AN: Hello all! Flippzy here again, doing my own thing with the stories, and the Mary Sues, and the awesomeness! Okay, so I decided to go with a different approach with my fan fictions. Once again, I'm doing a Harry Potter story, and yes, it's gonna be Hermione with a Weasley Twin, but with a total twist. Fred is, unfortunately, dead in this one, but don't worry! He's in here, as well : ). Afterall, the dead need to go SOMEWHERE, and since I'm not a big fan of the whole heaven and hell thing…well, why don't you just read for yourselves, this Author's note is already unnecessarily long, and would probably take up a chapter if I so choose, but I'm not gonna do that because I respect you guys too much to make this author's note too long and-*gets some angry and impatient glares from the characters in the story and shuts up immediately*
Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Characters of Harry Potter, nor the plot lines of Dr. Who and Full Metal Alchemist, but man, wouldn't it be great if I did? Um..on second thought, never mind.
Chapter 1: The Dead Speak
I never know what to write in a diary. It always just comes out either too poetic and dramatic, or something bland like "Went to school, ate lunch, took a siesta, played video games, bye." I mean, where's the fun in that? Then again, isn't that what a diary is for?
I don't think so.
I probably should have started this by telling you who I was, seeing as how this is my story, or at least, a story from my point of view.
My name is Kayla Jones, and I am dead.
Well, at least I THINK I am. I mean, I have memories from a past life, and how I died, but here I am, dropped off in a world completely different from my own, kind of like a form of reincarnation, or something. Thing is, I have my old memories, but they're kinda locked away, and it seems like I'm the only one who can unlock it. I've tried talking to other people about my strange memories and dreams, but they either brush me off or say that I'd make a wonderful story teller some day. Only one person believes me: Fred Weasely, my next door neighbor.
He likes to tell me about how he always feels like a part of him is missing; like he's only half there. He once told me that he'd been having dreams about there being two of him, like a twin brother. In fact, it was EXACTLY that. He says that his "twin" visits him quite often in his dreams, and there's that awful story about how he "died." Such a tragic story, but again, not mine to tell.
The way I died isn't as dramatic, nor as heroic as his. My death was out of self-pity and cowardice. You see, when I dream of my death, all I see is a note, a chair, and a long, thick rope hanging from the ceiling, my neck at the end of it. Yes, it's true, I'd committed suicide, though for what reason, I'm not quite sure of.
I've yet to tell Fred of my cowardly "escape" from the world, seeing as he'd probably just call me a stupid "Muggle" again (whatever that means.) He's always talking about magic as if it were real, and talking about all these hair-brained inventions that seem like they'd be a wonderful prank or joke. I think that fits him perfectly, but I just don't understand how he can believe in something that isn't there…then again, I should be asking myself the same question. Maybe I'm not dead, and maybe the dreams I'm having are just that, dreams.
But, I've got nothing else to believe in or look forward to, so why not think this way? If I didn't, what else would I believe in?
~~Meanwhile, on the "Other Side"~~
NORMAL POV:
George looked at the grave stone with clouded eyes. It'd been almost a year since the war ended, and almost a year since his other half had been ripped away from him. All he could think of were the "What If's" and how it should have been HIM, and not his brother, his best friend, his twin.
Lately, he'd been having strange dreams about Fred. He'd been having constant nightmares about his twin, anyway, but these were different from the death scene that used to play over and over in his dreams.
As of late, the dreams were about his brother looking at him in awe, almost to happy for words, and in a way, he was, because George felt that way. It was his dream, after all, so Fred should be happy to see him, right? What made it strange was the fact that when Fred stared at George, it was almost as if Fred didn't recognize him, but was still happy to see him, nonetheless.
George had begun to make a habit of visiting Fred's grave more often than he used to, just to turn back, completely depressed, because it was still there, and it only proved that his dreams were just that, dreams. Still, he played this sick, sadistic game on himself, just to try and make himself feel better…it never worked. He'd never be satisfied with the facts or reasons of why he was left alone, without Fred beside him.
He stood up once more from the gloomy grave, dusting the top soil from his jeans, he took one more look at Fred's grave, and wiped a stray tear from his eyes before turning away to face reality once more.
End of Chapter 1
AN: Sorry that was so terribly short. It was supposed to just be like an introduction, you know? Kind of like, what's on the other side of the mirror. Also, I apologize for the long-winded author's note at the beginning. Once again, I was just trying to make an introduction. Next chapter will be on the other side, so on and so forth until the plot begins to thicken. Till then, please Read and Review!