A little experimentation. Enjoy, and as always, take the time to submit a review when you've finished. I'd do the same for you.

**

"He's been like that for a while." Sirius sighed.

"How long is 'a while'?"

"Today's date is the fourth, correct? I'd say about a month."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Maybe if you stopped by a bit more often…"

The Creator rolled his eyes and huffed impatiently, "I'm a bit busy, you know."

Sirius shot him an incredulous look, before returning his focus to Fred, who stood about four hundred yards away, tapping his foot anxiously. He was clearly unsatisfied with the lack of sound his foot was making when it came in contact with the vaporous cloud beneath him. A wood floor would have suited his purposes better. Occasionally, he would groan in frustration and begin to pace. Perhaps run a hand through his dark red hair. Once in a while, he might glare murderously upwards to the even high Heavens, muttering under his breath. He'd whip his head around, squinting his eyes, taking in his surroundings, always disappointed to see the same bright white expanse before him.

"He looks a bit mad." The Creator said after a brief pause, quickly becoming more wary of the short tempered 20-year-old.

"Or like Hamlet. But yes, I'd say 'mad' would suffice."

"Well, hanged if I know why. He's been wearing on my last nerve since he arrived. Almost always up to something."

Sirius snorted.

"It's true!" The Creator added, disgruntled. I'm glad we just put him in charge of his family – don't know what sort of things he'd say to people who didn't know him as well."

As he spoke, he watched the young man shake his head as though in disbelief and sit down, pulling his knees close to his chest. He looked very much like a young child.

"But I hated to do it, don't get me wrong," he continued, to a now virtually silent Sirius. His voice took on a softer, more empathetic tone. "He was perhaps the most difficult that day. Just one is always the hardest."

Sirius nodded, saying the only thing he could think of, "Death is a tricky business."

He watched Fred's gaze drop down, as he maneuvered his body into a prone position, resting his head in his hand, staring down. He seemed to be trying to get as close to the ground as possible. He swirled bits of cloud through his fingers absentmindedly.

"You should talk to him," Sirius said after a long pause. "He'd listen to you best."

"Now, you know that's a lie." The Creator responded, crossing his arms, and surveying Sirius carefully. "I think Fred only takes those with whom he can share a laugh seriously. And we all know I'm not very good with that sort of thing." He adjusted the collar of his robes, "although I do have a bit of a sense of humor." He glanced back at Fred, before turning and strolling in the opposite direction, "He could use you right now."

Fred had now pressed his forehead down on the ground, as though he was looking into a glass case that held beautiful, exotic creatures that he could not touch. He had a strange, almost hungry look about him, as he drank in the sight before him, that which he couldn't be a part of. Whatever it was. Sirius heart went out to him. He could vividly remember a time when the man before him could not stop laughing, living a dangerous and exciting life with incredible ease. He had never complained, not for a moment, while he and his family had gone into hiding during the very worst of Voldemort's attacks. Instead, he and his twin brother had put their energy into boosting the morale into those around them. Sirius had seen them in action. On nights when he feared for his more cherished relations back on earth, after watching Harry, Ron, and Hermione for hours, he would turn an eye to the Weasley family, watch as they huddled around their dinner table, somehow still laughing at the quick-witted quips of the twins. True, there was fear etched visibly on everyone's faces, but for those short moments in the kitchen, it seemed to melt away.

"Can I sit?" Sirius asked, as he approached Fred.

"'Course you can." The redhead smiled, not removing his eyes from the ground. Sirius couldn't help but notice how quickly the smile had slid off his face after speaking.

Silence passed between them as Fred continued to fool with the vapor hanging around him. Sirius watched him, noting the deep smile lines around his eyes. "So characteristic," he thought, as Fred began to whistle through his teeth.

"How are you doing, Weasley?" Sirius spoke after a time, liking the fact that Fred wouldn't shy around the question with him.

"Oh, not too good." The younger one sighed, and Sirius was extremely surprised to detect a very strong hint of tears in his voice. "I'm very angry at myself."

"And why's that?"

"Look." Fred said, sitting up, and pointing to where he'd been staring, beckoning Sirius to come forward.

As Sirius took his place on the floor, he jumped up, stretching out his tall form in cat-like manner, and rubbing the back of his neck, turning away from Sirius, to, as the older man suspected, hide his watery eyes.

The sight before him was not one that he had expected. There was Molly Weasley, bustling about the kitchen at the Burrow, shouting over her shoulder to someone, before turning back to the stove to stir the contents inside a large pot. She flicked her wand behind her, and the table instantly set itself. She brought the spoon up to her mouth to taste the savory looking sauce that she was brewing, smacked her lips a couple times, then wiped her forehead. With another swish of her wand, the pot leapt from the stovetop and set itself cleanly in the middle of the table, next to a large plate of baked chicken, and a few bowls of mashed potatoes. Her eyes swept around the table quickly, before she turned back to the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel and glancing out on the orchard from the tiny kitchen window.

Tears sprung to her eyes.

"Do you know what I see when I watch that?" Fred spoke quietly, returning to his place next to Sirius, "I see how hard mum works to keep the family going, first of all. But I also see how tight her wedding band is on her finger, or how she brushes the hair out of her eyes…or…or how she moves carefully, because her ankles are swollen from being on her feet all day." He paused, shaking his head like a dog trying to rid itself of water. "And I can smell that food. And I know she made that sauce because it was my favorite, even though the rest of the family could do without it. And in a moment, she's going to vanish the extra chair next to George's normal place at the table, because she can't bare to see him sitting next to an empty space."

The scene before Sirius' eyes shifted, and they were in Ginny's bedroom. She was sitting at her desk, writing a letter presumably to Harry.

"She's so mature and beautiful." Fred murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "And left-handed, just like George. Look at her penmanship. Can you see it? So delicate. Ginny always used to come to us with problems. She'd show up in a huff at our flat, ranting about some idiotic thing that mum was trying to impose on her, or she'd collapse sobbing into my arms because Harry was missing, and she didn't know where he'd gone. She confessed things to us that she wouldn't dare tell anyone else in the family…when-when we were little," he faltered only slightly, "she would beg us to let her play Quidditch with us. And we never let her…how I wish we did. She had us wrapped around her little finger, though. I would do anything for that girl."

"Just looking at them, from this vantage point, makes me so angry that I didn't notice these things when I was alive. I could have gotten so much more out of life."

"You're being a prat," Sirius said, deadpan. Fred rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back, "rarely have I known someone who had more enthusiasm. You and your brother had that special realization. You really didn't take a whole lot for granted. Hell, remember when you discovered the taste of coffee, and how it was unique from any other flavor? Or how you would sit for hours just examining the trunk of a tree? Seeing how it grew? And you were bloody seventeen! Still curious at that age." He shook his head, smirking, "It's a blessing, really."

"Yeah, I was too busy watching trees grow to see my family growing up in front of my eyes."

"Is that the right way to think, now?" Sirius said, nudging Fred with his shoulder, who scoffed.

"Oh, I hate this." He said after a silence, pointing to the scene. There was George, just sitting on the end of his bed.

"Defeated." Sirius mumbled, surveying the twin next to him, who had a heartbreaking look on his face.

"I try to talk to him." Fred mumbled back, "but either he can't hear me, or he won't talk back. I don't know which possibility is worse." He stared at his hands for a few moments, "I know everybody down there keeps saying how difficult it is for him, but it's not exactly a tea party for me up here, is it? I mean, I have to watch him like this. Which is sort of a slow torture, I imagine."

"You really loved him, didn't you?"

"Loved?" Fred looked affronted. "As in the past tense? Sirius, I'm surprised at you."

"You love him."

"I love him so much. And now that I have to see him in this state," George was now curling up in the fetal position on his bed, hugging his pillow close to him. "I wish I had told him that every day." He was betraying the brave front he was putting on, and let a solitary tear run down his cheek, "And I just want to give him a big hug, and tell him to cut it out, that he can make it, has to make it. But I can't." He shuddered, "It's the worst."

"In a moment, Percy will walk into the room, and sit in the chair next to my bed for a few moments. They won't speak to each other. Another day that George doesn't utter a sound." He sighed in clear frustration, giving Sirius a questioning look, as though he might be able to solve this problem. "He's always been my better half, and now he's throwing his life away."

"You have to give him time," Sirius said, wholeheartedly disagreeing with Fred's statement. "He just lost his best friend, his brother. I mean, you're not exactly in the best of moods either over this situation, are you?"

When Fred didn't respond, Sirius continued, "Look, we've all seen how you and he coped in rough situations. And I think you could really utilize that now. Let him know you're still with him." With one more glance at George, Sirius ended, "because he looks kind of lonely right now."

Fred felt Sirius get up and leave.

"Silly." He muttered to no one in particular. "This is Heaven. It's supposed to be enjoyable. I worry too much."

And then, with so much energy and projection he shocked even himself, he let loose an earth-shattering yell. He stomped his feet on the clouds, shook his fist at the sky, grabbed recklessly at his hair, and finally growled, on all fours, towards the ground:

"Did you hear that, George?" he stormed, in the direction of his twin, "because I'm still here. Don't you dare feel lonely. Don't even THINK of ignoring me." He suppressed a sob, and strangely, for a reason he couldn't really understand, he replaced it with a bubble of laughter. He sat himself down with a huff, then whispered, "because I'm just as miserable when you ignore me."

Meanwhile…

George blinked his eyes rapidly, staring out at the darkening sky.

When he was a child, his mom used to tell him that stars were the spirits of loved ones looking down on them. Even at the tender age at five and a half, he had thought there was a lot of fabrication to that idea.

But as he lay on his slightly uncomfortable bed, finding himself exhausted, he wanted to believe in "star-watchers" very much.

He could smell his mother's cook, and for the first time in a good week, he felt his stomach groan in hunger. Baked chicken. There was no way he could surpass that.

"George!"

Her voice filled the stairwell.

"Darling, it's dinner-time if you're feeling up to it."

He knew after she said it, she'd simply walked away, not waiting for an answer: she'd gotten used to being ignored, or being unable to convince him to take some food.

But with a great exhale of air, he swung his legs off the bed, and into a sitting position.

"Freddie." He muttered, "Can you hear me?"

His eyes welled with tears for the fifty-first time that day, he'd counted.

He flicked his gaze towards the sky again just in time to see the glinting star cut across the sky with a tail as bright as sunlight. It wasn't moving like most shooting stars did. It flashed and twisted like a charismatic firework.

He gasped. And smiled.

And he knew Fred could hear him. Which was all he needed, really.

**

I meant this to come out a bit more whimsical than it did, but I'm pleased. Read and review! It means the world, really.