A/N: I don't write much, and I don't kid myself into thinking I'm good. But I watched Finding Neverland and if that isn't an inspiration nothing is. I haven't much dealt with death. Maybe I'm wrong in my description. How would I know? Review if you want to but I understand if you don't. I'm a ghost myself. Enjoy! -Mady
A/N 2: I have just reviewed this and decided to ameliorate the quality of my writing. Also, I've been feeling rather sad lately as, with all the hype about the movie, I've been thinking about Fred's death once more. And crying a little. I hope this is better than before. (Or at least more grammatically correct.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I own various items of Harry Potter merchandise but not him. J.K. has him all to herself. Guess my imaginary friends will have to keep me warm at night.
In the end, it was Harry that found George. Maybe that was for the best. He understood better than most as he should, having died. George wasn't on the roof or in their -his- room. He was sitting out by the pond where he and Fred first decided to start a joke shop. Fred. Harry approached George quietly, even though George knew he was there, and Harry knew George knew he was there. He didn't say anything for quite a while. Just as George was about to ask him to go away, as he really did want to be alone, Harry spoke.
"They say it get's better. Maybe it does. It hasn't yet for me. Oh sure, the pain has dulled, no longer an aching open wound, more of a wound that is trying to close but keeps being disturbed. Painful and annoying and sometimes you wish it would just close already. But you also don't want it to, afraid that as soon as it closes, you'll forget this pain. This constant distraction. And that you'll allow yourself to hurt again, not having prepared yourself the first time. Also a bit afraid that forgetting the pain means forgetting the cause, which is unforgivable. But they'll keep on smiling, and shooting you pitying, assessing, glances when they think you aren't looking. These glances are almost as annoying as the pain that won't leave, so you smile for a while and pretend you're healing; when on the inside you're as broken as ever. They tell you that there's life after death. That you will move on. Maybe you will. I haven't. I don't think anyone does really. One just learns to not think about it for a while. Not forget, never forget. But just not think about it. In the beginning you'll feel bad for not thinking about it. After all if they were alive, surely you would have thought of them more than now, when they are not. Maybe you wouldn't have. You'll never know. No one will ever know. Maybe I should have something more helpful to say, having experienced death and having, well, died, but the truth is, death doesn't go away and neither does the empty feeling. Dying doesn't change that. Living does sometimes. One of the most irritating things they'll say will be 'Fred would have wanted you to move on'. Maybe they're right. But all the same you want to scream at them, 'What do you know about Fred?' and maybe 'I'm not ready to move on!' That's okay. That feeling fades a bit too. I'm still coping with these bits myself. After all, I didn't really know anyone who died really well. How am I supposed to know what they would have wanted? But you knew Fred. And in the end you really should do what he would want. As a last gift to him, if nothing else. A tribute to a great man. So I won't tell anyone where you are if you don't want me to. And I won't tell you it will get better, because it won't. But I will say that it gets easier, if not necessarily better. And that someday, you'll think back on Fred and the good times you spent together and you'll laugh. The way he would have wanted it." And with that, Harry stood and left.
This was probably the longest thing he had ever said to anyone. Harry knew it, and George probably did to. He had always been more a man of action than of long speech's and hard sentiments. That made it all the sweeter and the more meaningful.
It'll get easier.
He could live with that.