A/N: This piece was fun to write, but at the same time, it was like saying goodbye to an old friend. It was difficult, too. As such, this was written for the "A Completely Randomized Competition", and I loved it.

Disclaimer: If I were JK Rowling, I wouldn't need to write fanfiction, would I? Alas, I have not written a best-seller series, I have not changed countless millions of lives for the better, and I am not one of the richest women in the world. I have a cat, though.

Prompt Words: Altruism, Hum

Character: Fred Weasley

Genre: Family/Angst

The Moments Between

The last thing Fred Weasley heard before he died was his mum's voice. For once, she wasn't yelling or scolding or shouting— she was humming. Softly, gently, as though it were a lullaby, sending him drifting to eternal sleep. A beautiful melody, it filled Fred with an inexplicable sorrow.

He was going to die.

This was his last moment. He just hoped he made his mum proud.

There was still so much to be done, so much to be said.

I'm sorry, Mum.

I'll make you proud, Mum.

Mum… I love you.

He hadn't said any of that in years. And he never would again.

Because he was dying, and his mother's song was taking him away.

He remembered the day she hummed it to him; he had skinned his knee and he ran to his mum, crying, begging her to fix it. She kissed it, made it better, and hummed him a melody. And now, twelve years later, he was laying on the cold floor, shivering, dying, desperately clinging to the memory as he tried to remember her warmth, her love.

He remembers her arms, embracing him, as he drifted off into oblivion, trying to so hard to hold onto the perfect past in such an imperfect present.

Funny how unintended altruism brought out your best memories— actually, Fred supposed through the cloudy haze of looming darkness, it wasn't very funny at all.

Fred did not want to die. He was never meant to be a hero. He was meant to be a silly man with a silly twin, with a joke shop and a billion children with Katie Bell. But, then, life never turned out the way you planned it.

And so, Fred Weasley lay, his face drawn into a wide smile that could've been a laugh, but it wasn't. Instead, as he let the darkness creeping into his vision blind him, he recalled his mother's humming and let himself go, taking a last shuddering breath, wishing he could be eight years old again, just to be safe in his mum's arms.

He just wished he could have heard her voice one last time.

Please don't cry, mum. I'll be alright.

A/N: Okay, so now that I'm a sniveling mess, I'd like to hear your feedback, so go ahead and drop a few words in that little box there. Go on…