"So I lost Fred and George."
A thirteen-year-old Bill Weasley looked up over his latest edition of Wizard Rock magazine. It was a copy he'd picked up off the Hogwarts Express a few days earlier on his way home from his second year, seeing as his parents couldn't afford to get him a subscription. He'd been looking forward to giving it a read, and had planted himself at the picnic table in the back garden of the Burrow to check out the album review for the Weird Sisters' debut LP. Everyone was talking about it.
But he'd first have to deal with Charlie, who had been the one addressing him. He was eleven and had just emerged from the orchard looking sweaty from the summer heat. He was supposed to be playing with their six-year-old twin brothers; keeping watch on them while their mother finished charming laundry to hang across the garden.
It was an easy enough task for most people, though Charlie never had taken well to babysitting.
"You did what?" Bill asked, shutting his magazine.
Charlie looked across the garden, where their mother was still busy with the washing. Nearby, an almost nine-year-old Percy was sitting cross-legged in a patch of sun, oblivious to the world and reading a book. He was supposed to be "helping" Bill watch over the sandbox where four-year-old Ron and an almost three-year-old Ginny sat digging around and playing with their toys, but he wasn't doing much helping. He barely even looked up from his book no matter what Ron or Ginny may have done or asked.
"I lost Fred and George," Charlie repeated. "We were playing hide-and-seek in the orchard, and I told them to go hide. Now I can't find them."
Bill stared at him. Playing hide-and-seek with the twins? Was he serious? Those two thrived on being allowed the ability to escape on their own and away from watchful eyes. Was Charlie new here?
"How hard did you look for them?"
"I reckon it's been about an hour," Charlie said.
Charlie had the worst concept of time ever. They hadn't even been outside for an hour—a half an hour at best. When he said an hour, that usually meant ten minutes.
Still, Fred and George left to their own devices, alone and unsupervised for even ten minutes, could be bad. They were likely halfway to the village by now…
"Mum will kill me if she finds out I let them go off on their own," Charlie said, lowering his voice.
"Because you're not supposed to," Bill said with a heavy sigh. "How thick can you get?"
"Not helping, Billy," he said, sounding frustrated. "Come help me find them."
Bill groaned, pulling himself up off the table because this was all too typical—him having to step up and take charge.
As soon as he stood, Ginny called out to him. She held up her sandy pale and said, "Look Bill"—which sounded far more like "Beal." She was pointing at the lumpy mound of sand she'd pushed together into a hill formation; he had to assume that was the castle he'd asked her to build for him earlier to keep her occupied.
He smiled at her. "Yeah, Gin. Good job. Looks great." He turned to Percy. "Perce, can you watch Ron and Ginny for a minute? I need to help Charlie. I'll be right back."
Percy didn't even look up from his book, but did hum a lazy, "Uh huh…"
Bill hadn't even taken two steps toward the orchard when he heard Ginny scream. He turned around to find that Ron had smashed her "castle" and she was now flinging sand at him.
"Is everything alright?" their mother's voice called from across the garden. She'd stopped to look in their direction.
"Yeah, it's fine!" Bill called back, before barking, "Percy!" which made his brother sit up with a start. "Can you actually watch them!?"
Percy scrambled up in a hurry and moved closer to the sandbox, muttering, "Yes. Fine. I am," quickly now addressing Ron, "That was a bad choice, Ron. Don't do that!"
"Can any of you watch what you're supposed to?" Bill muttered as he breezed past Charlie, trekking into the orchard with his brother now on his tail.
"I'm a kid," Charlie mumbled. "What do you expect? Mum and dad get what they pay for. Which is nothing, mind you. I babysit all of the time and I get nothing."
"You're not properly babysitting when mum's always ten feet away," Bill said. "And it's helping. It's playing with your brothers and sister."
"I don't always want to play with my brothers and sister because they're little and boring," Charlie said. "I didn't ask for all that. I'd have been happy being an only child."
Bill rolled his eyes. "How would that work? You were born second, you numpty." He then stopped and looked around the trees. "And how can you say things are boring when you've got six-year-olds outsmarting you?"
Charlie shook his head. "They would have to follow the rules to outsmart me. I reckon they didn't even bother to hide and just wandered off."
"Who suggested the game?"
"They did."
"Then they outsmarted you," Bill said, making his way all the way to the back of the property line where the orchard ended. He and Charlie split up, looking into bushes and in trees; anywhere a pair of six-year-olds could go. Only good thing was that Bill knew they'd have never split up. Where one was, they'd find the other.
They searched for what felt like ages with no results; Bill actually felt himself starting to grow concerned that his brothers really had done a bunk and taken off for the village. Bloody hell, were they out on the road in town?
Suddenly, in the distance, he could hear his mother call, "Boys! Where are you?"
"Shit…" he heard Charlie mutter from somewhere close by.
She was standing on the edge of the garden, watching and waiting as Bill and Charlie emerged from the orchard. Ron and Ginny were sitting at the picnic table now, having a snack, while Percy stood nearby looking very cross with them.
Before anyone could speak, Percy said, "You said you'd be right back. You didn't come right back. I had to tell mum that you skived off to go and play with Charlie and left me with those two."
"I didn't skive off," Bill said, just as Charlie also said, "Shut up, Percy. He didn't skive off."
Their mother gave both Charlie and Bill a rather sharp look, landing it on the latter. "Bill, I asked you to keep an eye on Ron and Ginny. I only needed a few minutes to finish with the laundry. Your laundry, mind you. The pile you brought back from Hog…"
She trailed off, now looking around. "Where are the twins?"
Bill and Charlie exchanged quick looks, with Charlie mumbling, "That's a really good question, Mum."
She immediately looked at Bill, knowing he would have something useful to say while Charlie made his jokes and deflected. And she was right because he would. They were wasting time at this point.
"We don't know," Bill offered.
That had immediately sent the alarm up—figuratively speaking. After tens of questions from their mother—all of which boiling down to that the twins had been missing for much longer than normal—she had immediately marched into the orchard, telling Percy to keep watch on Ron and Ginny while instructing Bill and Charlie to retrace all their steps and tell her exactly where they'd looked.
At the same time, she'd pulled her wand out and was immediately casting spells in every direction, scolding Charlie as they walked for being careless; eventually scolding herself for allowing this to have even happened.
When they eventually reached the pond, she stopped and said, rather panicky, "What if they went in the water?"
"They can swim," Charlie said.
"They're six," Bill reminded him. "A lot can happen in the water at six, even if they can swim."
He probably shouldn't have said that because it made their mother panic more. She was casting spell after spell into the pond, though nothing happened. That was a good thing; Bill wasn't entirely sure what he would have done if something had happened.
"They're not in the pond," she said, turning back to the boys. "Now Bill, you take the road to the village and see if you can find them. Charlie, you take the road to the Diggorys. I'm going to owl your father—"
"I want to go to the village!"
Everyone froze and looked at each other. The voice was young and very familiar.
"I want to go too!" said another voice. "Are we going to the village? Can we get a sweet?"
"Fred?" their mother called, still looking around and seeing absolutely no signs of the twins. "George, where are you?"
"Look up," said one of them, and when Bill did, sure enough, in the largest tree just yards away—high up in the branches—were two little red-headed twins sitting side by side, their legs dangling.
And they were very high up there; almost impossibly high when you considered their ages. The longer Bill inspected the scene, the more he couldn't figure out how on earth they'd managed to climb that far up. There were no branches low enough that they could have used to pull themselves up in the first place.
"Oh boys, thank Merlin," their mother said, exhaling heavily as if she'd never been so relieved. "You're alive."
"Course we are," Fred shouted down. "Why wouldn't we be?"
"What are you doing up there?" their mother called back.
"Hiding," they said in unison, with Fred adding, "From Charlie. We're playing hide-and-seek with him. He's not very good."
Charlie gawked.
"He couldn't find us," George said, giggling a little. "We kept watching you all look around, calling our names. Never saw us once. It's a good spot."
"Boys, if you hear me calling for you," their mother said, her tone turning stern, "you need to…"
"You heard me shouting all that time?" Charlie snapped, glaring up into the tree. "Heard me from the start and you ignored me?"
"It's hide-and-seek," Fred said obviously, "not hide-and-answer-you."
Bill found himself smirking a little at that, though Charlie let out a scoff of indignation, yelling, "The game was over once Mum and Bill got involved!"
"How were we supposed to know that?" George asked. "We thought they wanted to play too."
"We just thought you were all very bad at playing," Fred offered.
Now Charlie looked as if he was about to blow his top; he was definitely holding in some very colorful words he wouldn't dare say in front of the mother. Bill actually may have even managed to pick out the exact second he would forever swear off children of his own one day.
He, however, found it funny. Cheeky little buggers. They hadn't wandered off; they'd done exactly what they were supposed to do. Hide and wait out being found.
"When are we going to the village?" George asked.
Their mother ignored the question. "How did you get all the way up there?"
"Charlie's broom," they said in unison.
Bill took it all back. If Charlie's face was any indication, it was then—that very moment—that he likely swore off children for the rest of his life. Because no one was supposed to ever touch Charlie's broom. It was his pride and joy; he frequently threatened all their lives if they even so much as looked at it for too long.
"My broom!?" he shouted. "You touched my broom!?"
"Where'd they even get your broom?" Bill asked.
"We took it from the shed because we needed it," Fred explained. "Couldn't get up here without one."
"Fred rode it up here first, then he dropped it down to me," George said. "Then I rode it up." He paused. "Then we dropped it."
"You what?!" Charlie shouted, looking as if he was about to pop a blood vessel. He was always so quick to anger as a kid. Thankfully, Hogwarts knocked much of that out of him as he grew older.
"Where is it?" Bill said, searching the ground around them—same as their mother and Charlie now were doing. There was no broom to be found that he could see.
"Few branches down," George said, pointing below them. "It got stuck in the tree, just there.."
"It got…" Charlie said a little breathlessly, now moving around the tree to get an eye on his broom. "I swear to Merlin, if it's broken…"
"And how did you plan to get down?" their mother called up to them.
"Dunno," Fred offered. "But it's nice up here. We weren't in any rush."
"They weren't in any rush," Bill repeated, laughing to himself. He caught Charlie's eyes, who glared at him, clearly not amused by any of this. It only prompted him to say, "I'm sorry, but it's funny."
Their mother sighed in a way that seemed to say she didn't agree. She did, however, summon Charlie's broom to them with a quick spell, then volunteered Charlie to go up and retrieve the twins one by one—despite their protests that they could fly and get down themselves. That only prompted a mini-row where Charlie asked them, "On what broom do you plan to get down on, because you're not using mine without me!"
Percy had also reappeared during all of this, hand-in-hand with Ron and Ginny and claiming to have heard the commotion. Once everyone was out of the tree and all was explained, their mother thanked him for keeping an eye on the little ones, causing him to quip, 'Of course, Mum. I would never lose the people I'm asked to watch." Under his breath he added, "Unlike some people…"
"Shut up, Percy!" Charlie yelled, shoving him as he stormed off back toward the house. It prompted Percy to telltale loudly that Charlie hit him, and Charlie shouted back that he hadn't.
Bill overheard his mother mumbling to herself about how their father had better get home from the Ministry on time today.
"Home sweet home," Bill said to himself, turning to find that—while Charlie and Percy had gone, and their mother had collected Ron and Ginny to go up to the house as well—Fred and George were standing there staring at him.
"What?" Bill asked.
"So, are we not going to the village?" Fred asked.
"No, you little tree monkey," Bill said. "We are not."
Fred and George frowned identically, with George muttering, "Then why did we come down?"
"Because you can't stay up there forever."
"We could try," Fred said, sounding challenged. He never had been one to be told what not to do, even if it was completely daft.
Bill looked up at the branch they'd been just sitting on, which certainly would not be the last time he, or the rest of his family, would catch the twins hanging around up there. For years after the fact—whenever Fred and George went missing around the house—that very tree near the pond was where you tended to find them. They would play up in its branches and lounge around its base during long summer days. They were rarely difficult to find after that day—everyone knew where they went.
It tapered off the older they got—once they had more freedom to go wherever and weren't limited to the orchard and the tree. It was the main reason Bill hadn't even bothered to give the spot much of a look in roughly a decade. He'd had no reason to.
Not until today.
He looked up at the branch, which was still there fifteen years later. The tree was more overgrown now; it had changed just as they all had, but it was still there in this spot. Just as Fred would now forever be, resting just alongside it in its shadow by the pond.
Bill could hear Charlie clear his throat beside him in his seat, fidgeting a bit in dress robes as if he couldn't help himself. It almost seemed as if his dress robes felt too tight.
But they weren't too tight. He'd been wearing them for days just fine.
It had been a beautiful ceremony. The weather was cloudy and they'd been worried about rain, but the sky held out for them. The same small, tufty-haired wizard who'd done he and Fleur's wedding had presided over Fred's funeral. Fred's close friend, Lee, had given a very touching eulogy—a nice balance of heartwarming and humor. He had a way with words and, despite his voice cracking a time or two, he spoke well and with a very mature sense of composure.
Loads of people had turned up to say goodbye to Fred. It was strange to call a funeral 'standing room only' but leave it to Fred to draw a crowd. They'd only set up five rows of chairs, though those had filled quickly with relatives and friends. The usuals were all there—Bill had been seeing them as most of the other funerals—including Hogwarts' Professors, Kingsley and what remained of the Order, and many members of Dumbledore's Army.
There were Fred's school friends, his old Quidditch teammates, neighbors like the Diggoys, and people Fred would have known from Diagon Alley. At one point, Fleur said she'd met someone who was simply a regular customer at the twins' shop who'd wanted to pay their respects. Charlie said he'd spoken to someone who'd never met Fred, but they'd been an avid Potterwatch listener and—upon discovering Fred's identity—wanted to attend.
Even the Delacours had come, having arrived the day before once Fleur finally had the chance to properly speak to them for the first time in ages. Her parents had insisted on coming to England soon as they could, almost as if they were desperate to see her with their own eyes. They clearly sensed that maybe their daughter needed some support from home right now.
And she did. Bill didn't realize it until watching them all reunite through sobs and tears that Fleur had definitely needed her family right now. They seem to bring a comfort to her that nothing else could replicate; he realized they allowed her to share her grief without having to be mindful of someone else's—mainly his.
She'd been so strong for him and his family—cooking around the clock and trying to help where she could. He'd been so caught up in his own world that he hadn't quite considered she might have needed some time to properly break down as well. It was as if she refused to allow herself to actually do that until her family arrived.
His in-laws had sent a massive flower arrangement to his parents—it being currently among many of the others that were surrounding the grave where Fred's casket had just been magically lowered into the ground. The wizard overseeing the ceremony had then requested anyone who'd like one last moment to approach, if they'd like. It would be considered appropriate to toss a handful of dirt into the grave and onto the casket—a final offering, he called it.
No one in the crowd moved forward since it was understood family should go first, but Bill found himself glancing over at his parents. It felt as if they should be the first ones to do so; if not them, George, but his mother had succumbed to much more labored crying at the finalization of the ceremony. Their father was holding her.
George hadn't moved at all. He had his elbows on his knees and his head down and resting in his hands. Bill had noticed he hadn't looked up for most of the ceremony.
Even up until the previous night, George had still barely acknowledged any of this was happening. Bill was convinced he'd managed to avoid all mention of until he'd walked in on him, Charlie, and Percy in the sitting room of the Burrow, double checking that their preparations were ready for today.
"I heard you're burying him by the tree next to the pond in the orchard," he'd said without announcement, startling everyone. They hadn't realized he walked into the room. Bill had swung around to find him standing at the bottom of the stairs, almost as if he'd appeared out of thin air.
"We are," Percy said tentatively, the air in the room quite thick then. "Is that…alright with you? Mum thought it was the best place."
George didn't immediately respond. He turned and looked out the window—in the direction of the orchard—but finally nodded. "Yeah, he'd like that."
Bill felt himself exhale a breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding. They'd been planning this for days now, but something had always felt off—incomplete even. It wasn't until George had given even that slight approval that he realized that was it. None of this would have felt right without George's approval.
Charlie sat up straighter. "Did you want to hear about the rest—?"
"No," George said.
Bill and Charlie looked at each other, with Bill adding, "I feel we should mention that we asked Lee to give the eulogy and he agreed."
George nodded as if that was fine.
"Um, if you…" Bill said slowly, "also wanted to speak, we could surely include—"
"No," George said quickly. "I don't want to speak."
All three of them stared at George, with Percy being brave enough to press the issue for the final time and say, "You're sure?"
He nodded. "I don't have anything to say to anyone. I especially don't have anything to say to everyone."
Bill forced a half smile, mostly out of reflex. He nodded, glancing back at Charlie and Percy, who also seemed to find that fair.
That was all George had to say on the matter. He'd left the room after that, turning up the next morning not in black dress robes, but in a set of bright magenta robes that he and Fred tended to wear around their shop. No one commented on them to him, knowing George obviously had his reasons, though it was Ginny who later mentioned how the twins had once told her about how much they liked the absurdity of the color and how ridiculous it looked on them.
Apparently, Fred especially had always found it very funny.
It was in those magenta robes that George still sat with his head down; the entire funeral was still waiting for someone to approach the grave and start the final goodbye process.
On George's opposite side, Ginny and Ron glanced down the row they were all sharing at where he, Charlie, Fleur, and Percy sat opposite of their parents in the center. Bill made eye contact with them, sensing Charlie and Percy were likely doing the same. They all seemed to be waiting for someone to move.
He felt Fleur's hand give him a squeeze, and he knew without looking at her that she was urging him to act first. He wasn't sure this particular scenario was exactly covered in the eldest child's handbook, but when all else failed, he defaulted to what he always knew.
He needed to step up and take the lead.
So he stood, giving his robes an anxious flattening to smooth them out, and faced the grave. He hadn't been up more than a few seconds before Charlie had stood as well. Percy, Ron, and Ginny weren't far behind him—that latter giving George a reassuring shoulder rub before she approached.
The wizard officiating the ceremony gave Bill a reassuring smile as walked to the fresh mound of dirt and reached his hand inside. Bill gave a quick look over his shoulder—seeing so many sets of eyes on him and his siblings—before he turned and looked down into the six-foot hole that held his brother's casket.
Fred was supposed to be up in the tree not below it. This wasn't part of the plan.
Percy had thrown his dirt first, stepping back quickly to make room for Ron to follow. Ginny stepped up after him, Bill went after her, and Charlie followed. Bill wasn't sure he'd ever forget the sound of the thwack of dirt on the wood below.
They all stepped back once their father managed to guide their mother through her tears up to the grave. They took their time, but both threw very large handfuls while his mother whispered something that Bill could only just make out, "I love you" to. When he turned back toward the crowd, he found Fleur smiling sadly at him. She approached and gave him a quick hug before stepping aside to pay her own respects and throw her own handful.
Fleur going seemed to usher in the rest of the crowds to approach. Harry and Hermione, who'd been sitting in the row behind Ron, were among the first to get there—silently, tossing dirt inside; Hermione dabbing her eyes as she did. Lee Jordan had followed suit after stopping on his way up to pat a still, head-down George on the back, whispering something to him.
From there, it was simply a queue of people.
Bill stood off to the side, watching as they filed past. Hagrid. Kingsley. Auntie Muriel. The Diggorys. Ollivander. Andromeda Tonks. Luna. Several school aged friends. Neville. McGonagall. Flitwick. Dean. The Delacours. Strangers he didn't know….
Several of them, just as Lee had, had also stopped on their way to lay a comforting hand on George as they passed.
As people moved away from the grave, many of them made eye contact with Bill and his siblings on their way back—full of sad smiles and a quiet "I'm sorry" directed to whichever Weasley they happened to get the attention of first.
Bill responded with the same pinched smile and head nod. It was all he had in him to give right now.
Once the last of the mourners paid their respects and the all took their seats, the officiant nodded as if to say they could finish and, quite literally, put this all to rest. He pulled out his wand—which, having attended far too many of these as of late, Bill knew would signify him casting his final spell over the grave that would neatly place the rest of the dirt on top in a haze of special fire and smoke. It would solidify the burial as complete.
That would be it. They would be done.
The wizard had raised his wand, but before he could speak, George had suddenly stood from his chair and stepped with a purpose over to the mound of dirt. He seemed to realize this was his last chance.
The wizard caught wind of him and stood back, letting him have his moment, but as it turned out, George wasn't about to take a single moment. His moment consisted of him taking not one, not two, but many, many handfuls of dirt and tossing them inside the ground.
Bill lost count at twelve.
And he was digging in deep to get hefty handfuls, not caring that he was getting dirt all over the front of his robes or up his arms. He even wiped his brow in the process, getting dirt on his forehead.
When he was done, he turned back to everyone. Dirty, but alert.
"I get to do more because he liked me best."
Bill couldn't help it. He let out a laugh. So did several others.
Seemingly emboldened by the laugh he got, George added, "This is Fred Weasley's funeral and that's the first proper laugh we've had all day. Something is wrong with that." He looked into the grave. "He's probably spinning down there."
Another chuckle of laughter as George then gestured somewhere specific in the crowd, pointing with his dirty finger. "Though, you gave it your best, Lee. I heard that. Can't help that these things are tough crowds."
Lee let out a short laugh, almost despite himself, and gave George a quick shrug. All around people were smiling, many through tears.
George sighed, wiping even more dirt onto his face and honestly looking quite mad. Not that he cared. He actually looked the most at peace with himself that he'd been in days.
"Look, I'm not going to stand here and make some sad fucking speech," he announced. "Because I'm tired of seeing people cry. And Fred would hate all the sad shit. He'd fucking hate it."
He paused. "And I just saw my Great Auntie back there flinching, but let me say that if you're now upset I swore, just know Fred would love that someone said both 'fucking' and 'shit' at his funeral. He would absolutely love it."
He cracked a small smile. "And I can tell you that because no one knew him better than I did. So fucking shit."
Bill heard Charlie laugh beside him, turning to catch his eye as if all of this was a very welcomed surprise.
"Also let me just say that if you really want to honor Fred," he continued, wiping his hands on his robes in a very casual and carefree way, not giving a single fuck that he was making a bigger and bigger mess. "Don't cry about him. Go fucking laugh. Go have a drink with your mates and toast to him and start some shit. Laugh however you can. It's all he would have wanted."
He then turned and looked down in the grave, said something so quietly that no one could have possibly heard him, before turning to the officiant wizard and saying, "Sorry to interrupt."
As George returned his seat, there was a smattering of applause—started by Lee and joined in by a handful of others, including Charlie. George didn't acknowledge it, he just sat back down as casually as could be. Bill watched as Harry learned forward from his seat behind him and gave him a very different sort of pat on the back than the ones he'd been receiving earlier; Ron was also saying something to him.
Bill smiled, which he never in his wildest dreams thought he'd be doing the moment the wizard cast his final spell and filled Fred's grave with the remainder of the dirt. But George was right. Fred would have fucking hated them all sitting here crying over him. And while Bill never thought he'd quite get over the void Fred's death now created in his life, it was important to remember that he'd only ever wanted his legacy to be that of making people laugh; of making people happy.
A smile in these final moments was the very least he could do.
