A/N: It's been a while since my last HP stories (or George Weasley stories for that matter), but after watching "The Halfblood Prince" it all came back to me, and I was probably the only person in the cinema who had to laugh and fight back tears at the same time when she saw Fred and George in the movie. Silly me, I know, crying over fictional characters. But I don't care. This short story has been in my head for a while and waited to be written, but thanks to uni and life in general, it took some time. I'm sure it's been written lots and lots of times before but again, I don't care. I needed to get this out of my head, so here it is. There'll be a second chapter (and just one) which I hope to finish soon. I'm also currently working on another, longer story, but it will take some time till I publish it because I want to finish it first. The title of this story is the title of a song which I found in a wonderful Fred/George tribute video, search for it on Youtube but remember to take some tissues with you! ;) If you like this one, I'd appreciate a short review! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and related figures, and I disclaim any rights for this story. The plot is mine, the characters are not (no matter how I wish they were).

I dedicate this story to all those who have loved ones in the armed forces and wait for them to come home safe.

The Promise of a Lifetime

The sun was setting slowly above the rooftops of London, and George Weasley found himself staring out of the window down onto Diagon Alley. An elder couple was leaving a café at the corner of the road. Apart from them, there was no one to be seen. George sighed, and absent-mindedly touched the side of his head where a hole was covered by his flaming red hair. People kept hiding as much as they could these days. These were dangerous times, and he was probably even more aware of that than most other people. Images appeared in his mind, some clear, some already fading, but all of them a warning reminder. There was Bill's face, badly scarred, there was his father in a hospital bed, there was Mad-Eye Moody's body, cold and still on the grass. And there was the look on Fred's face, the first thing George had seen when he woke up on the sofa, back then.

He took a deep breath and turned away from the window when he heard footsteps on the stairs. A second later Fred came through the door, and George forced himself to a smile, trying to shake off the thoughts running through his head.

George was sleeping badly, drifting in and out of sleep, with dreams that were weird in the best, terrifying in the worst case. Everytime he woke up, he tried to remember what exactly he had seen. But the images would remain blurred, and he would fall back to sleep.

When he woke up yet again, though, he immediately sensed that something was different. It hadn't been a bad dream, but a noise that had made him open his eyes.

"Fred?"

He knew his brother wasn't there even before he illuminated the room with a flick of his wand. The bed on the other side of the room was empty.

George put his bare feet onto the cold floor, and a shiver ran down his spine. He wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that he'd been lying in a warm bed, or if it was something else. Quickly he made his way out of the room towards the small living room, for some reason he knew where to go to find him. He always did.

Fred was standing with his back to him when he walked through the door, staring out of the window although there was nothing to see except the pitch black sky. He didn't turn around.

"Hey, you alright?", George asked carefully, knowing quite well that his brother was definitely not alright. The question was if Fred would pretend to be.

"I couldn't sleep", his twin answered, and there was something in his voice that made George go nearer to him.

"Me neither", he said.

It was then that Fred finally looked at him.

"Aidan is still missing."

George nodded. Aidan was a young man in his late twenties, who lived just down the road. They'd met at the pub a while ago, and although they weren't close friends, they'd talked every now and then. Aidan was a writer for an underground newspaper, and he hadn't been seen for 2 weeks now.

"I bet they have him", Fred said quietly, and George knew who he meant by "them". People had been abducted all over the country, some never to be seen again, some found murdered, with the Dark Mark above their mutilated bodies.

He didn't reply, for he knew that his brother was most probably right.

Fred walked away from the window over to the old sofa, and slowly sat down. He rubbed his face once, then twice again, and George simply stood and watched, waiting for him to be ready.

"Have you ever", Fred hesitated for a second, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to talk at all, "Have you ever thought that someday it could be one of us?"

It was only then that he looked up, looked into George's eyes, and there was a silent plead to let him know he wasn't alone. To assure him that he wasn't the only one, and above all, promise him that there was no reason for those thoughts after all.

But George didn't know what to say. That's why he kept standing where he was and remained silent.

"I mean", Fred continued, "it's not like I'm scared, you know. Not scared of Voldi, not scared of his army of sickos. But... dunno, sometimes I can't help thinking that we've just been lucky so far. And how quickly the luck can fade. How life can fade."

George took a deep breath. This was different from the conversations they'd had before. Of course they'd talked about Voldemort, about the danger they were all in, especially after Ron going away with Harry and Hermione. God, how much he wished to know for sure that his little brother was safe! But despite their worries – and George knew that Fred was just as worried as everyone in the family – they had never really let it get to them. They'd made jokes about George's missing ear, had stocked up the shop with U-No-Poo and Shield Hats, and had pretended to be alright. Now it was clear that none of them was.

"George, when you... you know...", and George nodded because he knew very well what Fred was talking about. "For a moment I thought you were... and in that moment I realized I could never live with that. I realized what's at stake, and then Mad-Eye gone..."

The young man cast his eyes down again, and the sight of him being slumped down on the sofa hurt George more than he would have expected under normal circumstances. But, as he reminded himself, everything was far from normal these days.

"But I wasn't", George said tentatively, knowing well that he had to chose his words wisely. "We made it through, and that's all that matters. And we will make it through again."

"How can you be so sure about that?" Fred's voice was hoarse, and not at all resembling the usually joyous tone that was so typical of the twins.

George smiled. "Because it's us. We're the Weasleys, we've been through so much before and never let it get to us. Seriously do you really think Voldemort's gang can be any worse than Umbridge? Or than Mum when she found out we'd used her precious silver pots for creating Puking Pastilles?"

Fred chuckled quietly.

"I guess my cute bum never completely recovered from that." But as quickly as the grin had appeared, his face became serious again. "I don't know mate, I feel like a right git talking like that, but I just can't help it. I'm not a coward, George, you know that. I really want to kick Voldemort's ass big time, but I'm scared about the price we might have to pay. That we already have paid. It's not that I'd do it any other way, and when the time comes I'll be ready. Oh for Merlin's sake, I don't even know what I'm trying to say!" And Fred buried his face in his hands again, so that George suddenly found himself staring onto the red hair and slumped shoulders instead of Fred's blue eyes.

It was only then that he crossed the distance between himself and the sofa, and he wondered why every step he took seemed so long. He sat down next to his brother, and without thinking, he rested his hand on the twin's shoulder. Fred didn't move.

"It will be alright. I promise." It was hard to form the words, and he didn't know why, because after all, they were the truth. They had to be. Because George didn't know how he could possibly deal with it if they weren't.

"We're gonna give them hell, won't we?", Fred said, his voice muffled through his hands.

George was grateful that his brother wasn't looking at him. He tried to make his voice sound as cheerful as possible when he said, "Yeah, we will."

Fred raised his head, and for some reason, George tried to avoid his gaze. Not that he succeeded though.

"Everything's going to be alright in the end, isn't it?"

"It will. I promise. If it's not alright, it's not the end."

George believed in that. He just didn't know why all of a sudden it was so hard to look his twin in the eyes.