Disclaimer: I don't own HP and Co. They belong to the almighty Rowling.
The graveyard was empty save for one man. He was standing stoically in front of a small headstone, his blue eyes gazing down, but not really seeing what was before him. No, the man wasn't really there, not mentally. He was far away, lost in memories.
The date was May 2nd 2011, exactly thirteen years after the fall, and death, of Lord Voldemort. Thirteen years after the death of many others, others that were still sorely missed, even after all those years.
But today wasn't a day of grieving. It was an unspoken custom throughout the wizarding world, and though there was no written law that citizens had to pay respects the day preceding the anniversary, everyone still did, allowing them to fully enjoy themselves on the unofficial holiday that was now May 2nd. Keeping these two days separate was better, easier. One day meant for visiting countless gravesites, sharing stories about the fallen, remembering the past. And one day filled with celebration, enjoying the present and looking forward to the bright future ahead.
That was the very reason there was not one other person in the graveyard. Not because of the torrential rain pouring down on top of the one man standing there, turning his ginger hair a shade darker, but because the day of remembering had already passed. It was now a time of celebration, a time to spend with family.
And while this man loved his family dearly, he always took some time away from the festivities to come here and visit this one grave. The one he avoided every year on the 1st. It caused him too much pain to visit when others were around him. He preferred paying his respects in solitude, so his children wouldn't see him cry.
He wasn't ashamed now as he knelt on the ground, the soggy ground instantly soaking his jeans, and began to cry. The aching in his heart seemed to grow stronger every year, a concept he couldn't grasp. Shouldn't it be getting easier as the years went on? Harry, who had been greatly affected by the deaths of both Remus and Tonks, as well as his godfather Sirius Black, and all the others that had died rather than turn him over to Voldemort, hadn't cried over them in years. Probably since little James had been born, and he would be turning eight in October. In fact, each year when the entire Weasley – Potter family went to the graveyard, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and all the others seemed proud. There were no tears shed anymore, only heartfelt thank you's and dozens of stories told about all of the good times.
So why couldn't this man seem to forget? He thought he knew the answer, deep down. He had been forever changed that night, thirteen years ago, and he wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever truly be the same again.
A loud crack sounded behind him, but the man didn't budge. He had grown used to the rather loud sound of a wizard apperating long ago. His teary eyes remained fixed on the headstone before him. Footsteps could be heard behind him, and moments later, the rain that had, until that moment, been pouring down on him, stopped unexpectedly.
"Come back to the house." The voice of his brother reached the man's ears. He made no movement to get up. "Mum says you'll catch cold if you're out here much longer. Besides, everyone's missing you and lunch is just about ready."
"Alright," the man sighed, pushing himself to his feet. He reached down and brushed his hand over the letters in the headstone, his fingers lingering on the 'R' that had begun to wear away with the years gone by.
"You've been crying," the newcomer remarked as the man joined him under a large red umbrella.
"Yeah," the man murmured. "I know it's a day of celebration and everything, but I just can't seem to stay away."
The brother smiled sadly. "I understand."
He was used to that comment, and had long ago given up retorts of 'no you don't' or 'you have no idea'. It just wasn't worth it anymore. Instead, he remained silent.
Unfortunately, as they had been together practically their entire lives, the brother saw right through the man's silence.
"You feel indebted to her, Fred," his brother murmured. "She saved your life, after all."
Fred shook his head, but said nothing. He and George normally understood each other perfectly, they were identical twins after all (even if Fred was convinced he was better looking). But George was wrong this time. He wasn't drawn to her burial site because she saved his life thirteen years ago. No, it was so much more than just that.
A/N: So, I think Fred's death really hit me the hardest in the series. I just can't imagine what life would be like without him, especially for George. So this is my way of telling things the way I wish they had been. I hope you enjoy it. Reviews please :) the more I get, the faster I'll update.