"No- no- no!" someone was shouting. "No! Fred! No!"
And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred's eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.
George had to learn to finish his own sentences.
It was something he had never had to do.
Fred was always there to do it for him, to know exactly what he was thinking.
After the war, George kept waiting.
Every sentence he said, he stopped in the middle.
But no one finished it for him.
No one could.
Except for Fred.
And Fred wouldn't.
Because Fred was dead.
And he would never again finish a sentence.