A/N: For the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 9, Chaser 3 for the Pride of Portree

Main Prompt: Somebody to Love

Slightly OOC with respect to most of the Weasley family.

Optional Prompts: 3. (character) Fred Weasley, 12. (word) drugs, 5. (plot point) disowning someone or being disowned

IWSC Week 4: Write about overcoming a great obstacle

TGS Hex and Curse Salad: Honeydew Melon- The Cruciatus curse

TGS Ollivander's shop: Dogwood: Write about Fred or George Weasley.

TGS Through the Universe: Double Star — (characters) Fred and George Weasley

TGS Nautical Ship Challenge: Angelina Johnson and George Weasley - S.S. Bludger and Quaffle

Word Count: ~2400

Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little

Can barely stand on my feet

(Take a look at yourself) Take a look in the mirror and cry (and cry)

George Weasley had successfully managed to emotionally distance himself from all of his family, and most of his friends. He didn't trust them anymore. How could he? They were the reason Fred had died. Yes, he blamed all of them. None of them even tried to look out for him. Everyone was too busy with the 'great Harry Potter'.

Most of all, he blamed himself. He hadn't deserved a brother like Fred.

When he first heard the news, he hadn't believed his ears. They were lying. They had to be, right? Fred, his Fred couldn't possibly be dead. It was simply unthinkable.

But it wasn't a lie, no matter how much he wished for it to be.

And so here he was, in a tiny, damp apartment he had rented for a few months - filled with loneliness - he had used what little savings he had, and cut everyone off. He lived far far away from anyone who could ever care for him, and all those that failed to save Fred. They were probably looking for him, but he didn't want to be found.

There was no purpose left for him anymore. Each day dragged on, longer than the last, in a blur of ceaseless tears and empty staring, punctuated by bottles of the strongest batch of Ogden's he could afford and the cheapest box of cigarettes. On good days, he managed to eat something that might have resembled food, by way of surviving a little longer.

'I deserve the pain, the emptiness, all of this,' he told himself.

He had chosen the life of an outcast, and he had barely gotten used to its pitfalls when he had been unexpectedly interrupted in his endeavour.

The knock on his unplottable, disillusioned and well-warded door, startled him. For a moment he had panicked, the thought of a Death Eater, Snatchers or some of the other people who might want him dead, finding him. The usual numbness then took hold, and the thoughts of, 'If they want to hurt me, or better yet, kill me, why not?' calmed him. But the assumption had not been fulfilled; looking just as defeated as he knew he did, there stood Angelina.

Somehow, he did not feel the same disgust towards her as he did towards all those he was trying to avoid. Perhaps it was because she had lost too. Lost him, to be specific. She didn't have the questions they all had. She didn't care if the walls had mold, or that his breath smelled of smoke and whiskey. She simply collapsed into his arms as soon as she stepped into the room.

Her sobs started off quiet, the kind he could pretend to ignore while he drowned in his own sorrows. Eventually, she was shaking, her cries were almost violent, and her tears drenched the shirt he hadn't bothered to change for nearly a week. He patted her back awkwardly, waiting for her to calm down.

'I wish I wasn't too broken to help her.'

Everyday (everyday) I try and I try and I try

But everybody wants to put me down

They say I'm going crazy

She had been the one to introduce him to the drug, the first time.

"Azurial. They say it makes you feel whatever you want to feel." There had been a sparkle in her eyes as she said it, an empty sort of sparkle, like the glass of an empty snow-globe. But it was better than what she had had before. It was better than the hollowness. He didn't want to be like that anymore. So he took the vial in his hand.

To remember. I want to remember.

It never ceased to surprise him how quickly the little vial became his lifeline. After all, it was the only thing that brought him closer to Fred. Or rather, the only thing that brought Fred back to him. With a single whiff of the azure liquid, the world around him would start to distort and fade away. It was so easy to just melt away into the feeling. If he was lucky, and nearly every day, he was, he'd hear and see what he wanted to. Fred. Fred would be right there, talking to him, holding him, telling him everything would be okay.

I miss you. I miss Gred and Forge. I miss the fun we had at the shop. I miss it. "I know."

And Fred would stay with him. Fred would always stay when he asked him to, because Fred understood him, because Fred loved him, and because Fred felt what he felt. He was the only one who ever did. He would hold on the phantom of Fred until he fell asleep every night. It was the only thing that provided him with the warmth he craved so much.

There were bags underneath his eyes and pallor in his cheeks, but there was joy in his eyes. He had his companion back. And evidently, so did she. A different Fred came to her with the vapours of Azurial. A Fred she danced with and made love to.

There was a strange sort of cheer in the little house; a madness that was both beautiful and grotesque to any outsider, but that both the residents of the home and their phantom memories seemed to enjoy very much. There were three in the apartment of two, most days now.

However, there were only two the day that the Weasleys came to visit. How they had located the place, they wouldn't say.

George was not happy to see them, so he turned to look for Fred. Perhaps Fred will know what to do. Maybe I am too harsh on them- Fred?

He and Angelina were alone. That is, as alone as they could be with the rest of the Weasleys standing in their doorway.

"Why are you here?" George asked. You chased Fred away…

"George… we want to help you," Ginny began. He realised she was holding someone's hand. Someone without the trademarked red hair. So she still had her lover with her. He was still alive. He- After what he did to Fred!

"How dare you, Ginny?" he accused in a voice that was dangerously low. "How dare you still be with him?"

Ginny looked pained, and her eyes flickered to Angelina, who looked as haggard as George. "Please, George, Angelina. We just want you to be alright."

"We're fine." And better off without you.

"But-"

"I said we're FINE!" George cried out, aiming his wand at her. Her hand instinctively went to her own, while some of the others in the crowd shrunk back in surprise. George's hand was shaking, but his eyes were burning with rage as he kept the wand pointed at her. She frowned at him, still looking sorrowful at the turn of events.

In a sudden motion, George flicked his wand towards Harry. "Crucio!"

The latter fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Molly screamed. Ginny immediately cast the Expelliarmus that sent George flying until he hit the wall behind him hard enough to cause him to nearly lose consciousness from the pain.

"You're not my son. Not anymore. Not until you fix what you have done."

George barely registered what his mother was saying to him. He needed to be fine again. He needed Azurial. He needed Fred to come back. Fred could fix it all.

He reached out his hand through the blur, to the vial of blue that he would recognise anywhere. Someone - he wasn't sure who - reached down and picked it up, tsk-ing sadly as he did so.

"Get your act together, George. You're acting like an idiot." Bill. He seemed to have almost pure hatred in his voice. They think I'm crazy. It was the last thing George remembered before he passed out.

Got no feel, I got no rhythm

I just keep losing my beat (you just keep losing and losing)

I'm OK, I'm alright (he's alright, he's alright)

Molly had always taught her children how to make do and be satisfied with the little they had. Despite anything, none of the children had ever felt the need for anything.

But now, George had nothing, and he felt like he was being starved of everything he needed to live. He had nothing at all, except the last few vials of what he considered his life force. Azurial was not just a drug. Azurial was Fred. And now he didn't have much left.

His parents' disownment had left him without the ability to access whatever meagre coins he had saved in his Gringott's vault.

Angelina was spending all of her own money to keep them alive, not that it was much, to begin with.

They think I'm crazy. The they who never left his mind; his family and everyone who had once cared about him. But they didn't care anymore. They didn't understand. They had lost Fred too, but the other six - or five, now - siblings were clearly good enough for Molly and Arthur Weasley. They didn't even want him, let alone Fred. They didn't see what Azurial could do. They were foolish enough to not even believe him, or try his methods without dubbing him crazy.

Let them think what they want to. I'm not the crazy one. Angelina understands. She knows what I feel, and she knows why I cannot live without Fred. She can't, either. Hearing Fred's voice, seeing him, having him hold me, making the same old jokes, it was our routine… it's everything to me.

You won't ever leave me, will you, Fred?

Fred smiled at him. A reassuring, loving smile, just like old times. A smile that was a pact for the future. Fred would be there for George, always, and vice versa. They would have the life they were promised after the war. The shop. The laughs. The jokes. Everything.

Everything would be perfect again, just like old times, if only he could get some more of the drug. Just a whiff of the blue concoction. Just a few more bottles. Just a little more money.

Somebody find me somebody to love

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

(Find me somebody to love)

He didn't understand. How could she, of all people, do this to him? He had trusted her. She had betrayed him in the worst way possible when he had no one left. He should have known. No one could be trusted. He had realised it, of course, when she had taken the same tone that Bill had, that day.

"We need to get out of this pit we've dug ourselves into, George."

Her oh so sudden change of heart had been brought about by an old friend of hers, who claimed to be a concerned soul, Katie Bell. The aforementioned person had forcibly dragged Angelina off with her. Apparently, they had proceeded to have a 'great day', playing Quidditch.

How could she enjoy something that was so clearly linked with Fred? How could she be so shamelessly happy about it?

And now, she was trying to drag him into the fold too. She wanted him to forget Fred, like everyone else.

But I won't. I won't forget you. I won't leave you behind. I...can't. I don't want to. You don't want me to leave, do you, Fred?

And the hazy apparition in front of him was quiet, in response. On another day, he would have taken the silence to be agreement, but given the circumstances, he wasn't even sure what to think. His mind was fuzzy, and the decisions he had taken so proudly and surely before, swirled around his head, making him question everything.

Fred? Say something?

"They think you're crazy," Angelina's echoing voice broke into his delirium. "Are you, George?"

Am I, Fred?

Silence met his words. Silence, and the piercing stare of blue eyes not quite his own. And suddenly, they seemed too blue, the smile a little too crooked, the hair a little redder than he remembered.

No, no, no! This isn't happening. Everything is fine. Everything has to be. Fred's here.

"Fred's not here." Angelina, again. George closed his eyes in pain, hoping she would disappear if he did so. Instead, she put a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "Please, George. You need to stop."

She had her other arm outstretched invitingly. No, he thought, realising he had been wrong.

She wasn't like Bill. She cared for him, and she understood. Maybe… maybe she was right. Could she be? Could it be that Fred wasn't real?

He was afraid that accepting the answer he knew to be true in some dark corner of his mind, would seal Fred's fate. Saying it in his own mind, let alone aloud, would mean making it far too true.

"It's time to accept the truth, George. We've both lived in the past for far too long."

With one last longing look at his brother's image, he took her hand.

Somebody find me, find me love

He couldn't believe how long it had been. Years since the war. Years since his family had abandoned him when he needed them so much, admittedly because of his own actions. Years since he had found a new family: surprisingly enough, the old Gryffindor Quidditch team, most of whom had gone their own ways in life, but had somehow still managed to make time for each other.

He never regretted the day he had accepted Angelina's offer. In the very beginning, it had been hard to not see Fred's image every time he played as a Beater. He had gotten so used to looking around the field for his identical image, and a simple nod between them used to mean they knew exactly what move the other was thinking of. But eventually, he had realised that he loved the game itself, and not just because Fred was playing it with him.

He hadn't forgotten. He knew that was an impossible task. But eventually, with a lot of help from his new family that has invitingly accepted him into them, he had healed. He had healed and found his emotions again. He had fallen in love with something again. And he had fallen in love with someone too, a someone he couldn't believe still had faith in him after everything he had done. He still smiled every time he thought of her. And because of her, finally, he was ready to let go. Maybe he would even reach out to the rest of his family again. His mother had told him to fix himself, and he was trying. It was great to have a family in the Quidditch team, but it would be nice to be a Weasley again.

Thank you, and goodbye, Fred.

He could've sworn he heard a familiar voice echo a reply in the distance.