Eulogy

Never in a million years did he think he'd be here. He never could've imagined he'd be standing in front of so many people. He never pictured himself glancing around, searching for a familiar face he knew he would never find. Never in a million years did George imagine standing at Fred's funeral.

Well, maybe when they were both old and crotchety. But not now. Not at twenty years-old, when they still had so much to live for: the shop, the pranks, the girls. In a few short moments on that fateful day in May, all of that was gone.

And George stood at the altar, his fingers tapping anxiously against the wood of the podium as he looked out at the crowd. Mum and Dad sat in the front row with Bill and Fleur and Percy and Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Harry. Even Charlie had come back from Romania when he heard the news. Aunt Muriel sat a few rows back with other family members he had either never met or simply did not remember. Angelina was there, too. And Wood and Lee, of course. It was bewildering to see the number of people Fred had touched in such a short amount of time. And to think about how many more people would have been there, had they too not been casualties in that final battle.

That was when George got nervous. The words he had prepared suddenly didn't seem good enough, didn't seem to say the things that he wanted to say. He felt hot under his button-down shirt, and as the people in the room began to quiet down, a lump formed in his throat.

"Erm, hello," he began, pulling at the collar of his shirt and trying to ward off panic. "I'm sure we all know why we're here." He paused, trying to come up with what to say next; so far he wasn't off to the best start. "We're here because we love Fred Weasley and because he loved us. Fred was a friend and a son and a brother. He was a prankster and at times, he had a tendency to get into trouble and to drag me along for the ride. He was a true Gryffindor, and he died a true Gryffindor's death. But to me, Fred was first and foremost, my twin, my other half. Together, we were Gred and Forge, and nothing will be the same without him. And it seems a little silly without Forge here, but I think I'll still call myself Gred because, well, because I can't really bring myself not to."

From the first row, Mrs. Weasley let out a particularly loud sob.

George continued, "Don't cry, Mum. You know he wouldn't have wanted us to cry."

As he tried to console his mother, his thoughts drifted back to that day, to Fred's body lying on the ground in front of him and his mum crying and listening but not hearing any sound and Ron's arm draped over his shoulder and Fred's last laugh still etched across his face. He shook the memory from his mind.

"This isn't a time for mourning," he said, now sounding much more confident as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "It's a time for celebration. It's a time to commemorate Fred Weasley and all the good he has done. It's time to recognize that he died for a cause. And sure, it'll be really hard to not have him around, and going to work at the shop tomorrow won't be the same, but it's what he'd want. He wouldn't want the world to stop just because he's dead. He'd want us to be happy and to go on living and to keep him alive in our memories. Because I know, for me at least, he's not really gone." He pointed to his chest. "He's just here. And he'll always be here."

Mr. Weasley shot his son a tearful smile, as if to say, 'Fred is so proud of you.'

"Now I ask that we all stand for a moment of silence for Fred Weasley."