I remember spinning, wildly twirling and turning in Fred's arms. The Yule Ball felt like a dream, something that never really happened. Three months after his death and it still feels like some strange nightmare. I once again stand before his headstone in the grass, the dog days of summer doing their worst as the sun relentlessly glares down at me. The first sunburn I've ever had stings my shoulder when I forgetfully reach up and scratch it. I wince and let a tear drop from my eye. It never occurred to me to realize how much time I spend standing here, still thinking that it's all a sordid, morbid, and unforgivable joke, that Fred will dig his way out of the ground, laughing and saying how good he got me, how good he got everyone; he was never really dead. But no matter how much I think it, the ground stays still and unturned. I never hear him laughing. Why I spend so much time here I still don't know. Maybe because friends can never let each other go. I can't think of George without Fred. It's just wrong. The more my mind wanders I start to think about George. I haven't seen him since the funeral. Considering how much time I spend standing at this gravestone, I'm surprised I haven't run into him. I've seen Ron, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Bill, Charlie, Harry, Hermione, even Percy. I've seen half the faces I knew when I was at Hogwarts, but I have yet to see George. I shake my head and plop to the ground, telling Fred how angry I am that he didn't make it. He never should've died. It shouldn't have been him. I close my eyes for a moment and hear someone approaching. I don't bother to look over, assuming that it's Ron or one of the Weasleys. The steps stop just about a foot away from me. The silence kills me and I finally look up to see who's standing there. That familiar platinum blonde head leers above, blocking the sun from shining on me so intensely. The face is stricken with a strange sort of remorse, but is remains unyielding. I begin to think I must have suffered a heat stroke, and that what I'm seeing is my brain falling into heat and delusion. I stand up and he's still there, never once taking his blue gaze from Fred's grave. I take a good step back, creating a gap between me and the man who I didn't believe deserved to breathe. I cross my arms and glare at him. Finally, slowly, Draco turns to look at me. He stares back at Fred's grave in silence.
"What makes you think you have the bloody right to be here?" I spit. He doesn't answer and I intercept his gaze by standing between it and Fred's stone.
"Asshole! I'm talking to you!" I feel myself winding up, the anger broiling in my veins. I feel my fists clench painfully.
"Can't you see I'm grieving, Johnson?" Draco retorts, looking me directly in the eyes. His are clear and unfilled. His expression had gone from remorseful to retaliatory. I was quiet for a minute, surprised at the fact that he even knew my name. And then I realize that this is the first time he's ever spoken directly to me.
"I said you don't deserve to be here. You're not a friend and you're not family. The moment one of them comes by, you're dead," I said angrily. Draco shook his head, laughing a little bit. He takes a fearless step towards me, causing me to step back in response. I immediately chastise myself mentally for showing the fact that he scared me deep down. As far as I knew, he was the spawn of pure evil. I draw my wand from my pocket, but before I can even point it at the bleachy blond skull, he grabs my hand firmly, knocking it to the ground and kicking it aside. Despite how hot it is, he's in black robes that give him an even more suspicious air. My pulse skips and I step back again in fear.
"It's all over," Draco shouts, "Voldemort lost—he's dead, he's gone. His followers are gone—"
"I'm not so sure of that," I cut him off, prying my wrist away from him so hard that I manage to fall back against Fred's grave, hitting my head. I guess I blacked out automatically…
Those cold blue eyes stare down at me concernedly, but as soon as they see that I'm coming to, they fleet back to their apathetic gaze. I gasp and sit up, crawling away from Draco's hand, under which my head was resting seconds before.
"Gryffindors; world's stupidest and clumsiest idiots," Draco says ruthlessly. Something about it made me feel as if he were simply keeping on a face that really wasn't there. I saw my wand standing where Draco had kicked it. I crawl towards it desperately. When I turn around, pointing it at Draco, he's already pointing his at me.
"Don't do anything stupid. I'm not looking for a fight. I just came to pay my respects," he says, stepping towards me, pleasure wafting across his face when he understood that I was afraid. I pull myself off the ground and brush off.
"Respects? Don't make me laugh, you bastard. You respect no one." Draco ignores my comment and wipes his hand on his robe. For the first time I notice the bit of blood on the stone. The pain at the back of my head finally seizes me and I lean over slightly.
"You're bleeding," Draco says plainly.
"And I wouldn't be if you hadn't come here!" I scream. He rolls his eyes, stepping even closer.
"Stay away from me!"
"Fine, if you don't want to fix it," he said, stopping where he was. The pain at the back of my head becomes intense. I start to see double and fall to my knees, shaking my head. I fall completely and feel my head swimming. Draco finishes approaching me and kneels in the grass, taking my head up in both hands. Weak as I am, I still attempt to get away from him when he lifts it. He points his wand behind me, wondering what exactly to do. It's so strange to me when I look up at him and see the expression of remorse again. I hear footsteps, and they quicken up as they approach. Draco whips his head around and stares in the direction where I hear a voice screaming at him. I recognize it to be Ron but then I hear another voice. Fred? I wished I could have lifted my head and looked past him to see who else was shouting. Draco disapparates, leaving my head free where it drops to the ground, my gaze turned skywards. I try to keep my eyes open but only end up passing out a second time. When I wake up again, my first few blinks are blurry, through which I see a familiar face.
"Fred!" I scream, rocketing upwards and nearly hitting my face in his. There's a firm hand on my shoulder and I look over at Molly Weasley. George blinks sadly at me. I had been mistaken; it wasn't Fred I was looking at. Ron sits at the end of the couch where I am.
"You okay?" he asks.
"What did Malfoy do to you? There was blood everywhere," he said darkly. I shake my head slowly, not really remembering much. It comes back as a montage of moments; Draco standing near me, staring at Fred's grave. I can recall pointing my wand at him, but after that I can't remember a thing. George shakes his head and I realize how angry he looks.
"He's a dead man," he says through gritted teeth. I really take a look at him, his face sallow and gaunt, the eyes sagging slightly from days of missed sleep.
"He got away before we could do anything," Ron informs me, as Molly pushes a cup of something into my hands. I stare at George, unsure of what to say. I had never seen him the way he was looking as he stood there in front of me.