Everyday he opened his eyes. Everyday he forgot for a few blessed seconds upon waking that Fred was gone. That his other half, his twin, his soul was dead. Today marked the one year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. One year since Fred had gone where he couldn’t follow. He could no longer produce a patronus, every happy thought included Fred. They didn’t think he ever would be able to again. It still physically pained him to enter the shop that had been their dream, but Fred’s idea. He still turned to share an idea with Fred, only to find Ron beside him. Worse, Ron knew that he expected to see Fred instead. For the first six months, he had asked that the mirrors be covered whenever he went home, so as not to see his reflection out of the corner of his eye. After the first few times, his heart couldn’t bear thinking it was Fred, somehow come back to him. He had declined the invitation ,four months after the battle, to be there when they erected the war memorial just outside the front door of Hogwarts. He imagined that quite a few had. George had instead gotten roaring drunk in a pub in Diagon Alley, where Angelina found him with the same intent. They had gotten drunk together, cried over Fred, toasted Fred and even cursed him for leaving them. Somehow they had ended up in bed together and had been together ever since.
He, along with everyone else that had fought, had recieved an invition to the Castle last week. George rolled over and looked at Angelina sleeping next to him, her hand resting on her gently rounded stomach. She had promised him that if this one was a son, his name would be Fred, whether he had Ginger hair or not. George had broken down and cried against her stomach at her softly spoken promise. Angelina gently ran a hand through his hair till he was finished. when he looked up, he saw she had been crying too, but not for Fred. For him. For George.