Potential trigger warning for depression and substance abuse.
The sun rose slowly over the peaceful hills surrounding the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, crept through the curtains and illuminated the small bedroom with a dim light. George Weasley had already been awake for hours, lying in bed and staring at the grime stained ceiling paralysed with fear of what was awaiting him, what he had told himself over and over again could not be true. He tried to shake off the fear as he had always done, tried to tell himself that there was nothing to worry about, that this was all just a terrible mistake and soon, very soon everyone would realize that too. But convincing himself just did not seem to work as well as it always had this time, as much as he tried. He rolled over on his side pulling the covers over his head and buried his face in his hands.
Please, don't let it be true. Please no. He thought.
He didn't want to get up, didn't want to face the day or encounter other people. It would just make convincing himself harder and it was already hard enough. But he figured that eventually he had to. Than it was a new day. Six days and nights had passed since the last battle. And it was the day they were going to bury Fred.
The Weasleys would have liked a quiet ceremony, only the family and closest friends. But since Fred was known and his bravery admired by so many they had decided that they could not keep the privilege of saying the last goodbyes to themselves.
"So many funerals to attend. So many great wizards. Just gone." His father had whispered just last night when they were having dinner and then he had hung his head to hide his tears and the kitchen of The Burrow had become even quieter.
It had been quiet ever since they had come back home, as if the large, happy family that once inhabited this place was long gone. George had pushed away his untouched plate and left the room. He couldn't stand seeing his father that way, as if all hope was lost, as if he actually believed that it had happened. But there was hope, there was a possibility that they all hadn't thought of even though they had known Fred all his life. It had occurred to George in the hazy hours after the battle, amid the first wave of excruciating pain and he had stuck with the idea, clung to it for dear life afraid to let it go. It had made everything bearable. Less like he couldn't breathe. Less like all was lost.
This was all a prank. A prank that Fred must have had planned for a long time. He wasn't dead, just pretending. Any moment he would burst in the room, laughing his head off in celebration of his biggest prank yet. It all made sense to George, his brother had always had the crueler sense of humor, had pushed things just that little bit further when George thought that it was enough. The rational part of his brain told him that this was impossible, that Fred would never do that, would never hurt them this way. The truth lingered at the back of his mind but he refused to accept the unbearable, told himself that if he didn't believe it then it wouldn't become true.
George didn't remove his hands from his face as he tried to pluck up the courage to start this day. He would have to face countless fellow Hogwarts students, friends, relatives and members of the Order. How would he explain to them that all of this wasn't even necessary? That it was only a matter of time before Fred would walk up to his own grave, surprising them all? Slowly he eventually did move his hands and pulled the covers away to stare at the ceiling of the bedroom again. The same bedroom that he had shared with Fred for so many years. He let his eyes wander and the nearly empty room threatened to overwhelm him with a million memories that still lingered in the corners, hid behind the curtains, floated through the narrow beam of sunlight shining through the window. The faint echo of laughter bounced from the walls and rung in George's ears.
Can we stop this now Freddie? He thought. It hasn't even been a week and I'm already missing you like crazy.
It seemed like hours later when a soft knock reached his good ear and the door slowly opened. Ginny came in, not bothering to ask for permission and sat down at the end of the bed. She looked tired, the dark circles under her brown eyes speaking of sleepless nights.
"Scoot over." she demanded and George moved closer to the wall to make space for her.
She lay down, facing him. "Do you think you can do this?" she asked, her face full of concern.
George cleared his throat, trying to smile and joke away the fear. He had been carrying this fear with him ever since he saw Fred lying there. It was a cold, overwhelming kind of fear that stuck with him every second of every day. But now he only wanted to make this look on his little sisters face disappear. He wanted to keep positive, wanted to believe in the little story that he had made up in his head, but the truth was slowly seeping into his consciousness and it was getting harder and harder to ignore it. He kept quiet for a while, thinking about what to say to her.
Finally he managed to say "I don't know, Ginny." His voice sounded nothing like he remembered it, oddly hollow, hopeless, and already defeated.
Ginny nodded knowingly "Me neither." She sighed.
"But" she said, bit her lip and looked down. "I guess we have to, right?"
George didn't manage more than a short nod as response. Ginny gave him a quick hug then she got up, opened the doors of the big wardrobe and pulled out the hastily purchased black dress robes.
"Come on." She said softly, holding out the robes to him. "Let's do this."
Gryffindors were brave and daring they said. Gryffindors had the hearts of lions. The Weasleys had been sorted in this house for generations. But never in his life had George felt less like a Gryffindor as when he stood at the garden gates of The Burrow aside his brothers, greeting the stream of mourners that seemed to be unending. George recognised most of the faces but their words of comfort couldn't get through to him. He was too caught up in the memories of the last summer when he and Fred had greeted guests at Fleur and Bill's weeding, back when there had been two of them standing alongside each other. Thinking of Fred alive and breathing made it easier to look past the cracks in the wall that his hopes had built between his mind and the truth. He felt the side glances that Bill and Charlie, who stood next to him, threw at him once in a while and straightened himself up.
Don't you worry. I'll be just fine as soon as Fred shows up and ends this farce. He told them quietly in his head.
Just then, a familiar face emerged from the crowd and came towards him. It took George's confused brain a moment to place the young pretty girl, but when she hugged him he mumbled 'Oh, hey Angelina.'
She let go of him and looked up. 'I'm so sorry.' She said quietly and only then George realised that she was crying.
'It's okay, he's just...' he began but then stopped, she wouldn't believe him anyway.
Angelina looked at him, wiping away the tears from her cheeks, forcing a smile. 'I know this doesn't make it hurt any less, but you know he didn't die for nothing. Try to remember that, George. There was a reason for his death and that should be our reason to go on.' She said seriously.
George flinched. Why was everyone so convinced of his death?
But he nodded. 'I know, Ang.' He said, using the nickname she had always hated in school but didn't seem to mind today. 'I know.'
Angelina took his hand and squeezed it lightly, flashing another fake smile with tears still glittering in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something but then seemed to decide against it and just stood there silently for a second, still holding his hand.
Finally she let go and said. 'I, well… I'm going to look for Katie and Alicia, we, um, I'll see you later.' With a last look over her shoulder she disappeared in the crowd, leaving George to dwell in his memories again.
Finally, everyone seemed to have arrived and settled into the elegant white chairs forming long rows on the field of wild flowers that was the garden of The Burrow on this sunny day in May. But George stayed at the gates for a bit longer, staring into the distance, searching for a glimpse of red hair. He had to come soon. Bill laid a hand on George's arm and tucked him lightly.
"Come on, George. Time to go." He said softly and attempted to lead George to his place in the first of the many rows.
But George shook of his hand angrily and glared at his oldest brother. 'Can't you just let me wait for him one more minute? 'He asked indignantly and scanned the fields surrounding The Burrow again, not noticing the pain in Bill's eyes.
He turned around reluctantly when another hand touched his arm, a much lighter grip this time and looked into Ginny's face. She wasn't crying but the dark circles under her eyes somehow seemed to be even more prominent than they had been this morning and she was biting her lip.
'George?' she asked quietly. 'Come on, please?'
He looked at her outstretched hand and then slowly took it. It was Ginny. How could he ever refuse her anything? She led him through the rows of mourners that followed them with their eyes and sat down next to him in the first row of chairs. He saw her exchanging a meaningful look and a quick sad smile with Harry, who sat next to her, but she didn't let go of his hand. George looked up and down the row, taking in the members of his extended family. On his right sat Hermione, already crying like Angelina had and an empty seat beside her where Ron would sit. Next to her, his great-aunt Muriel, short of biting comments on this day, her dislike of Fred seemingly forgotten. And then…, George's gaze stopped at his mother's face. Mrs. Weasley had been crying constantly for the past week, but now her eyes were dry. George had liked the tears better; they had hidden the pain that was written all over her face now. Her shoulders were slumped so she looked much smaller than she actually was and she was clutching his father's hand so firmly that her knuckles had turned white.
George closed his eyes. Time's running out. Come on Freddie. Don't do this to her any longer. George thought and tried to concentrate on the warmth of Ginny's hand in his to fight off the panic that was getting stronger with every minute that passed.
In the moment that Percy, Bill, Charlie and Ron carried Fred's coffin into the garden and through the long rows of chairs, the whispered conversations died away and everyone fell silent. The song of the birds, nesting in the trees surrounding the scene seemed to swell on in the silence. The coffin had been painted a dark purple, Fred's favourite colour and was already covered in flowers that Ginny had arranged on the polished wood. George stared at the ground between his feet, still holding Ginny's hand, not wanting to see anyone's faces. He only looked up when his brother's carefully set down the coffin on the pedestal that had been built up underneath the weeping willow that was intended to be Fred's final resting place.
They had always loved that tree, had spent hours sitting in its crown talking about the future even though Mrs Weasley had told them a million times not to climb that far up. George could hear muffled sobs behind him, when his four brothers tucked their wands into their robes and hugged one another. Then, Bill, Charlie and Ron sat down quietly. He could see Hermione taking Ron's hand from the corner of his eye and him quickly wiping away a tear from her cheek with his other thumb. Seeing the coffin worsened the fear and weakened the already cracking wall. His heart rate sped up and he pulled in long breaths to calm himself down when Percy, who had remained next to Fred's coffin, cleared his throat and began speaking. His voice carried through the silence without a spell even being necessary.
'Today we have come together to say the last goodbyes to our beloved brother Fred. Speaking for the whole Weasley family I want to thank you for coming.' He paused, closing his eyes for a second.
'It goes without saying that this is a black day for our family. We have not only lost a brother and a son, but the world has lost a great wizard, far too early. But as much as we are grieving, we are still blessed and so proud because we got to know Fred. We got to know this brave young man. We got to know Fred, whose greatest passion was making others laugh. My brother died at the young age of only twenty, but he died a hero and he died a true Gryffindor. He died protecting not only the ones he loved but the whole Wizarding World. I was with him when he, when he died and it doesn't cease to amaze me that Fred died just like he had lived, with an s-smile on his face and a joke on his lips.'
Percy paused again, wiping away the tears that streamed down his face and cleared his throat again. The sobbing had grown louder and George was tempted to cover his ears, to shut them out, to make it stop. He didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it.
'I have always been very different from my brothers, especially from the twins, but that never meant that I didn't love them. I wish…'
Percy had trouble controlling his voice now and just looked up to the sky for a few seconds.
'I wish I could have spent more time with Fred. I wish I could have truly apologized for the way I have treated my family in these past years. Now, I can never make it up to him. I'm sorry little brother, I'm so sorry.' He finished and stumbled to his seat, apparently blind with tears.
George closed his eyes again but that only seemed to make the sound of crying people all around him grow louder. He could feel Ginny's body shutter next to him. She was crying too. Carefully he let go of her hand and got up.
'What are you doing?' Ginny asked through her tears but he didn't answer.
He didn't know what to say, he just knew that he had to say something. Something that would finally make Fred appear. George didn't quite understand how the sounds he heard all around him weren't enough for Fred to show up, but maybe it took a few words from him. He walked up to the coffin and let his fingers run over the polished surface tenderly. Then he began to speak still facing the coffin, oblivious to everything else.
'Me and Fred we were never an I or a You, always just a We. He is the other half of my heart, beating in sync.' Pausing, he could feel everyone's looks on his back, could almost see the concern in his family's eyes grow. But he had to continue.
'Fred and George, George and Fred, every day from the day of our birth on, there's was never a separation, never. Being without one another has never been an option. But now Fred is…' There, this was it, the moment he just had to appear, the perfect opportunity. George held his breath and closed his eyes.
Come on, Freddie. What are you doing?
But one second went by then another and all he could hear was the nervous shuffle of the crowd and the sobs, still the sobs. No cries of surprise, no cheering. He opened his eyes and the wood under his fingertips was just as polished and solid as it had been before.
And then it hit him with the force of a thousand stunning spells. The wall of hope that he had been building this past week came crumbling down and the truth flooded every part of his brain.
Fred wouldn't come; he wouldn't crash his own funeral because after all, he wasn't pranking them. He was dead, horribly and irretrievably dead.
George fell to his knees, struggling for breath as if every last bit of air had been knocked out of his lungs. It felt like the sky was coming down, like the world was ending right here, right now, in the garden of The Burrow because Fred was dead and he was never coming back. When Bill and Charlie rushed to his side, he drew his breath together and started screaming. Just three words.
"No! Please, no! Freddie! Freddie! No! Please!"