Enjoy.
Fred Weasley died on May 2, 1998, at the age of 20. He left behind his twin brother, George.
Fred had written a letter for George before his death.
George held the letter in his hand, letting out dry, retched sobs, because there were no more tears left.
Angelina put a hand on his shoulder and left the room, giving George his space.
And with that, George began to read the letter left to him by his dead brother:
Georgie,
George, you are the best brother anyone could ask for. And I am truly glad that from birth, you've been by my side. This war that's coming up, it's making me realize more than ever how fast life goes by. You help me live my life to the fullest every day, and I thank you for that.
I love you.
I don't know why I feel the need to write you this letter. I just feel as though if anything happened, I'd rather it happen to me than you. And I don't want to leave you.
And if you're reading this, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I left. But please know that this is what I wanted. If you are reading this, I got what I wanted. You're alive, George.
Congratulations, right? This world is so screwed. I guess I only plugged in to make sure you made it. I'm okay with that.
Can you believe how the years have passed by? How at one moment we were little boys getting in trouble with Mum to this? I feel so fulfilled, George. I feel so happy that I got to spend my life with someone so incredibly great. And that's why you have to go on.
I know I'm breaking a lot of promises. I'm not going to be there at your wedding, or see your first child's birth. I'm not going to be able to run the joke shop with you. I'm not going to be there anymore.
God, I'm so sorry.
But I'm so happy it was me.
Maybe I'm doing this all for nothing, brother. Maybe this letter will be one of those things tucked away for years and years.
In the case that it's not, take care of yourself, George.
You hear that? I love you.
Fred.
George flipped the paper over and looked for more writing. His face was red and puffy and now there were tears streaming down his face. He couldn't breathe.
When there wasn't more writing, his chest swelled up in anger. "No," he growled under his breath. He stormed over to a door sized mirror, propped in the corner. He looked at his reflection, but he didn't see himself. He kept seeing Fred.
"No, no, NO!" He screamed. "It's not fair!" He wasn't sure who he was yelling at: this mirror, himself, or his dead brother.
"Did you hear me?! IT'S NOT FAIR!" He brought his fist down on the mirror, and glass shards fell, littering the floor with pieces of Fred.
Fred.
Fred.
Fred.
George screamed again, the pain in his heart unbearable. He clutched at his chest, and remembered what Fred wrote: I'm so happy it was me.
God, no. He grabbed at his hair and screamed, the words echoing in his head. It felt as though someone was holding a burning blade to his heart, with such intensity that he felt he might faint.
"Fred," he whispered through clutched teeth. He folded over and fell in the glass shards, ignoring the pain and trying to tend to the wounds that couldn't be seen: the sudden emptiness in his heart. The one that couldn't be filled.
Fred Weasley was to be cremated.
George had decided this, and nobody protested. Nobody tried to preserve the lifeless body that would soon rot away in the earth.
Instead, they kept him in an urn.
George thought that there might be a time, one day, when he could talk about Fred. And some days it was better. Some days he would get up and make something out of the day. He would laugh with his family, or take Angelina out. Other days, George Weasley could be found in his bed. George would hear Fred's laugh, and see Fred's smile, and look in the mirror and see Fred's face, and for those short moments George would smile himself.
But then he would break down, because he knew that it wasn't real. Being unable to move while in extreme pain was not the highlight of his life. The highlight of his life was gone.
And then, George's first child was born.
Fred was supposed to be there, you know. Fred was the braver one, the one that would have handled it so much better.
When the baby came, after Angelina sighed a shaky sigh of relief, George was the first one to hold him. His hands were trembling so hard that he was afraid he'd drop the baby boy, but the nurses assured him that he would be fine.
Nobody bothered him for a good few minutes, not even Angelina, because for the first time in years George looked truly happy. Tears were rolling down his face, yes, but there was a brilliant smile on his face.
There was something about the baby's cry that reminded him of his brother. Something about the glint in his eyes, and the way his nose was shaped. Yeah, it was George's nose too, but George didn't care.
"Fred," he whispered. "Your name is Fred."
George Weasley never truly mended. There were times in his life, times when he was feeling down or depressed, that he would need to take a moment and sit alone and fill his mind with the events that occurred before the 2nd of May in 1998. There were times that he would forget that his brother was gone, and then have to start the day over. There were times where his children didn't understand why daddy was crying, or who Fred was.
But the days that he laughed without thinking, and the nights when he would stare at the stars and grin uncontrollably because of how crazy life was, the moments when he felt he was with his brother without it hurting, those were the moments he was free.
George Weasley was never the same after the war, but then again, who was?