This was a lonely place. Solitary. Quiet. That’s what he hated about it so much—the loneliness—but then again, he supposed that the loneliness was good. Nobody else was here. The place wasn’t grand, it didn’t have airs, nor was it flamboyant in any way. It was modest, if anything.

Choosing the place wasn’t the hard part, for the exact words of the conversation were still fresh in his mind, as if it was just said moments ago.

“Here. If anything happens—right here. Just remember.”

Those were his words, and they agreed upon it. They had played there when they were younger in the hot, boring summer days and it was often the place of refuge from the frequent lectures of their mother that they did anything but listen to. They plotted there, laughed there, cried there. It was a place full of memories—it was the place. Although, when they discussed it, he never really thought that it would matter if it were there or not, because it was more than likely that nothing would happen for it to be necessary. If one goes, so does the other… but that didn’t happen. One went, and the other had no choice but to stay. To stay and wallow in anger and sadness.

The sadness itself never really went away. It lingered, sometimes came back as strong as it was in the beginning, but he refused to forget. He feared that if he forgot, if he let go, then everything would just fade away. His memory, his spirit, his presence…. Gone. Because everyone told him to be happy, to live on, to let it go.

“But we never listen to anyone, right?” he would say sometimes when he went to the place. “That’s how we are… or how we were.”

Were. The past tense hurt him like knives through his abdomen and burnt like hot asphalt. That’s right, he would think, that’s because you aren’t here anymore. Then he would laugh. He would laugh—but not know why. Perhaps it was his spirit, telling him to laugh, to live on, because that’s what he was supposed to do. Because he wanted him to. That happened every time, quite frequently, actually, and the laughter hung in the air in some sort of sadistic inside joke.

He looked down, his face twisted in anger, remorse, loneliness—it was hard to tell because he was trying as hard as he could to hide those emotions, to tuck them away so nobody would worry in case they came by. However, he couldn’t. The familiar torn, ripping feeling ebbing from his chest only transferred to his facial expression, but soon the calming wind made his mind at ease temporarily.

He sat in his usual place in the shade of the tree, in the usual spot, in the usual way. He had been there how many times? Hundreds, thousands of times, maybe. He lost count. It was his getaway from the world because the whole situation seemed surreal as it was. Four years had passed since then, and he was sure to keep him up to date regularly of usual happenings. Happenings such as, “Those two together—who would’ve thought?” or “Mum blew up today again, but I suppose it’s just the old age getting to her head….” or “So-and-so’s expecting a kid. Weird how time flies by.” Many conversations had been said under that tree, many secrets told, apologies given, mindless rants ranted, and most of the time he hardly got a reply. Although, to him, a reply didn’t really matter so much as long as he got to talk.

This time, he was a little nervous to say it. Funny, he thought, that although he was six feet under and long gone, he could still see his face getting mad or annoyed. The way his eyes would twinge whenever they disagreed upon something. How they wouldn’t talk for hours until one cracked a joke to bring them back together instantaneously. It was about time he told him, after all….

“Angelina and I,” he began uncertainly, staring at where his head should have been, right near the edge of the tombstone, “Well, I don’t know how to say this, brother, but….” His voice broke off. It was his duty to tell him, right? Things happened, people changed, and they just so happened to be brought together by the occurrence.

“Anyway,” he continued after a prolonged pause of reflection, “I… I know you weren’t exactly happy when you found out we ended up together. I suppose it weird to marry your dead twin brother’s ex-girlfriend, but—”

The wind rustled the leaves impatiently, as if urging him to get to the point.

He took in a breath, and the sudden thought of it made him grin involuntarily. Even though he was in this place that wrenched sadness out of him, the mere thought of it just brought a smile to his face. If he was happy, he would be happy too, right? It seemed logical enough, and as overjoyed as he was, he was still nervous in so many ways. “We’re having a baby.”

There. He had said it. He felt liberated somewhat, and waited motionless for the reply. Most of the time he could hardly tell what the reply was and what emotion it carried with it, but of course it made sense to him. When talking to a gravestone and a patch of grass, one might not always expect a reply.

“If it’s a boy,” he thought out loud, and then said more decidedly, “I’ll name him after you. Seems right, doesn’t it? You would like that. We would have to put “junior” or “the second” after his name, but I suppose that would make him sound even cooler, huh?”

The wind blew again, but it was indecipherable. He assumed he would like that, anyway. They practically shared the same mind for twenty years.

“Although, if it’s a girl….” His voice trailed off and he paused, looked up at the glaring sun, and picked a bit of grass with his fingers, letting the wind carry it away when he left it in his open palm. “And if it’s a girl,” he continued, grinning, “Then I suppose we’ll have to keep trying for a boy, won’t we?” He chuckled, and the wind seemed to chuckle with him. “Angelina’s a strong gal, anyway. A baby or two won’t hurt, right? Hopefully he’ll inherit his father’s looks because, I’m sorry to say this, but I think I was the better looking twin.” He laughed again, and the smile faded as he picked apart the blades of grass.

The wind died down, and a sigh escaped his mouth. He seemed to sigh a lot lately, and the sadness that had been temporarily taken away in his eyes came back again. Usually this was the time to leave, for if he stayed any longer, the sadness would just get worse and worse to the point of it being unbearable. Too much remembering—too much pain. As he got up to leave, he gave one last look back at the letters engraved into the rock that had sealed his brother into an immortal peace.

Fred Weasley

April 1st, 1978 – May 2nd, 1998

Beloved son, brother, and friend.

A smile, always.

That was right, a smile. He was born with a smile, and he died with a smile. Smiling seemed hard, though, without his own smile reflected beside him in the face of his twin brother. George Weasley went and walked away, and even though he hardly said it for it was too painful to do so, and even though it was always repeated in his mind like a broken record, the wind always replied, “I miss you too.”


(A/N): So commences my latest side project. Cliche? Heck, yes, I know that. But leave a review anyway!
Thanks for reading,

NEXT: Sirius & Regulus

Track This Story:    Feed


Get access to every new feature the moment it comes out.

Register Today!