Chapter 3 – Charlie

Why Fred? When I walked into the Great Hall, all I saw was my mother's tear-stained face, the sorrow in my father's eyes. I couldn't see Fred, couldn't see the stillness of his frame, couldn't see the blank, glassy orbs of eyes that could have been staring at the ceiling. I couldn't see the laughter on his face. With every step I took closer he appeared clearer, but not until I was standing right beside him, staring down into his hollow expression that I could tell who it was; what had happened. Only one thought crossed my mind. Why Fred?

Everything was going our way. We hadn't lost - yet. He hadn't won - yet. Percy was back, the family was together again. We had been one Weasley short for too long, but now we'd be one Weasley short forever. I felt something on my cheek - something wet. I didn't realize until later that they were tears. Tears of grief for my brother. My little brother. I was sitting down on the floor, looking at him. Just looking, as if everything I wish I'd asked him was answered. I was staring right at him, and yet I couldn't stop thinking, He's not gone. He can't be gone. He's right here ... just ... tired. He's tired. He can't be gone. I knew they were empty thoughts, hollow thoughts, but that's how I felt. Empty. It became my mantra; it kept me from breaking down. It kept me strong, as I knew I had to be for my family.

I looked over Perce's shoulder at the double doors, staring avidly at a mop of flaming red hair. I rubbed my eyes ... Fred? But then I saw the ear. Or rather, lack there of. I saw the look of shock on my brother's face. I knew there must be a million things going through his head. He wasn't coming any closer, so I went up to him. 'George. George, are you alright? It's not easy, I know. Just come over.' I placed a hand on his shoulder and he seemed to snap out of his reverie. He wouldn't move. He couldn't move. I stayed with him, stayed until he was ready to move.

I didn't notice time pass. Before I could say anything more to George, it was all over. We were on our way back to the Burrow. We were sitting in the living room, making funeral plans. I contributed best I could, making suggestions here and there, but the whole while I was watching George from the corner of my eye. He was brooding; he hadn't said anything, he hadn't cried, and he hadn't said anything about the funeral. I thought Fred deserved the best, and I said so. Perce kept saying it didn't feel right, but then the world stopped for one monumental moment and George spoke. Mum stopped crying, everyone turned around to look at George as he opened his mouth. 'It should be small. Just us. Plain and simple, nothing too fancy. And we won't wear black. Black always depressed him.' I felt the tears coming again, but held them back. George had the final say. He always would when it came to his twin.

The next day I was overcome by unexplainable frustration. I was irritated at all the crying, kept myself shut in my room. Well, not my room. His room. Their room. Fred and George's old room. I left the Burrow, went to stay with George instead. I knew he'd understand the frustration, understand the pain better than anyone else. I never understood why he let me in and no one else. I didn't think on it at the time ... I tried to reach out to George, tried to understand what he was thinking; feeling. A few days after I 'moved in', so to speak, he finally said something. It was more of a snap, really. 'Don't tell me to move on! You didn't lose your other half. You don't know what it's like to have half of you torn away in a moment!' I knew he was feeling the frustration, but mine had been defeated by overwhelming suffering. I replied, 'You think I don't know the pain? I would give anything to change it. I didn't want this ... I didn't cause this. I'd give anything ...' but I broke off. He wasn't listening anyways.

I kept trying to talk to George, and after awhile he started to open up. Not much. But enough to satisfy me. I was talking to Perce about it too ... we were the three Weasley boys with nobody else. We had to stick together, even if I was the glue that held us from breaking apart. I remember the biggest scare I think I've had since it happened. It was a Thursday, I was eating breakfast. George trudged past me, dragging himself to the shower. He didn't respond when I talked to him. I heard the water start, but never heard it stop. George stood in the shower for two hours - I thought he was trying to drown himself. I won't lie, the idea had crossed my own mind.

Then the letters started coming. Letters stuffed with money (sometimes even food), accompanied by 'sincere' apologies and condolences. Reminding us of our grief, intensifying the pain. Especially when you can't open them at the time and open them after you've said ... Well, I don't think any of us can say it yet. Not me. Not Mum. Especially not George. He burned the Ministry letter. It was the only one he kept, sending back all the others. Burning that card was the first thing that's made him smile since it happened.

The funeral was ... not as expected. The date was a week ago, everybody wore their colourful best. We looked like a rainbow, really. I was the red (I don't think anyone else dared to wear red with our hair), Mum the orange, Fleur the yellow, Harry and Percy the green, Hermione and Bill the blue, and Ginny the purple. We stood around the grave in a semi-circle, the only black-clad person the minister. I think he was taken aback by the bright colours, but he got over it. The headstone was simple, with a classic inscription I don't think Fred would have liked much. It wasn't personal enough for him.

Fred Weasley
April 1, 1978 - May 2, 1998
Beloved Son, Brother, Friend

From the moment I left the house I knew George wouldn't come. I knew he couldn't face it, that the pain was too much. I felt the same way. I would rather have been back at home eating socks than go to the funeral. It made it so real. But I went. Half of me thought George was coming, but he didn't show. I left right after, watching Percy sink to the ground, staring into the ground.

When I got back, George was sitting in the dark, staring into space. I looked at him until he looked back at me. 'You didn't come.' I turned and walked away, collapsing on my bed. George yelled something from the hall. 'I did. Just not in the conventional way.' I was surprised he could muster up the response, he looked drained. I know he hadn't slept or eaten. I hadn't either. We couldn't. But I, at least, had cried.

George sent a letter five days ago. Or rather, he sealed it and told me to send it. He must have gotten a reply, however, as he gave us all a big surprise yesterday afternoon. The entire family showed up at the doorstep - I thought he let them in because he didn't want them to break the door down. But it turned out he had found Fred's Will. His Will. What 20-year-old has a Will? Apparently Fred had a Will. I don't even have a bloody Will. But I guess I should get one. He always was a smart one.

We all got something special, something he thought we'd enjoy. He left me his lunascope and his sneakoscope. I don't know what use they'll be in dragon-handling ... but you never know. Maybe he found out about the ones that were lost in the fire at the office. Who knows? I was still in a mood when it happened, but I couldn't help but smile. He thought about me at least. He cared to know that I like gadgets. In receiving those items I felt he knew things about me I hadn't cared to share with him. He really was a great brother.

Right now, I'm eating breakfast. It's the first time I've eaten in a week. I can hear something coming from George's room. At least I know he's alive. At least I know he's doing something. It sounds like crying. I think he's crying. As suddenly as it started, it stops. I can hear faint sniffling from up the hall. The opening of a door, and slow rattling breaths. Footsteps approaching. I can see tear tracks on his face, and I know he's letting go. He's letting himself go through it. He's letting himself feel.

In his hand he's holding a letter. I can barely see George's name written in Fred's slanting scrawl. He sees me eyeing the letter and hands it over. I know this is what helped him. I know he's accepted it by the way he's looking at me. He gets up to eat something - eat something - and I open the letter. As I read, I feel the tears slowly roll down my cheeks. I stare at his name for a few minutes, letting it sink in. I fold up the letter and walk back to my room. Taking out a family picture album I turn to a picture of the twins. The twins together. The twins whole. I quietly bring the picture up, almost touching my lips and whisper, so only he can hear it. Even though I know he can't. He'll never hear me again. But it helps.

'Goodbye.'