A/N: This is the second and final part of this short story. I dedicate it to 2 people: first and foremost to my mum, who died exactly 11 years ago - I love you mum. Second, to my uncle, her twin brother - because he knows what it feels like.

If you like this story please r&r!

If it's not alright, it's not the end.

This is definitely not alright. That much George knows for sure. He can't remember why he knows it, though, all he knows is that something is wrong. The kind of wrong that can't be fixed with a flick of the wand.

He can hear people whispering and crying, but they're far away, almost as if they were from another world. A world he doesn't belong to, a world so cold that it freezes the lungs and makes it hard to breathe. Somehow he has stumbled into this world, a world of tears and pain, and he thinks he shouldn't be here. This isn't where he's supposed to be. It is wrong.

It is wrong to see his little brother staring into nothingness while tears are running down his pale cheeks. It is wrong for his oldest brother to hold his wife's hand so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Everything is so wrong, and for the first time in 20 years, George doesn't have anyone to make it alright. There's no one to fix what has been broken, and he doesn't understand why.

His eyes scan the room and take in everything, from the slumped figure of a thin young man with horn-rimmed glasses, to the girl with the bushy brown hair; from the newspaper on the table to the clock on the wall. He looks away quickly.

And with a pang he realizes that his search is in vain, and will always be, for the one he needs the most will never be there again.

His hand flys up to the side of his head, he feels the hole underneath his fingers, and he thinks it's weird that he still hasn't gotten used to it. Shouldn't it be normal after such a long time? It doesn't hurt often anymore, but sometimes it almost feels like the missing ear is still there. He's never told anyone about it, because he's never been the kind of man to raise a fuss about small things. And he keeps telling himself that the weird feeling will fade, that some day the hole will feel normal, and it won't hurt anymore.

He just doesn't know how to deal with the other hole. The one that isn't visible to any of the people surrounding him, the one that hurts more than any physical wound could ever do, the one that can never be filled again. It will always be there, and George knows it's only a matter of time until he will fall into this hole, and he wonders if then, at least, the pain will stop. For when you fall into nothingness, there's nothing to feel after all.

People keep coming into the house, and the kitchen and living room are crowded. There's a buzzing sound that rings in George's ear, an uncomfortable mixture of whispers and cries and empty words. He doesn't get up to shake hands. Sometimes he feels a hand put onto his shoulder, but he never even budges. A million words of consolation cannot erase the emptiness within, the people around him are nothing more than blurred shadows on a rainy day, and he thinks that sometimes when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated.

From time to time he thinks that someone is looking at him, but maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him. Whether it is or not, George doesn't look up. Looking into anyone's eyes would break him, he knows it, and he can't do this to his mum, fact. It's hard enough as it is.

He can't believe it's been 2 days now since he last saw him. Somehow it still hasn't sunk in. He flinches everytime he hears the door opening, as if he was expecting him to come in any second. But within the blink of an eye the moment of expectation passes, and realization strikes again. Fred will not come back. He is gone, without a word of goodbye, and George's soul is in pieces. Ripped apart, without a chance to mend it. He chokes hard and wonders why suddenly his eyes begin to fill. Shouldn't he have run out of tears by now? Is it possible to run out of tears? George really wishes it was, because he's tired of it. He's tired of trying to hold it together, tired of acting like he can deal with it, and most of all, tired of people seeing right through his act. All he wants to do is lock himself in his room and curl up in bed and sleep. Sleep until the nightmare is over and he can breathe easy again.

But this isn't a nightare. It is so much worse, for there is no awakening, not this time. Faintly he remembers the childhood days, or nights for that matter, back when he would wake up from a bad dream and see his mother or father standing at his bedside, murmuring soothing words of comfort. It's not like they haven't tried this time, but this is so different, and they know it. How can they give him comfort, when they can't even find it for themselves? It's impossible, and George knows it. He just really wishes he could turn back time and be the child again that he once was.

Where have the dreams gone that he had back then? He used to have a lot of dreams, but right now, he can't think of any of them. They were never meant for one person alone.

Suddenly he feels a hand on his shoulder, and for some reason he can't ignore it this time. Slowly he lifts his head, and he feels like an old man as he moves for the first time in what seems an eternity.

He looks up into his father's eyes, he sees the thin streaks on the unnaturally pale skin and he notices that his father suddenly looks much older than he did only a couple of days ago. There are grey strands in his red hair and wrinkles around his eyes in which the tears have left silvery marks.

"It is time, son."

The words penetrate the silence that surrounds them, the room has become quiet, and the silence is even worse than the crying. It's not alright for this house to be quiet. Nothing is right anymore.

He gets to his feet, and for a moment the two men simply look at each other, and then George nods. Now he knows what he has to do.

He is still at the edge of breaking, and it takes all of his willpower to fight back the tears. But the time for them hasn't come yet. Right now, he needs to be strong for those who are left to him. Mechanically his feet make their way over to the corner of the room to where his brother is standing with terrified eyes behind his glasses.

"Perce?"

The young man flinches, and George notices that his hands are shaking. Suddenly he isn't so sure if he can do this.

Percy looks at him, and George doesn't avoid his gaze. He simply nods and hopes that it's enough. He doesn't want to talk, and thankfully Percy doesn't seem to want him to either. In this moment it is enough for both of them to be there for each other.

Side by side the two brothers walk towards the wooden door. How often have they stepped over the doorsill? George doesn't know. But he knows that it's never been that hard before. For the first time in 20 years, he is scared of leaving the house. He wishes he could just stay inside and wait for things to become normal again. Wait for his mother to stop crying, for his brother to stop shaking, and above all, wait for Fred to come back. But he can't. Not this time.

Someone takes his hand, and to George's surprise he sees Ginny at his left. She squeezes his hand tightly as if she was afraid to fall if she didn't have his hand to hold on to. And who knows, maybe she would. Aren't they all bound to fall without someone to hold on to?

He turns his head and sees Ron and Charlie walk behind them, heads bowed, followed by Hermione and Harry. Bill and Fleur are walking hand in hand, Bill's scarred face is rigid while tears are cascading down Fleur's cheeks. Molly and Arthur are at the end of the procession, and George turns his gaze away quickly. He can't deal with seeing his mother like that. He knows that he'll have to, someday, but now is not the time. He's got a task to do, and that is to find what little strength he has left, and be there for his siblings. Because he knows that Fred would want him to, and that's all that matters in this moment.

"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."

Now that promise is broken, and it can't be made right. All George can do is look out for those who are left to him, his brothers, his sister, his parents. His family. He has to try, and he will, he promises quietly. And that promise he will keep.

That's what he owes Fred, his twin, his best friend, his soulmate.

Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.

~Norman Cousins