Blessings From The Afterlife

8. (action) making a wish

Warnings: a bit of swearing

George stood on the edge of the cliff, looking out at the sunset. The orange-golds stretched far and wide, the colour of tangerines and autumnal leaves. His face was aglow with the last soft rays of the sun before twilight could come as a tangible whisper of the heavenly stars.

The sound of soft footsteps behind him was soothing to George's ears. Hermione appeared beside him, still dressed in her wedding dress, her hair pinned up in a loose chignon. Her white gown fluttered in the gentle breeze, causing George's heart to skip a beat at the beautiful sight.

"Thinking about Fred again?" she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Yes… I was just thinking about how he would have loved we're dressed so casually on our wedding day," he murmured, a soft smile tugging on his lips. It was a half-lie. "He would have had a blast, wouldn't he?"

"Of course," Hermione said, chuckling softly. Without hesitation, she sat down on the edge of the cliff, her legs dangling underneath. Tugging George down beside her, she rested her head on his shoulder. "Now… Will you tell me the truth?"

George huffed, his shoulders trembling with a suppressed sob. "Why are you so perceptive?"

"You wouldn't love me if I were anything else."

"That's not true," George said, turning his head and cupping her face. He tilted his head to press his lips gently against hers. Pulling back, he whispered, "I wish he were here. Just to give us his blessings…. I wish… I just wish for a sign that he's happy for us. That's all."

Hermione took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. "It was Fred, George. He was your twin. There's no way he's not happy for you right now."

George smiled and nodded. "You're right, Mine… Still, it would be pretty amazing if he gave us a sign. It's our wedding day—it should be his wedding present to us."

They turned back to watch the sun disappear over the horizon. Just then, a pair of magpies—the Weasley twins' Patronus—flew overhead and dropped an envelope in George's lap before soaring through the air and vanishing in a loud burst of fireworks that spelt out George's name with a huge neon-pink heart surrounding it.

"Wh-what's this?" George asked, turning his head to look around their surroundings. Hermione did the same, already using her wand to check for hexes and curses on the envelope.

When she was sure there was nothing malicious inside, she looked at George, who was staring at the envelope with a furrowed brow. "It's harmless," she said. "Is there a name on it?"

"No, nothing." George slowly tore the seal off and slid the letter out of the envelope. His breath hitched at the very familiar handwriting, his heart starting to pound fiercely against his ribcage. "It's… It's from Fred!"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No… Stay," George whispered, grabbing her hand to steady himself. His slender fingers pressed into her palm, his heart pounding so hard as his pulse pressed outward. She nodded and kissed his cheek in a show of silent solidarity.

Trembling, he began reading the contents of the letter.

Forge,

Now that I have your attention, it's time to talk about your marriage.

First of all, I really hope I'm alive right now, but if I'm not, you'll get this letter an hour after you get married. Wicked bit of magic, isn't it? Hope my letter's interrupting something good (if you know what I mean). If not, then why? How prudish of you! I am so disappointed in you!

If you're getting married to someone who's not Hermione, I'll personally come back to haunt your stupid arse. How could you marry someone who's not Hermione Granger? You fucked up, mate! Fucked up for sure! Get an annulment and beg Hermione for forgiveness. If it's not too late, she'll probably give you a chance (you better not mess up again this time—I'm not there to seduce her for you).

Now, if you're getting married to Hermione, then, great! Though I have no idea how you managed to get her to fall for you (because you're the ugly twin), you have my blessings, yadda, yadda, yadda.

On a more serious note, don't take her for granted, Forgie. Because I'm not there to steal her from you, she'll leave your pathetic arse for someone less glamorous than us. Do you want that? No! So, keep her fed, watered, and happy. And don't forget to ask her which book is on her reading list before you go out and buy something for her. You remember what happened to Ron's books, don't you?

Forge, before I finish, I'd like you to turn to face your wife. Look into her eyes and know that you two are looking into the eyes of the person who is statistically most likely to murder you. When she kills you, I hope she does it in style (she will one day because of your pranks).

I know we rarely said this, but I love you, George. You were always my favourite. I would have loved to stand by your side as you got married (and fight you in front of everyone for your wife's hand) but I'm not. And I want you to know that it's okay. We had a great life together, but now, it's time for you to move on. Name your firstborn after me and we'll call it even for all the advice I gave you to steal Hermione's heart back in our seventh year (I'm going to keep on assuming you married her).

Love,

Gred.

P.S: Always remember: the wife is always right—especially if the wife in question is Hermione Granger.

P.P.S: Hermione, take care of him for me, will you? Forgive him when he messes up (which will obviously happen). Love you, little sis.

Tears streamed down George's face as he finished reading the letter. Quiet contentment spread through him, and he was suffused with happiness. He clasped the letter to his chest and raised his head to look up towards the heavens. A crooked smile was visible on his face as he nodded and whispered, "Thank you, Gred."

Despite being so far away from him, Fred had fulfilled his wish. George had never felt more alive.