Freddie's room was right next to his parents. Sometimes, he woke up, due to the noise the floorboards underneath his father's feet. His father almost never made it through the whole night without waking up. Usually, he just heard the pacing. Eventually his mother would wake up and pull him back to bed, but Freddie could tell every morning that his father hadn't gone back to sleep. On some nights, he even heard his father quietly crying. Freddie remembered one night in particular that was really bad.

Freddie woke up to the sudden thump of feet jumping out of bed. Freddie hurried out of his bed and got to his doorframe as his father bounded past. He followed his father to their family room and watched him crumple onto the couch. He was shaking, his body racking with sobs. His hands were knotted into his flaming red hair. Freddie's mother pushed gently past little Freddie and sat down on the couch. She put her hand on his shoulder, then sat there with a pained look. The pain, Freddie could tell, was not anything physical. No, it ran much deeper. This pain was the kind that never left. This pain might be bearable at times, but was always visible in their eyes. Freddie's mother lifted herself off the couch and left the room. A minute or two later she reentered, but not alone. Behind her strode in Freddie's uncle, Percy, brushing off soot from the fireplace. The minute Percy entered the room, he rushed straight to his younger brother and took him into his arms.

"I should have been there, Perce. Why wasn't I there?" George choked out through his sobs.

"Georgie…" Percy breathed, obviously holding back tears.

"Brothers are supposed to BE THERE FOR EACH OTHER! WHY WAS I NOT THERE?"

George was looking at Percy with a ferocious glare, lip quivering.

"Georgie. I was there. Being there… Watching your little brother die… It was the worst thing I have ever seen or felt or," he paused. "Anything. There was nothing you could have done if you had been there. Besides, you were fighting of other Death Eaters. You were helping."

"Why? I lost my brother, my twin, my best friend… My partner in mischief."

Freddie looked around. Percy was letting the tears slide down his cheek. Angelina was weeping into a handkerchief. He knew that this was about his namesake. His revered uncle. He looked back and George and Percy were standing, embracing each other. Now the tears on George's face were streaming continuously, but he was now talking in just a strangled voice.

"Thanks, Perce."

"Anytime, Georgie." Freddie's uncle, who was rarely so casual, straightened up, running his fingers through his red hair that was flecked with grey. He regained most of his composure and wiped the dried tears off of his face. Percy said his goodbyes to George and Angelina, then started out, ruffling Freddie's hair on the way.

George and Angelina walked to where Freddie was standing. His father gave him a giant hug, whispering, 'I love you so much,' into his ear. Then, George picked up his son and walked out, hand in hand with his wife.

Freddie continued listening to his father's pacing. He remembered sleeping between his parents that night. He knew that his family would always feel the pain. They would always weep on the 1st of April, while visiting the cemetery. They would always lay down pictures, and joke shop toys and candies, and flowers. They would always hold tightly to each other while looking and the grave that read, simply, 'Mischief Managed'. He knew none of them would ever fully recover, but his Uncle Harry let him in on a little secret… The man with the lightning scar would lean down to his nephew's ear and take his hand.

"The ones we love never truly leave us."