Smile

“It wasn’t Harry’s fault, you know.”

A long, painful sigh simmered passed Freda Creevey’s lips the moment she was forced to endure such complete and utter bullshit. Not at all bothering to turn to the left in order to actually face the female that had dared disturb her silent inner-turmoil, Freda merely settled with giving the girl a quick once over through the use of one of the lavatory’s many mirrors. She was audacious, Freda knew that much the moment her eyes became fixated on the girl’s flaming head of hair and resolute facial expression.

“I’m sorry,” Freda began coyly as she gave the younger female a quick once over. Now that she had gotten a detailed glance of the girl’s face, she now felt entitled to survey her mourning outfit. It was of course black, just as funeral attire should be, however what stood out about this particular black article of clothing (a simple black dress to be exact) was that it appeared to be tired and worn out. Freda had a hard time deciphering whether this was because the girl was poor, or simply because she had attended a great many more funerals this year than she would have liked to thanks to Potter.

“But who are you again?” Freda inquired and although her peripheral vision was now solely trained upon the ginger kid, she managed to continue scrubbing at her hands with the expensive pear scented soap that the church’s female washrooms had to offer.

“I’m someone who knows both Colin and Harry well enough to tell you that—” The unidentified girl started to say, her eyes blazing with determination to make Freda realize the error of her misguided frustrations.

“The correct terminology in regards to Colin would be knew.” Freda pointed out, not at all remorseful about interrupting the poor girl or about having to make such a painful correction.

“Look,” The ginger began, her temper flaring. “My name is Ginny Weasley and I knew more about Colin than you might think.”

Freda merely hummed thoughtfully for a moment at the declaration, thus causing Ginny to ruggedly twist off the faucets of the sink she was currently standing before.

“Really now? Did you fancy him perhaps?” Freda inquired. She felt awfully smug the moment Ginny’s cheeks tinted the color of her hair.

“No, he was in my year, but…I’m seeing someone else.” Ginny said, and instead of turning on the mechanical hand-dryer device like a normal person, she simply shied away from such frivolous tools and opted for wiping her wet hands upon the ends of her dress.

“Who?” Freda sniffed, failing to care about the invasion of personal space.

“Harry Potter.” Ginny replied hesitantly, she knew fully well that Freda would not take it well.

“Oh, well that changes things, doesn’t it?. . .Get out!” Freda hissed and afterwards she was appalled to find that Ginny refused to move.

“You don’t really have jurisdiction over this washroom, Freda.” Ginny pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest in a defiant nature.

“If you aren’t going to leave, then I am.” Freda decided firmly, turning off the faucets and flailing her hands in Ginny’s general direction in order to rid them of water droplets.

“You’re impossible. . .” Ginny muttered through pursed lips. After than furious proclamation, Freda stalked off and out of the unsanitary little room. However, had she bothered to stick around she would have overheard Ginny Weasley prattling on about “the nerve of that girl” as her temper reached a level that would have rivaled that of her own mother’s.

“Jesus, Potter and his lot. . .” Freda seethed, the engine of her train of thought roaring to life. She would have thought for sure that it would be safe and peaceful within the girl’s bathroom with nothing but the gleam of her own reflection to judge her, but somehow even the sanctity of such a private place had to be ruined. And thus, Freda Creevey was forced to return to the sympathetic and ultimately gloomy interior of the church’s main, ever so holy room. The walk back to such a place was short and would have consisted of a few dreary halls and the rounding of a corner or two, nevertheless Freda dreaded it. She knew that instead of expecting a silent stroll, she was undoubtedly going to be bombarded with an unhealthy amount of, “I’m so sorry for your loss!” and “Colin will be severely missed,” statements. Unfortunately for Freda though, even after preparing herself for those very remarks, they still came a Hell of a lot sooner than she was ready for.

“Ginny?”

Suddenly, Murphy’s Law saw fit to cause a rather ruff collision of cranium to unusually tall torso the moment Freda rounded a corner of the hallway that was nearest to the restroom she had just left.

“I would assume she’s still in the restroom, mate.” Freda snorted as she tried desperately to ignore the fact that this mystery man had made the error of confusing the ginger pain in the ass with herself.

“Oh, sorry, yeah? I merely overheard a female muttering angrily to herself and I couldn’t help but expect it to be my sister. She’s…still in the bathroom you say?” The incredibly tall male inquired slowly and it was at this nervous sounding question that Freda allowed her gaze to drift upwards past the white button up and to the face of the male that was unmistakably similar to the irritating Weasley girl. Although unlike Ginny, Freda found this ginger to be particularly attractive – all except for the distinct lack of an ear.

“You’re Ginny’s brother. . .?” Freda queried and although her gaze rested rudely upon the gaping hole in his face, loosely covered by a bit of bandage, she could not stop her thoughts from revolving around the boy’s increasingly familiar looking face.

“Yeah, George Weasley at your service,” The orange haired male introduced carefully, and although Freda would never know it, the boy was suffering immensely over having to do a solo-introduction for the very first time.

And then it clicked to her.

“Ah, George. . .” Freda repeated, trying the name out on her tongue. She hardly gave the Weasley boy a curious moment of wondering why she had repeated his name before she shoved a hand down the v-neck collar of her black dress.

“Wh-What are you?” George squeaked in protest and his new rather short hair cut made it quite obvious that he had reddened a bit behind the ear.

“Don’t be daft; I’m not going to strip for you or anything! It’s just that. . .” Freda trailed off and quicker than George could probably blink, Freda had withdrawn a stack of Polaroid’s, compressed together by some sort of elastic muggle contraption, straight from what he could only presume to be her bra.

“. . .I’ve seen you before.” Freda assured him as she quickly removed the elastic in order to flip through the stack of Polaroids. After a moment a two of Freda searching and George giving her a very confused once over, the currently sought-after photograph had been found.

“You’re right here in this picture! Although, unless Colin’s camera was having some sort of glitchy little malfunction at the time…there were two of you.” Freda deduced.

At the statement George now knew immediately who she was and why he had seen her, several moments earlier, crying hysterically and cursing Harry Potter’s very existence in a frumpy little church pew that was closet to Colin’s casket. She was Colin’s eldest sibling, and although George drew a blank for her name, he retained enough information about her to understand that she probably understood exactly how he felt.

“There’s a reason for that. . .” George began, swallowing a lump in his throat as hands moved forward and fingers trembled as they brushed against the off-white frame of the moving, magical picture.

Freda didn’t have to ask, because her face said it all. She wanted to know the story behind what appeared to be George Weasley squared and why on Earth Colin had felt it important to take a picture of them at all.

From within the photographic moment that would be forever trapped in time, a living, breathing Fred Weasley seemed to smile up at his twin brother in reassurance. It was almost as if he was encouraging George to go on with his explanation, it was almost as if Fred was saying it was okay to talk about. Or at least that’s what George got out of it, and generally what George Arthur Weasley inferred about his twin brother was true.

. . .Even if nowadays there really wasn’t anything left to make inferences over.

“Let’s just say, Ms. Creevey, that you are not the only one who knows what it’s liked to lose a brother.”