Okies, so I've had a bunny for a George-mourning-Fred fic for quite a while now...but didn't get a chance (i.e couldn't be bothered) to write it. Hmm. So, numero quatro (I don't even speak Spanish, wtf!) is My Immortal by Evanescence. Website thing there \/

h t t p : / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / w a t c h ? v = b U 9 F w P 4 u O Y 8

As usual, delete the spaces, blah de blah. And enjoy! =]

My Immortal

George sits down in a chair and rubs his eyes. He is so tired; of insomnia, of his family and friends, of life. He's tired of being here in this dingy little flat, above the shop.

Above their shop that they'd run.

He's had trouble sleeping lately; every time he shuts his eyes, he can see the castle wall explode, see the dust settle until the body was visible. Every time he falls asleep, he has the same recurring dream; that of moving rubble around, looking for the body. But the body is gone. He searches and searches through endless piles of rubble, and wakes up in a cold sweat when he realises he will never find what he was looking for. This means that most nights, George will lie alone in his bed with the covers pulled up to his chin. Staring blankly at the ceiling; childish fears keeping him from slumber. Tonight will be no different.

George raises his head to look up at the ceiling and feels the same familiar chill of being watched. He knows what's watching him, what's there. He knows what can't escape the dingy flat, knows what's having so much trouble leaving him in peace. It's him. Fred. He knows that as he's looking at the ceiling right now, his brown eyes are being met with a pair exactly the same. He drops his eyes, breaking contact with the imaginary spirit.

If only you'd leave, Fred. If only I could just get rid of you. I know…I know you're not really there. That it's just a part of my twisted imagination. But whatever's keeping you here inside my head, it doesn't want you to leave. And I think that, in a strange way, part of me doesn't want you to leave. But I know one thing for sure; whatever's keeping you here, it's draining my energy. Keeping me from my sleep. If you have to go and die, I wish you'd just leave! Because you're still here, Fred. I know you're here, and you won't leave me alone.

I'm so tired of being here, suppressed by all my childish fears. And if you have to leave I wish that you would just leave, because your presence still lingers here...and it won't leave me alone...

George is stabbed by a sudden pain. It hasn't left him since the battle; every time he even thinks about his brother, his heart is ripped out of his chest and thrown across the room. He thought it would go away after a week, a month, a year…but no. The wound hasn't seemed to heal yet. Time obviously hasn't erased anything.

He thinks back to a time when they were children; about seven or eight. They were outside in the garden being taught how to chuck gnomes- a skill you can take to the bank, his dad had said and promptly left the twins to practise by themselves. At this point, a particularly nasty gnome had bitten Fred on the arm and he had cried out in pain. George had ran over to him, examined the cut, and wiped the tears from his twin's face.

The memory brings a sad smile to George's face. He shakes his head and runs his hands through his flame-red hair.

These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real; there's just too much that time cannot erase. When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears. When you screamed, I'd fight away all of your fears. I held your hand through all of these years...but you still have all of me...

You fascinated me, Fred. You were captivating; it's like you emitted light. Or something. That's what I miss, Fred. I miss being fascinated by your glow; now, it's like I'm stuck here. You've bound me to this dark and dismal place, memories of you left right and centre. The life you left behind, it's like a shadow of what we once were. I can still see it now, Fred; Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley, owners of the most successful shop in Diagon Alley. But it was short-lived, wasn't it?

See, now, whenever I think about your face, it haunts me. It enters into my dreams; that lifeless smile of a laugh cut short. Every time I think about your face, I want you to finish the laugh. Inside my head, you finish the laugh and get up. What? You say. It was only a joke! Don't be so sad, little brother! (Little. Hmph. Two minutes is hardly little.)

Your voice, in my head. All the time; every minute, of every day…that immortal laugh. The laughter cut short. It's driven me insane. You've taken my sanity, Fred.

You used to captivate me by your resonating light. Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind. Your face, it haunts my once pleasant dreams; your voice has chased away all of the sanity in me...

A sharp pierce overcomes him again, and George clutches his heart, crying out for relief from the pain. He thinks that this is what happens to people in tragedy stories; at least it's what he thought before. Now, the jolts and blasts shooting through his veins are too real to belong in a story. George slides of the chair and ends up on the floor, his clenched fist thumping into the brown carpet. He wonders how long it'll take for the whole terrible ordeal to end. Time heals all is such a load of bull, he thinks.

Another memory drifts into his head. It's from ages ago; George is surprised he can even remember it so clearly. It was back in the day when they shared one huge bed- they loved to jump around on that bed, he recalls. They were devastated when the family came into some money and could afford to buy two separate ones.

The memory is simple; the time is about midnight, and they are sleeping. Well. Fred is; George is trying to relax and ignore the foot digging into his side. Just as he's about to doze off, his brother starts to toss and turn. He cries out and drags his arm around, narrowly avoiding George's face. Something's obviously tormenting him subconsciously and he sits bolt upright. His eyes are searching around the room and his arms are raised to protect himself from nightmarish things. George calms his brother down and soothes him, assures him that all his fears are gone. Once fully calm, George lures him back to the comfort of the duvet. The twins fall asleep nestled in each other's arms.

These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real; there's just too much that time cannot erase. When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears. When you screamed, I'd fight away all of your fears. I held your hand through all of these years...but you still have all of me...

"You still have me, Fred," George whispers into the soft, fuzzy ground. "You've still got complete control. You have me, big brother. All of me."

His fist slams into the carpet and George kneels up. He punches the chair next to him, not feeling the sting in his numb knuckles.

"I tried so hard, Fred!" he exclaims, "I tried so bloody hard for you! To convince myself that yes, you were dead, you were gone, that we'd had the funeral, done the wake, and thrown the party to celebrate your life. And then you come along and turn up in my head."

George shakes his head and laughs bitterly. His dry and humourless chuckle reverberates around him in the dark. He gets up, using his chair for support, and stands. He looks around the room and Fred's life stares back at him. Every wall seems to have a translucent, silver glow. Fred's face fills his head; that laugh cut short.

"Well, what a surprise, Mr Weasley," his voice raises to shriek at the empty walls, "Here you are again! Like a nasty disease you can't get rid of- like a brain tumour! You just keep on popping up! And how ironic, Frederick. See, you're still here. You're still with me, but I know what you've always thought. And what everybody else has thought, and what I've known. I've known!"

He laughs. It tears at his insides; rips him apart and he bends over, reaching a hand out against the wall to support his weak frame.

"Isn't it funny? Isn't it fucking hilarious! I'm alone! I've been alone all along! Always have been and always will be, ALONE! By myself, on my tod, ALONE!"

I tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone! But though you're still with me, I've been alone all along!

He can't hold his shaky frame anymore and his hysterical laughter turns to sobbing, horrendous, racking sobs. George wants somebody there to wipe his tears; he wants someone to be there to fight away all of his fears- for all of his life, he was the odd one out. Everyone wanted to be Fred, to hold Fred's hand and keep Fred at bay. Nobody was ever there for George.

When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears. When you screamed, I'd fight away all of your fears. I held your hand through all of these years...but you still have all of me...

You still have me, Fred. Big brother. All of me.

Wow. Well, that was depressing. Hmm.
Oh velli. Must be off. Ta ra love!

Byebyee
Chezzy Xx