When I first saw it, time stopped. The world ended completely. Fred, lying on the floor of the Great Hall, eyes closed, mouth open in a laugh. The air evaporated from inside me; my mouth dry. It was a numbness, an emptiness, I'd never felt before. A million things crossed my mind all at once: he'd never say my name again, he'd never laugh, never tell another joke. He was lost, as was I. Half of me was gone, entirely, forever. This injury couldn't heal, could never feel better.
I couldn't move, couldn't walk over to him so I stood, arms limp by my side, watching Mum cry. I watched, as Dad and Percy made up, drawn together by grief for my twin. I saw Ron, trying to be strong, holding Hermione while tears ran down both their cheeks. I saw Bill and Fleur together, mourning; watched as Ginny left, unable to remain by his side any longer. I barely noticed Charlie come over to me, barely noticed him talking to me, his voice breaking as I knew mine would. I couldn't say anything, wouldn't accept it, couldn't go near him, for fear that it was real.
Nothing mattered but him, lying dead next to other fallen warriors. It didn't – couldn't – make sense. He was me. I was him. Was. We could never be together again, would never pull another prank, never switch places. I raised a hand to feel the hole where my ear had been. The first, but not last, hole that would remain forever in my life. My twin, my brother, my best friend was gone, and he could never come back.
No! He's not gone. He's right in front of me! Any moment, he'll jump up, laughing his head off, another joke by my younger twin. And I'll be there, laughing beside him. That's what I thought. I couldn't accept it. Not then.
We brought his body back to the Burrow next morning. I could barely look at him, wouldn't make eye contact with the rest of my family. It hurt too much. I thought about ending it all, about rejoining my twin. He was my protégé, and yet also my idol. The smart one, the witty one. He had the quick quips and the grand ideas for the shop. I had my own, but all were small gags, nothing too extravagant; Fred's plans were always brilliant. He once told me he looked up to me, that he worked so hard to impress me, but he was always the better one. He was truly dedicated. Yes, I thought about joining him, restoring balance to my life. But it wasn't what Fred would have wanted. He would have wanted me to stay, provide many needed laughs to the world. He would have wanted me to carry on, not dwell over the pain, the loss that came with his death.
At the Burrow, plans were made for a funeral. Dad, Charlie, and Percy took up the lead; Mum couldn't stop crying, Ginny comforted by Harry, Hermione by Ron, Fleur by Bill. They left me to brood with my thoughts. They had all cried at one point. Percy kept blaming himself. 'I was right there. It should have been me! I didn't see it coming, I could've stopped it…' I haven't cried. It's been weeks, and not a single tear has stained my cheeks. He wouldn't have wanted me to cry. He could never stand to see me upset, could always make me laugh when I was down.
They kept talking about having a big funeral, with a beautiful headstone. I wouldn't let them. They were the first words I had spoken since it happened. Mum stopped crying to look at me, everyone paid rapt attention. 'It should be small. Just us. Plain and simple, nothing too fancy. And we won't wear black. Black always depressed him.' Nobody questioned me. They knew how well I knew him – know him – and did what I said. It was the first thing I had said, one of the only things I have said. I can't speak. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't say… Well, nevermind. I couldn't say it if I tried.
Ginny and Ron kept coming to see me, but I couldn't face it. I haven't slept. I don't have a reason to wake up, and if I don't wake up … I let Charlie in though. We sat in silence, the only two in the family without anyone else. He's staying with me. I think we're both glad for the company, but we don't talk much. Well, that's not true. I don't talk much. He tries to get me to talk about it, but I can't. I stayed in the shower so long once, he thought I was trying to drown myself. I won't pretend it hasn't crossed my mind from time to time. He keeps telling me to talk about it, to cry. He says I won't move on if I don't cry. If I don't accept it. If I don't say … What I can't say. He nagged me about it so much, I couldn't control my temper. One day I lost it. 'Don't tell me to move on!' I was yelling. 'You didn't lose you other half. You don't know what it's like to have half of you torn away in a moment!' I felt bad afterwards.
People keep sending me gifts – money and whatnot – with 'heartfelt' condolences. I send them back. I don't need them; don't need to be reminded of it. I suppose they do. Most of them don't really care. There was a generic one from the Ministry a few days ago. I kept the money, but burned the card. The only thing I've done I know he wouldn't have wanted to miss. I kept telling myself that if I sent back the money, maybe it would make it less real. Maybe he'd come back. I tried to bargain my way out of it.
The funeral was a week ago. Two weeks after it happened. Charlie left early, upon my recommendation wearing the bright red robes Fred like so much. The ones that clash with our hair, but make Fred smile every time Charlie wears them. Made Fred smile. I was already dressed in the acid green dragonskin coats we bought … but I couldn't bring myself to go. I couldn't see everyone's sad faces; Mum crying as hard as ever, Percy, Charlie, and Bill looking solemn. I couldn't have them worrying about me, and how I haven't cried, haven't let go. I refused to let myself join them, but stood in the distance watching the funeral from behind a tree. I think Ginny saw me, but she didn't say anything. Bless her, she's holding up so well. I suppose she does have Harry to console her though.
I haven't really done anything for four days. It's too hard; it hurts too much. I haven't slept, spoken, eaten, moved. I could barely pull myself out of bed yesterday, but I managed. I feel like an empty shell, but I still can't cry. I'm too depressed to cry. Lying in a dark room, curtains drawn, unable to get up off the bed. But I still haven't cried.
I found his Will five days ago. Don't know why he had a Will, it's like he expected to die. The Ministry sent it back yesterday, deeming everything in it acceptable to be passed. He left Mum and Dad a lot of his gold, Bill and Fleur the rare painting that used to hang in his room, Charlie his lunascope and sneakoscope, Percy all his school supplies and his best quill (ha ha. A joke, I'm sure), Ron his broom and Quidditch things, Ginny the formula for the WonderWitch products, and everything else to me. The rest of his prized possessions, his half of the joke shop, everything.
He also left a letter. It's addressed to me, but I'm too afraid to open it. I'm afraid of what it says, afraid that it'll make everything real. I'm afraid to find out what the last thing he'll ever say – well, write – to me is. I carefully peel back the wax seal. The paper is crisp, new. This must have been written just before it happened. I pull out the paper and unfold it carefully, holding it so gingerly you think it would crumble in my hands.George-
I stop. I stare at my name in his familiar, slanted scrawl forever. It seems many weeks I sit there, staring at my name. I have to read on. I have to face my fears. He would want me to.
George-If you're reading this, if you've finally found this, it must mean I'm dead. I never thought that I would die first. I never thought that I would be the first Weasley to go. But if I am…
There's so much I want to say, so much I need you to know. You, as my older brother, were always my idol. I always tried to make you laugh before anyone else. If it wasn't good enough for you, it wasn't good enough for me. It's always been like that. You were always my best-
I stop again. The next word is smudged, the faint outline of a circle is visible on the parchment. He must have been crying as he wrote it. Not much, but enough. Stupid Fred. Only he would think of something like this. I never did, never wrote a Will, never thought what would happen to Fred if I were the one to die. He would be here, in my position, but with no letter. No way to know what I would've told him. I look carefully at the word. I can just barely make out the second letter to be a 'r'. It could be 'brother'. Best Brother? That doesn't make sense … I settle on 'friend' because he was mine as well.
You were always my best friend, the one I could tell everyone to without being judged, the one who understood me completely. Nothing made me smile more than finishing each other's sentences … but I guess we'll never do that again. Nobody else made me laugh so much.
If I know you as well as I do, you've been sitting with this letter for days, wanting to open it, but scared of what's inside it. Sitting alone, in the dark, wondering what would be happening if I had lived – or if you had died instead. Don't. I need you to be strong for both of us. The world always needs more laughs, more smiles. You need to say Goodbye. It must be hard, it must be like half of you is gone, but it's not. Half of us is gone. Me. You're still there, ready and willing to spread the smiles. You're still whole, no matter how 'holey' you feel.
I can feel the tears welling, but they won't come forward. I bite my lip and feel that warm sensation, the tears stopping but not disappearing. I feel again for the hole where my ear once was. I can hear myself now, the memory feeling hundreds of years old. 'Saint-like. I'm holey, geddit?' My lips curve into an involuntary smile. He was always funnier.
Never forget how we used to be: pranksters without a care in the world. We still are. Heaven, if that's where I am (and I'm quite sure I am), will soon be Weasley's Wizard Wheezes territory. Don't worry about that. Just make sure earth still is. Make me proud, for both of us.
Don't blame yourself for this. I believe everything happens for a reason. You need to be strong on your own. Didn't you always tell me we wouldn't always be there for each other to hold on to? Just don't go forgetting me. Never forget me, as I know, wherever I am, I'll never forget you. We're two of a kind.
Love,
Fred
I re-read the letter several times. Make me proud, for both of us. We'll never be together again.
The first tear falls, splashing onto and absorbing into the crisp yellow parchment.
We're two of a kind. We're the same. We were the same. We'll never be the same again.
The second tear falls, leaving a warm tingling on my cheek as the sadness sets.
Love, Fred. It's the last thing he'll ever say to me, the last words he ever wrote. I can't forget him. I'll never let this letter go.
The tears are falling, fast and thick, onto the mattress as I lay on my stomach, head buried in my arms. I'm learning to let go. I have to. He told me to. Never forget me. I know I never will. He was me. I was him. As fast as they came, the tears stop. I sit up, shaking, still holding the letter. As soon as I calm I fold up the letter and place it carefully on the desk, picking up his picture instead. I look at it long and hard, staring into his eyes for what seems like forever. I close my eyes and whisper one word, then place the picture back and walk out of the room.
'Goodbye.'