playfulness had never left him…

“This isn’t funny,” he whispered. His parents looked up at him, alarmed.

“This isn’t funny,” George repeated. He seized Fred by the shoulders. “This isn’t a time for jokes, Fred, and no one’s laughing. Get up, right now.” He shook Fred. “Get up!”

“George,” called Arthur Weasley, while his mother sobbed even harder.

“Stop it, Fred, I’m serious!” George screamed, while tears threatened to seep from his disbelieving eyes. “Get up! Get up! Get up! GET UP!!!”

He shook his twin so hard that Fred’s head lolled spasmodically, but he could elicit no response from the corpse before him. George felt a soft touch on his shoulder.

“George,” his father repeated, and his eyes held so much pain that goose bumps tingled George’s body as he looked into them. “He’s gone.”

Molly Weasley was bawling by now, clutching Fred’s body, and others around her tried to pry her hands off of him, reassuring, comforting her, reminding her that the war was not over, that they still needed her…and time stopped while his mother’s tears abated, slowly, as the war revolved around them…

She eventually stood, albeit precariously, and her eyes reflected fiery determination. “Let’s go,” Arthur said softly.

But a group of people was approaching Hogwarts. With a jolt of shock, George realized that it was Voldemort and the Death Eaters...and Hagrid? …Despite this unpleasant surprise, however, nothing could have prepared him for the body spread across Hagrid’s arms, his unruly raven hair covering his face, his limbs dangling helplessly –

“HARRY!” he screamed, but his voice was drowned by an angry uproar, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny the loudest of them all, and George felt hot tears escaping his eyes – Now that The Boy Who Lived, the only person to escape Voldemort’s wrath multiple times, was gone, their chances of winning the war became slimmer than ever…Fred might have died for nothing –

The next hour or so was a blur, as he helplessly watched the Sorting Hat burst into flames on Neville’s head, as wizards and beasts charged into the Hogwarts castle, screaming madly, as Neville decapitated Voldemort’s snake with the sword of Gryffindor, as he dueled Yaxley with Lee by his side, determined to avenge Fred’s death, to ensure that his death was not meaningless…and in the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his mother attacking Bellatrix Lestrange with a fresh fury, and after some time Lestrange keeled over, her eyes blank –

And an enormous Shield Charm erupted in the Great Hall, and Harry appeared out of nowhere, battered but alive, and George had to suppress a cheer…Harry and Voldemort shouted at each other, circling around and around, and with two simultaneous screams there was a blinding flash of light –

George opened his eyes.

He appeared to be surrounded by some sort of opaque mist. He looked around, trying to find something remotely recognizable, but all he could see was the mysterious fog for miles and miles. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, however, George felt surprisingly calm.

George walked across the floor, for there was indeed a floor; it came as a relief to him that he was not merely floating in midair. “Anyone there?” he yelled into the distance, but there came not a response; he felt both bewildered and lonely at the same time.

Suddenly, a vague silhouette of a young man approached him. George squinted, determined to figure out the identity of this unknown shadow. When the vapor cleared, there appeared to be a mirror image of himself staring back at him, smiling and waving. George’s heart did a back flip as he realized who it was. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He closed them, trying to restore his sanity, and opened them again, but this changed nothing; his deceased twin remained in front of him, grinning even more broadly and still waving like a complete idiot.

“GEORGE!” Fred bellowed, coming to a halt as he approached his twin. “My other half! You’re not so saintlike anymore, I see.”

Recognizing the joke, George reached to the side of his head again, and sure enough, his missing ear had reattached itself. In fact, his whole body appeared unscathed. This was quite odd, as he had just fought a brutal, bloody battle, but he paid little attention to this miraculous healing. After all, he had other things on his mind, things more bizarre…such as the resurrection of his departed twin.

“How have you been?” Fred asked, peering into George’s eyes.

George blinked. He stared. He blinked once more. He stared again. He was going mad, he was sure of it. This couldn’t be real…his desperate longing and sadness must be projecting these images in his head…yet here Fred was, as solid as ever, as if he had never left…and George daren’t touch him, for Fred might evaporate at his slightest touch, and George would be forced to admit that he was just a figment of his imagination, a part of his ludicrous fantasy –

Fred cleared his throat, and donned an expression of mock disappointment. “What, you aren’t glad to see me? After all the arrangements I made with Him? Technically, you aren’t supposed to visit here until your soul has left your body, either temporarily or permanently. He said so. But you know, we discussed it for a while, and He decided to make an exception, just for you. I wanted you to pay me a visit, you see. But you don’t look happy to see me at all, George. You actually look kind of horrified. This is not good, George. This hurts me.” To make his point, Fred plunged an imaginary knife into his chest.

George blinked hard for the third time. “What? Who?”

“Him,” Fred said simply.

“Who’s –“ George began, but his face soon lit up with dawning comprehension. “Wait – by him – do you mean – Him?”

Fred nodded, still smiling.

“Then – Then do you mean – that He’s – “

“Oh yes,” replied Fred, cutting across George’s confused stutters. “He’s definitely real. Everything is real here, George. Everything. I can prove it to you. Go ahead, imagine something. Go on.”

George contemplated this. He thought of the Weasleys’ Hairstyle Kits that he and Fred had been working on before the war. As soon as he decided that he wanted them to come into existence, there was a soft poof beside him, and three wigs materialized out of nowhere. A pair of braids attacked each other, eventually intertwining into a single knot and struggling to disentangle themselves, but in vain. Beside them, a set of pigtails beat against an invisible head with a rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack, their slaps intensifying every time they were ignored. Last of all, there lay a head of golden curls that seemed to be blabbering in a high-pitched voice.

Fred chuckled. “Our Bantering Braids, Peevish Pigtails, and Chatty Curls. Very good,” he said, still chortling to himself. “It’s a shame we didn’t get a chance to perfect those before I left, eh?”

Again, all George could do was stare, transfixed, at the creation of his imagination. He marveled at this new knowledge, that there was a place where everything was real, and his spirits soared; yet he tore his gaze from the enchanted coiffures and met Fred’s eyes. “You left, “ he said. His tone sounded bitter. Pained. Accusatory.

“Ah, George, don’t be that way,” Fred said sadly. “You know this is not the way I wanted things to be.” He continued morosely, avoiding George’s hurt look. “I miss you. I miss everyone, really. So much that it hurts. I miss Mum’s cooking. It was the best. I miss Ginny’s Bat-Bogey Hexes. Those, too, were the best. I miss Dad’s Muggle fetish. I miss Ickle Ronniekins and his freckles. I miss Bill and his ponytail, I miss Charlie and his dragon-inflicted wounds. Hell, I even miss Percy and his goddamn flimsy cauldron bottoms, the snobby old git. It’s good that he patched things up with us, though. And I miss Harry – he is the Chosen One, how could I not? – and Hermione, the epitome of intelligence, and Lee, my best mate, and everyone else, but most of all, I miss you, George. My other half.”

George felt an odd lump in his throat, constricting his breathing. He gulped, trying to ignore it. “Where are we?” he asked hastily.

“You tell me,” Fred answered with a crooked smirk.

“Er…” George looked around, wondering if the thinning clouds had revealed something else dramatic while he wasn’t looking. Sure enough, there was something there. “Er…a train station, I think. Yeah. King’s Cross, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Fred murmured.

George turned to face his twin again. “Am I dreaming?”

“Well,” Fred hesitated, as if ruminating over something vastly important. “Not really.”

“Am I mad?”

“Last time I checked, you were.”

“…Fred.”

“No, no, you aren’t mad, George. At least…I don’t think you are.” Fred grinned.

“Then…are you real?”

“Finally! George Weasley hits the jackpot!” Fred clapped his hands in mock celebration. “You’re slow today, George, “ he teased. “What did I just tell you? Everything’s real.”

“You’re real? Are you really?”

“Do I look fake to you?” Fred asked, laughing. “Go on, try me. Try to touch me. I’m most certainly here.”

George placed a firm hand on Fred’s shoulder. He was startled to discover that it did not go through, and that he did not vanish at his touch, but remained rooted to the spot, smiling knowingly.

“Oh, the memories,” Fred began dreamily, his eyes glazing over. “Where could I begin? Oh yes, I know,” Fred plowed on, clearly enjoying himself. “Remember that time we tried to send Harry a toilet seat when he was at the hospital wing and Filch caught us?”

“How could I forget?” replied George, his face breaking into a shameless grin. “He looked ready to kill us, I swear. Plus, he told Madam Pomfrey, and she got really fussed, too – I personally don’t see what’s the big deal, it was just a harmless toilet seat.”

“Yeah…” Fred seemed deep in thought. “Oh yeah! That time we drove Dad’s wretched car to Harry’s house with Ron – “

“Mum was livid!” George exclaimed. “She just screamed and screamed and screamed… most adults around us seem to spend most of the time getting angry with us. I wonder why.”

“Beats me,” Fred shrugged. “We’re just two innocent kids who like to have some fun…is that a crime?”

“Hardly,” said George. “Remember that time when we stuffed Montague into the Vanishing Cabinet?”

“Definitely,” Fred replied, his shoulders now shaking with laughter. “I heard he ended up stuck in the U-bend of a Hogwarts toilet. He was so confused, the poor bloke – “

“Well…he just had to get on our nerves, didn’t he? He was asking for it.” George’s eyes were sparkling with glee. “Although I must say, the highlight of our Hogwarts career was the whole Umbridge fiasco – “

“The fireworks! The swamp!” Fred shouted. “And the last bit when we just took off on our brooms – “

They could continue no longer, for both of them were howling with laughter. George lost himself in the hilarity of it all, and he wanted nothing more than to stay here with Fred forever, wallowing in every single memory they shared, then taking off to have some more experiences that were worth talking about…but eventually, their laughter faded into snorts, and even those died out, and for a moment the twins just sat there, grinning, wiping tears from their eyes.

“Anyway, back to the point,” said Fred suddenly, his tone grave. “I didn’t invite you here so we could exchange memories. I invited you here because – " He paused here, as if unsure how to continue – "Because…well…you seemed a bit out of it, from what I could see up here. You didn’t seem…all there. You didn’t seem…quite like the George I knew.”

George’s smile was wiped clean from his face. With a resounding crash, he was brought back to reality, and he wasn’t sure if he could cope with it. Nevertheless, he nodded.

“So this is what I wanted to tell you,” Fred continued. “I want you to promise me that… that you’ll always have enough fun for the two of us. I want you to be funny enough for the two of us. And keep our Wizard Wheezes going – try and take it up with Ron, he seems fit for the job – and make sure that there’s always enough laughter in the world…make sure of this, make sure you do this so that it’s enough for the two of us. Okay?”

The terrible lump had resurfaced in his throat, and this time he did not try to swallow it back. “Okay,” he rasped.

“Good,” said Fred, clearly satisfied. Just then, a soft choo-choo reverberated through the nebulous atmosphere, and the clouds parted to disclose a magnificent golden train. It was sleek and sturdy and strong, yet somehow looked feather-light. The train gleamed and even its wheels showed off their polished look. It glided gracefully along the tracks, as if floating in midair, and it was inexplicably sublime, ethereal beyond his wildest dreams. George goggled. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It came to a stop right in front of the twins. The doors opened expectantly.

“Blimey,” George breathed.

“’Blimey’ doesn’t do it justice, don’t you think?” whispered Fred, giving the train an appreciative glance. “That’s the same train that came for Lupin and Tonks. Not for You-Know-Who, though. Yes, he was here,” said Fred, in response to George’s appalled expression. “He looked different though. Tall, dark, and handsome and all that. I didn’t recognize him at first, but I think he recognized me, because he swore at me for a bit, then he tried to pull out his wand, except it wasn’t there…so then, he tried to kill me with his bare hands, and that didn’t work either, because…erm…well, I was already dead. But then this rusty old wagon skidded along those tracks, you know those kind that little kids play with – that God, he’s got a sense of humor – and he got on it, complaining, still swearing like a sailor, mind you – and it was all very amusing right up until then, but then the little wagon just fell straight down into nothingness, and you could hear him scream on the way, you could even hear him fall – " Fred winced. “Horrible. Still, he got what he deserved, so all’s good, I suppose.”

George was rendered speechless. The mere idea of confronting Lord Voldemort, albeit one that was less threatening, was repulsive if not horrifying. Wiping from his mind the vivid image of himself cowering in a corner while Voldemort advanced upon him, he turned his attention to the spectacular train again.

“Who’s it waiting for?” George asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Me,” responded Fred. “But I won’t be getting on it today.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going to wait for you,” replied Fred. “I’ll wait for you, until you die and come up here for good, and then we can board this train together.”

That just did it for George. His eyes betrayed him at last, and he could feel a tear cascading down his cheek. Then another one, and then another, and pretty soon a torrent of tears was spilling from deep within his heart, like a glass of water knocked over, and try as he might, he couldn’t stop them. He stood there, his head hung low, his face covered in tears, and his mouth parted, and he could taste the salt on his lips –

“George…” Fred’s arms enveloped his body, and George cried into his shoulder, his whole body shaking. Fred patted his back, and George found this strangely comforting. When George’s convulsions settled down, Fred released him, and took two steps back. The vapor was thickening again.

“You’ll be fine,” Fred reassured him.

“Don’t leave,” George gasped.

Fred frowned. “You know, you keep accusing me of leaving you – " His figure was already halfway obscured by the clouds closing in. “But honestly, I’ve never left. I’m right here.”

“What? Where?” The condensing mist appeared to be clouding up George’s senses as well. He felt dull and light-headed.

Fred smiled warmly, and something inside George melted away.

“Here,” he said, touching George’s chest. He put it there for a moment, feeling George’s heartbeat.

Then he disappeared.

---

George slept well that night.

When he awoke, there appeared to be no change in time, but the pandemonium outside his window had ceased. He had slept for a solid twenty-four hours. Feeling rejuvenated, he arose and crawled out of the portrait hole, leaving the Fat Lady beaming behind him. He walked out of the castle and into the Hogwarts grounds, and found himself facing the shimmering lake. He saw Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione sitting under a tree, stuffing their faces with food that, George presumed, was provided by the house elves.

Harry spotted him first. “Hey, George,” Harry’s face was hidden behind a behemoth sandwich. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” George replied. “You know, not great, but…I’ll manage.” Harry nodded, and continued wolfing down his sandwich. Ginny gave him a concerned look, Hermione gave him a weak smile, and Ron stared warily. “When did you guys get up?”

“Helbunowrago,” Ron replied elegantly.

George raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Ron swallowed. “Half an hour ago,” he repeated. “You want one?” he asked, handing George a sandwich.

“No thanks, I’m not hungry,” This was a lie, for George’s stomach was rumbling piteously, but an inspiration had struck him. “Harry, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Er…okay,” said Harry. He stared at his half-eaten sandwich, as if afraid to part with it, then stood up and followed George into a more secluded area. George could feel Ron’s eyes drilling into their heads, but he was determined to make this conversation private.

“Listen,” George began as soon as they were out of hearing range. “When we all thought you were a goner, were you pretending to be dead, or were you…” He cleared his throat. “were you someplace else?”

Harry did not answer. He stood there for several moments, his eyes fixed upon a particular blade of grass on the ground. “What d’you mean?” he said finally.

“I mean, not your body, obviously, ‘cause you were right there…but I mean…your soul. Was it somewhere else or…were you just pretending to be dead?”

“Well…I was pretending when everyone saw me – " replied Harry, and George’s spirits sank – “But before then, I was somewhere else. I was somewhere…different,” he finished lamely.

George’s hopes rose again. “Different,” George repeated. “By ‘somewhere different,’ do you by any chance mean a train station obscured by mysterious clouds?”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“I paid Fred a visit last night,” George answered, and Harry’s eyes widened even more. “I thought it might be a dream, or that I might be going mad, but…if both of us were there, I guess it really happened.”

Silence followed. They turned their heads and faced the lake, both thinking hard, and it wasn’t until a giant tentacle reached above the surface that Harry resumed the conversation. “It’s nice to know that we can visit the dead.”

“Yeah,” George murmured. “Who did you meet there?”

“Dumbledore,” Harry said quietly.

“Oh,” replied George. They continued to gaze into the lake again.

“I’m glad you talked to me about this,” said Harry, smiling faintly. “For a second there, I thought it was all in my head too. I’m glad that it was real. It just changes everything, you know?”

“Yeah, it sure does,” responded George, still thinking.

“Well, I’m going to go back to my sandwich now,” Harry continued. “I’m still famished. If you feel like joining us, the plates refill themselves with sandwiches, so help yourself, okay?”

“All right.” Harry patted George on the shoulder and walked off to join his friends.

George’s head swarmed. It was not just a dream, after all…He had visited Fred, and that conversation between them had actually happened…Fred was right, everything was real…and George still couldn’t get his head around what had happened to him, but he knew this much: it was a miracle. That was the only way he could explain it.

George clenched his fist. Enough for the two of us, he thought.

Feeling both ravenous and elated, George walked toward the tree under which the other four were sitting, plopped onto the grass, and disappeared behind a gargantuan sandwich. The sun shone into his eyes, as if giving him its blessing, and George felt that he would like to lie here forevermore, the breeze ruffling his hair, and the memory of his encounter with Fred still fresh in his mind.