A/N: Okay, so I did promise that I would stop putting my notes up at the top of the story to prevent breaking the flow from chapter to chapter, but old habits die hard and this story only has three more chapters until it is FINISHED, so I promise I will try in future stories.

Anyways, thanks for the reviews on my last chapter! And guess what? This story officially has 100 reviews! That beats Durin's Daughter (my Hobbit fanfic, go check it out!) and it made my day. To celebrate, another letter! And from….Cornelius Fudge?

I low-key kind of hate this chapter but I committed and now I'm at your mercy.

Enjoy and review!

It wasn't that George hadn't liked former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge….but the man had been such a pompous ignorant tool that it had been rather hard not to be severely annoyed at the man for the last stretch of his employment in the position. However, when he was compared to the following Ministers, Rufus Scrimgeour, and Pius Thickness, George did have to admit that he preferred the idea of Fudge writing a letter to Fred rather than the other two (made easier by the fact that Fudge was not dead or in prison for war crimes).

He couldn't believe this letter was the next to next to last (only two more to go after this one?) and it was most likely filled with some stuffy bureaucratically polite bull crap that politicians like Fudge dictated to secretaries and wives or mistresses or whoever it was that men like him went home to at the end of the day. Perhaps it was a mister and not a mistress. Hey, it was the modern age. Anything could happen.

Fred's voice was conspicuously quiet as he broke yet another red wax seal on the cheap parchment and slid yet another letter from yet another envelope. Perhaps he wanted to let George linger on his words, or maybe he had drifted off to the Other Place, pulled by a higher force. Or maybe Remus and Sirius and James had distracted him and were too busy pulling ghostly pranks on the other ghosts in the afterlife and he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to his still-living twin. Somehow, that thought made George feel both worse and ultimately better. Huh. Maybe he was finding some kind of closure after all. A month ago, he'd been bawling his eyes out by now or drinking until he passed out into a peaceful, dreamless stupor. But he was relaxed, dry-eyed, thinking about Fred, yes, but also wondering if his mother had saved any dinner for him downstairs. It was as if…

As if I no longer occupied the forefront of your mind?

"Sounds a little too psychoanalytical to me, Fred."

Sorry, I'll slow it down for the ginger kids in the class.

"We're all ginger. You're ginger."

Actually, I'm more of a transparent grayish-white, now, would you believe? Anyways, what I was trying so say is, yeah, George you've found some closure. We're not done yet, but I know you know you've been feeling different reading all these letters. It's helping you put things into perspective and…well, put me more at rest. Put yourself at rest.

'Wait." George paused, catching his brother's words. "Are you saying that my grieving over you like I have has prevented you from moving on?"

It's not as simple as that.

"But it's true isn't it!" George gasped. "You could have been at rest all these years, but you've instead been stuck in some kind of limbo, like the Bloody Baron and Grey Lady and all them at Hogwarts -"

Would you quit it? NO, I'm not in limbo. YES, I am at rest. I could have moved further on, as in, no communications and reincarnation and all of that heavenly bliss, but you needed me. Everyone needed me. I wasn't gonna move on with you lot drinking and crying yourself to Death's Door. It was my choice to stick around, as long as it takes, till the end of the line.

"But," George protested, "are you sure? I don't want you saying things you don't mean just to make me feel better -"

You're feeling better because you're getting better. And when have I ever sugar-coated things? For you, I mean, cause I know you could probably think of one or two times I might have cut Ginny or Hermione or Angelina some slack -

Whether George tuned out his brother's voice, or it faded on its own like a radio losing frequency, it was impossible to tell, for he had turned his attention back to the letter at hand, addressed to the late Fred Weasley, and signed from the Former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

Dear Mister Weasley,

In regards to a request made by your father, I have complied with the "Letters To Heaven" initiative your mother has put together, so to speak.

That was a tad insensitive of me. I apologize.

This is Cornelius Fudge, in case you were unaware.

"Is formal writing the only way he knows how to express any kind of…..anything?" George sighed. "Cause this is rough reading, I mean, it's like what Percy used to send home from his first few weeks at the Ministry. Hell, even our detention letters were more exciting than this."

I know this letter most likely is not what you expected. Or is in any way similar to the countless others I have no doubt you have received. It is, as I'm sure you can tell, most likely far too formal so far. Blame my work - er, former work - if you must. A career in politics, whether continuing or disgraced, leaves some lingering effects and political writing happens to have been one of them. Countless memos and writings and correspondences and speeches all with the same formal hand.

To be honest with you, I am not sure why I am writing this letter. I am certain that you and I never met unless it was in passing. I guarantee I only ever really talked with your father, and occasionally was scolded by your mother. And of course, there was Percy, and as your older brother Bill worked for Gringotts, I do recall that we crossed paths once or twice. And sure, perhaps I recall you and that identical brother of yours, possibly on a visit to the Ministry with your father? I will not lie and say I remember. A lot has happened that has driven much from my mind.

As most teenagers and young adults do, I assume you had an opinion with how I ran things when I was Minister. I'm certain there were times you were less than pleased with how I tried running things. And looking back, I do admit I can see the mistakes that lead to my downfall. I can see where my fear and ignorance lead to my destruction, my humiliation, the betrayal of the people I swore to advise faithfully and wisely and look where that landed me. Where that landed all of us. Where it landed you.

Perhaps if I had been smarter, less foolish, less prideful, and simply listened to the advice from an old friend and took caution when Voldemort was rising again to power, perhaps I could have prevented much tragedy that befell us all. The deaths of so many innocents, Muggles and wizards alike. Your death, Mr. Weasley.

I've been by that shop of yours. You and your brother have quite the genius minds, I will say. Quite the booming business you've managed to upkeep for yourselves, and more support for your family than the Ministry ever gave you, I am sad to say. Your parents must be very proud.

I wrote this letter because your father asked it of me. He said that while I never knew you well (frankly, I never knew you at all) that as a survivor of the war, and as someone who had known him, the family, had known Harry, that I owed him to try and write something, at the very least. And so, here is my very least.

Here is my apology that I didn't do more to prevent the series of events that undoubtedly lead to your death, to the death of hundreds of children and parents and friends and strangers. Here are my condolences to your family that lost a bright son, a brother, a best friend. Here is my regret that the world lost another soul, and that it had to be you that had to pay the price of my ignorance, among so many. Here is my recognizing the fear that you must have felt, and the hope I have that you went swiftly, and here is my saying that….Fred Weasley, as someone who is on the outside looking into a brief glimpse of your family, I will say this as a fact: you are most sincerely loved.

My God, you are loved. I know of no one else in the world that would even consider of doing this type of thing, and there are a lot of lost and grieving souls in this world. But your family…this is a new way of healing. I hope, wherever you are, you see that and are at peace.

Be at peace.

Cornelius Fudge

Former Minister of Magic

It was nothing more than a filler. George looked at the letter in distaste but he couldn't seem to put it down. It wasn't sad. Or happy, or remarkable in any way, even. It was just….unexpected. And unsettling - no that wasn't it. It was more unsatisfying. George wasn't sure how to feel about it, and it left him a little less content than he had been minutes before.

It wasn't supposed to help, per se. More like a harder reminder that not everybody was going to have a heartwarming story. Some people aren't as touched by death, and some people carry larger burdens than even we see.

"It's just weird, his letter." George mused.

Don't think too hard about it. Just accept that he tried, and understand that maybe that's why he was left until the end. Because sometimes emotion can get blocked and all we can do is try until it breaks free.

"I think you're waxing too philosophical again, Freddie. And I'm not sure it even makes all that much sense."

I'm trying my best here, brother. And hey, I need to save my best stuff for the very end.

'What's that supposed to mean?" George heard the underlying emotion in the echo of his brother's voice. "Fred?"

Georgie, there's two letters left. Hopefully, they're much, much better than this sendoff, but I need you to continue just a few more minutes longer. For me.

"And then?"

You're free.