Eulogy for a Trickster
They wanted me to say something. What do I say? What do I say about a man who has been by my side from the moment we split from one person into two in our mothers womb? What do I say about a man who I have shared everything with? What do I say about the man who through the years has been my brother, my business partner, my partner in crime, and above all; my best friend?
He was always there. Through the childhood squabbles, through the teasing, through the arguments over girls, through pain, through sorrow, through loss... he was always there. It seemed like nothing could come between the infamous Weasley twins. We were unstoppable. We were unbreakable. We made our own luck. We made our own dreams.
But, in the end, we weren't as inseparable as everybody thought. Right at the moment I should have been there most, I was somewhere else. I don't remember how we got separated in the fight, but we were. One moment he was watching my back, and the next I turned around to find him gone. I thought he would be fine. I thought I would find him soon. It was hard enough worrying about my own safety so I didn't try to find him as hard as I could have. He was my big brother, if only by a few minutes. Nothing could happen to him. It was an impossible though.
But I was wrong. I was so wrong. When the fighting subdued for a while I went to find him. I thought he'd be in the Great Hall with the rest of my family. I was right about that bit. But the way I found him was something I could never have been strong enough to handle.
The thing I feared the most had happened. The thing that had made me break down in Defense Against the Dark Arts so many years before when facing the Bogart was now reality, lying on the floor; covered in blood and white and cold as ice.
It felt like my soul was rent in two. And it was. He was a part of me. He was my other half. My brother. My twin. My friend.
But who was he? That's what they want me to hear. They want me to talk about how amazing a man he was. They want to hear me recount stories of our escapades. They want me to lighten up the event. Like I always used to, back when I was whole. Back when my other half was there to help me lighten things up. I'm not sure how to do that without him here.
So they won't get quite what they want. I don't have a story of a perfect man. I have the story of my twin brother. The trickster. The scoundrel. But at heart had a tenderness that rarely showed through his biting humor and cynicism.
He wasn't perfect. He had faults just like the rest of us. He hid his insecurities behind the wall of our pranks and humor. He was never a fearless soldier. He was afraid for me. He was afraid for all of his family. He was afraid of his own death, not because of what lies beyond, but because he feared the mess he might leave behind. The mess he has left behind.
On the outside, we thought we were invincible. We were the funny ones. We were the ones who were supposed to crack a joke when the battle was finally over. Make everyone laugh after all the suffering was done. We never quite finalized what we would say. It was going to be spur of the moment, like most of what we do. One of our favorite ideas though was "Voldy's going moldy".
But we weren't invincible. We were fools. We got cocky. He let his guard down in a moment of what he thought was safety. And what for? A joke. A stupid joke. Is that all we ever were? We were the jokers. He was right up to the end and it was his undoing. He died with a smile on his face because he was foolish enough to let his guard down in battle. And now he's left us alone with nothing but a memory and me, alone to run our shop, fearing every moment I might glace in a reflective surface and be haunted by his face. My face. Our face.
But we have to keep up his memory don't we. We have to keep making jokes and pulling pranks in his honor. I have to be enough of a pain in your asses to make up for what he won't do. Fred's mischief is managed. But I still solemnly swear that I am up to no good.