Hot tears prickled his eyes. The Battle of Hogwarts was over. The sacrifice of the dead still hung heavily in the air around them, smothering their happiness with unbearable grief. The Dark Lord was gone forever. But so was half of his soul; half of his very being. Fred Weasley was dead.
George sat at the table with his family, refusing to be comforted, refusing to laugh or smile. Because to do so would be to dishonor Fred's memory. These people, these nameless, faceless stranger were smiling sadly, telling him they knew how he was feeling. But they didn't, they couldn't, they never would know how he was feeling. How it felt to lose your everything. How it felt to lose the foundation stone of your life. How it felt to lose part of yourself.
But there was one thing he was clinging on to; one last shred of hope. One last thing to keep him sane. His fist balled around the small roll of parchment as, without a word, he stood up and walked off. The others looked worried, but let him go.
He wandered down to the lake, where he had sat with Fred and Lee Jordan so many times before.
And he took out the letter. He and Fred had written each other a letter before the war, in case of the unbearable possibility of separation, to give the other something to hold on too. But now it was no longer a possibility, and the time had come to read Fred's parting words.
"Dear Georgie,
If you are reading this, the unthinkable has happened. I have moved on and left you forever.
To be honest, this comes as no surprise. I always knew that I would put your life ahead of mine. But you mustn't blame yourself, George. I made my choice. I took the easy way out and left you alone to deal with the consequences. And I'll never forgive myself.
I was going to make this letter bright and cheerful, tell a few jokes. But as my quill moves across this parchment, I find myself unable to say anything but "sorry". I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry for what you're going through. I'm sorry that the only time we saw each other old was when we put our names in the Goblet.
I know we never said this much, but I love you. Keep the mischief going.
Really, you should be the one here in Heaven. You're Holey.
Mischief managed.
Fred."
Tears. Hot, burning, salty tears, as he read his brother's parting words. But he would do it. He would survive. He pressed the parchment to his lips and whispered "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good, Fred."
He turned and threw the parchment into the lake, and watched as the flimsy papern so easily ruined, fluttered into the lake. He couldn't tear his eyes away as the words blurred, the ink ran, and Fred's last words were washed away. Gone, but always in his mind. Gone, but always in his heart. Gone, but never forgotten. Just like Fred himself.