A one-shot about the funeral of Fred Weasley. An old story that I decided to re-edit and re-post.

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The Funeral

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It was the same tent they had pitched for the wedding, though the solemn occasion begged for a change of color. The insides hung a deep blue, stirred by a breeze, except for the curtain behind the podium, bewitched into solid black. A small picture of Fred's face stood on an easel beside the podium, framed and unmoving.

Harry was so used to muggle pictures standing still, that he hadn't noticed it at first. He finally leaned over to Hermione and whispered carefully, "The picture—why isn't it moving?"

"Mr. Weasley first put up a picture—that—you know, was a normal one," Hermione explained softly. "But—when Molly walked by—it said loudly, Miss me, Mum? and she couldn't be calmed for hours. I had to help Ron whip up a sleeping potion for her because she couldn't sleep otherwise."

Harry could understand that. Answering his question seemed to deflate Hermione, and she slumped in her chair. It was unlike her to not sit alert and straight, especially when wearing a formal black dress. He took her hand, and she squeezed it back. There were ten empty seats along side of them in the front row.

People filed in behind them, quietly whispering among themselves. Something large bumped a few of the chairs, muttered irritatingly, and then sat with a loud creak just behind Harry and Hermione. Two large hands clapped down on their shoulders, and they both smiled. Hagrid tentatively smiled back, but his eyes were already bloodshot.

An enchanted tissue box rose from the side of the room, glided over to Hagrid, and bumped his shoulder. He took out one tissue, and then reached for a second.

"It's reusable," Hermione whispered helpfully. "All you have to do is shake it once and it becomes dry and new."

Hagrid took the second one anyway, and nodded at Hermione as if she had just offered him a sentiment that didn't pertain to his situation. She turned around in her seat, and whispered to Harry, "It's just as well."

The curtain parted, just a slit, and Ron's inquiring eye peered through. Both Harry and Hermione sat up just a little straighter, and then the curtain pulled back a little farther. Arthur Weasley was the first, followed closely by Molly. Her pale hands were clutching Arthur's arm for support. Charlie followed, a supportive arm around Ginny, who couldn't seem to stop trembling. Bill and Fleur followed, then Ron and Percy, and George was last of all. Harry winced when the room seemed to take a collective breath at once. They hadn't gasped—and it wasn't very loud—but Harry knew that everyone, at that moment, was thinking about the fact that it could very well have been Fred that walked in, and not George.

They filed in slowly and awkwardly, sitting down in the row. Ron sat beside Hermione, and in a nonchalant way, kissed her cheek and said good evening as if she had slept in late and he made her breakfast.

"Got everything you need?" Hermione asked. Ron took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers, more focused on this simple task than he was answering her right away.

"Yeah. You all right, mate?" Ron directed this to Harry.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

George sat down beside Ron, leaving an empty seat between them. He then glanced at the number of seats, and seemed to be confused about something. He moved his hand slightly has he counted how many were sitting, and how many were expected. In mid count, he stopped, and lowered his hand. The rest had settled at the end of the row.

There was an extra seat for Fred, somehow set out of habit, or perhaps whomever helped set up just thought they could use an extra in case Charlie or Percy had brought a significant other. Whatever the reason, it was empty now, and George was staring down at it as if it would sprout a face and make a joke.

With a horrified expression, Ginny looked down at the empty seat, and then looked at George. "George," she said, slowly. He didn't respond.

Her eyes met Harry's. "Do—something?" she mouthed.

Harry elbowed Hermione, and whispered, "Tell Ron to move over."

"Why?"

"Do it."

"Ron, can you move over one?"

Ron, numbly, moved over without thinking twice about it. Harry and Hermione followed. Then Harry discreetly nudged the empty chair on his left with his foot. To his relief, Hagrid grabbed it and easily pulled it back, moving it to the end of his row.

Ginny let out a breath, and George's unfocused gaze slid away from his pale-faced siblings. The last they needed was for Molly to notice an empty seat and to become hysterical—she had fought too long and too hard to regain the control she needed to have a quiet funeral, and no one wanted to push the wrong button.

Harry looked around the room. It was filled with Hogwarts teachers, students, customers from the joke shop, shopkeepers from Hogsmeade, and of course the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team all sat together wearing red shirts to honor Fred's position on the team as a beater. Professor McGonagall caught his eye and gave him a tender, motherly smile. Harry raised a hand and tried to smile back.

Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson came in together and sat besides Hagrid. Hagrid patted Angelina's back gently with one hand and blew his great nose with the other. Lee tapped George's shoulder, and George turned around.

"All set, mate," Lee stated.

George nodded, his eyes glancing briefly over Angelina. She and Fred had been dates to the Yule ball years ago, but hadn't really gone out since. But she looked absolutely devastated.

"I got it all ready out there, so, as soon as—it's—finished," Lee finished lamely, wiping his eyes. "She's ready to fly."

George nodded a second time, still not uttering a word. He leaned back in his seat, and Angelina and Lee shared a concerned glance.

Harry wondered what they were talking about.

Arthur stood up, and walked to the front of the small stage, and placed a large pink conch shell on top of the podium.

"We're here today to mourn the loss of my son, Fred," Arthur said in an oddly strong voice. The conch shell had been enchanted to magnify his voice for the crowd, and to cease magnifying whenever a voice became too choked up to continue. Arthur was staring at the back curtain, avoiding any eyes. "We're going to make this brief—um—we, th family, have a few words to say… and… and then Fred and George's dear friend, Lee Jordan, has set up some of Fred's fireworks just outside in the field. So after a bit of talking, we'll honor Fred with one of his favorites…" Arthur paused. "My son—died—in a very important war." His voice cracked, and tears glistened. "I am so proud of him… he did an incredible thing. His sacrifice for freeing our world will not be forgotten. I love you, son…" he left the podium quickly, returning to Molly's waiting hand.

Bill and Charlie went up next, and told a few of their favorite memories, inspiring many hearty laughs—and even some applause—that felt relieving and yet out of place inside the tent. They had memories of Fred and George when they were babies that, obviously, the younger siblings didn't know about. The new stories about their own family made them all smile, stretching the muscles in their faces that they hadn't used for far too long.

Percy and Molly did not share. Molly couldn't bring herself to speak without losing herself in another onslaught of grief, where the only thing she could repeat over and over was my baby, my baby. Percy seemed to still be in shock, and couldn't—or wouldn't—form more than a few words together.

Ron and Ginny gripped hands and went up together.

"I would give anything to have Fred be here… as annoying as I always found him to be," Ginny said, smiling through tears. "I know right now he'd be pulling my hair and saying 'get on with it!' so I'll just say this—Freddie—you made everyone laugh wherever you went. You were a gift to us. You're gone—far too soon. I'll miss you forever."

Ron leaned down, a little too close to the conch shell. "You know I'm not very eloquent with speeches, n' stuff," he said. Hermione beamed with pride at his use of the word 'eloquent'. "But Fred, I hope you're somewhere making fun of me right now. We love you… we miss you…" the conch went silent. Ron pulled back uncomfortably, looking at Ginny. He had more written on the scrawled paper in his hand, but didn't want to speak any more. His eyes seemed to say, I'm finished. Let's sit down.

Ginny elbowed him. Ron cleared his throat and sighed, leaning forward again. "I, uh, have a short story to share… um… one time, when we were kids, I stole Fred's toy broomstick."

There were a few chuckles in the room.

"Then, I, uh, broke it."

People were hiding behind their hands, laughing. It sounded like a comedic confession to his parents.

"So to get his revenge," Ron licked his lips and cleared his throat again. "He turned my teddy bear into a giant spider—while I was hugging it."

The crowd let out a real, hearty roar.

"Still scared of spiders," Ron muttered, "But… I mean, I deserved it. You know—the best thing about Fred is—was—that he pulled stunts like this all the time, but they were never really harmful, you know? Well, all right, there was a burning acid incident…"

More laughter.

"But he couldn't help how funny and brilliant he was, really. He saw an opportunity to teach me a lesson about stealing other kid's toys and—believe me, lesson learned. I really look up to Fred."

Ron gripped his paper tightly, and stepped back. Ginny nodded, and despite the abrupt ending, the two of them came back to their seats.

When George stood up, Harry was reminded of the ghosts at Hogwarts. He was moving like a wraith, terribly skinny and gray-skinned. His feet didn't really seem to touch the floor, and when he looked out over the podium, Harry was absolutely shocked at how blank his eyes were. They seemed to be empty of all emotion, devoid of the liveliness he once possessed.

The sound of George clearing his throat before beginning seemed to drop a very silent bomb into the room. No one dared stir or blow their nose.

"Fred was my better half," George spoke with a completely flat monotone. "And now he's gone." The hush that settled over the room seemed contagious—even the birds outside ceased their twittering. "The world isn't right without him," George continued.

Molly put her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook. Arthur comforted her, and tissue boxes floated quietly to and fro from one side of the room to the other.

"I think I'm lost without you, Freddie," George shrugged casually, his haggard appearance and voice giving him the appearance of one who had died alongside his twin. Harry thought to himself that there was something intensely robotic or cursed about it. He wouldn't be surprised if they discovered George hiding somewhere, controlling a robot of himself to make the speech for him, or had cursed himself to be asleep while he did it, only to wake up later and have no memory of it. Harry wouldn't put it past him.

"You should still be here, Fred," George ended. "It's not fair." He turned and, instead of returning to his seat, left the tent from the side where they had entered.

"George—dear! Oh, dear… Arthur," moaned Molly. "He shouldn't be left alone…"

"I'll look after him," Charlie stood and slipped discreetly from the tent.

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other, stricken. It was one thing to grieve, it was another to look and act the way George did. He was probably a danger to himself, and probably would be for an uncertain time.

Arthur turned and gave Lee a nod. Lee stood and made his way to the podium, and his loud, Quidditch-commentary voice boomed out of the conch shell, making most of the people in the room nearly jump out of their seats.

"Fred was one of my best friends in all the world, the other being George and the beautiful Angelina Johnson. The four of us—pretty inseparable, we were. Till… now." Lee straightened his dress jacket nervously. "As most of you know, Fred and George have these fireworks—well, Fred's favorites are all set to explode, so, we should all go outside. Consider it the last speech of the evening—however—if any of you memories of Fred you'd like to share, feel free to sign the book on the table in the back—add photographs if you like—and for those of you hiding in the back row that are from the Daily Prophet—yes, I see you—the family requests that you please respect their privacy at this time. All right—to the field, you lot…"

The Weasley family waited until everyone else had gone, before they let Lee and Angelina lead them out to a place cornered off from the rest beneath a large oak tree. In fields that was very, very close to where they were rebuilding the Burrow, a wide grass field, mown down recently and smelling of freshly cut grass, there was a small platform sitting about two feet high. Hermione gave Harry an encouraging nudge as he walked toward Lee and Angelina. The three of them discussed doing the fireworks with Arthur, so that the family could just sit, relax, and watch, and not worry about firework safety and fire hazards and all that. Harry had cast the charm "Aguamenti!" over that portion of field to make it damp and fire-resistant, and Lee had set up picnic blankets on the other side for people to settle on. Within twenty minutes, everything was ready, and the sun was just dipping down past the mountain peaks.

On the other side of the tent, George was sitting on a fallen log, holding his knees and rocking back and forth. It was the only movement that seemed to keep himself from losing it all together. Charlie was crouched beside him, his hand on his back, saying completely nonsensical things that did seem to be having a comforting effect.

"Y-you know," George finally broke his silence, back and forth, back and forth… "I've never once looked in a m-mirror and seen only one of me. We always stood there at the same time, gave ourselves nods of approval, and then left the loo. It's always been we, and our, and us... I am not… a… singular… person."

"But you are, George. You are George, my second-youngest brother, and I love you—very much. I am so grateful that you and Percy and Ginny and Ron survived…"

"I don't think there's anything left," George crossed his arms tightly over his chest as if his insides were threatening to jump out through a hole where his heart used to be. "I'm empty, Charlie. F-Fred and I were t-t-two halves of a whole. Something whole that can't function when it's been broken."

George stopped talking. Charlie wrapped his arms around him while he sobbed, and then the first firework dazzled the sky.

They looked up at the showers of bright orange, yellow, and red, which formed into the Gryffindor lion. They heard cheers from the funeral guests.

"Come on," Charlie helped George to his feet. George hesitated.

"I'm never going to be okay again, am I?" he asked, in a childlike way.

"That's the biggest lie that our hearts tell us when we lose someone," Charlie said. He tapped George in the chest. "But instead of listening to your heart right now—it's a little too sad to be smart—think about what Fred would say, instead."

"He'd call me a git and say stop crying like a woman."

"And?"

"And then I'd say 'piss off, I'm sad'."

"And…?"

"And then he'd probably sit down and cry with me."

"But he'd tell you that it's going to be okay, wouldn't he, George?" Charlie pressed. "He'd say that. He'd say, 'blimey, Georgie, you know it's going to be okay after all this, don't you'?"

"Yeah…"

"Well - trust would Freddy would say, not your heart. Come on."

Together they walked around the tent, and joined the rest of the family beneath the tree. Molly and Arthur sat in camp chairs, the rest opted for the picnic blankets. Ron and Hermione were cuddled close to each other, hands clasped. Ron's fingers were absently twirling through Hermione's bushy hair. Bill and Fleur were sitting in the same way on the other side of the blanket. Ginny and Percy both stared, enraptured by the bright colors and explosive booms of the fireworks. In their own way, they were both pretending that Fred was missing because he was the one setting them off.

George sat with a sigh close besides Molly's chair. Arthur and Charlie shared a look, and a nod for speaking about George later.

George leaned his head tiredly on the edge of Molly's chair. She put her hand tentatively on his head and ran her fingers through his hair. While George would usually resist such motherly affections, he seemed to tired and weak to protest.

"About time for a haircut, I think," Molly said, her fingers coming across a large tendril of hair just behind what was left of George's ear, half-gone from occasion where a whole group of them disguised themselves as Harry Potter and were attacked by Death Eaters. The curse had left a wound on George's head where his ear ought to be, and George remembered that Fred had teased him for coming up with the phrase "feeling saint-like… cause I'm holy." Fred was right there beside him, chiding him, teasing him, making him believe everything was going to be okay even while he was bleeding out of a hole in his head…

"My hair is fine," George mumbled.

"We'll see about that," Molly attempted to sound cheerful.

A group of small, sparkling fireworks darted away from the platform and among the watching crowd. Several screamed and laughed and had to bat them away with their hands. The shooting stars zoomed like dragonflies, until they rose up and disappeared in clouds of smoke.

There was a large explosion of green and silver, a tribute to Fred's love of the Irish Quidditch team. Lee and Harry coordinated, from opposite sides of the platform, two different fireworks that merged and became a giant W. And lastly, they set off their personal favorite, the big dragon firework that the twins had used to scare Umbridge and get themselves expelled from Hogwarts. The dragon of fire rose high in the air, turned great serpentine loops, and it's wingspan spread to a magnificent length, then it vanished with smoke and a burst of golden flames.

Everyone applauded, and pressing his wand to his neck, Lee reminded them—in a booming voice—that memories could be shared in the guestbook and to remember that they must apparate on the other side of the tent. Then he thanked them all for coming.

"Good show," Ginny managed, when Harry returned. He wrapped his arms around her and embraced her tightly. She took deep, shuddering breaths in his shoulder, and was grateful that he didn't even try to answer her attempt at small talk.

"I'll see you soon, George," Lee said, coming back to the group. George stood quickly on his feet, and shook Lee's hand jerkily.

"Uh, yeah," he responded. "See you soon."

Angelina hugged George, but his arms didn't really comply with it. Lee offered his arm to Angelina and the two of them left, giving polite nods to Arthur and Molly.

"Thank-you, children," Molly squeaked out, before they could get too far away. "Fred would've loved it. It was perfect."

"You're welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," Lee responded, too cheerfully. "See you all soon."

"You will come to dinner sometime this summer, won't you? We'll send an owl. Just as soon as we've finished construction on the dining room."

"Of course! We look forward to it!"

Harry and Hermione got to work, using the simplest and most nostalgic spell, wingardium leviosa, to pick up the picnic blankets and fold them together. Several extended family members, cousins and the like, stayed behind to help collapse the tent and collect the pictures, guestbook, and memorabilia for the family.

George stood rooted to the spot. Arthur planted a firm hand on his shoulder, saying, "Come now, George—we're going to have some tea."

George nodded and glanced around his feet momentarily. "I… I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something."

Arthur bit his lip, deeply pained by the thought. "None of us are used to his absence, least of all you. Come on—tea, everyone. Burrow reconstruction has gone a bit slowly, you might imagine, but with some help from the Ministry… we've got a kitchen and a sitting room… just enough for tea…" he leaned down closely to Molly's ear. "And I think a short lie-in for you, my dear?"

"I think… that would be just the thing," Molly agreed. She was not tired, but she wanted nothing more than to drift away for awhile. "I could sleep for a week, I think."

Harry managed to get away for a moment, walking over to where Hagrid and Professor McGonagall stood. "Thank-you both so much for coming," he said.

Hagrid pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, and pushed him back, looking at him like he had the first day he met him. "You've grown up so much, 'ave I told ya that?" he asked, wiping a tear away.

"You might have mentioned it once or twice," Harry smiled up at him.

"I hope you will continue to do exactly what you're doing," Professor McGonagall said. "Helping the family through this time… Though it seems silly to think that you and Ronald Weasley would be anything but inseparable."

"I'll be right at his side," Harry said, rather stubbornly.

"I hope to see your smiling faces in my classrooms again," she replied, though Harry could tell she wasn't quite believing her own optimism. "Repairs in Hogwarts are going splendidly… and we will be reopening in September. Should you… choose to finish your seventh year…"

Harry shrugged. "Thank-you, Professor. I'd… I'd love to. Hogwarts was, and always will be, my home, but…" after an entire year of playing at war, and with the sense of losing one's purpose after finally defeating the Dark Lord—Kingsley's offer to let Ron and Harry become junior aurors and help track down the last of the Death Eaters seemed far too tempting when compared to studying for N.E.W.T. exams. "I don't know what the future will bring."

Professor McGonagall's eyes deftly noticed Ginny Weasley walking by. "Indeed—the future is a fickle thing. I understand. Do come and visit, however. I've a mind to try and arrange for you to guest-lecture for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

"That sounds... brilliant, Professor. Of course I will."

"I'll send you an owl," she squeezed his shoulder, and turned away. Hagrid gave Harry one last hug, ruffled his hair, and lumbered sadly away.

The crowd of them had headed for the Burrow site. George's feet seemed to drag. He wanted to lag behind, give himself the space that he craved from large groups of people. His father wouldn't let him, however. He kept a firm hand on his shoulder all the way to the open-air kitchen, where most of the necessities for cooking were built up, and tarp flaps hanging strategically to keep the weather out. Arthur gave Molly a kiss, telling her to go ahead to her bedroom, and that he'd bring her the tea.

Everyone else settled in the small sitting room, some sitting on the floor, some in overstuffed chairs. Ron built a small fire in the fireplace, whispering, "Incendio," and flames crackled to life from his wand. There was something very home-like and comforting in the smell of the smoke and the snapping sparks of the flames.

"I think—I think we'll be heading off," Hermione said, when Harry finally joined them. She was in the kitchen helping Fleur make the tea.

"Already?" Ron cried indignantly.

"Nonsense!" Arthur exclaimed, as Hermione handed him a steaming cup to take to Molly. "You'll stay for supper. The more the merrier."

"Mr. Weasley," Hermione protested weakly, "Surely we'll just be a bother… I'm sure your family wants rest and quiet, not a party…"

"And when have either of you not been family?" Mr. Weasley replied, slipping into the half-built stairway, looking precarious without railings. "Stay!" he called down, and they heard the bedroom door shut.

"He's right, you know, it'd be weird without you two," Ron said hopefully.

"Stay," repeated Ginny, holding a steaming cup in her hands.

Hermione was defeated. "If that is what you want, then of course we'll stay."

"A full house is Dad's way of coping," Bill said knowingly. "He loves his friends, and he loves to have them close. As soon as things are quiet and empty, he'll have to think about why it is quiet and empty. He doesn't want to do that."

"Zat iz none of our business," Fleur whispered to her husband, handing him a cup of tea. "Grieving iz a preevate zing…"

Bill shrugged, and sipped. "He wouldn't mind if I told everyone what he prefers. As long as he's out of the room."

"Ah, well, een zat case... I zuppose eet iz okay."

Hermione brought in more cups, first to Ron, then Charlie and Percy, and then George. George sat on the hearth by the fire and held the cup in his hands, zoning out. He did not drink and nor did he make any moves to set it aside.

Arthur rejoined them downstairs, and Fleur handed him his tea. He settled in his favorite armchair, took a large swig as if it was brandy, and said, "Ah! Now—isn't that better?"

Everyone nodded awkwardly.

"You don't have to put a cheerful face on for us, Dad. We're adults," Bill said.

"I'll put on whatever face I damn well feel like," Arthur snapped loudly. "And right now, I'd like to feel a bit cheerful. Have you got something against feeling a little happy?"

Bill was taken aback. "No."

"Good! I was thinking we'd get out some of those board games—you know. The ones Fred and George invented with the moving pieces and all those funny little explosions that go off when you make the wrong move. What do you think? Doesn't that sound fun?"

Everyone nodded.

"What do you say, George?" Arthur pressed.

George looked up from his tea. "What?"

"I said—we'll play some of your board games. What do you think?"

George glanced around at everyone's faces, staring at him expectantly. "I'll get them out for you," he said uncomfortably, putting his teacup on the tiled hearth and going to a small pile of boxes and luggage hiding in the partitioned area that would soon be constructed into a closet under their stairway. He pulled out a bright red box, handed it to his father, and then turned for the railing-less stairs.

"Aren't you going to join us, Georgie?" Arthur called, his voice strained.

"No," came the short answer. He disappeared upstairs and his door shut.

"He's going to have the hardest time of it," Ginny broke the awkward silence. "Dad, he's not used to feeling alone."

"Know what he said to me?" Charlie said. "He said that he wasn't a whole person. That's he was half of a whole and that the half can't function because it's broken."

Arthur sucked in a breath.

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, really wishing that they had left when they had the chance. There was something very raw and powerful about the family's grief, and it seemed unfair to them to be watching them have it.

"Let's go for a walk!" Ron suggested loudly. "Harry? Hermione? Ginny?"

Ginny jumped to her feet eagerly. "Oh, yes, it's such a lovely night out."

"I'll be making hot chocolate in twenty minutes," Arthur said, with effort. "If you're not back before then I can't guarantee I'll leave any for you!"

"I'll force them to come back if I must," Harry teased quietly. "You've always made the best hot chocolate."

Arthur nodded, his grin exaggerated and not meeting his eyes.

The four of them went out into the night, where twilight had deepened into lavender skies and buzzing cicadas in the bushes. Moths bumbled around a porchlight, and every so often, an owl or two swooped high overhead.

Ginny and Harry held hands, Ron and Hermione held theirs, and proceeded up to the top of the hill, where the extended family members had finished packing up the tent.

"Gon' head down an' give this stuff to your dad," said a jovial, chubby man with half-moon glasses and a Yorkshire cap. "You'll find the field as pretty as ever—can't even tell a 'undred people at up 'ere."

"Thanks, uncle," Ron replied, smiling at him.

"You're the best," Ginny added.

"Don' I know it, don' I know it!" their uncle chuckled, using a levitation spell to make his box float onward before him. A group of five or six all waved at Ron and Ginny, promising to see them in a few months for Halloween and not to forget to write if they needed anything. They waved their family on, promising to do so.

"Stars are coming out," Ginny observed lightly. She and Harry sat on a stump, and Harry rubbed his hand on her back. Her muscles were stiff and stressed.

Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione from the back, resting his chin on her shoulder. She leaned back into him, and looked up at the sky. "Shooting star!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Make a wish!"

"Huh?" Ron laughed.

"Muggles wish on shooting stars," Harry explained. "I cannot tell you how many stars I wished on when I was living with the Dursleys."

"Old habits," Hermione snickered. "All the muggle fairy tales have them. Usually the wishes come true."

"Lot of good that will do," Ron said.

"Well, mine came true, didn't they?" Harry laughed.

"Eleven years of wishing and you finally got your letter," Ron said. "Coincidence, I think."

"I think we should all wish for George to recover," Ginny said. "Recover, I mean, in a way that we can't really understand. This has hit him different than the rest of us."

"All right, then," Ron took this request very seriously. He squeezed his eyes shut, and said into Hermione's hair, "I wish things will go okay for George." His eyes popped open. "And muggles think this works, do they?"

Harry nodded, a half-smile on his face. "Yeah." It was a comforting thought. "It works."

George stared out his window, screwing his face up as he wished on the same star. It was a silly little tradition, he thought, but he was so desperate for something—anything—a miracle beyond the usual magic, something to reverse death into life. He left his window and went to the mirror, shut his eyes, and when he opened them, there was still only one person in the reflection.

Dejected and shoulders slumped, he went back to the window. Sitting on the seat, he looked out, and saw the shapes of his brother and sister with their loved ones. They were lucky, he thought bitterly, their other halves survived the Battle at Hogwarts. They have someone to talk to. They didn't lose their best friend in the entire world.

George hid his face in his arms, and sobbed.

He had forgotten about the picture. The picture he had quickly snatched from the funeral set up when Molly had lost herself in tears. The picture that had spoken to her and he had quickly removed from the scene to try and make her calm down. He had forgotten that he had borrowed it and hid it upstairs.

It was sitting on his bedside table, and his back was to it.

"I miss you, Freddie," George cried, inconsolable.

"Miss you too, George," said the picture.

George looked up for a moment, astonished, but comforted. He wasn't the only one who lost his twin and his best friend.

Fred had lost him, too. He wasn't really alone in this after all.

The picture winked, and then the Fred in the portrait - a ghost of him, all that was left - rested his chin in his hand and fell asleep.

George leaned close to the frame. "Fred?" he asked.

Nothing happened - the figure remained asleep.

He felt a tightening in his chest, and though he still couldn't stop the tears, there was a feeling of strength too. Wherever Fred was—he was without George, just as George was without Fred.

George had to smile. Even in death, they managed to experience the same sort of thing at the same time. Wherever Fred was, he was probably finishing his sentences and saying the same sort of funny rubbish he was always saying.

The stars seemed to shine a little brighter.

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The end

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