Stay away, stay away from me. Leave me alone.

A warm pair of arms enfold me, I push them off, push them away. I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need your pity.

I don’t.

I won’t sit near you, I won’t be part of your circle of mourning. I won’t. I kneel at his head instead, kneel and look into his eyes, look deep into my brother’s eyes. Still full of laughter, even in death. I’m so proud of him, this brave brother of mine.

I have to fight now, have to fight for him, have to succeed for him, for you, Fred.

Always for you.


~*~*~*~*~


It’s later now, much later. Doesn’t matter – what would matter to me? Days, months, years – they mean nothing now. Nothing without him.

Funerals are rather a bother – he’s dead, just get him in the ground and be finished with it. Why all the speeches, why all the words that mean nothing, people that feel nothing? They don’t understand, won’t understand.

Not like I do.

Maternal arms are hugging me, tears pouring down her face into my shoulder, but I don’t care. I push her away, not noticing the surprise, the hurt on her crumpled face. She doesn’t get it either.  Nobody does, haven’t I said that already?

Now my sister’s looking at me with tearful eyes, but she doesn’t get it either, and I brush past her without a word, not answering her calls, not even when they’re joined by the voice of my youngest brother, then my eldest. Why should I?

I lope away, heading for the hills, and my feet pound faster and faster until I’m almost flying, close enough. Then my world is turned upside down and I land on the ground, hard, my foot caught in a tree root.

I lay there, then, staring at the ground underneath me, and suddenly, the tears unbidden come pouring forth, flood my world, soak the earth. It’s not fair – it’s not! Too young to die, he was much too young, I should’ve gone instead, or maybe with him.

It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me.

A pair of hands tugs at my shoulders, makes me sit up, and I look up into the freckly face of my second-eldest brother, so freckled it almost looks tanned. He’s looking at me with concern – I know he heard me repeating the phrase that is now stuck in my mind: it should’ve been me.

He helps me up – more liked forces me to stand on the feet so identical to the those of my now-dead twin, my partner-in-crime and my best friend. It’s too bad though – he doesn’t understand, either.

I never found the sight of my home so repulsive. My parents, my brothers, my sister – I don’t want to see them. I don’t care if I hurt their feelings – don’t they realize what I’m going through?

No, I remind myself as I push through the crowd and head for the house. They can’t comprehend, can’t understand.

Nobody can but me, can’t they understand that?

I climb the stairs, the stairs I frequented so much with my hero, tears pooling in my eyes once again, but I won’t let them fall, won’t let them be seen.

I enter our room, the room we’ve shared forever, the room that’s wholly mine now, and I can’t help but feel a sense of panic. Where are his sheets, his posters, his clothes, my mind asks for a minute, then my senses catch up with my heart and cloud over once again with the sense of loss that I’ve become accustomed to.

I go to stand by the window, but from there, I can still see the yard, the remnants of the funeral, the white marble tomb that is my brother’s temporary resting place, and a mound forms in my throat, and I have to look away.

Instead, I look over at the desk we used to share, at the notes, the plans, the sketches, the formulas so painstakingly worked out between two confidants. My eyes fall on a picture, then.

Two redheaded boys, grinning in mischief, arms around each other. It’s easy to see they’re brothers, without even the considering fact that they’re identical twins.  My eyes pool with tears and the strongest emotion I’ve ever felt sweeps through me: longing. I know then what I must do.

I take out my wand, point it directly at my heart, and close my eyes before muttering two words.


~*~*~*~*~


Ginny kneeled at the tombstone, clasping white lilies in her hands. Her head was bowed, her eyes swam with tears, and she cried silently for the fallen warriors laying together in the tomb. Together in life they had been, and now together in death – always.

She wanted to stay more, but a warm hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up. It was her fiancée, his green eyes bright with sympathy.

“You ready to go, Gin?” Harry Potter asked, and she nodded, giving him a little smile.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Just give me one more minute, okay?” He nodded, understanding, and she watched him go over to his best friend, her brother, and the girl who was her future sister-in-law before turning back to the tomb. She laid the lilies down and traced her fingers over the names carved into the stone gently. Her last words were soft.

“Fred, George, I know you’re probably having a great time up there, pulling pranks on all the angels. I love you, and I’ll always miss you.” With that, Ginny Weasley stood and walked away from her two brothers.

At the very gates of the cemetery, she stopped and looked up. Maybe it was just her, but she could’ve sworn she saw the identically mischievous smirks of her twin brother grinning down at her, watching over their youngest sibling and only sister.

Together.