Another story containing my beloved Fred and George, a little silly, but rewarding for me. I hope you like it. All comments welcome and appreciated.
How to feel special.
I spent all my years at Hogwarts wishing I was someone else. No one in particular, just someone bolder and better than I. It was watching the Weasley twins that made me feel like that. Not to say anything bad about them at all, in fact its only good things I have to say about them. It was just that, no matter how many times they got in trouble, or lost points for Gryffindor, you still knew that they were the kind of people who were going places. They were smart, funny, creative and always living up to those standards, and I, well I was no one. I never knew the answers, never had anything clever to say, never knew which way to flick my wand and always had to ask for help.
I grew up nothing special, unsurprisingly, I was a Muggle-Born. Truly surprising however, was they day my letter came, because I was no better at being a Muggle than I was at being a Witch. My parents were thrilled to say the least, they thought having magical powers meant to be good at something, but it didn't. At least not for me.
The Weasley twins were not my friends, we got along and didn't dislike each other and were in the same house, I was just never up to their speed. They were immensely nice to me all the time we were in school and even after we were all out of school they never forgot my name when I showed up at the Joke Shop to buy one thing or another, but we were never really friends. I couldn't have told you either of their middle names, or told you which one of them was which or if they preferred pudding or treacle tart, but I could tell you that they were genuine. I could tell you that they were kind and loving and gentle, and that was why I admired them so much. They possessed almost every good quality a person could have and I wished I could be like that. But I wasn't, and I'm still not now. That's hardly saying anything though, considering I'm a ghost.
I was killed in the Second War. I came back to defend the school where I had learned about beauty in its many forms, in the love for a brother, in the want and the will to learn, and in the way that had said I was different, even if I wasn't brilliant. I was never particularly good at dueling and probably would have been more help from my flat back in London, but I came nevertheless, thinking that perhaps the drama of the situation could strengthen my abilities. I was killed about five minutes after the Death Eaters got through our defenses. It's rather pitiful, I wouldn't be surprised if I were the first casualty for either side. I suppose what matters most is that I tried at all.
I became a ghost rather soon after I died, maybe an hour, the fighting was still going on at any rate, and I floated around the Castle doing something I had never done before, something entirely new, I cheered on the students and teachers I knew were on my side and pulled faces and yelled at the Death Eaters. It was a strange sensation for me, I had never been a real distraction to anyone before and it was quite exciting to do so.
I saw Fred die. I watched Augustus Rookwood blow up the wall that killed him. I watched George cry over his brother's body. I remembered how beautiful of a team they had been and wondered if things in the world could ever be the same without both of the Weasley twins alive to poke fun at them.
I've looked everywhere for Fred's ghost but haven't found him. I think he's moved on and is waiting dutifully for George in some other world. It's a shame, because there are a million things I would love to tell him and have only just found the voice to do it with. Its funny how death changes things. It's made me bolder. All credit can't go to death though, I think watching the twins separated has a lot to do with it, after all they always had a lot to do with the goings on in my life while I was alive. But one can only ever, really guess at what things make them change.
Now that George has opened the Joke Shop back up, I haunt the store room. He doesn't know yet, but I think he's suspicious. Sometimes he calls out for Fred after I haven't been careful enough hiding behind all the boxes. I wonder how he'll react when I show him who the real ghost in his store room is. One thing is for certain though, no matter how he reacts to it being me and not his twin brother haunting his back room, he'll know my name. And it's all the little things like that, that I've learned to appreciate that make me feel truly special and happy to be who I am, ghost or not, knowing that someone out there, at the very least, knows my name.