Team: Holyhead Harpies
Position: Beater 2
Letter entries
Dear Fred,
I've decided I'm going to write these letters to you. You know, to keep you up to date. I figured you'll want to know how the family is doing, how business is going at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The only problem is that I don't know what address to send it to. I tried writing "Heaven" on it, just to see what would happen. It was sent back home. But let me tell you, home is anything but heaven without you.
Dear Fred,
I tend to sleep on the couch in the living room now, because going in our room is too painful nowadays. I was lying awake, because you manage to find your way into my mind even as I dream. The clock struck 3. I remembered when we were 6, and told Ron about how 3 is the haunting hour. We gave the poor kid nightmares. Then I climbed onto your shoulders, and we threw a sheet over us and walked into Ron's room, moaning with our arms outstretched. I laughed, remembering. It hurt to remember. It hurt to laugh.
Dear Fred,
It's almost Christmas. I finally fell asleep (still on the couch) but was awakened by a noise. it was coming from upstairs, and sounded muffled. I slowly and silently climbed the stairs, making sure to avoid the creaky step. Like we would always do on our way to pull our next prank. It was coming from the den. A single lamp was on, illuminating the chair next to it. Mum was sobbing into something in her hands. She was so wracked with grief that she didn't notice me in the doorway. I saw a pile of sweaters next to her chair. The one on the top had a G. I looked closer at what she was holding.
Mum had made you a sweater for Christmas, Fred.
Dear Fred,
The family is getting scared for me. They say that the life left my eyes. I don't joke around anymore. I don't smile or laugh. They're watching me, Fred. Watching me with concern, like they're an audience and I'm on stage. They want to see my reaction. I hate it.
I go through the motions of everyday life, barely noticing the sun rising or setting, or people coming and going. I seem emotionless to everyone around me. I haven't even cried once since the night you died. Not because I wasn't sad. because I was too sad... if that makes any sense. Like crying didn't even do the emotion I was feeling justice. You cry when you see a sad movie, or when you get physically injured. Crying seems like such a small and insignificant thing to do when your other self was just murdered. Not only that, but if I let my emotions out, if I let one little tear slip, I'll lose my already loosening grip on life and reality. I'll be irreparable.
And I think my brain might've gone back in time, because everything I see reminds me of you. Every speck of dust has a memory. You and me did everything together. I don't have any good memories that didn't include you in them. So I'm not living in the present. I've gone back to the past, seeing the memories like they're playing out before me in the current reality. I'm distant. I'm lost. They say I'm empty, lifeless. I don't know how they expect me not to be lifeless. Could they still live if I killed one half of them? No. But somehow, I'm still here. When you kill half of a person, you'd expect the other half to die with it. It would be easier to just die. So much easier. But no. I'm writhing in agony, in a state of half-living, half-dead. I feel like half a person, Fred. I'm in agony.
Dear Fred,
Angelina came over today. I was sitting outside, because mum forced me. She thought it would be good for me to get some air. It wasn't working. I was staring at the tree that had our tire swing.
An eight-year-old me pushed you in it, trying to see if I could make you go all the way around. It wasn't working, until I pulled out my wand. I muttered a spell, and you were finally able to make a vertical 180. You got off, staggering and laughing like a drunk person. You took a step and face-planted. I laughed, eyes sparkling, and grabbed your hand to pull you up. You spit out a mouth full of dirt and smiled, grass stuck in your teeth. We gave each other a huge hug, thumping each other on the back twice.
"That was bloody awesome! Come on, I'll do you now."
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I ignored it. Watching you was much more interesting.
"George?"
"Come on," younger me shouted. "Use the spell, use the spell!"
"George!"
"Alright, Alright," Fred yelled, and as I swung upside-down, I flew out of the swing, slamming into Fred and sending us tumbling across the lawn. We laughed in a tangled and twisted pile of arms and legs, bruised and scratched but still happy.
I felt a sharp pain in my cheek. The two figures disappeared and I was staring into the eyes of Angelina Johnson. She had slapped me.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I needed to get your attention." She sat in the chair beside me and held my hand.
"Are you okay?"
I didn't answer. I just stared out at the tree.
"Look at me." Angelina demanded fiercely. There was something in her voice, a pain and an anger, that made me turn to face her.
"Are. You. Okay?" I stared into her face, her eyes that were filled with concern. I could tell that she knew I absolutely was not okay. Her question meant something deeper. It really meant Its okay to not be okay.
I stared at my hands, battling with myself. It's okay to not be okay. My face screwed up, and I shook my head no. I kept shaking my head as she grabbed me and hugged me tight. I kept shaking my head as I sobbed into her shoulder. I kept shaking my head as she spoke forcefully, "I know. I know."
It's okay to not be okay.