A friend of mine asked me to write a story like this, using OCs of ours. If you need me to explain any of them, I will :)
For now, just enjoy. It's sad, but hopefully it's beautiful as well.
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, then I wouldn't have written this, jah? :P
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Remember Me Laughing
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"What's going to happen when Mummy's gone the same way as Freddy?"
George never expected a sentence could hurt so much; could rattle someone so completely and utterly until every molecule rang with the injustice, the trauma of it all.
Why him? Dear Merlin, why him?
Every detail of that horrific night was etched into George's brain. A never-ending saga of drama and grief that threatened to pound him into a fraction of what he'd been just twelve hours ago. Merlin, how long ago that seemed.
They'd been at the shop; Tamara was just closing the doors for the evening when the call had come in via their old DA coins. Naturally, Fred had been the first to jump to his feet, eager to join the fighting forces sure to be amassing at Hogwarts; George had teased him that it was mainly just desire to see Harper again that fueled Fred's adrenaline.
Oddly enough, he didn't regret that statement.
What George fervently regretted was… well, not being there for Fred. You know… when it had happened.
The event.
Fred's…
Merlin, he couldn't even think the word, it was too traumatizing. Like cutting open a knife wound. Digging deeper.
He barely registered Bellatrix's demise at the hands of his mum- aside from a vicious "ha!" of triumph because it was no more than the hag deserved- and Harry's conversation with Voldemort was one big blur. In fact, it was only Tamara's gentle touch on his arm that brought George back enough to realize that the entire congregation of Fredom- freedom, dammit, freedom!- fighters had swarmed the Boy Who Lived, and Voldemort was shriveling up as they spoke.
Then, wounded were being tended to (and that included George, even if he hardly considered a minor fracture a major deal, not when Fred… when Fred was…) and people moved around; words were murmured in the ears of others, some consoling, some encouraging.
"George?"
Tamara stood beside him, and a thousand emotions danced across her battle-worn features. Concern. Love. Sympathy.
"Your family- our family is over there," she said, and George reluctantly let a smile escape; how like Tamara to forget the connection she had to the Weasleys, all nine of them.
Eight of them.
Merlin, but it was so hard. As if in a trance, George allowed his fiance to lead them towards the huddle of red-heads, with three splashes of brown, black and candy-apple red thrown in. Tamara paused only once, as they passed the bodies of Remus and Tonks; it was George's turn to gently take his love's shoulder, his turn to provide scant comfort against an ache of loss.
"My poor nephew," was all Tamara allowed herself to say, and then they were moving on, crouching to join his grieving family.
George's parents were together, Arthur rubbing the heaving back of his wife, sobbing away. Fleur had Bill in an embrace, and Charlie and Sheena stood wrapped in each other's arms, sharing mutual torment. Hermione had taken both Ginny and Ron's hands, and the latter was clutching Percy's shoulder, George's older brother weeping into his hands.
It was the next scene that had George in tears again. Harry and Maddy- somehow or other completely forgetting any enmity; had it been the strange trip they'd taken that year?- were supporting Harper. Harry had one arm around his cousin's (could you really call them just cousins, after all they'd been through?) waist and Maddy softly stroked her best friend's hair.
Oblivious to it all, Harper clutched at the reason they'd fallen into this void. One hand was in his hair, the other stroking a face that would never laugh, never smile, never joke again.
Never live again.
"Fred…" Harper kept whispering to George's fallen twin. "Fred…"
Unexpectedly, The Burrow had remained relatively intact during the Weasley's stay with George's Aunt Muriel's. Most of the walls stood strong, and though possessions were strewn about and wrecked, anything of real value had been hidden safely away.
George picked his way through the litter carelessly. His destination: the one room in the house which might hold some answers, even if George had no clue about the questions.
Ron, Harry, and Hermione had gone off on their own somewhere, and Bill, Charlie with their respective partners as well as Percy were spending quality time with Mrs. Weasley.
Once she and Harry had managed to get Harper sufficiently calmed down, Maddy encouraged her wraithlike friend to partake in a leisurely walk about the garden. George could see them now; neither of them talking, Maddy simply clutching Harper's hand.
It was hard to remember Harper was in just as much pain as George. They had lost so much of their future, lost someone deeply special to the both of them.
Though George had the teeny selfish thought that he was in a wee bit more pain than Harper. After all… Fred had been his twin. He'd known him longer.
"I'll be in our- my room," he told Tamara softly. Though his fiance could see the pain in his eyes, George loved her for the fact that she did not argue; she merely kissed him softly before going to join his broken parents in their broken living room.
If it weren't for Tamara, where would he be?
George climbed the stairs; cracked picture frames and scorched wallpaper reflected his innermost turmoil. Why? Why them? Why him?
It took the man several minutes to work up enough courage to push open the ruined door that led to his and Fred- his room. Would there be too much for him to handle? George could feel the waves of insanity lapping at his mind, threatening him.
Tamara, he kept thinking. Mum. Dad. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Ginny, Harry, Harper-
Repeating his makeshift mantra viciously George's eyes gazed upon the cheerily lit bedroom that had been his and Fred's for nineteen years. Photos of the two of them dotted the walls, though sketches and diagrams were predominant. Two twin beds were up against opposite walls, though nothing remained but rumpled sheets and slashed mattresses.
George headed to the far right one immediately- Fred's old bed. Adrenaline could only get one so far; already George felt his spirits flagging and what he really wanted was to just… just think.
Or perhaps not thinking was better.
George lay down gingerly upon the mattress, and let his head sink slowly into the pillow. He'd been expecting soft, feathery down to greet him, but instead got a rather sharp point jabbed at the back of his cranium.
"Bloody hell," George cursed, sitting upright and plunging a hand under the pillow. Some nasty trick left by a Death Eater; something to taint Fred's memory? By Merlin, if anyone even dared-
George's searching fingers grasped two distinct objects: one soft parchment, and the other hard and wooden.
A letter and a box. George stared at the two items, perplexed. Why the bloody hell would a Death Eater bother leaving a letter- unless it was a Howler? None of the Weasleys had been home recently, and as far as George knew, nobody that was an ally had been near the Burrow ever since George's family had had to flee into hiding.
It must have been Fred. Hands shaking with trepidation and excitement, the prankster cracked open the seal of the letter, placing the wooden box gently on Fred's pillow.
Dear Georgie,
How's it going, mate? Stupid question, of course, but it's only polite to ask. Mum did teach us manners, and yes- I actually listened to her.
If you're reading this, I'm dead. Such a tragic concept, don't you think? But I had an inkling that not all of us would come home safe and sound- we're battling effing Voldemort, for Merlin's sake!- so I made contingency plans.
Ergo, I wrote this letter in the event of my death. I want you to know, George, that I've never regretted anything. Not one single solitary thing… except maybe that incident with Moaning Myrtle in second year. That was ugly. The life I've led with you by my side has been amazing, and I'd rather die now, being your twin, than seventy years from now as anybody else.
George… this means you can't give up. No matter what happens, you promise me that you'll continue our dream. You'll make Weasley's Wizard Wheezes a household name in wizarding communities around the globe- I suggest promoting Tamara to a partner. Such businesses are better kept in the family, in any case.
You're going to keep inventing things, because I know you have the talent. Plus you've got the added benefit of having more common sense than me. Hey, good looks AND brains would be a horrible combination (but I've handled it well, so far, I think!).
If word reaches me- and make no doubt about it, it WILL reach me, so don't even think about it- that you've spiraled into a depression and ruin the business I worked so damn hard on… well, you'll lose the other ear, you twit!
Don't ever forget me, though. I want you to be happy, so if being happy means you never speak of me again then so be it- though I'm far too amazing to never be complimented or worshipped again- and at this moment, nothing matters more than your happiness. I give you and Tamara my blessing, George. Tell her I've always thought her the perfect sister-to-be, and that I entrust your care to her now. I "pass on the torch" in a matter of speaking.
Seriously, though. Keep me alive in your heart and soul, and I'll always be with you. With everyone.
I love you, my brother.
-Fred Weasley
PS: Tell Harpy I love her, I will always love her, and I always have loved her. This box is for her- it contains something I had planned to give later. But it appears I will never get the chance now. Take care of my wildfire for me, George. She's so strong, but I fear this might be the one thing to destroy her.
Tears streamed down George's face as his eyes scanned Fred's last words. Partially, they were tears of sadness- for the letter had reopened wounds George had thought closed- but equally mixed in were tears of happiness, to hear these words from his brother and to know that, even faced with the end, Fred was still his jolly, exuberant self.
He had to find Harper now; Fred would want his love to see whatever was in this box.
George leapt to his feet, clutching the wooden container almost feverishly; a chuckle escaped his lips. New life and energy seemed to have been breathed through him.
A purpose; that's what George felt. He had a purpose again, even if it were as simple as spreading Fred's words to Harper. At least it was something to stave off his encroaching black mood, and George suspected Fred to have planned it as such.
Confident in his newfound knowledge, George bounded down the stairs and into the living room, where he found several family members in a protective circle around Harper.
Harry looked up from his intent gaze on Harper; Hermione asked, "What is it, George?"
"A letter," said George. "From Fred. Before…"
He handed the box to Harper, who took it with shaking hands. "This is for you. He left it in my care."
"What is it?" Harper managed to get out-though George noticed her voice was stronger and her face determined to be strong.
George shrugged, and motioned for Harper to find out.
Inside the box was a smaller box, as well as a picture. Harper lifted out the picture, and the entire family gathered round to grin at the image.
It was of Harper and Fred. The two of them were standing by the Black Lake- obviously during fifth year, George thought- and both of them were laughing. Harper raced around the trunk of a willow tree, hiding herself in the hanging vines. Fred pretended to search for his girlfriend for a little bit before giving up the charade and diving in to snatch her about the waist. Squealing, Harper struggled as Fred dragged her back into the sunlight, where they shared a loving kiss.
Harper's eyes filled with tears as Hermione reached out and read the back.
"Dear Harper. The time we spent together was magic. From the first time I set my eyes on you, I knew you were the one I'd marry. Don't ever stop living, don't ever give up. I'll be watching over you, always. Fred."
Nobody needed to ask what was in the small box as Harper took it into the kitchen. And nobody commented when she came out and the ring finger of her left hand sparkled with every step. Harper strode up to George, and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug.
"Thank you," she said.
George felt the slightest glimmer of a smile on his face as Tamara reached out to take his hand.
"He'd want us to remember him laughing."
Well? Did I do good? I won't know unless you click that lurvely review button that I'm so fond of :D
Happy Holidays!
*goes off singing "God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs"*