Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Masses gather, a crowd of black satin and white lace, sad faces and broken statures.

"He lived and died laughing," they all say, wiping tears from their eyes and pretending that everything's okay.

You laugh, from where you're watching.

They sit in the fancy chairs and listen to the organist play a sad, yet bouncy tune.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the curly-haired man says (the tufty-haired man died in the war; his funeral was yesterday). "We are here today to celebrate and honor the life of Frederick Gideon Weasley."

A picture of your face appears behind him. It looks so much like George, many that didn't know you personally turn to your twin in confusion.

You laugh, from the place where you've met famous people.

Your mother cries; your sister sits, tenser than a rock (and just as hard to break, but you think that your death may have done it); your brothers just watch, solemn and respectful, with their thoughts playing out in their blue eyes.

Some of the people there might think that you're just another Weasley redhead that had an attitude and a talent for getting involved in things you shouldn't be.

But them - they know that you were much, much more than that.

"Fred would've wanted to go out with a bang," George says at the podium. "But there are kids here, so we'll have to settle for the other kind of bang."

You laugh, from the paradise you always knew existed somewhere (for where else do people like Lily and your uncles belong?).

Your brother - more than your brother, your twin - lights the bomb and throws it.

A shrine of you - with anything and everything about Fred Weasley on it - goes up in flames and turns into fireworks in the night sky, depicting scenes of your life.

You laugh, from where you have a close-up view of yourself and George, flying away from Hogwarts on brooms taken from Umbridge.

Now you've flown away from your family.

As you sit and half-listen to Sirius later, you realize: a huge, dramatic funeral was not needed, not at all. You're no different than any others that have died. You deserve no special awards because you happened to have known Harry Potter in your short life.

Your life was stolen, and people think that deserves a medal on your casket and a golden ring around your name (that's engraved in stone).

Many lifetimes ago (back when you were alive) Alicia had suggested that you become a Healer.

That's ridiculous, you now know. You could never fix people.

All you've done is break them.

Your life was stolen when that wall collapsed. It was taken, broken, destroyed.

You'll never, ever grow up. (Would you have anyway, though, even if you had lived?)

That's all you are, really, isn't it, in the end?

The boy that never grew up.

(Somehow, you think that the Boy-Who-Lived has a better ring to it.)

I'm not sure exactly what this is. Please review, and tell me your opinion on it! ;)

Written For:

- Monopoly Challenge, Privet Drive

- Create-A-Potion Challenge, Shrivelfig

- Colors Competition, Green Negative (in my headcanon, the Weasleys are rich after the war)

- Weasley-Potter-Prewett Challenge, Fred Weasley and Gideon Prewett