Till Forever and Beyond

A Scar That Will Never Heal

George's POV

I lay on his bed as yet another round of uncontrollable sobs wracked my body. That's all I seemed to do these days. Cry. Apart from this past week I hadn't cried since I was a stupid snotty-faced little kid, not realising that life was just what happened before death. But now I realised, and now I cried. I cried so fucking much.

My life had always been about laughing, and getting other people to do the same. That had been my life when he was in it; laughter, jokes and pranks from dawn till dusk and all through the night. We had done everything together, me and him.

Him. Fred. My brother. My identical twin. My other half. Without him now I felt like I had been cut in half. I wish I had been. It would have been far less painful.

I would have done anything for Fred, and I know he would have done the same for me. Life had been so happy when he was here. Even with Voldemort around I had never been truly unhappy. Not like

this.

Fred and I had taken on the role of trying to cheer everyone up, that was our contribution to the war. Our joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, had been the only shop in Diagonal Ally not to be wrecked by Death Eaters. Even those scum bags who had killed my brother hadn't dared to mess with the most powerful magic in the whole of the this universe and any beyond. That's what Fred and I had always said. No magic can beat laughter. Forget Dumbledore and his sodding love. Love only caused pain. Laughter was pure happiness.

I had believed it then, but now I wasn't so sure. Laughter seemed like a strange thing now. It was as strange as joy It belonged in a separate universe. One with Fred in. One that I knew I would never go back to again.

Without Fred the was no joy in life, only pain. Everywhere I looked I only saw painful reminders of the brother I had lost.

I looked around our bedroom and saw Fred and I inventing Expendable Ears, Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Weasley's Wildfire Wizz-bangs and all sorts of other things for the shop.

I looked out the window and saw Fred flying past in a game of three a side Quidditch with Ron, Harry, Ginny, Charlie and I.

I looked at Dad and saw Fred's wild red hair, always messed up in a way that infuriated Mum.

I looked at Mum and nearly screamed. When she cried her forehead wrinkled up in just the way Fred's did when is frowned in concentration.

I looked at Bill and saw Fred's big, muscled Beater build.

I looked at Charlie and saw the tiered look Fred had worn recently as the grief and loss of the war had finally started to get to him. Everyone looked like that now. All this pain because of one messed up evil power-hungry guy. Now I would have taken on a hundred Voldemorts single handedly if it would have got Fred back.

I looked at Percy and remembered how he had made a joke just before. . . IT happened. He had made Fred laugh. Caused his face light up with joy in his last few seconds alive. Caused him to die with the smile I knew so well still not quite faded from his face.

I looked at Ron and remembered how Fred and I had almost got him

to make an Unbreakable Vow  when he was little. He had nearly promised to grow up to become our apprentice trouble maker when Dad found us.

I saw the way Ginny looked at Harry and remembered how Fred had looked at Angelina.

I looked at Harry and saw a look of delight dawn on his 13 year old face as he took the Marauders Map from Fred's hand.

I looked at Hermione and saw her trying not to laugh as Fred and I "Disrupted the working quiet of the Common Room with useless babble."

I looked at Fleur and thought of how Fred would never meet the baby growing inside her.

But worst of all was when I looked in the mirror. The first time I had seen my reflection after the Battle of Hogwarts I had been shocked at how much I looked like my brother. I had suddenly noticed that the sad look I had seen on Fred's face when I lost my ear was quite at home on my own face, multiplied a thousand times.

I had let out a roar as anger suddenly filled my entire being, all mixed up with grief, loneliness and confusion. How DARE those stupid stinking Death Eaters take my brother from me? How DARE Fred leave me like this? I needed him so much. So damned much.

The anger was suddenly gone, only to be replaced by hopeless, dark, never-ending despair. The whole, terrifying truth suddenly rolled over me like a big dark storm cloud. I had been in some kind of stupid unconscious denial before, but now I couldn't pretend any more. I would grow up, grow old, and he wouldn't be there.

He wouldn't be best man if I got married. He wouldn't be a favourite uncle if I had kids. He would never have a wife or kids of his own. He would never meet any of his probably numerous nieces and nephews. Not just one life had been destroyed with that one fatal curse, but thousands. That curse had killed my brother, but also my nieces and nephews, my great-nieces and nephews, my great-great-nieces and so on until the worlds end.

But right then felt like it was the end of the world. The end of my world.

I punched the mirror so hard that it broke, piercing deep into my hand. I barely noticed. The cries of anguish coming from my mouth could not me intensified.

I was screaming.

Screaming for my life.

Screaming for my death.

Screaming for help.

Screaming for Fred, because he had been my life, and now he was my death, and only he could help me.

Mum came running at the noise. She threw her arms around me. I hadn't let her or anyone else near me since the morning after it happened, but now I clung to her as if she were life itself. I somehow managed to squeeze a few words past the lump the size of a brother's love that had stuck in my throat.

"I shouldn't be crying." I sniffed "He was all about laughter, not tears."

"I know, darling." Mum's voice told everyone who heard it just how she was breaking inside. "I know he laughed, but you just cry now. You cry all you want. Let it out. It helps. Not much. Nothing can smother grief like ours. But it helps a bit. . ."

And suddenly she was crying into my chest. "Oh my Georgie boy, we'll never stop crying."

And that's when the tears came, thick and fast. They poured down my cheeks and into my mother's hair as I thought of all the years of life I had to live through, and the pain.

The pain that would never go away.

Because Fred would never come back.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

So I clung to my mother and cried.

My mother. His mother...

Both of us sobbed until there were no more tears left. For the time being, anyway. I knew there would be more soon. Because Mum was right. We would never be cried out. Five days later and I haven't stopped. Not for long.

Mum has had to change the bandage on my hand from the mirror cut several times a day because it here so wet with tears, which seeped through making it sting, but I liked that. It took my mind off Fred, if only for a second.

I wouldn't let her heal it with magic. I want a scar to remind me of what I lost.

A scar that will never really heal.

A scar I will always have to match the one on my heart.

Because nothing is more permanent than grief.