Tribute to Fred Weasley

The little shop was bursting with students of all ages shouting, laughing, puking, gagging, dancing and screaming with mirth. George Weasley smiled and nodded, laughing along with the costumers, but the light that had danced in his eyes when some kid would grin, was but a distant memory.

Just finishing up with a purchase, George rested his elbows on the counter, sighing. The shop didn't seem the same to him, with no one laugh with, invent with or share every smile and laugh with. It seemed empty.

Amid the bustle and laughs George heard the chiming of the door bell, but didn't look up. Bending down to grab something behind the counter George straighten to see an odd looking wizard in front of him. The huge bright blue and yellow bow tie around the little mans neck was eye catching to say the least. He stared at George, as if waiting for him to make the first move.

"I, uh . . . May I help you, sir?"

"I am Lawrence Hardbuckle." Fixing his spectacles, Hardbuckle cleared his throat, waved his wand and a scroll appeared in front of him.

Clearing his throat, the he read in a loud and carrying voice,

"I present you, George and," here Hardbuckle, faltered, blinking at George. "Fred Weasley with the highly acclaimed 'Wizard Jokers of the Year' award!" It wasn't until that moment that George realized the shop at grown quiet. But as the words fell from Lawrence's mouth, cheers erupted through the packed room. People hooted and hollered, stamped their feet and pushed forward to slap George on the back. Numb to their congratulations, he took the large blue ribbon that was presented to him. In flashing gold, '#1' was painted on the ribbons and the boom of cannons burst from the center on it. Tears pricked it the corner of his eyes. Thanking Hardbuckle, he smiled at everyone and slowly made his way to the back room to put up the award. He took one last look at the shiny ribbon, sighed and made his way back into the shop, a smile fixed on his face.

The metal made his skin erupt in bumps as George opened the gate to the cemetery. Wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck, he made his way past miles and miles of witch's and wizard's tombs. A fierce wind raged through the rows, almost knocking him to the ground. What few trees that were planted in the cemetery, made a haunting sound as the wind rushed past them. Brown, yellow and red leaves raced through the air, swirling around George as he climbed the hill up to where a familiar tombstone sat.

Reaching it, George looked down, the yellow flowers that lay there looking pitiful with half the petals gone, carried off in the wind. Taking a shuttering breath, he let the tears fall, fast and hot on his skin. Shaking uncontrollably, George fell to the hard earth, the tears now falling into his mouth and sliding down his chin to land in his lap. Placing a hand over the name carved into the smooth stone, he hung his head and sobbed. His knees grew sore and numb from the frozen ground, his eyes hurt from the tears that gushed, his neck aching from all shaking. Throwing his head back, he screamed.

"WHY? WHY HIM? IT COULD HAVE BEEN ME, BUT NOT FRED! NOT FRED! WHY DID HE HAVE TO GO? WHAT DID HE EVER DO?" slamming his fists against the grave, he screamed again, one long scream of anguish. "Why did he have to leave me here, alone . . ." Then, a soft, warm breeze, quite unlike the gust of fury that had met George, came to rest near him. All at once he felt a sensation like someone's arms wrapped around his shoulders, hugging him. Gasping, George scrambled to his feet, his brain hardly daring to think of what it was. Haltingly he reached up to place his hand on his shoulder. It was warm there, warm and peaceful. Eyes wide, his heart raced as he threw his arms around himself, hugging the warmth that surrounded him. After a few minutes he let himself go to reach into his pocket and pull out the slightly crumbled award. Laying it on the grave, a real, honest smile playing at his lips he said,

"We did it, we won Fred. Can you believe it? For so long it was all we asked for. If only you were . . . if only I was the one who had . . . it doesn't seem right Fred, this award goes to you more then me. It was those Canary Creams that did it mate! Bloody brilliant as Ron would say." Crouching next to the tomb, he sighed, tears running down his face again. "Why did you leave me? It doesn't feel right, the joke shop, home, nothing. I feel empty, without you, I'm only half the person I was. I miss you, so much. At home all smiles seemed forced, the jokes at the shop are only a shadow of what was funny." Branches, from the tree that stood next to Fred's grave, rustled as again, the warm wind blew around George, ruffling his hair. It hugged him and he imagined he could hear someone saying his name. Standing, George peered through the darkness, and suddenly the small bouquet of flowers at the graves foot was lifted into the air. George stood completely still as the flowers floated through the air to him and the warm wind took his hand and placed the flowers there. George gulped but grinned as someone thumped him on the back. A peace suddenly entered him, and a glimpse of the old George could be seen in his eyes. Still grinning he turned and started down the hill, clutching the flowers to his chest. Then at the bottom, he turned and waved and swore that Fred, leaning against the tombstone, waved back, grinning as bright as ever.

Good Bye Fred.