Hey! So I decided to do a part two to this thing! I had so many positive responses so I thought "Why not?"

Hope you like it!

I sat on the raggedy old quilt at the edge of my bed and let my foot tap against the hardwood floor. Lifting my gaze off of my sock clad feet to stare at what was in front of me I smiled. "I hung out with Angelina again today. She stopped by the shop, saying she had a craving for a laugh. Really I just think she missed me." I sighed, "Do you think there's more to it that that? I mean does she fancy—"

Three solid knocks on the door cut off my questions. I whipped my head to the side as Mum stepped through the threshold with freshly cleaned laundry cradled in her hands. "Georgie dear, I've got your—" She froze and glanced at me warily. "Dear, what are you doing?"

"Talking to Fred," I shrugged.

Mum visibly swallowed a lump in her throat. She sighed and whispered, "George…"

"Mum, it's fine. It makes me feel better. C'mon," I patted at the empty space beside me, "give it a try."

She looked down at me skeptically but inched closer to me anyway. Slowly she made her way onto my right.

I nodded my heads forward, "Go on."

"Sweetie," she started hesitantly, "it's… that's not Fred. Maybe I should owl Mr. Bishop about this."

"Mum," I laid my hand over hers, "I know it's not Fred. It's a close as it's going to get for us." I broke my eye contact to peer into the mirror at my own reflection. "It's almost him. Almost."

"George, I don't think I can do it."

"Is it the ear?" I asked before hopping off the bed to frantically search through the permanent cluttered mess spilling out of the closet. "Because I can fix that! Where is that blasted thing!"

"Maybe if you were to tidy up…"

"Found it!" I grinned triumphantly before shoving the Ireland cap I'd bought at the World Cup. "Better?"

"Sweetie, I can't take you seriously in that hat."

I wiggled my finger at her. "Correction. You mean you can't take Fred seriously in the hat. Now, tell Freddie what you did today."

Mum cautiously brought her gaze to the large mirror I had moved from the corner. She wrung her hands nervously as she started to speak. "Well… Fred, I babysat little Victoire today. She's very adorable. You would have loved her..." I slung me arm across Mum's shoulders and pulled her closer. "She has Bill's eyes."

"She's gonna be a looker, Fred! I've got to start developing products to ward off those males. Someone's got to be the protective uncle, right?"

"I mean, Harry's too responsible for all that and you know Percy would turn his nose up at such antics. And well Ron's all talk, so it has to be my job." I leaned against that armchair in Doctor's office. "And I think I've got just the trick to help little Vickie out."

The elder man opposite me stroked his chin, "Go on."

"Well," I explained, "I figure I've got two options. Create a necklace of sorts that'll keep the boys at a safe enough distance away. Or I get Charlie on my team and we threaten to us one of his dragons to roast any of her boyfriends we disapprove of."

"Now George, do you really believe that that is the right choice."

I shook my head. "No, you're right. It's not. I'll have to use a combination of the two."

He sighed in frustration, "That's not quite what I meant. However, let's look back at this. George why is it that you find comfort in talking to yourself in the mirror?"

"Why doesn't Oliver Wood just shag Katie already?" I shrugged.

"E-excuse me?" he sputtered.

"Look, Doc. Fred was my twin. We did everything together. Played Quidditch, nicked things from Filch, started a joke shop, caused utter mayhem. They only thing we haven't managed to do was grow old together. Or steal a Hogwarts toilet seat. I realize he isn't coming back, but seeing myself is a reminder of him. So why shouldn't I twist it into something good instead of have it haunting me day in and day out?"

The graying man fiddled with his glasses before speaking. "But George, I believe that clinging to your brother is not the right choice for you. Have you thought of trying to let it all go?"

"You mean forget?" He nodded. "Forget my brother? Are you mad? That's not even a remote possibility."

"It's just that all this talking to your dead brother is making you sick. Some might say disturbed."

"You said that," I nodded. "We got your owl last week."

"Yes, I did say that."

"But, Doc," I smiled, "I'm not disturbed. Almost. But I'm not quite fully disturbed."

"Well…" he started.

"Though even if I was, I see no shame in that. I'd rather be mad than lose him twice."