Nothing but darkness surrounded him. George was walking slowly forward with his wand in his hand and the sound of his blue converses walking on the black floor was the only sound that echoed in the never ending darkness. He was scared. Not even his mother's knitted jumper could stop him from shivering as a cold breeze hit him, intensifying his fear. Not knowing where the breeze came from made him walk faster, but not as fast as his heart that was beating uncontrollably hard. Soon, a thick smoke slithered in with a strong dirty smell and as he pushed his way through it, he heard someone breathing heavily. The person then made a muffled groan of pain, but George still didn't know who it was. His feet ached as he crept through the ensnaring smoke to eventually see a man with a blurred face sitting in a corner on the floor. He wore a knitted jumper that had holes where fire or falling bricks might have damaged it and there was blood trickling down and around his left ear. He had black hair that almost blended in with the darkness around them, was George meant to recognise him? His blackened left hand was patting around frantically for his wand and as he grabbed it, his face moved to face George. He still couldn't make out who the man was. As the man lingered, it felt like he was connecting himself to George just by looking at him, he made George feel sadness, hopelessness and even more fear. The man turned his head to the right of where George stood. George slowly turned his head to see someone covered in a black hooded robe, he could not see the person's face as the hood created a black shadow over them and their hands were covered in black gloves that were dotted with blood. They took out their crooked brown wand and waved it in the direction of the man sitting on the floor, forcing his wand to fly out of his hand. George knew what was going to happen next. Something inside told him that he had to do something to stop this man from dying at all costs, even if it meant throwing himself in front of him. He quickly stepped in between the black hooded figure and the blurred man. The hooded figure pointed their wand towards George. This was it, he was going to die for a man he didn't even know. He was frightened and there was a knot tightening in his stomach to the point where it had reached its limit. He inhaled heavily.
"Avada Kedavra!" the hooded figure roared with a deep muffled voice.
A green light streamed from the wand towards George…..and then straight through him as if he wasn't even there. He heard the man behind him scream before there was silence. The black figure evaporated and became one with the thick choking smoke, while the man's face started to become clear. George saw the man's black hair slowly turn the same ginger as his, he suddenly saw a face that looked almost like his own. There was nothing to do but to fall to the floor crying as the ghost of Fred came out of his corpse. The ghost wore his knitted jumper with a blood stained F, he was much more pale than usual and he had a face of despair mixed with some sort of anger. Fred knelt beside George so close that if he was alive, George would be able to feel his breath playfully tickle his ear and neck.
"You didn't save me, George," Fred whispered as his voice trembled,
"I'm sorry," George cried.
He couldn't bring himself to look at Fred's ghost, instead he looked at the dead body that lay in front of him. All the times his mother had called him Fred rushed through his mind; at this moment he wished he was Fred, he wished that it was him that died or at least that no one had to die.
"Sorry doesn't bring me back. You were meant to be there for me, but you weren't," Fred spat the words in his ear.
There was a sharp pain spreading through George's chest as Fred moved to sit in front of him. There was no expression in his face, no more despair, no more anger, his face was just blank, as if he was….dead.
"You could've saved me, George. You could've stopped mum crying, stopped dad lashing out, stopped Ron and Ginny from having to visit a grave every week, but you didn't."
"I didn't want this to happen. I tried!" George shouted as the tears fell down his face and onto his jumper.
"YOU DIDN'T TRY HARD ENOUGH!" Fred looked at him before getting up and turning his back on him, "I will make you feel how I felt when I died, alone, unloved, cold."
George reached out to Fred, hoping to grab hold of his jumper, but he disappeared, leaving George to grab the jumper of Fred's dead body. He felt the cold blood stain his hands making him pull his hand back quickly and get up. The thick grey smoke still surrounded him and the darkness had more presence as if it was consuming the air around him. He could hear Fred's voice echoing around him but growing louder and louder, repeating everything that he had said over and over again. He couldn't take it, the pain of watching his own brother die and not doing anything to save him, having to deal with only having half a heart, not having someone complete his sentences, not having a part of who he was. He felt the darkness close in on him as it devoured Fred's body slowly, like a python slowly swallowing a deer whole. It was his turn next.
"This is what I deserve, I didn't save my brother and now he won't save me," he whimpered as he wiped his tears and closed his eyes.
The smoke closed in on him as it ran away from the incoming darkness, his fingers were slowly devoured first and as the darkness spread, a sharp pain surged around what was left of his body. Soon his arms were gone, then his legs, then….
….then he woke up.
He quickly sat up in his bed. The sweat all over his body dripped down him as he pulled on his white t-shirt to stop it from sticking to him and air himself out. He was breathing heavily as if everything that had happened in his dream was real. The white sheet that should've been draped over him was half way down his legs, his patchwork multi-coloured blanket was lying on the floor and his pillow looked at if it was been squeezed and abused. This was the worst dream he had had since Fred's death. It had been almost two years since the day he lost him. It started off with memories like watching Ron dance with Professor McGonagall and laughing their heads off or all the times they annoyed Professor Umbridge, but Fred would always fade away, leaving George by himself. But then it just got worse. He got out of his bed and opened the window. The cold breeze gave him goose bumps and soothed him even though it reminded him of the horrible nightmare he just had. With his eyes closed, he stumbled backwards until the back of his legs hit the frame of the bed and then he deflated down onto it. He rubbed the maroon velvet drapes of his bed between his fingers to bring his mind back to the thing that comforted him the most, his home. Tears slowly trickled down his face and as he wiped them away, someone entered his room. Light showered into the room, lighting it as if his bedroom light was on and he squinted before he could recognise who stood by the door.
"Bad dream again?" Hermione softly asked.
George nodded as she walked over and knelt in front of him. She wore one of Ron's grey t-shirts, which made her look smaller than usual, along with navy blue tracksuit bottoms and leopard print fluffy slippers.
"How did you know?" George asked as he turned his lamp on,
"You've been having them nonstop for more than a month, Ron was worried about you so I said I'd check on you. He would do it himself but he's too lazy," she smiled.
Usually he would laugh at a Ron based joke, but his nightmare had drained him of all positive emotions.
"We're all worried about you, George," Hermione delicately placed her hand on his shoulder,
"Don't be, I'm fine," he forced a smile on to his face.
When he looked at Hermione, he saw that she wasn't buying his fake smile whatsoever, but then she realized that he just wanted to be alone. She nodded and walked towards the door. She looked back at him and he smiled at her again, this time putting more effort into making it look like a genuine smile. When she left and closed the door, George put his head into his hands and allowed the tears that had been held back to fall rapidly. He wasn't fine. He was the complete opposite of fine. He felt like his world was crumbling around him while everyone else's lives were getting better. As he lay down and pulled the sheet over himself he looked to his left at a perfectly made empty bed. A wand lay perfectly in the middle of freshly plumped pillow and at the end of the bed, lay a dark green knitted jumper on a blanket that was the same as George's.
"You should be here, Fred," he wept as he closed his eyes.
He knew that he'd probably have another nightmare about Fred, but if it meant that he could see him again, it was worth it. Tears that had dried on his cheeks were replaced by fresh ones that still fell as he slowly fell asleep.