AN: Fred will forever be one of my favorite characters so I wrote this. Please enjoy.
Death, the medical assumption of when your body stops working, your heart stops beating and your pulse is nonexistent; you're cold and hard, your flesh is tough and you don't move anymore. You're left in a ridiculous and even funny position to the ones who don't know the tragedy. A tragedy , a real tragedy, maybe not an epic one, but a tragedy to the one who held your heart and whose hands feel now empty.
Pain strikes her almost physically, beating her, it is then that the tears start caressing her cheeks, falling down to her chin gracefully, freeing a small bit of her agony. They touch her lips, and it reminds her of when his lips touched hers for the very first time, because tears like that had never in her life touched her the way they did now. They ached too.
Freedom and Pain, two strong words to be put together but for Angelina Johnson those were the ones that best described her tears, her heart.
Life ends and there's just silence, the one word Fred really hates, or hated; because now everything that refers to Fred Weasley will be past as he's past too, but if he is, then why can't Angelina pass him too?
"Let it go!" They exclaim, always easy to say, but...How?
For her, he's still there. That smirk she loves is still there, his beautiful red hair is still moving softly in the wind, his touch is there too...
She now thinks Romeo and Juliet were lucky, Remus and Nymphadora were lucky. They got to be together until the very end and she wished she could have been there for him too. That's when guilt starts crawling to her head, to her wounded heart.
She should have know, she shouldn't have let him go, if only...
If only she wanted to remember what happiness was, but she truly didn't. She didn't deserve it, no matter how everyone told her it wasn't her fault. She knew it was.
But it wasn't just her fault, that death eater did it too. Hatred, something she really never thought of knowing calls her name and she gladly answers. Screaming in his bedroom isn't right it is sacred after all, but she lost faith for anything sacred a long time ago.
A new kind of pain waits for her, a very sore throat.
And then realization hits her: Pain is never going to end.
Does she want it to end?
It only reminds her that her nerves are still there and his aren't.
Finally a glimpse of hope embraces her, that at least he can't feel pain anymore, he's good now.
He should be better than ever.
And he'll be forever waiting for her, so she doesn't need to rush in.
Because he once told her he'd love her forever and she will love him forever.
As comfort slowly arrives, her eyes look at his portrait and her lips form a small and fragile smile, she's alive again.