Firecracker
Freddie,
You're gone and you're not coming back, Freddie. I get it. They expect me not to; they expect me to yell and scream your name, begging for you to return. And I've done that. Many times. But just because I do that, when I'm having nightmares, or when I see myself (you?) in a mirror, doesn't mean I don't understand.
But Freddie, why? It's my fault, isn't it? I told you that we should split up; cover more ground. You didn't want to, Freddie, but I made you, didn't I? I remember the last thing you said to me, Freddie. "You better have an ear left when I come back, Forge." And I smiled, and then you were gone. Just like that.
Why did I let you go? Why did you let me let you go? We're only hurt when we're apart, Freddie, we both know that. I refuse to use knew for you, or had, or was. You're still alive, aren't you? Up there?
You coffin was ridiculous, Freddie. All fancy frills and carvings. The ceremony was complete bullshit. They knew nothing about you, Freddie. Nothing. I should've run the whole thing, I should've. Except for the fact that, back then, I couldn't even look at Ginny without crying. Or Ron. Or Dad. Because you're in them, Freddie. In me too…aren't you?
It's been a year, Freddie. Most people have moved on; even Mum. But moving on isn't forgetting. It's just not crying all the time, not bursting into tears every time someone cracks a joke. I haven't gotten to that stage yet, Freddie. I'm still waiting for you to come home. Even though I know you won't. I'm still waiting for you to turn Ron's teddy bear into a giant spider, or steal Charlie's broom, or set off a firecracker beneath the dinner table. I'm still waiting for you to walk into our bedroom at night, to say, "Hey, Georgie." I'm still waiting.
Angelina's here now, Freddie. She understands me. Not like you did, but better than anyone else. I think I like her, Freddie. I think I love her. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to love someone when you're still hurting real bad? When you can't even look into a mirror anymore?
I still have all your things. Your jumpers and clothes and all that. I'm using your wand, Freddie. I could always use yours, remember? Mine's lost somewhere now. I don't want to look at it anymore, Freddie. I always liked yours better.
I'm scared, Freddie. I'm scared that one day, I won't remember setting fire to Filch's trousers, sneaking Dungbombs into the Great Hall, stealing the Map from the Confiscated and Highly Dangerous drawer. I'm afraid that one day, Freddie, I'll wake up and I won't remember a thing about you. About us. And I'm afraid that you're forgetting too. Are you, Freddie? Can you still remember your name? Mine? I'm scared, Freddie, that one day, I'll mention you and no-one will know who you are. Is that going to happen, Freddie? Because I think I'd kill myself if it did, just to see you again, and know that you were real. Are real. Why did I say were, Freddie? I'm forgetting already.
Can I remember now, Freddie? Can I remember, so I don't forget?
Mum yelling at us for that Ton Tongue Toffee, Freddie, you remember? Dad asking us how that car went flying to Surrey and back? Hermione telling us that Gin's been breaking into our broom shed since she was six, Freddie? Do you remember now?
Throwing a pile of snow into Ron's face? Running the bets in the Triwizard Tournament; getting told off by Charlie for gambling too young? Slipping dragon's dung into Percy's in tray, remember? Putting beetles into Bill's soup, Freddie? Giving Harry the Marauder's Map? Do you remember, Freddie? Because I'm trying hard to, and I just can't get the memories right. Did we throw the snow at Ron, or Percy? Freddie? I'm scared.
I don't remember, Freddie.
Mum's at the door now, Freddie. She's asking to come in. I haven't left my room properly in days. I think she's scared too, Freddie, but she doesn't understand.
I'm telling her to leave, Freddie. I'm telling her to "leave me alone!" Is that bad, Freddie? But what should I say? What do I do now, Freddie? I haven't the faintest idea. It's like I'm a baby all over again. I have to learn how to walk without you, Freddie. How to speak without you beside me. How to even think without knowing that you're around somewhere. I can't remember how to do those things, Freddie.
When I want to walk, I have to move my legs with my hands. I can't seem to recall how to do it automatically. When I want to talk, I have to remind myself of the letters of the alphabet. Does F come first? Or is it G? When I'm thinking, Freddie, I can't remember anything but what I'm focusing on. It's like everything flies out of my mind without you here to hold it down, steady and slow.
I can't write anymore, Freddie. My hand is shaking so badly I can't even see the words. I don't even know what I'm thinking. Letters and lines are coming out, Freddie, and I don't know why. Is it you? Are you writing for me, Freddie? Are you here, now? Watching? Listening to me as I'm crying, sobbing, my chair creaking?
Because I wish you are, Freddie. I want you here. I'm waiting, Freddie. And I'm going to wait my whole life, you hear me? I'm going to wait my whole life for you, because right now, I feel ripped in half. Do you feel it too, Freddie? Does your heart tear at your chest now?
Do you even have a heart anymore?
I don't know what I'm writing, Freddie. I'm scared. What's happening to me? I'm becoming undone, and I don't know how to stitch myself back together. Maybe Angelina can help. She's here now, Freddie, knocking, she's here…
I miss you, Freddie. Angelina's reading this, and she wants me to say that she's missing you too. We all are. She's crying now, Freddie. What have I done? She's crying, I'm crying, and neither of us can stop, Freddie. I can't stop writing. I can't stop these words falling from my mind, through my quill. Angelina's holding me, Freddie. I love her, Freddie, but I wish it were you instead.
When will you come home?
Author's Note: R&R? Plausible? Sad? Hopefully. I'm crying now.