It was the middle of the second Battle of Hogwarts, and George Weasley was dashing from passageway to passageway, securing them while fighting off Death Eaters along the way. He and Fred had split up, deciding that it would take less time to finish their job if they did so. Besides, they were more than capable to defend themselves, so neither worried about dangers they may face along the way. George was sure that he would see his twin in a matter of minutes.
"George, look out!" Angelina Johnson called, and George whirled around just in time to Stun a swiftly approaching Death Eater. Angelina smiled at him as she ran past, and he couldn't help but return it. He hated himself for thinking it, but he was damn glad that Angelina and Fred had broken up.
Suddenly, there was a loud boom from another part of the castle, and George heard a few shrieks of terror. From his distance, he couldn't decipher whether or not he knew who had screamed. Nonetheless, he changed his course, heading towards the direction of the explosion.
By the time he got there, it was deserted; clearly, to his relief, it seemed as though all the people in the explosion had escaped. Heaving a sigh of relief, he saw Percy dueling Rookwood not too far off, and called cheerfully, "YEAH! You go, Perce!" Percy's head whipped around, and George saw something broke in his tear-filled eyes… wait, why was Percy crying?
George contemplated this as he dodged a spell, his brow wrinkled in confusion. Curses were flying through the air all around him, and nonverbally putting up a Shield spell, he darted into a nearby corridor with a surprisingly small number of fighters in it. Glancing around, he noticed a head of shockingly red hair between two knights, and smiled to himself. Only Fred would think to hide in plain sight, he thought to himself, jogging to greet his twin.
The smile slid off his face when he caught sight of Fred. He was perfectly still, his eyes shut, his skin frighteningly pale. "Fred?" George said quietly, willing Fred to just be sleeping, praying to every godly figure he had ever heard of that his twin, his best friend, his partner-in-crime, was alive.
Fred said nothing.
George hurriedly assured himself, Don't worry, he's just playing a trick on you, it's what Fred does. Any second now, he'll jump out at you, laughing, 'You should've seen your face!' He remained standing there, but Fred showed no sign of preparing to jump out at him; in fact, he showed no sign of movement at all, not even his chest moving up and down. George panicked, his breathing labored and quickening. "Fred? Fred, this isn't funny," he spoke, his voice shaky, his eyes suppressing tears.
Fred still made no response.
Muttering, "No, no, no," to himself under his breath, George placed his hand on Fred's neck, desperately hoping to feel a pulse underneath the too-cold skin. There was none.
"No," George murmured to himself, feeling the tears streak down his face, the tremor in his voice, his knees weakening as he pressed his hand deeper into his brother's neck, still feeling nothing. Suddenly, Fred's body fell forward onto George, and he wrapped his arms around it, supporting the literally dead weight.
Sinking to his knees and crying out as his heart split in two, George knew that his other half was gone.
