I open my eyes on that morning, look out the window, and sigh. It was going to be a worse day than usual, emptier, if that was possible. The date is May 2, 1999. One year since my twin brother Fred, my Partner in Crime, my best friend, had died. I look across the room at the bed that was once my brother's, half expecting to see him lying there shirtless and sound asleep, his red hair splayed out on the pillow around him. When no such sight appears, I feel the tears sting my eyes for what seems like(and probably is) the millionth time. I let a few of them fall, then do my best to shake them off as I pull on a t-shirt and head downstairs alone.
One year.
I amble slowly into the kitchen and sit down in a bit of a daze. When I semi-snap out of it I see that Mum has put a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon in front of me. I look up and see he gazing at me with sad eyes. Her eyes were always sad now, and she acted like she understood what I was feeling. But she didn't. no one did. No one could.
One year.
"Did you sleep well, dear?" Mum asks me, as if I hadn't noticed the look in her eyes moments before. Did I sleep well? Of course I didn't, I never did anymore. And everyone knew it, knew that I had spent every night for the last year crying myself to sleep. It's then when I truly realize how empty my life is without Fred there. But I don't say any of this. Instead I drop my eyes back to the plate in front of me.
"Fine," I mumble, still not looking up so she won't see the new tears that are threatening to spill over. Mum doesn't seem convinced, but lets it drop.
"Are you going to the shop today?" she asks. "You slept in rather late this morning."
I had forgotten about the shop today, my mind was on… other things.
"Naah," I reply. "Don't think I could handle it today, but I've got Lee and Verity working today, it should be fine." I have not looked up all this time. Without another word, I get up and go out the door, leaving my plate untouched. I leave the house, not even sure where my feet are taking me.
One year.
Soon enough, though, I do realize where I am going. I enter the cemetery as quietly as I can, even though I am the only one there. My feet take me to the place I've been to many times before, and I gaze at the headstone in front of me as I kneel down to the ground:
Fred Prewett Weasley
Born: April 1st, 1978 Died: May 2nd, 1998
Loving Son and Brother, Infamous Prankster, Best Friend.
R.I.P.
One year.
I can feel the tears starting up yet again, but this time I don't fight them. Not that I would have been able to anyway, the emptiness I'd had in my chest since he died seemed bigger than ever, if that was possible.
One year.
"Hey, Forge," I say, just quietly enough for him to hear. "Can you hear me? I'm sure you can, but even if you can't, I'm going to talk anyway. I can't believe I've survived an entire year without my other half. It's been so hard, Freddy, I can't even describe it. I feel it most at night, when there are no small distractions. The emptiness I got when you died still hasn't gone away, and it's even more consuming than ever. I miss you so much it hurts, Forge. I miss getting into trouble with you, and I miss walking everywhere with you at my side all the time. This last year without you has felt like an eternity, Fred, but the worst part was our birthday last month. I had to blow out the candles by myself, and everyone, including me, got choked up when they sang "Happy Birthday". I came later that night, though, and I left one of the candles on your grave, remember? And then I told you to make a wish and blow it out, and almost as if you had heard me, a gust of wind came and blew out the flame. Was that you, Freddie? I think it was. It makes me wonder, though, what did you wish for? Did you make the same wish I did, and wish that you could come back to us? Or did you wish that I would move on and keep living? Or did you wish for Harry to get over himself already and propose to our little sister? Ha, remember when I walked in on them kissing the day of Bill and Fleur's wedding? I never knew Harry could turn as red as Ron does when he's embarrassed!"
The tears were streaming down my face like little waterfalls now, the ground covering my twin absorbing them as they fell.
One year.
"The shop has been doing alright, Ron has been helping out a bit but it's not the same without you, Forge, it was OUR dream," I sob. "The entire place just seems darker now, the air is heavier, and my brain feels like lead so I've been having trouble coming up with new products. Any ideas, Forge? You were always the one that came up with the great ideas. Help me Fred, please, I'm so lost without you here, in more ways than one. And I know you would call me a girl for getting like this, but honestly Fred, without you here I'm just a hollow empty shell, the rest of the world doesn't mean anything anymore. Please, Fred, come back. I don't even know for sure if you can hear me, but come BACK! PLEASE! OR AT LEAST GIVE ME A SIGN THAT YOU'RE WATCHING ME, AND CAN HEAR ME! SOMETHING! ANYTHING! I NEED YOU HERE! I NEED MY OTHER HALF!" I wail, I'm in near to complete hysterics by now. "I'm sorry Forge, I didn't mean to shout, but I just love and miss you so much, I need you here with me."
With that I get up off my knees and dust off my dirt-covered hands. I don't even remember tearing the grass up.
"I need to go now Freddie, but I'll be back soon. If you can hear me, please, PLEASE give me a sign you're still with me," I whisper as I touch the grave, letting the last of my tears fall.
One year.
I turn and leave the cemetery, wiping my eyes and slowly making my way back to the main road. As I'm walking, I feel a light breeze blowing through my hair, and I watch as it blows big green leaf off the branch of a nearby tree. I catch the leaf before it hits the ground, and as I look at it and twirl it between my fingers, the leaf changes from a bright green to a flaming red-orange color, the exact same shade as our hair. I manage a small smile, hold the leaf close to me, and look up at the sky, tears in my eyes once more.
"Thanks, Forge. I love you," I murmur in a voice so quiet even I can hardly hear it. But as another warm breeze blows through my hair, I know he heard me. I put the leaf in my pocket, and start to make my way back home.
One year.