Arthur

I remember when the twins were younger, about seven, and Molly and I allowed them to have a goldfish. Bill had just gotten a cat at the beginning of the new school year. While the other children could have cared less, Fred and George were incredibly jealous. They wanted a pet, too. From the perspective of two young children, it is easy to see how this would be unfair to them. They adored Bill, wanting to have everything that their big brother had.

So one day, Molly got sick of hearing the twins whining and took them down to the stream. They came back an hour later with a small fish in a jam jar. She explained to them that this fish would be a big responsibility—they would have to feed it, make sure that it had enough water, and keep it away from Ron. The twins agreed, very pleased and wanting to prove themselves.

They took the fish up to their room, and put it on the window sill. They fed it every day, made sure that it got enough sun—and I never saw that jar when it wasn't filled to the brim with fresh water. I was rather impressed to see how well they cared for it; I must admit, I had been expected them to break the jar within a couple of hours, or else lose interest by the end of the week. They proved me wrong as the days turned into weeks, and the fish was alive and well.

Then one afternoon, they went up to their room to find that the fish was floating belly-up, and completely unresponsive. They came running (carefully, in George's case, since he was carrying the jar) to me, to see if I knew what was wrong, and how to fix it. I took one look at the fish and knew that it was dead, but they wouldn't believe me, and insisted that I do a thorough inspection. Only after prodding the thing for a good five minutes, and my repeated assertions, did they believe me. And when they finally understood, it was heartbreaking.

There are very few times in my life that I've ever seen one of those boys cry, and this was one of them. They didn't understand what had gone wrong. They had done everything to take care of their fish. By the time Molly was home from Diagon Alley, they were almost inconsolable.

A week later, Molly caught another fish for the boys. They took care of this one as well, and it wasn't long before they had forgotten the other one completely. Their sorrow was gone, and they were back to the happy, mischievous children that we all knew.

It's been over a decade since I've thought about the experience with the fish. But recently, I can't get it off my mind.

There's a hole in our family. I see it every time I sit down to dinner, or watch Molly do laundry. These days, there are more people living in our house than ever, and friends are always passing through when they're in the area. The entire atmosphere is lighthearted, and you can almost see that people are more comfortable and happy in the world.

But that happiness came at a price. Of course I am thankful and overjoyed at the defeat of You-Know-Who, as is everyone else. But his defeat brought sorrow as well. No one came away from the War without losses and scars. For those involved in that finale battle, things will never be the same. For my family, a free world came at the cost of one of my sons.

It's been nearly a year since Fred was killed, and not a day goes by when I don't miss him. There are some times when I would almost trade the peace that has come after the battle, just to have him back. Molly has only just stopped crying. And I still don't think I've seen George smile. Percy feels as if this is all his fault, and as much as the others are trying to cope, I can tell that they all hurt too.

When I'm in my worst moments, I feel as if I've failed my family. As the father, I'm the one who should be strong enough to hold us together, to protect everyone, and fix everything. When the children were little, if one of their toys broke, they always brought it to me. They knew that I wouldn't simply use the Reparo charm as their mother would, but rather sit and tinker and fix it by hand, while they got to watch. I let it be Molly's job to scold them—although all of them got into some serious spots of trouble, I didn't think that they needed a telling off unless they did something truly alarming. I would always be the cool voice of reason, who could be relied on to be calming and a listening ear.

I can't fix my family's grief. I can't put us back together…and while we're all trying to pull through, I don't know if we can do it. I feel like everyone is looking to me to be strong, yet I can't stand up any easier than they can.

I look at how heartbroken my children are, and I wish that a brother was like a fish—things would be so much easier if I could simply go down to the stream and come back with a new brother for them to love and fill the gap that is in their lives. However, the sad reality is that no one and nothing will ever replace Fred, for any of us. The pain will always be there, even if we try to hide it. Unlike a child's goldfish, this is something that is much harder to reconcile, and absolutely cannot be forgotten.

Freedom is never free. I just wish that mine hadn't come at the cost of my son's.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I wanted to start off with someone who isn't usually written about, and I sort of had a plan for Arthur and the goldfish story.

I have a lot more planned for this, so stay tuned. Each chapter will be exactly 1000 words- so not too long, but just enough.

I always want to improve, or just know what you all are thinking, so reviews are always welcome!