I do not own Harry Potter, JKR does.
Fred Weasley is not dead. If he were dead, I would be dead too. We are two halves of the same whole. Without one, there cannot be the other. He isn't dead. If he were dead, the world would stop spinning. The sun would stop shining. All color would be muted to the dark grey I see everywhere I look.
He isn't dead. It's that simple.
If Fred Weasley were dead, there would be no happiness left in the world. There would be no more smiling faces, no more laughs, no more jokes, no more anything. How dare the ones around me be so full of joy when I myself am in so much misery? How dare the birds continue singing their cheerful song when all that is in my head is sad, melancholy music that refuses to leave? How dare the world seem so happy and full of life when I myself fell depressed and dead?
He isn't dead! He can't be! He isn't! It isn't possible!
I feel so alone in this world without my twin. It is as if there is a hole in my heart, one that would never be filled. It has been exactly one month since that dreadful day, and I still refuse to believe that he is dead!
My sister mourns for him. Aside from me, she was closest to him. She tries to hide it. She locks herself in her room and tries to bury the sobs. I still hear her weeping, though. It breaks my heart into even more pieces. What is left of my heart, I wonder. Surely there isn't much.
My soul shattered when I saw my twin during the Battle of Hogwarts. My heart breaks to see my grieving family members. I do not know how much more of this I can take. He isn't dead. If he were, surely, surely, I would be dead too.
I feel as though I am being crushed by a one-million kilogram weight, and I cannot handle it anymore. I feel so empty, so alone, so… so deserted. I have nothing left to live for. I'm only remaining here because it would kill my family to lose me as well. I can't do that to them. I can't. I refuse to re-open the wound that they have that is slowly but surely healing. For me it will never heal completely.
The only thing that is keeping me going is her. Angelina. She grieves along side me. Fred was a part of both of us. He always will be. I had forgotten about Angelina until two weeks after that accursed battle. She is as much a part of Fred as I am. She feels the same pain I do. We need each other. We are two halves, but neither of us will ever be whole again.