The date was May the second. He knew this for several reasons, beside the fact that the calendar had told him so. The main one being the blasts of enchanted sparks shooting off from wands all over the country, all over the world, creating an array of beautiful stars that littered the opaque night sky.
As he walked down the dirt road, his hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers, he looked up at them, fixing his gaze as his feet continued to move slowly down the road. He bit his lip as he lowered his head once more. He heard music blasting and the sound of cheering and laughing in the distance, as he was fast approaching the wizarding village of Ottery St. Catchpole, the place of his childhood home, The Burrow, which was still inhabited by his parents.
He began walking into the outskirts of the village, near where he had been raised. He'd stop to see his family later, he promised himself as he saw the lights on in their house and heard laughter coming from within. Harry and Hermione were there, no doubt, probably celebrating Wizarding Independence Day along with the rest of his family- including Ginny, as he'd heard that Hogwarts had added a three day vacation specifically for the holiday. He approached town hall and saw a group of young witches and wizards with their wands held high, shooting off light to add to the collection already in the sky, in celebration of the victory against He-who-must-not-be-named.
They waved at him, knowing immediately who he was by the fiery orange-red hair atop his head and the hole where his ear had been cursed off by Death Eaters. "Happy May the 2nd, Mr. Weasley!" They beamed at him. He nodded to them politely, "Happy May the 2nd to you, as well." He told them as he continued on his way.
He passed the slightly more suburban area of the village, where the families had some money and all the houses looked nearly identical and came upon a small, rickety church that had been painted white many hundreds of years ago, but had aged and peeled to a sallow grey, and a fenced in field that sat behind it. He exhaled rather deeply and made his way to the wrought iron gate. He pushed it open softly, trying to remain quiet, to not disrupt the beautiful sense of peace the place seemed to hold. The wind blew at his long, unruly hair, carrying with it the quiet sound of a far off ballad being sung.
He recognized it instantly, an old Irish tune about a man going off to war. He bit his lip yet again, seeing as how fitting the song was, but he did not stop to listen, he just continued through the otherwise silent field. He glanced around to see if he was alone and was surprised, though slightly thankful, to find that it was indeed only him standing there amongst the headstones. He furrowed his brow at this. More people should be in the cemetaries on this day, May the second, paying respect to the ones lost in battle.
He kept his hands in his pockets and took a quiet, slow stroll through the cemetery, reading each headstone out of respect.
Finally he came upon two names that he recognized. Nymphadora 'Tonks' Lupin and Remus Lupin. He stopped and knelt down near the place where their bodies rested. He said nothing aloud, just remained silent in remembrance. He ran his eyes over the names again and the image of Tonks's neon hair and Lupin's sad smiles came to the forefront of his mind. He thought of poor Teddy Lupin growing up without his parents. He couldn't even fathom the idea of living with Aunt Muriel. Though she was quite a few levels nastier than Teddy's grandmother. He sighed and lifted himself up, giving the two names a last, long glance.
He bit his lip and continued onward, the breeze whispering over the calm, stillness of the headstones until he reached the spot he'd made this journey for.
'Fred Weasley. 1978-1998' The headstone read simply. George stared at it for a long time, his hands still jammed in his pockets.
"I don't really know what to say to you. But I feel like I need to say something…" George finally spoke, as he did so, he removed one hand from it's place and lightly touched the hole in the side of his head.
"You didn't deserve what you got. The explosion and everything. I mean, I wasn't actually there when you…you got hurt... But Harry tried to tell me. He said you were brave. Heroic, even. And I don't think anyone knew that more than I did." George wiped his nose quickly with his wrist, like a child.
"They've gone on without you, Freddie. They don't feel like they have something missing. They don't feel like they have this hole in their lives." He smiled faintly as he touched the side of his head again.
"But I just…Again, I don't really know what to say, but I just want to tell you that…It's not the same without you. Everyday, I get up and I feel like something's missing. And I don't mean my ear. I guess...I miss you, Fred. A whole bloody lot." His voice lingered off into silence again. He knelt down at his brother's headstone and ran a finger over the engraved words.
The wind blew again and the soft Irish melody from before poured sweetly through the air, wrapping George up in the sorrow of the moment, making him feel like he was in one of those sitcoms where the dramatic music comes on as the main character learns some kind of life lesson.
He brushed away a tear as he removed both hands from his pocket and reached for his wand. He aimed it at the headstone and began to write. His brow furrowed as he scrawled out the letters. He carved the last one and took a step back, smiling sadly at the two freshly carved words, a single tear falling from his eyes, running its way down his face.
He rose from his spot and jammed his hands back where they had been nearly the entire day, his head bent down to stare at his feet as the wind stopped for a mere moment
He looked back at his brother's resting place one last time before turning to leave
Suddenly, the wind rustled once more and George could almost hear the familiar, carefree laugh of his twin. He looked over his shoulder once more at the gravestone that now read:
'Fred Weasley. 1978-1998.' Then,
'Mischief Managed'.
"G'bye, Fred." He whispered back. He then exited the grave yard and continued on his way back to The Burrow, where they would all see George and think of his fallen counterpart. They would raise a toast to his bravery, a few watery eyes would ensue, and the evening would go on, everyone would go on. But George would not go on.
George would never go on.
In memory of Fred Weasley.