A/N: Yeah, I did this for a challenge posted in this forum called 'fnet.' It says to write a story about a beginning or an ending concerning the characters of Harry Potter. Here's what I came up with…
What Could Have Been, Should Have Been, and Would Never Be Again…
Fred hadn't wanted to come to the funeral. He hadn't wanted anything, actually, since the day of the attack. His mother had forced him to go. Not by using her voice, and certainly not by using her hands. She had simply opened the door and looked at him with her blood-shot eyes, tears already staining her pale cheeks. He sat up from his position on the floor and looked silently at the clearly-distraught woman. She let the question that was clear in her face hang in the air between them for a few precious moments.
Will you go to his funeral? Will you at least do that for me? For him?
Fred was quiet for a few seconds before lowering his gaze and nodding slowly. He didn't look up when she left, and waited until he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore before he stirred. He had to get cleaned up, of course. He had a funeral to go to…
And now here he was, at the tiny funeral of a fallen wizard. There were barley twenty people there. He looked around at the others sitting in the front row with him. His mother and father sat a few seats down, Mrs. Weasley sobbing like mad while Mr. Weasley simply stared at the open casket with a blank look on his face. Three of his brothers sat to their left, all sitting with their heads bowed in sorrow. Ginny sat next to the last brother on that side of the row, Percy, crying quietly into his shoulder. Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat between Fred and his parents, Ron wearing the same expression as his father while Hermione held his hand supportively. Harry, however, had his gaze pointed towards his feet, a look of shame crossing his features every few moments before it reverted back to the look of constant rue he had gained in is last year at Hogwarts. He must have felt like this was all his fault. The Death eaters had only come for him. It was simply a tragic circumstance that the Weasley's were caught in the crossfire. And now, one of their number was dead. The third casualty of the ongoing war, and at this rate, certainly not the last…
The sermon was over quickly. What can you say about a man who had only lived for 22 years? Fred couldn't say the fact that the funeral was drawing to a close was bad. He wanted to get away from the sorrow that surrounded him, although he knew by now that it would be nearly impossible. There was only one last thing to do before he could leave: they all had to file past the open coffin, the one thing Fred truly didn't want to do. He put if off for as long as he could, waiting until all of the others had passed him before he even rose from his seat. He trudged up to the coffin, his heart sinking lower and lower with each step. He finally stopped a foot away from the coffin and looked down into the pale, familiar face that he knew so well. The face that would never smile again, nor frown, nor laugh, nor cry…No. That was a lie. That face would still smile, frown, laugh, and cry as it had. After all, the face of the man lying in the coffin was identical to Fred's down to every freckle…
Fred stood looking at his twin for what seemed like hours before he turned and began walking away. He took three steps and apparated back to the Burrow, where he landed in the room he and George had shared for so long. The pile of blankets that he had awoken in were still on the floor. Fred hadn't put them back on George's bed, where they belonged. He had begun to sleep on his twin's bed after the attack, although the nightmares that plagued his nighttime hours usually sent him twisting and turning onto the floor in his sleep. After that point in time, he's day consisted of just lying on the floor, staring at the dirty ceiling and trying in vain to not think of George. But, of course, the only thing he -could- think about now was George. As he pulled the tie he was wearing over his head and removed his jacket before discarding them both on the floor, he was thinking of all the ways he could have saved his brother from the spell that ultimately stole his life. As he picked up the blankets from the floor and wrapped them around his shoulders, he imagined how his life would have been if George hadn't died. When he threw himself onto George's bed and buried his face in his brother's pillow, he was thinking back to the days when he and George were in Hogwarts, living life without a care in the world. And finally, when he turned his head at the photograph of him and George that found it's home on the nightstand beside the bed, he was only thinking of what could have been, what should have been, and what would never be again…
A/N: And that's the end. I hope you liked it. Cheerio, Rice Crispies, Fruit Loops and all that.