Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.
George had long ago decided the system was fucked up.
After the funeral, a lot of people had apologised, and that was fucked up too. Unless they'd sent the spell that had killed his brother, his best friend, he didn't want to hear it. Didn't want their condolences, or pity, or anything really. He wanted nothing except revenge.
Some people went further, saying Fred was brilliant, it was such a loss to the wizarding world, and wasn't it a tragedy he'd lived such a short life?
At this, George had laughed bitterly.
"Short?" He'd asked, taking a long drag of the cigarette he'd been nursing before flicking it to the floor. "It was the longest thing he ever did."
He'd stubbed the burning embers out with his dragon-skin boots, and watched impassively as the old lady (probably a relative but he hadn't cared enough to ask), flushed with embarrassment before shuffling away.
Yes, George had decided, the world was fucked up. But the most fucked up thing was that Fred was no longer in it.
And a world without Fred was a world without rules.