Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters. I write for the play not the pay.
The quote is taken from the movie version of Phantom. May the hardcore fans forgive me.
This story was coauthored. The original idea was mapped and written by ViciousWolfie. Most of the credit goes to her. I only added some of my own style and details to the story.

Warnings: DH spoilers. Slightly disturbing themes but the story itself (in my opinion) isn't all that disturbing.

The Unmaking of George Weasley

"But clearly Madam Giry, genius has turned to madness"
-From 'The Phantom of the Opera'

It began with the end.

Or more importantly, with the end of Fred.

No one in the Weasley family handled it remarkably well. Which was a kind of thing that could be understood. They'd always been a big family. Close knit. Well tied. And with Percy slowly reintegrating (and the closest in age to the twins) Fred's loss was all the more apparent. Oddly enough outsiders looking in would have mentioned how it extraordinary it was, for George seemed to be handling the loss the best of all of them. He didn't cry at the funeral. Or late at night.

Only the people who had known George all of his life could tell that there was something hollow about him now. Something incomplete.

Sometimes when twins are born they have the urge to push the other away, to try and define themselves as an individual. Fred and George were not like this. They had always traveled together. Cried together. Broken the oldest family heirloom and several pieces of Molly's best china together. Fred and George had always been two halves of the same person.

Now that half of himself was gone George didn't know what to do with what was left. He felt like there was something he ought to be holding on to but he had only one hand to do it with and it wasn't even the strong one. It was the one he didn't write with, the awkward hand that was only good for holding someone else's coffee or flipping the bird.

He wouldn't say that he missed his brother. Miss was too weak of a word. He missed his dog. He missed his dearly departed Uncle Bilius from time to time. He missed playing Quidditch as a Gryffindor beater, playing for Oliver Wood. He missed Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. And (though he would never admit it) he'd 'missed' Percy during his estrangement.

He would not say that he missed Fred.

Missed simply wasn't the right word at all. He was sure he would think of the one he needed eventually. But for the moment all he knew what that 'missed' was not it and therefore.

He would. Not. Say it.

George pretended that he was doing all right. When people asked him how he was he would smile and give the polite generic answer. He wouldn't whirl in their faced and snarl something like 'shattered' or 'broken' or 'torn in pieces so small you wouldn't be able to feel them if they were stuck to your nose hairs.' And while he was busy pretending as time went on everyone else was busy handling it. His mother stopped crying herself to sleep at night sometime after the first six months. His father had stopped calling him Fred after the first three. Ginny had Harry to distract her and Ron had Hermione. Bill had Fleur and his ancient studies. And Charlie had dragons, which were distracting and a bag of friggin potato chips.

George was not handling. He was not getting better. Because the simple fact was that he had been Fred and Fred had been him and there was no getting better from being dead. It was very hard trying to live as half a person in a whole persons world. It was rather like attempting too see in four dimensions when he knew very well he could only see three.

He found himself trailing off in the middle of sentences, waiting for his other half to pick it up for him. By the time he realized no one else was chiming in to continue he'd usually forgotten what he'd been saying in the first place. He tried to persist with their small business but he couldn't seem to think of anything new.

He found himself forgetting a lot of things. He found himself eating breakfast and then not remembering moments after why his plate was empty. And when he sat down to think about it, he found himself wondering if he wasn't going slowly insane.

Because maybe he was.

The only thing he had found that made him feel even a little bit better was that if he turned his head away form the mirror just so he could pretend that he was looking at his twin again. He could pretend that it wasn't 'George' he was seeing out of his peripheral vision.

Then one day it wasn't.

He had just finished brushing his teeth for bed, or at least he assumed he had because his toothbrush was wet in his hand and he tasted mint and fluoride. He had slipped the brush back in its cup and looked up to bare his mouth at the mirror and found that he wasn't looking at George anymore.

"Hello Fred." he said grinning.

The reflection grinned back. "Hello George. You look absolutely spectacular if I may say so. How's it going?"

It did not occur to George that perhaps it was odd that he was talking to his brother in the mirror. There was no small voice in the back of his mind to warn him that he might have just taken that final step towards madness. Because you see, that half was gone. To George it seemed perfectly natural that Fred, sneaky bugger that he was, wouldn't really just up and kick it as easily as all that.

So he didn't ask how it was that Fred came to be in his bathroom mirror because it did not occur to him to ask. To him it seemed that this was what he had been waiting for all these months and, now that Fred was here, everything was fine. Everything was better.

"How's the afterlife." he asked.

Fred rolled his eyes. "It's god awful boring that's how it is. Why do you think I came back? And of course, my luck being what it is, I was stuck in Hogwarts for the last three months. And over summer vacation no less!"

"With not even a single soul for you to haunt." George finished.

"Exactly! Not a one. I followed Peeves around for a while but he was just as bored as I was." Fred sighed and then glanced behind him. "Listen, I've gotta run, but I'll be back again tomorrow."

"Same time?"

Fred winked. "Same time." He turned his head halfway away as if to go and then paused. "Listen…better not tell mum. Don't think she'd handle it very well. You know, me being a ghost and all."

George was still smiling. "Better to tell her yourself anyway."

His reflection was smiling back. "Precisely." And then George was beaming at himself. He washed his face and went to bed and not an abnormal thought crossed his mind.

He never wondered if maybe it should have, because it was exactly the kind of thing Fred would do. All he knew was that when breakfast came the next day he actually remembered eating his French toast and when he started to tell his dad about the garden gnomes getting into his nose bleeding nougats he managed to finish the story without trailing off more than twice.

He did not tell his parents about Fred. He imagined Fred had some crazy prank planned for his great unveiling. Or perhaps he was trying to think of the best way to break it to mum.

The conversations with his brother in the bathroom mirror continued.

It was always that mirror for some reason. George just supposed there was just some innate mystical quality about bathroom mirrors that made it easier for Fred. Maybe he was using a bathroom mirror at Hogwarts as a conduit or something.

After about a month and a half of this 'nothing out of the ordinary' interaction, George had an idea.

"Listen, do you think it's possible for you to haunt a person?"

Fred stared back at him and quirked an eyebrow. "You mean like possession? Zombies, demons, that crazy muggle movie we had dad get for us once. What was that called?"

"The Exorcist."

"Right. So like that?"

George shrugged ruefully. "Maybe without all the vomiting and head spinning. Well, at least without the head spinning. That could-"

"Hurt."

"Yeah."

"Dunno," Fred said. "Never thought about it."

"Maybe you should."

Fred nodded.

The idea didn't come back up for a while. George mostly forgot about it. Occasionally before falling asleep he would stare at the ceiling he couldn't see in the darkness and wonder. It wouldn't be like the movies. Alien spirits invading or what nonsense, because he and Fred were basically the same person.

But he assumed his mirror-dwelling brother had forgotten about it, so he didn't bring it up again.

Fred did, to George's surprised, about a month later.

"So I've been thinking about this whole haunting a person business," he said abruptly. George was perched on the edge of the tub, the Fred in the mirror doing the same.

"What have you been thinking about it?" George perked up.

"That maybe we should, you know, give it a try."

"Brilliant!" George's smiled faltered. "Er, how do we go about it then?"

Fred bit his lip thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. Maybe if you put your hand on the mirror…? I don't know. I'm fairly new at this ghost business, still getting used this whole being-"

"Dead thing." George was smiling sadly. "You're not the only one."

There followed an awkward silence. George stood uncomfortably, his hands in his pockets. He whistled a little tune to himself. "So," he finally said. "Did you want to try this…now?" His throat tightened enough that he could feel the pulse in it. His pulse. Would Fred be able to feel that when he took over?

Fred's mouth was quirked. "I suppose now's as good a time as any."

With a tentative hand, George laid his palm against the cool of the bathroom mirror, he thought he could feel the dips and grooves of Fred's hand beneath it.

The reflection disappeared.

Breakfast in the Burrow on any morning was a quiet affair, a far cry from how it had been a year ago. Wednesday was no different. Until George came thundering down the steps; his movements bouncing as they had not done for ages now. His father glanced up, a shaky smile on his face as he looked at his son.

The boy flipped red hair out of his face and tossed a candy onto the table. Then he aimed a karate chop that passed through his father's head. Arthur flinched, eyes wide, and blinked.

George was beaming triumphantly. "Transparent Taffies!" he proclaimed. "Came up with them last night."

Arthur was smiling through the small welling of water in his eyes. His son was going back to his old self. "Brilliant George!" he said as the boy sauntered towards the counter.

George glanced over his shoulder, a strange grin on his face.

"I'm not George, I'm Fred. Honestly, and you call yourself our father."