George tugged at the tight collar of his new robes as he stood in a line with his family. He felt uncomfortable, but not quite sure why; it was almost like he was not quite whole - like something important was missing.
"What's going on?" A voice asked in his ear. George was so used to that voice that he didn't jump and wasn't even vaguely surprised to hear it. What did surprise him, though, was that, when he thought about it, he hadn't heard that voice in a while. Not that that really mattered; the voice was here now.
"I don't know," he said. As he spoke he realised that the feeling something was missing had gone. He turned his head and saw Fred standing just behind him, wearing the burgundy robes that they had bought two weeks before but had so far not worn. Fred, though, wasn't looking at George. He was looking in what could only be described as horror at his robes.
"What are you wearing?" He managed to gasp out. George looked down at his robes, not quite sure what Fred meant. Okay they weren't bright, nor particularly colourful. In fact, they weren't colourful at all; they were...black, but...oh. George understood what Fred meant now. They were black. Black. The twins hadn't worn black since they had left Hogwarts - neither of them particularly liked the colour so when they were actually allowed to choose what they wanted to wear they wore the brightest, most vibrant shades they could, with the occasional slightly tamer hue thrown in from time to time to please their mother. Also, they weren't matching. This, too, was almost unheard of - the twins almost always matched (except for their annual Christmas jumper).
"I don't know," George repeated, feeling confused. He was starting to get the sensation that this was all a very, very bad dream. Looking at the rest of the Weasleys he saw that they too were all wearing smart black robes. When he looked closer he saw that they all looked pale and upset. His mother and Ginny were crying quietly and it looked as if all of his brothers had tears on their cheeks. He looked back at Fred and they both shrugged. Neither had any clue what was going on; it was like they had entered a play halfway through - they were absolutely clueless.
Before they could say anything further the rest of the Weasleys started to file into the small church that was in Ottery St. Catchpole. Fred and George followed them in and sat down next to Ron, who looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. Harry, Hermione and Fleur sat down behind them, and bent to pick up something that was attached to the back of the chairs. As the church slowly filled up a low hum echoed around the stone walls but it was muted and nobody was smiling. In fact, thought George, most were crying. Next to him Fred was looking around at the flower arrangements, seemingly not picking up on the grief and sorrow in the atmosphere.
A small, weedy looking man with a large beard whom George hadn't seen before walked up the centre aisle and the muted hum stifled as though somebody had thrown a blanket over it. When he reached the top he turned around and faced those sitting on the seats. He seemed, George thought as he looked closer, to be standing in front of a long box.
"Family and Friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of ..." Not a box, he realised, a coffin. "...Weasley." George looked about but all of his family members were sitting on the chairs next to him. It must have been a distant relative, he thought. "Fred..." What? Fred? But Fred was sitting on the chair next to him. He turned and looked but Fred seemed to have vanished. Further along down the row of chairs his mother started crying even harder and tears were trickling down the faces of all of his brothers, Ginny, his father, most of the congregation. Fred? Fred was back now, but he seemed less substantial, not transparent like the Hogwarts ghosts but...not quite there. Everything seemed to have taken on a shimmery, incandescent quality and the feeling that something was missing came back twice as hard as before, obscuring everything. Fred.
George sat up. He was in his own bed, in the room he used to share with his twin at the Burrow. Sunlight was streaming through the window and he slowly dragged himself out of bed and staggered to the window, feeling sick with grief. A few gnomes were running around the garden and a few birds sang softly but nobody else was up - it was too early. Turning to look at his room, which suddenly seemed huge, he saw a set of black robes draped over a chair. Crossing over to the chair he picked them up, then tossed them back down. Opening the wardrobe he rummaged through the brightly coloured contents until he found the burgundy robes that he and Fred had bought two weeks before but so far not worn. Pulling them out he smiled slightly, then started to put them on.