If you haven't read my other story, Free, you should go there now. It's in George's perspective.
Fred Weasley fought bravely in the Second Wizarding War. And he went down swinging.
The explosion had come out of nowhere.
If Fred Weasley had known it was coming, he would have liked to imagine that instead of trying to avoid whatever fate was meant for him, he would have just taken the chance to see George one last time.
God, will he miss his brother.
And lying there, Fred realized that it might end up okay. Everything seemed to fall into place. And while more than anything did he want to be with George right now, Fred wanted George to be safe. That's all he's ever wanted.
Fred was dying. But maybe, just maybe, he could hold on. He was near Percy when it happened—perhaps Percy made it and he could bring Fred back to his family. If he could just hang on.
The searing pain that was his life now wanted otherwise.
If Fred could have screamed, he would have. And he thought he heard voices in those final moments. If only he could have told them to stop, stop because his soul felt like it was on fire. He felt himself slipping away, but still fighting back just enough to stay. And the effect was unbearable.
Was death supposed to hurt this much? No, no. No it wasn't. But love was.
The love for his brother. The love for his family. The pain was unbearable but he had to pull through. He could make it—
And yet.
And yet suddenly he doesn't see a war raging. He sees Hogwarts in a different time. He sees it when he and George would run through the halls, pulling a prank on somebody, anybody. And the pain stopped.
Yes, he could see George very clearly.
I'm sorry, George.
I'm so sorry.
As Fred drifted off into what felt like a very deep sleep, a boy with one ear screamed at him, and pleaded for him to stay.
But all Fred saw were angels.
Review, please!