Secondary assignment D.A.D.A
Arthur's P.O.V
He hides in the attic in the day and roams the burrow freely at night. I haven't told Molly or our children that he is here, well the ghost of him.
How can I when they can barely accept his death let alone that he is now a ghost; a ghost who refuses to truly believe he is dead.
The pain would be too much for them to bear so I shield them from it, and try to get Fred to believe that this isn't a nightmare.
If he accepted he was dead then maybe he could move on, maybe he won't roam the earth as a ghost forever.
The first time I saw him was at his funeral, but only for a few seconds then a few weeks later he was here.
He told me he didn't know where he'd gone that briefly he'd be near one of us then he'd vanish to somewhere that was cold.
Sometimes at night I lay there praying that when I wake he'll be gone, that he'll be at peace.
But when I wake and go up to attic he's there making fun of the ghoul and asking why I insist he only comes out when everyone sleeps.
In a twisted way its funny that he listens to me now when he was alive he rarely did.
I always change the subject because I don't know what to say; "Seeing you would shatter everyone's heart into pieces".
That would hurt him and I can't hurt my son. I could never hurt him or any of my other children.
If I could swap places to make him flesh and blood again I would without a second's hesitation. So he could grow old and do all the things he wanted to, but I can't and it hurts.
It's the worse pain I've ever felt and I can't share it with anyone.
When I look at him now all I can think is where's my boy?.
The one who covered his hands in paint and pressed them all over the walls or the one who pretended to slay a monster under Ginny's bed.
The one who was always by his brother's side with a matching mischievous grins.
Because this pale see through boy who doesn't smile and says he's cold isn't my boy; he's an echo, a shadow of him that remains in this house.
A shadow that I can't bear to hurt yet every time I see him breaks my heart.
It isn't fair that I'm stuck with an echo while Lucius Malfoy and people like him have their sons are living.
They don't have to order their sons to stay in the attic until everyone falls asleep. They don't have to listen their wives cry or the other children become sad shells of who they once were.
No, none of this fair.
It isn't fair that Fred is dead, it isn't fair that I hide him away and it isn't fair that he refuses to accept he is dead.
My precious boy, my precious echo I'm sorry I failed to protect you; I'm sorry I can't make you real again.