Half Whole (Grey Mix)
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George's world used to be filled with laughter and bright colour, because he always had someone brilliant at his side. As long as he'd been alive, he'd had his other half, blood and bone and magic just like his own, joy and hope and pain and sorrow like a mirror that could hold him when he gasped or giggled or cried. Except there were no arms holding him now, no tears left, either, no colour in a world gone grey and empty, his looking-glass flat and brittle and useless.

He felt hollow, as though he'd had everything good in him yanked out when he saw Fred fall. That horrible flash of green, leeching away life and colour and light and leaving behind nothing but monochrome in shades of pain. And then worst of all, it refused to repeat itself and instead left him standing there, alone. He'd been found seconds later, a stranger's arms lifting that which he'd once held most dear, stranger's hands brushing back hair that he himself had spent ages just this morning getting to fall that exact mussed-looking way. A stranger's eyes full of pity and sorrow that did nothing at all to fill him back up with anything but pain.

They'd often joked about how they were really one soul that made a mistake and got itself two bodies for the price of one. They'd laughed, curled in bed where even they couldn't quite tell where one ended and the other began, freckles and smooth pale skin and hands stained by strange experiments that knew, always, even that first time, where to touch. Laughed harder at the idea of their mother, and the expression she'd have if she ever got an inkling of what they really got up to in their single childhood bed.

Never one without the other, mischief made easier by having a built-in lookout, someone to help winnow out the flaws in each and every nefarious plot. Laughter, oh gods, the joy they'd shared in wicked, harmless pranks, nothing too dangerous, just enough of an edge to make everyone laugh all the harder when it turned out all right. They'd used Harry's money to spread that gift, small sparks of happiness in a world going bleak around them, finding strength in each other, and purpose.

Never once thinking that they might, even for a moment, be separated by such a great divide. That one soul would be torn from both bodies, but leaving one standing, empty heart and empty hands. A lonely shoe without its sole mate.

George laughed, the harsh sound echoing off the dingy once-white tiles of the awful Muggle train station bathroom. Fred would have loved that one, always the one for the puns, words just as important as props in the war against despair. Only this time, they'd lost, nothing left but that sucking black abyss, no colour at all, no purpose. No Fred.

He ran the pun over in his mind again, trying to pull the texture of the words into himself, so he'd remember. Fred would want to hear it, he thought dimly, drawing the sharp blade up one wrist and down the other. His last thought, however, was that in the strange, wan light of the tiny cubicle, even the blood seemed black and colourless.

Title: Half Whole (Grey Mix)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Fred Weasley/George Weasley
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, twincest, character death
Summary: Remix of Half Whole, by Olukemi. "A lonely shoe without its sole mate."
Notes: Thanks to Kel, who made me do it, helped me do it, and then helped me fix it. Even though I didn't want to.

All of the works contained herein are labours of love, unauthorized by those who hold the rights to such things, and no profit is made from them. No harm is meant, and hopefully no offense given.