All the Hardest Parts
All The Hardest Parts
George Weasley, a youthful ruffled man, lay on the prickling grass under the moonlit sky. His eyes were closed as the soft midnight breeze carressed his flames of ginger, so vividly red. With the glint of his pale skin, he could almost be mistaken as part of the living dead. But it was the air of mischief and the very feel of his quiet beating heart that gave it all away.
The silence was so loud, and painstakingly uncomfortable that he concluded, it would take half of his life to get used to the quiet side of the world. He held a trinket in hand, which from time to time he absently shook to fill the dead air with unusual sound.
The hardest part was getting used to the silence you used to stand by to fill.
"Thid id bloody brillant, Freb," George Weasley struggled to let the words out as he held a cotton to his pufusely bleeding nose.
"Ibs quite painleb ab we suspecteb but, it too profuse--"
"The other sibe ob da pill---"
"Where'd you put it--"
"I lebt it at---"
"Oh, dammit," they chorused in late realization, the blood tickling down their pale skin, looks of horror crossing their faces as footsteps ascended from the staircase.
The hardest part was waking up each morning, staring at her loveliness, and remembering how she was yours as much as she was mine.
"You reckon I should bring someone to the Yule Ball?" George asked softly, a glint of humor in his eyes, but despite this was still, quite serious.
"Well, I know who I'm bringing," Fred smirked, meeting his eye with the same mischievous glint. Droplets of butterbeer running down his freckled skin as he paused to take a small sip.
"Oh, who?" George stared at him incredulously. Fred had never mentioned to him, never asked of his opinion, even. It was the 'slight momentary stab in his chest' pain that he felt, but he dismissed this with a gingerly shake.
Fred grinned stupidly, "Well, Angelina Johnson, of course. I think I would like only the most terrifyingly beautiful girl in my arms during the supposed splendid height of our adolescent hogwarts experience."
You loved her first.
George caught up with them in the hallway, but hesisatantly took a step back as to not be seen. If even possible, the flaming ginger looked even more vividly red as he walked hand in hand with Angelina. George watched curiously as Fred's freckled skin subtely glowed in crimson. George glared incredulously. Fred never blushed! Caught up with the lack of better judgement, George silently smirked and vowed to creep up behind the two to infuriate with a slight tease. He took a step forward and paused.
Angelina smirked, a taunting look crossed her face as she met Fred's mischievous eyes. In turn, he bit his lip playfully and proceeded to gently push her up against the wall. Fred's hands were nestled at the curve of her back and slowly bent down to meet her lips. What started as a soft passionate kiss slowly started to trail down her neck, down her collar bone, down---
Slightly aghast, George Weasley looked away. Fred wouldn't be needing him tonight.
The hardest part was playing Quidditch alone and remembering how much it was your life, how much it was mine, how much we conquered sides of the world with our brooms.
"That was splendid, Ron. I'm assuming you were aiming to let their Quaffle in!" George bellowed to a red Ronald Weasley.
"Keep this up and we might achive a 10-160! A new world record, i suppose!" Fred Weasley joined in, his flaming hair wisping as he shot through the Burrow's backyard in startling velocity.
"I'm trying, okay!" Ron was infuriated, his lips trembling in a mixture of embarrassment and anger. His sweaty palms excerting twice the effort to fully grasp his broom.
"If you were trying to let the opposite team win, then Ron, you are completely fantastic! Go shake Slytherin's hand now, they're willing to thank you for your failure," Fred's head pointed to the direction of Ginny who, reluctantly agreed to play the opposite team. She shook her head, shooting Fred and George meaningful looks from time to time.
"You miscreants, gits! You enchanted my broom! Bloody hell, the both of you are completely terrible! When mum hears about the bruises you caused me---"
"Accusing us already, aren't you? A little shameful, little bro," George tsked dissaprovingly. He gripped his broom and dove towards the surface of the grass, but then surprisingly lost his grip and plunged down, knocking Fred off his broom and landing them both into a bush of violet flowers.
With a soft, yet painful thud, the twins fell into a tangle of uncomfortable positions and proceeded to stare at each other, the violet petals highlighting their ginger strands. Simultaneously and incredulous as to what happened, the identicals rose up from the ground. Mrs Weasley stood at the doorway, her wand up and her face so similar to saber toothed tiger, the resemblance was startling.
Ron laughed suddenly, and all turned to stare at the most unusual floral outlook of the twins. Kneeling down, Ginny giggled uncontrollably. And despite herself, Mrs. Weasley, chuckled softly, her eyes fixated on such a blissfully ridiculous scene.
The hardest part was...the hardest part was waking up every April 1st and blowing all the candles without you.
"Happy birthday, George," Ginny grinned. He looked up at her. Her bright red hair layered down the sides, framing her delicately defined face. She was so grown up now, no longer the young, little pesky sister he once had. Her eyes shown with the reflection of maturity, yet held the slight rebelliousness both he and Fred sought to invoke in her for many years.
"You are quite old as well," he chuckled, as he watched her light up and shake her head in annoyance. Ginny turned back to him, meeting his eyes for the first time that day and he knew, she saw it.
"I miss him, too." She whispered, kissing his nose softly.
George Weasley kneeled down, his freckled face inches away from the grave stone which was unsurprisingly more magnigicent than the ones surrounding it. Pale red flowers curled up at the sides, yet further defining the inscribed writing on the cold hard surface.
Despite himself, he smiled. You dreadful arse, Fred Weasley.
As George Weasley bent down further, he left the small trinket on the ground as it magically sized into an average container, the shabby leather already peeled off. The very first Skiving Snackbox nestled itself between its rightful owners, a crumpled little note attached to the handle.
But I promised you, I promised I'd live for both of us. Happy Birthday, Fred Weasley. Love, George.
The silence was so loud, and painstakingly uncomfortable that he concluded, it would take half of his life to get used to the quiet side of the world. He held a trinket in hand, which from time to time he absently shook to fill the dead air with unusual sound.
The hardest part was getting used to the silence you used to stand by to fill.
"Thid id bloody brillant, Freb," George Weasley struggled to let the words out as he held a cotton to his pufusely bleeding nose.
"Ibs quite painleb ab we suspecteb but, it too profuse--"
"The other sibe ob da pill---"
"Where'd you put it--"
"I lebt it at---"
"Oh, dammit," they chorused in late realization, the blood tickling down their pale skin, looks of horror crossing their faces as footsteps ascended from the staircase.
The hardest part was waking up each morning, staring at her loveliness, and remembering how she was yours as much as she was mine.
"You reckon I should bring someone to the Yule Ball?" George asked softly, a glint of humor in his eyes, but despite this was still, quite serious.
"Well, I know who I'm bringing," Fred smirked, meeting his eye with the same mischievous glint. Droplets of butterbeer running down his freckled skin as he paused to take a small sip.
"Oh, who?" George stared at him incredulously. Fred had never mentioned to him, never asked of his opinion, even. It was the 'slight momentary stab in his chest' pain that he felt, but he dismissed this with a gingerly shake.
Fred grinned stupidly, "Well, Angelina Johnson, of course. I think I would like only the most terrifyingly beautiful girl in my arms during the supposed splendid height of our adolescent hogwarts experience."
You loved her first.
George caught up with them in the hallway, but hesisatantly took a step back as to not be seen. If even possible, the flaming ginger looked even more vividly red as he walked hand in hand with Angelina. George watched curiously as Fred's freckled skin subtely glowed in crimson. George glared incredulously. Fred never blushed! Caught up with the lack of better judgement, George silently smirked and vowed to creep up behind the two to infuriate with a slight tease. He took a step forward and paused.
Angelina smirked, a taunting look crossed her face as she met Fred's mischievous eyes. In turn, he bit his lip playfully and proceeded to gently push her up against the wall. Fred's hands were nestled at the curve of her back and slowly bent down to meet her lips. What started as a soft passionate kiss slowly started to trail down her neck, down her collar bone, down---
Slightly aghast, George Weasley looked away. Fred wouldn't be needing him tonight.
The hardest part was playing Quidditch alone and remembering how much it was your life, how much it was mine, how much we conquered sides of the world with our brooms.
"That was splendid, Ron. I'm assuming you were aiming to let their Quaffle in!" George bellowed to a red Ronald Weasley.
"Keep this up and we might achive a 10-160! A new world record, i suppose!" Fred Weasley joined in, his flaming hair wisping as he shot through the Burrow's backyard in startling velocity.
"I'm trying, okay!" Ron was infuriated, his lips trembling in a mixture of embarrassment and anger. His sweaty palms excerting twice the effort to fully grasp his broom.
"If you were trying to let the opposite team win, then Ron, you are completely fantastic! Go shake Slytherin's hand now, they're willing to thank you for your failure," Fred's head pointed to the direction of Ginny who, reluctantly agreed to play the opposite team. She shook her head, shooting Fred and George meaningful looks from time to time.
"You miscreants, gits! You enchanted my broom! Bloody hell, the both of you are completely terrible! When mum hears about the bruises you caused me---"
"Accusing us already, aren't you? A little shameful, little bro," George tsked dissaprovingly. He gripped his broom and dove towards the surface of the grass, but then surprisingly lost his grip and plunged down, knocking Fred off his broom and landing them both into a bush of violet flowers.
With a soft, yet painful thud, the twins fell into a tangle of uncomfortable positions and proceeded to stare at each other, the violet petals highlighting their ginger strands. Simultaneously and incredulous as to what happened, the identicals rose up from the ground. Mrs Weasley stood at the doorway, her wand up and her face so similar to saber toothed tiger, the resemblance was startling.
Ron laughed suddenly, and all turned to stare at the most unusual floral outlook of the twins. Kneeling down, Ginny giggled uncontrollably. And despite herself, Mrs. Weasley, chuckled softly, her eyes fixated on such a blissfully ridiculous scene.
The hardest part was...the hardest part was waking up every April 1st and blowing all the candles without you.
"Happy birthday, George," Ginny grinned. He looked up at her. Her bright red hair layered down the sides, framing her delicately defined face. She was so grown up now, no longer the young, little pesky sister he once had. Her eyes shown with the reflection of maturity, yet held the slight rebelliousness both he and Fred sought to invoke in her for many years.
"You are quite old as well," he chuckled, as he watched her light up and shake her head in annoyance. Ginny turned back to him, meeting his eyes for the first time that day and he knew, she saw it.
"I miss him, too." She whispered, kissing his nose softly.
George Weasley kneeled down, his freckled face inches away from the grave stone which was unsurprisingly more magnigicent than the ones surrounding it. Pale red flowers curled up at the sides, yet further defining the inscribed writing on the cold hard surface.
Fred Prewett Weasley
Fought bravely in The Battle of Hogwarts
And this glorious bastard will proceed to haunt you if this grave is left with as much as a thin layer of dust.
Fought bravely in The Battle of Hogwarts
And this glorious bastard will proceed to haunt you if this grave is left with as much as a thin layer of dust.
Despite himself, he smiled. You dreadful arse, Fred Weasley.
As George Weasley bent down further, he left the small trinket on the ground as it magically sized into an average container, the shabby leather already peeled off. The very first Skiving Snackbox nestled itself between its rightful owners, a crumpled little note attached to the handle.
But I promised you, I promised I'd live for both of us. Happy Birthday, Fred Weasley. Love, George.
♠ ♠ ♠
I reread the 5th hp book and everything was basically a constant reminder of Fred's nearing death. ): it saddened me deeply.Comments would be delightful :) Just one would make my day and I'd bake you cookies and muffins and rainbow colored stars.