Wake up,
Look me in the eyes again;
I need to feel your hand
Upon my face.

-Bloodstream (Stateless)

Changes.

Its course had been subtle.
Dramatic.

They really are a classic case of contradiction, aren't they?
Of antithesis. Paradox. Oxymoron. The figures of speech befitting to a truth

That is:

For someone as gentle, as accepting, as loving as George
It took Fred to reach the brink of death for him to finally acknowledge the changes.

And it is a paradox within a paradox
That a paradox has to exist in the first place between two identical souls.

Perhaps that is what had made their relationship culminate into what it had been:

Platonic.
And sexual.

It takes the combined, persistent efforts of their mum, their dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Harry to get him out of the bedroom he has locked himself in with Fred.

Their parent's contribution has been loving words and endless encouragement.

Their siblings' is a reminder of the person he used to be, a reminder of the true nature of his and Fred's souls: Fred would have been strongly disapproving of him closing off to the world like this, of him turning into a masochist and inflicting pain on himself like this.

Hermione's contribution has been: inviting herself to their room, trying to engage him in stimulating conversations, armed with a newspaper, or a new book she found.

Harry's has been being a calming presence, filling him in on the post-war developments, gently, and always, inviting him out so he could be a part of the on-going changes himself. So he could be a part of them all, not just Fred's.

Now that is a difficult idea to absorb. Being a part of the world outside, without Fred by his side. He shouldn't leave him for even a second, isn't that the way it is supposed to be?

But after six months of being a constant presence by his side, watching that face, talking to him about their past in the nights, hearing back silence until it echoed in his head...

And finally getting discovered of taking sleeping potions.
Yet another classic case, this time of role-reversal, as he harks back to the memory of discovering them in Fred's nightstand.

Though Fred isn't the one there to catch him at it, as he had Fred. It is their mum instead.

"Six months is a long time, George," Ron says. He is sitting beside him on another chair, watching Fred silently. He turns to him. "Have you taken a look at your face?" he asks suddenly. "You've got dark circles the size of Africa under your eyes."

George says nothing.

Ron exhales noisily, as though exasperated. "George."

George looks up, and meets his eyes. "What?"

Ron, their little brother who has been the butt of their countless jokes, who has always had a nervous approach to them lest he be butchered by their sharp tongues and their sharp wits, is the one who gets up with a decisive air, takes hold of his arm firmly, and tugs him up.

"Get ready. We're going out."

George averts his eyes unresponsively.

"Stop being a git, George. Honest to god I'll stun you and levitate you out of here if that's what it takes."

They visit Hogwarts.

The crumbled walls have been rebuilt, the broken, splintered trees resurrected, the grounds cleared of all the debris, of all the blood and grime that the war had left.

The towers have been buttressed with pillars of strengths that could easily withstand nine richter scale earthquakes, the portraits have been repaired and mounted to their usual places.

As they walk along the rather deserted corridors, Peeves the Poltergeist swoops down and takes his hat off in a gesture of respect at them.

"Weasleys, revered and loved among us magical community, yes you are. William Arthur Weasley, Charles Septimus Weasley, Perseus Ignatius Weasley, George Fabian Weasley, Fredrick Gideon Weasley, and their younger brothers Ronald Billius Weasley, Ginevra Molly-

George tunes him out by then.

"Bloody hell." Ron mutters as they escape him. "You'd think the war might've changed him but no, loony as ever."

The reason why Ron has brought him here appears before them as they exit another corridor, walk up to a door and knock on it.

Their old charms teacher, Professor Flitwick, opens the door, and beams widely at them. He seems especially overjoyed to see George, one of his brightest, most favourite of students.

They chat over tea and biscuits, Flitwick, despite being a half goblin, one of the most kind, sensitive individual he has spoken to outside of his family after the war shattered his world.

They speak of the new ministry, how it needs bright, young people more than ever now, how new changes are being brought about, new laws made as archaic, irrelevant ones weeded out swiftly by one of the most capable ministers they've ever had – Kingsley, and how he thinks that though they have suffered unbearable losses, the courage in them to move forward is the only thing that would make the hard-earned victory meaningful. Otherwise they might as well have been defeated. What is the use of suffering great loses, enduring sacrifices, only to descend into despair. If so, the sacrifices made were pointless, the suffering for naught.

He asks George if he really wants to help him in re-writing the many student records that were lost during the war, considerate of his emotional state. When George nods in affirmative, Flitwick assigns him and Ron the work.

Since that day forth, he and Ron would often visit Hogwarts and assist them in the works.

Come night, and he would lie down next to Fred, talk about his day, wait for sleep to claim him, and when it doesn't, take the potion that he manages to keep hidden away from his unsuspecting family.

Because they think that he is improving, and he wants to keep it that way; despite the fact that he doesn't talk like he used to, that he doesn't smile like he used to, that whenever he does, it never reaches his eyes.

They think perhaps it would never return, not unless Fred wakes up. At least he isn't confining himself to his and Fred's room.

Six months turn seven, seven turns eighth.

Life went on around Fred.

It's the silence of the night.

George lies beside Fred, staring at the ceiling. His eyes are heavy, and a slight headache makes them feel stressed.

"Met Oliver today," he says quietly. "He asked if I ever plan on opening our shop again,"

The same grief that he feels every day, every minute, rests heavily on his chest, roils around nauseatingly in his stomach.

"Notice how it has changed from 'we' to 'I', Fred? People don't mention us as us anymore. When they talk to me-" George breathes heavily, struggling to speak through the weight that rests on his chest, that heavy, nauseating pain. "When they talk to me it's just addressed to me. Not to the both of us."

Silence. Silence is his reply. That chronic silence.

George turns and looks at him.

There he lies, his eyes closed, in a peaceful slumber.

Pale, slender. Red hair long as ever, skin smooth as ever.

Beautiful. Frozen in time.

"Are you even alive?" George asks, and suddenly, he is afraid of Fred. Unreasonably, irrationally.

He scrambles up, breathing heavily, heart kicking up into a violent rhythm.

The more he stares at him, the more terrified he gets.

"Fuck," he closes his eyes, tears springing to them yet again.

This isn't the first time that something like this has happened.

He is petrified of a thought that keeps jumping to his head-

Of turning to find Fred perhaps in a rotten state beside him, or perhaps grinning at him.

He is slowly losing his mind.

George wills his heart to slow down, his breathing to even out. He takes deep, long breaths, until that sudden surge of panic dies down.

He opens his eyes, and looks at him, to find that he is sleeping, as always. Unresponsive. Comatose.

Suddenly, George cries hard.

"Freddie," he whimpers brokenly, lying back down close to him, drawing his limp body to himself, hugging him.

He smells of the sweet scented soap that George uses to bathe him, his hair silken and fresh as he weaves his fingers through them.

"Wake up, please, wake up, love. I love you, I love you," George sobs into his hair, kissing softly, letting his tears soak them.

"I'm sorry, Freddie, love. I'm sorry to think such terrible thoughts. I'm sorry that I lose my mind sometimes. Don't let me lose my mind, Fred. Don't you love me? Don't you wanna come back to me, and kiss me, make love to me? I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. I'm in love with you. Now stop torturing me for not seeing it sooner. Stop it, love.."

Silence.

He happens to walk into an empty chamber the next day in Hogwarts.

And finds himself face to face with something that he and his twin had discovered for the first time in their third year-

The Mirror of Erised.

This time, when he looks at it, what he sees isn't a normal reflection, like he had years ago with Fred.

This time, he sees himself, healthy, smiling contently, cheeks tinted a pretty shade of rose, held closely by his twin who is stood behind him, as healthy as himself, a small smile on his lips, pressing little kisses to the shell of his one ear, catching his eyes in the mirror every so often with that mix of playfulness and sin in them.

George spends four straight hours staring at it.

Days pass.

Thoughts of euthanasia come up in the minds of a few like Pansy Parkinson, and Ernie MacMillan. He hexed them both in a rage so blind, so absolute, that were it not for Flitwick's timely intervention, they would have actually been dead.

That evening, when he gets home from Hogwarts after receiving an urgent patronus from Harry, he is greeted by an odd sight.

People. A small crowd of people – their relatives, their close friends: Harry, Hermione, Lee, Angelina, Katie, Alicia and many other Gryffindors, their teachers, Kingsley and many friends from the Ministry – at their front yard, and their living room.

And then, it hits him hard.

A swift, sudden rush.

A shrill, frenzied surge of violins and cellos.

Their bond. Opened, rushing to him, flooding his dead, numb being.

George's head reels, his world spins...

His body trembles, his knees buckle...

"George!" that's Ginny, having caught sight of him from where she emerged out of the front door, "Oh my god, George! Fred! He's back he's back he's woken up-"

And there he is at their front steps, pale, gaunt, heartwrenchingly beautiful, silken red hair whipping in the raw evening wind.

"Fred?" he rasps, tears streaming, blurring his vision. He blinks them away hard, for he doesn't want to miss a second of this moment.

Fred is bounding toward him, as he does to him. They collide in the middle of their front yard, gathering each other into their arms, breathing in and out desperately, sobbing, laughing.

They vaguely hear everyone cheering, laughing, crying around them.

George is thrumming with wild love, with frenzied joy, when he frantically cups his face with both hands and kisses him all over his face.

Fred gasps a little, but is still grinning, as he accepts them all.

George is so far gone, he doesn't care, doesn't acknowledge the presence of people around them.

"I love you, Fred. I missed you so much, I love you. Don't ever do this to me. Don't ever leave me like this," George sobs, speaking tenderly, close against his lips. "I'm in love with you. I love you, in every sense of the word,"

And George stops when he senses the discordance in their bond.

He draws back..

To find that Fred is looking at him with a thoroughly perplexed smile on his flushed face.

"Uh, George, I love you and all too. Merlin, it was your irritating voice that I kept hearing even when I was comatose! But don't you think you're taking it too far this way?" Fred laughs in amusement, staring at him in absolute mirth. "And here I was thinking that I might be the one suffering extensive brain damage!" he laughs.

"What's wrong with you, Georgie?" he laughs, and laughs again.

Each laugh a stab of knife to his chest.

They soon get jostled by their family and friends after they deem they have been given enough time to bond and let the news sink in.

They really are a classic case of contradiction, aren't they?
Of role-reversal.

George isn't sure if this has been the effect of the potion he had been taking.

If his entire memory with Fred has been altered by it.
If what he thinks he knows is true is all nothing but a dream.

Or if is Fred's, not his memory, that has been altered.

There's no one to seek as witness after all, no one to look up to as judge.

For it is a secret, be it one that had transpired in reality or in a dream.

It is their secret.
Their beautiful, sick secret.

Epilogue

George shares the bed with him in the silence of the nights.

When he hugs him, Fred never objects. When he trails gentle fingers through his hair, down his back, revelling in his warmth, Fred lets him, always.

And now, when he looks into his eyes and cries, Fred dashes the tears away with his fingertips.

"Why did you say that..that you're in love with me, George? That day?" he asks, a pensive expression on his face.

George smiles through his tears and kisses his cheek. "It's 'cause I really love you, you silly."

"You've become a pansy, d'you know that, Georgie?"

"I know," George laughs, averting his brimming eyes from his beautiful face.

"Oh George," Fred sighs, "I'm here now, aren't I? I'm here with you. I won't leave you again, I promise," he kisses his forehead gently.

George breathes in, his heart aching sweetly. "And that's all I need.. that's all I need.." he buries a hand into his hair, drawing him in close, resting his face against the crook of his neck.

Their souls, they are almost as merged now as they had been in George's memories, when they would be making love.

"So, back again to business tomorrow, aren't we, Georgie?" Fred asks a little sleepily. Contently.

"Yeah." George replies.

Content in his arms.

Lots of love from the bottom of my little heart to the songs that had been the inspiration for this fic:

All is Violent, All is Bright by God is an Astronaut.

Bloodstream by Stateless.

Thank you everyone who reviewed.

Edit:

So just thought I should put this up here because I get a feeling that I'm gonna get a few objection with the kinda-ambiguous, kinda-anti-climactic ending.

AmyTheAuthor: Really hope that you don't mind me putting up my response to your review here. Just doing it cuz it would serve the purpose of answering your review as well as clarifying my thoughts to others as well. :)

So, I had this ending in mind right when I started off with this story, so I really wanted it to end this way, never mind it was an ambiguous, anti-climactic one. It is infuriating, I know, but I've always thought that there was this feeling of negativity that stubbornly clung to this fic. Besides I had this idea in my mind since a long time where I wanted to show how everything is kind of a reversal of the previous events, and how it is like a tragic emphasis on this...idk.. yin-yang nature that I'd built for them. :)