A/N: Woooh so I'll put this at the beginning of the story, cuz I know how at the end, it ruins the whole 'ending' feeling.
First up on the agenda: THE DISCLAIMER. Now, this might be a shock to the system, but...I DON'T (as in do not) own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters. That would be JK Rowling who owns it. If I did, Fred wouldn't be "dead".
aaand...Er, Spoiler Warning!! So, if you haven't read Deathly Hallows by now (and I don't understand why you wouldn't have), go read the book now, then come back and read this!! or read this, and not read DH, and then have something spoiled. so nyah. your choice.
Okay, let's get something straight. FRED IS NOT DEAD. This is what would HYPOTHETICALLY happen in the canon universe. (I know, denial, denial, denial...)
Right, so, something that needs to be explained about Bill and HP's POVs before ya get there. They both remember something George said at Fred's (hypothetical) FUN-eral, but they remember different things. What Bill remembers is George's informal (hypothetical) euology for Fred. Harry remembers what happens after all the normal FUN-eral stuff, and like what took place at the end when everyone breaks up into their little groups and remembers the dead, and talk and blah blah blah, yah you know what I mean.
And lastly: flame it, like it, praise it, hate it, review it, or don't. I don't really mind if you flame it. However, constructive critisism is always welcome. Nywho, enjooooy...now...onto the fic. (ps. the name doesn't get explained in the F&G POVs, you gotta wait for Bill's POV to understand it.)
It was an unusually chilled morning when the sun arose on May 2nd, despite the brilliant sunshine. Everything was still, as not even the birds had awoken from their slumber and greeted the world. There was a faint pop, followed by the creaking of iron gates opening, then closing; and through them came a young man.
His hair was striking red, and in the rising sun it looked like a lone spark of fire. In the dim light his skin seemed pale, and it made his freckles stand out prominently. His eyes, which were normally filled with laughter, showed great sadness on this day. His robes were an interesting shade of magenta that clashed with his hair. There was the golden "WWW" (emblem of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes) pinned on the front of it, and on the right shoulder, there was a 'G' embroidered there. He walked through the graveyard, where broken and tattered headstones littered the ground, avoiding stepping on any as he wound his way among them.
Eventually he came to a stop at a white headstone that looked fairly new compared to the ones around it. It was under a tree that had just recently blossomed in the fine spring of the year, and pink flowers shimmered with the morning dew overhead. The stone looked like a patch of snow amongst the green of the grass where it lay. He bent down, smirked at the tombstone, and said in a bright, cheerful voice that carried across the cemetery to the front gates, "Good Mourning, Fred!"
This was how George Weasley greeted his dead twin, the one who had died like a hero in the final battle against the Dark Lord Voldemort. George had been to the gravesite about a month before, for their birthday, April 1st, and he was back again, this time for Fred's death day. Twice every year, for the past 12 years, since that last battle, George would come and visit Fred. Talk to him; tell him what was going on, and always, always, greet him with a new pun.
"Good mourning, geddit, Fred?" He stopped smirking, "Yeah, I know, if you were here, you'd kick yourself for that one. Well no, you'd probably kick me. It was worse than Holey, I'll say, but I don't think I've much to work with. Oh well, no, I guess I do. There are loads of death jokes out there, aren't there? Guess I wasn't really thinking."
George paused as he imagined his twin's response, "Thinking? When did you ever do that? Well, you've certainly lost your touch, mate." George sighed, and began to trace the name "Fred" engraved upon the stone.
"You know, mum was mad at me, when I told here you should be laid to rest here. She wanted to bury you up at the house, where everything just seemed to happy to have someone laying 6 feet under, as a constant reminder of the war, in my opinion. I guess I was being selfish, but I wanted you here, so I could come here alone, and talk, without everyone listening in, worrying if I was okay or not. If you were up at the Burrow, I wouldn't be able to do that, with everyone going in and out, I wouldn't have a moment's peace" George paused to let out a short laugh, "Yeah, it's still busy there, even though everyone's moved out. I bet you knew that though, you deadbeats always seem to know what's up. I hope you're not having too much fun without me: pranking with the Marauders, talking to Merlin even! Well even if you're having a grand time, I wish you were here."
George paused again, this time to take in a sharp breath as he finished tracing the letter D. He began tracing again, this time, over the W in 'Weasley'
"I tell you that every time, you must be tired of hearing it. But it's true, none-the-less. I mean, in those first few years, heck, the first few weeks, it was hard. I couldn't mope around, you know? Everyone was so worried that I'd do something stupid, to go join you, that they couldn't grieve in peace and try to help themselves. Constantly being watched by Ginny, it's a pain, I'll tell you. And it wasn't just her either, Bill, Charlie, even Harry sometimes. Only Percy seemed to let me go, but then, he might have felt guilty, coming back alive when…"
George didn't finish his sentence, and he felt his eyes prickle with tears as he remembered the first few weeks after the war. Everyone was off celebrating, everyone who hadn't lost someone, and George certainly didn't fit into that category, nor did the rest of his family. For a while, George had been quiet, reserved; very much unlike the person he really was. After a while though, he started to come out of his daze, much to everyone's surprise, they thought it would take him much longer.
"I couldn't stop living, Fred. Never, ever could I give up. Even if I had wanted to join you, mate, I couldn't off myself. I saw what it did to the rest of the family: losing just one of us, imagine what they'd have felt if they'd lost both of us. Then again, it might have been easier, losing both of us, because they wouldn't have had to see me everyday, hear me talk, watch me walk like I was you again...only not. I couldn't mourn either. It must have hurt them, to see me sad. I know they were hopeful, they'd forget for about a second, when they saw me. Thought I was you, but turned out to be me. I know they feel guilty about that, but I don't really blame them. Felt that way myself, when I'd pass by a mirror. I couldn't go to pieces though, they needed me, laughing and joking like we used too, like you were still there. Had to be happy for them, because they couldn't be happy for themselves, you know?" He fell silent again, and by now George had finished tracing Fred Weasley's name. George looked at the headstone and read the dates, April 1, 1978- May 2, 1997. George glanced down at the words beneath it, and read the inscription he'd come up with himself, keeping in mind that Fred had once said something similar to the last part when talking about entering the Triwizard Tournament in their 6th year at Hogwarts, "Fight with a smile on your face, and work against the odds, because what's life without a little adventure?" He remembered the week that followed, before Fred's funeral. How miserable everyone had been, how he couldn't make them smile, he couldn't make them laugh when the truth was he couldn't bring himself to do either of those things. They relied on Fred and George to provide wisecracks in a tense situation to lighten the mood a little. So naturally, they turned to the twins, only to remember that Fred was gone, and George was in no fit state to make quips at that time, so they found it more difficult than they normally would have, coping with their loss. Without comic relief, anything can be hard.
When the dawn of the funeral had arrived, George had finally brought himself to smile; he couldn't let anyone walk away from Fred's funeral without laughing; especially when Fred himself had died with a smile, rather than a somber expression. George couldn't really remember what jokes he'd made, or how he'd gotten everyone to smirk as they remembered his twin, but he did remember mentioning how Fred was now the 'holy twin' as well as the 'saint like' one. Once George started joking around, everyone else did to, remembering all the pranks Fred had pulled and the laughter he'd shared. For everyone it'd made the pain dull a little. For George, however, it hadn't helped a bit. He felt although a part of him was missing, but that was to be expected. George hardly went anywhere without Fred, they'd been nearly inseparable. George remembered beating himself up for not being there with Fred when he'd died, walking into the Great Hall at Hogwarts ready to share a new pun with his brother, only to find his family crying over the one person who he thought wouldn't be able to die; certainly not like that, and certainly not right then. George remembered that in months from the Battle, he had actually sat Harry down, and asked Harry to tell him exactly how Fred had died. When Harry had finished telling the tale, George had to get something straight, "Okay. So let me see if I heard this the right way. Fred was offed…by a wall?"
"Well, I'm pretty sure that's what happened. It was really dusty and hard to see, he could've been killed by Avada Kedavra." Harry had replied grimly.
"Killed…by a wall." George had repeated, and then started laughing. Of all the ways to die, that certainly was not in anyway a glorious way to go. George honestly couldn't see why he hadn't asked for the details sooner. In sense, Fred's death was still tragic and terrible, but in a way, it was also hilarious (courtesy of the wall.)
He also remembered the terrible hollow feeling of the following days, when he'd awoken ready to discover a new joke idea Fred had cooked up in the middle of the night, like he'd often do, only to remember there was no Fred. George wasn't used to being alone, not in that sense. He always had Fred by him, for 20 years, and he was suddenly gone. Somehow, it didn't seem natural to him. Even when he had to stand alone, Fred was always there. To not have Fred there, by his side, ready to throw a quip in his direction was an unnerving thought. It wasn't something he had adjusted to too quickly or willingly. Even now sometimes, he would look to his right, expecting to see his twin smirking and ready with a witty comeback or joke. But that, of course, was only hope, and George would never tell another soul that he felt still felt that, so many years after the war. Of course, George would never ask why it had happened, he would accept it. It tore him up inside, but he would move foreward, even if he occasionaly looked back with hope. They were Gred and Forge, and he knew, just like their names, that they carried a piece of eachother no matter how they were separated: between land and see or life and death, because that's how twins were. Because that's how Fred and George were.
A martin cry rang out from the tree above, and George was jerked back into the present.
"Well Fred, Harry told me that Dumbledore once said something about how 'to a well organized mind death is but the next great adventure.' You didn't have too much of an organized mind, I should know, I've seen your lab notes from when we were both still experimenting on the joke items before they were perfected (and before you went and got yourself blown up almost literally). I honestly don't understand how you could read them, I've tried to make sense of them, but it's like their written in another language. Did you know that one of them even has "Fred Rulz" written in the corner? Your spelling was atrocious in those days, and I doubt that it's much better now. Being dead probably doesn't improve your grammar abilities much. Back to what I was saying about death being a great adventure, I guess if life can have adventure in it, so can death. You always did like adventure. I suppose I got the quote wrong though, you certainly did fight with a smile, but you also died with one too. Of course, you did to work against the odds pretty much, got that part right at least." George told the tombstone, referring to the quote, he then continued, really just rambling now, "You also got your adventure, even if it wasn't the Triwizard Tournament like we'd been hoping for. But I'm glad we didn't put our names in the Goblet; did I ever tell you that? Imagine if we had, and one of us had been picked, and we had been in Cedric's place. Then again, I don't think it would make much difference now; one of us would have just died sooner. But then, the Wizarding world wouldn't know the best joke shop around and that would have been a terrible loss to the world, living without our jokes. Pah! I couldn't imagine something so saddening: a world, without our humor. Shameful thoughts, those are." He paused again, realizing that he did know what the world was like without their humor, without Fred's humor. He recalled that he'd had to go 12 years without hearing a wisecrack from his twin, and that world was not a happy one. Rather hastily, he began talking about something different, without even realizing what he was talking about, "I reckon little Victoire is going to be mad at me. This'll be the 10th time I've missed her birthday now. I always come late, to her party's. Fred, Angelina and Roxanne are there now, as are the rest of the family I guess. I couldn't really skive off coming to see you though, even if it has been only about a month since I last visited." George explained. He didn't know why he was explaining it, but he felt it deserved an explanation, "I suppose I need to stop worrying about the past, you know, let it go, but I can't. If you were here now, I bet you'd give me an earful. Mind, that's about all I can take, seeing as I only have one ear. But either way, you'd be saddened by my lack of joke-enthusiasm. The shop is doing well, and Lee's been helping out a bit, but now with Quidditch season starting up again, he'll go back to commentating."
At this point, George glanced at his watch. It wasn't that late, but he'd been there a while. He didn't, however, move to stand up. He simply bowed his head in silence and this time he didn't continue talking. He merely went over the thoughts floating around in his head.
The hours passed, and George actually fell asleep; he'd never been very good at vigils anyway. When he finally woke up he could have sworn he felt something blowing his hair, but immediately dismissed the though, he then checked his watch again for the second time.
"Nearly 7:00! Merlin, if I don't get over to Bill's, Victoire might not forgive me this time, and Angelina might get worried." He stood up rather stiffly, stretched and brushed some dirt off his robes. He rubbed his eyes, and glanced back down at the headstone. "Well, I guess that's it for this year, brother mine. I'll see you in 11 months. Hah, isn't this a grave parting of ways? Yeah, I know, I'm working on it. Well, until next time, I suppose." George paused for a moment, looking at the tombstone, hoping beyond hope that there would be some sign of Fred. He waited about a minute, then shook his head, scolding himself for being foolish. Fred hadn't been alive for 12 years, there was no way there would be any sign of him tonight.
Then, without another word, he turned away from the grave which he childishly felt held empty promises of returning his best friend because no one else was really to blame, and strode out of the gravesite and got to the iron gates. He quickly opened them, and closed them behind him. George quietly tapped it with his wand, and the locks slid back into place like metal snakes with a defiant 'click'. George looked up at the grave, in the very back under the tree with pink flowers, for the last time that year. He remembered how cemeteries used to send shivers down their spines (him and Fred that is.) To a normal person, they did that. But now, he was far too used to the eerie settings to be bothered by them too much. The wind blew sending some flowers off the branches, and George just imagined what Fred would say if he saw that he was buried under pink flowers. He must be rolling in his grave. The once happy, shining face of George Weasley now looked tired and drawn as he looked at his twin's grave from the gate, where the white headstone could just be seen. He woudn't see it for another 11 months (though the thought of it would weigh heavy and constant on his mind), and in that time the weather would wear it down, and in the following years it would shine less brightly, although, as it dims there is a presense that lingers forevermore. The stone would fade to a dull gray, the name would become unreadable, it would crack and be left to look forgotten; unlike the memories that George would always cherish. Though the stone would erode, time would march on, and the earth would spin and continuially, George would never forget Fred. Never leave his memories of his twin behind, and come back to visit, until he too joined the land of the dead. George gave Fred's grave a somber Weasley-Twin-Salute, and with a small 'pop' Disapparated away from the scene that brought him so much misery.