The Burrow was quieter than he had ever known it to be. Mrs. Weasley was not bustling in the kitchen nor was Ron shouting about the Cannons and how hungry he was. Ginny was not grumbling about her brothers and Fleur was not proclaiming in French. Mr. Weasley was not exclaiming about some ingenious muggle invention and, worst of all, there were no explosions erupting from Fred and George's room. The mood was somber and Harry could hear every creak of every board in the old house.

They were sitting silently in the dining room. All of them sitting around the table. No one was speaking. They had been this way for several minutes. Arthur at the head of the table, Molly to his right, the rest of the children sitting from oldest to youngest. Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny. No Fred.

Suddenly, George stood up, his chair tumbling backwards, looked around and opened his mouth as if to speak. Then he shut it, turned from the table, and walked out of the house into the yard.

Molly Weasley began to sob. Arthur closed his eyes, took in a shaky breathe, and turned to his wife, trying his hardest to console her. Tear silently streamed down the faces of everyone else at the table, save one person; him. Harry shed no tears. He was staring out the window at the gate to the overgrown garden. He was staring at the place he went when he was looking for an answer. He was staring at the place George Weasley had chosen to try to find his absolution.

Glancing around the table, Harry made up his mind. He stood up, though much more gently than George had, and walked out the door.

George was bent over the gate, taking deep breaths, his head buried in his arms.

Harry said nothing. He simply leaned against the gate next to George and waited for George to acknowledge him.

After collecting himself, George slowly turned around, revealing his tear streaked face to Harry.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Nothing," Harry said.

George scoffed and said, "Yeah. Right."

Harry gave no reply.

George decided to try again.

"Why are you here?" he questioned.

"I come here when I need a place to think, when I need to find an answer," Harry stated simply.

George gave Harry a strange look.

They both resumed silence until Harry finally answered George's silent question.

"Last July, after Mad-Eye died and you got hurt, I wanted to leave. Just being there was putting everyone else in danger. You see, I was so tired, George. So tired of people trying to protect me, so tired of people dying to protect me. So tired of everyone expecting me to be the 'Chosen One' or the 'Savior'. No one believed me when I told them that it was my wand, and not me that fought Voldemort," Harry said.

"So what did you do?" George asked.

"I went outside. I stood right where you're standing and stared up at the sky, watching the Thestrals. I started thinking about Dumbledore, how he would have believed me. How he always had the answer. I thought about how hopeless this whole war was and how I'd never be able to do it. Everyone who was supposed to help me, guide me was dead. My parents, Sirius, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore," he continued.

"And then what?" George posed.

"Ron and Hermione came outside looking for me and we went back inside and went to bed," Harry said.

They both went quiet once more as they watched the Gnomes dig their holes.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," George finally said.

"You live," Harry stated.

"I don't know how to do that anymore," George returned.

"You'll figure it out," he said.

"How?" George begged.

"At first, you'll pretend that nothing is wrong. You'll pretend that it doesn't hurt half as much as it does and that you've moved on. You'll pretend like you don't miss him and that you aren't sad or angry. And then one day, you'll look around and realize that it isn't pretend anymore. You'll realize that it doesn't hurt so much to think about him, to talk about him, to remember him," Harry told the brokenhearted man.

"How do you know?" George pleaded.

"Because I know that sadness and that rage. I know how bad it hurts to lose the person that matters most. And I also know that time passes, that the rest of the world will move on, and the world will drag you with it," Harry informed George.

George looked at Harry, studied him. Harry looked back at him.

"Can I ask you a question?" George posed.

Harry nodded.

"What's it like?"

Harry didn't pretend to misunderstand the question. He looked away from George, back towards the garden.

"It's warm, and it's bright. It's peaceful. It's everything you want it to be, George," Harry said.

"Does it hurt?" George asked.

Harry smiled at the familiar statement. A rueful and sad smile.

"It's quicker and easier than falling asleep," he assured George.

George gave a small smile to Harry.

"George?" Harry asked after several moments of silence had passed.

"Hmm?" he said.

"Fred's funeral is going to start in twenty minutes," Harry told him.

"I know," George replied.

"It's not going to be anywhere near as exciting as Fred wanted it to be," Harry said with a small smirk.

"Is it?" George retorted, slowly returning Harry's smirk.

"You think we should do something about that?" Harry asked.

George gave him a real smile. It was the first real smile Harry had seen from anyone in days.

"Most definitely," George replied.

Harry clapped George on the shoulder and turned to leave, but before he could get away, George turned towards him and asked him one last question.

"Do you think I'll ever see him again?" he asked.

"Without a doubt," Harry said.

He began to walk away, but stopped after a few steps and looked over his shoulder at George.

"He'll be waiting for you, George. When it's your time to go, he'll be there to take you on. He'll tell you a joke or give you a hug and it'll be as if he were never gone. Or maybe it'll be like you were never gone," Harry said and then he turned and walked into the Burrow.