George couldn't remember a day without his mischievous brother; no they were always Fred&George, George&Fred. It was fine that nobody could tell them apart, because they always had each other. But now, it was George on his own while his brother laid dead in the ground, people gave him every cliché in the book. He was tired of the 'he's in a better places' and 'he died with honors', people tried to feed him. No, because that wasn't going to make him feel better, not yet at least. He longed for his brother to come at his side, saying gotcha as if this was just some big joke. But his brother was gone and dead, just like that. People could say whatever they wanted, but he was lying dead on the ground with a smile on his face.

Smile—he couldn't remember a single time when he didn't have one on his face, he couldn't remember a time when he had sat down and cried. There was always a joke, there was always Fred; together they were the unstoppable Weasley twins. Apart—well George Weasley was just a red head who lost his brother, and Fred Weasley was a hero who died in battle.

Just another person, taking it for the team; Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Moody and Fred, just taking it for the team. He knew that he should just smile and nod, Voldermolt was dead and their deaths made it possible. He couldn't do that, he couldn't help but think why not someone else; why not anyone else. He knew that didn't do him any good dawdling in the what ifs, but he did a lot more then he ever led on. He still made the smiles, made the jokes, run the shop; even when they caused him pain. He knew his brother wouldn't want his sense of humor to die with him, so he kept it alive and kept it a big fat joke; that only he would understand.

He closed his eyes tightly—seeing his brother's smile once more. "The joke is on you, George!" he laughed. That's what should be happening, he should be alive; living in their empire that they made; together. Instead, George stood alone, tears running down his face; in their empire.

He felt like someone had taken apart of him and ripped it out.

"Excuse me, sir, are you opened?"

George turned around—a smile planted on his face. "Welcome to Weasley's Wizarding Weezers, how can I be of service."

"I know Fred, the joke is always on me."

"Well aren't you a sore bloke, c'mon George; lighten up."

"I can't believe you dyed my hair pink…"

"I can't believe you let me eat that—"

"That was disgusting…"

"Infirmary for a week—but it'll be worth it, we'll own the best joke shop ever."

"Yeah—together."

"Legendary!"

"GO TO BED YOU TWO!"

"Yes mum," they both snickered.

Fred will always live in his memories—in their store, in their jokes; so long as George could sell them, tell them, and remember them.

--fin

when fred died—I cried.

Apply disclaimers.