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Elegy by hdawg
Chapter 1 : Elegy
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 3

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Being a Weasley means that everybody knows not only your name, but at least three other people who also have it. Whilst some may curse, wishing that they could find their own identity outside of their hair colour and freckle complexion, we always found a good side to it.

When we were younger and in trouble – as we always were – if we were ever caught and asked who we were, we would chime “Weasley!” and know for certain that we would never be found. Mum may have threatened to give us up to those in search of the boys who “stole all the legs off the dining room chairs”, “used the toilet as an experimental lab” or “threw another gnome into the back garden and onto the cat”, but we knew she never would. Family, and a rather large on at that, is far too important to us Weasleys.

Being George Weasley, however, is not all that it used to be. Everyone knows who you and your twin are. Who you and your twin were.

Fred – my brother, my best friend, my soulmate – is gone. The one person who knew me better than I even knew myself, the one person who I could rely on, the one person who was so perfectly in sync with me that being with him was as natural as breathing.

The waters closed in around me on that day, blocking out all light and any sense of happiness in this never-ending torture. I walk around the Burrow, sometimes forgetting that he is gone and expect him to walk through the door with a huge smile on his face and a couple of illegal ingredients in his arms for our next product. And then I remember that he’s gone, forever, and it’s like I’m drowning all over again.

And there isn’t a single person in the world who knows how it feels.

Fred and George – that’s how it was, and that’s probably how it will stay. My two perfect boys, a perfect pair – not that I’d ever told them that, that’s one of my regrets.

They were as troublesome during pregnancy as they were during their childhood. Towards the end of my pregnancy, before I went to bed, I could feel them kicking each other and me, unable to contain their energy and life even before they were in the world. They sent my hunger patterns wild, and I liked to tell them that they were the reason that I learnt how to cook properly and fattened the family up. Not that it shows on them - skinny as rakes and as tall as Bill.

They were born on the 1st April, rather fitting really for the amount of jokes they’ve played on me over the years; and naturally Fred came first. George didn’t leave his brother for long, and arrived just one and half minutes later. I liked to tell them that that was the only time that they had ever been apart, and they always used to laugh at that bit. I don’t think I’ll be telling that story again.

Arthur and I returned home from St Mungo’s with our two little boys sleeping peacefully in our arms, the only ones so far to have done so – Bill was silent but awake the whole way home, Charlie couldn’t stop crying, and Percy would cry whenever I let him out of my sight. But the twins, they were as quiet as anything – but apparently that was the first joke they played on me.

The first night they were home, we put them in separate cots in our room. Within five minutes of our turning the light out, George was screaming and Fred needed his nappy changing. Ten minutes after sorting them out, Fred was screaming and it was George that needed his nappy changing. This continued for at least another three hours until Arthur and I finally realised what was upsetting them the most – being apart from each other.

For nine months they’d been together, and within twenty four hours, Arthur and I thought we’d be able to split them up. We put them in a cot together and slept through the rest of the night without so much as a murmur. After that night, they never slept more than five feet away from each other.

But George doesn’t sleep anymore. He doesn’t do anything anymore, he doesn’t even cry. Without his brother, he just can’t function. And it tears me apart to see my perfect boy in so much pain.

Molly and I had very different attitudes about bringing up Fred and George. They were a handful to say the least, they knew which buttons to press to get us fired up before they had turned three; but they were our handful and we were thankful every day that we had such a wonderful family.

Molly was the ‘tough mother’ – the ‘bad cop’ as the Muggles like to say – and I was the soft touch. With my ever-changing work load and times, I was either at home for long periods at a time, or only for supper. I missed out a lot of the twins growing up years, and I have always, and will always, regret that.

I finally changed to the Ministry of Magic Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office in 1985 when the twins were seven. I finally had a regular work time, I even had weekends off to be able to play with my new ‘finds’, and sometimes the twins would come and watch me.

The particular day I can remember was the day I had secretly purchased my very first pocket watch, my fifth radio and my twenty second plug. The pocket watch didn’t last very long, new discoveries of mine never did, and it was during my dismantling that Fred and George wandered into the garage without my noticing.

George’s particular favourite in my collection were the rubber ducks. He used to line them up in height order, then colour order, and then assign family roles to each of them and act them out (I was always secretly proud that I was assigned my favourite duck, the one with the cowboy hat and red bill). But Fred’s favourite were the radios.

There was an old green one right at the back of my shelf, dusty and beyond repair, but beautiful. It was one of the first Muggle items I had ever bought and I just couldn’t bring myself to dismantle it. On that summer day, I had just discovered with delight how to get into the back of a pocket watch, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a speck of ginger hair disappearing amongst the shelves.

I watched Fred quietly move up the aisle and to the radios, stand on his tiptoes and bring the old green one down. He held it in his hands and, with a look of complete adoration and awe, stared at it. He didn’t do anything else, only stare.

And then of course he noticed that I was watching him and shoved it back into its place with a cheeky grin. But in that moment I learnt more about my son than I think I ever had in my life. He wasn’t just a troublemaker, he was a soft soul; he sought out the broken and the disheartened to find the beauty in them. If only he was here now to help George find his inner peace.

George owns the radio now. It’s still as beautiful and as broken as it was the day that I brought it home.

The boys were always good for me. Maybe it’s because I’m their oldest brother and they looked up to me, or maybe it’s because they thought I was ‘cool’. Whatever the reason was, I think I got to know the boys when they were calm, something a lot of people can’t say; and so I was probably one of the only people who saw them when they were vulnerable.

There were times when I couldn’t tell Fred and George apart, and I think they liked it that way. Not just for the whole ‘not getting caught’ business, but because it brought them even closer together if everyone just saw them as one entity.

But I knew them. They weren’t one just one person, they were two people so closely interwoven that the fine line that connected them could not be broken without collateral damage. When Fred and George were four, Mum and Dad had to take Ron to St Mungo’s after he’d eaten several pages from ‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard’ and I was left in charge of my four brothers. We played hide and seek and Fred was ‘it’. But ten minutes after hiding in the easiest place – under the kitchen table – and not being found, I ventured out to see what had happened to him.

He was sat on the top of the landing, his head in his hands and sobbing his heart out. I walked up the stairs, shooing Percy away, and put my arm around him. I asked him what was wrong.

“I can’t find George anywhere.” He said in between sobs, “I can’t find him and I – I – I don’t like it!”

I tried to explain to him that that was the point of the game and that George had won, but Fred didn’t understand. I sent Charlie off to find George and they returned a minute later. Fred took one look at George, wiped the tears from his cheeks, and grinned.

And in my heart, even though I tried to ignore it, I could feel pain. I wasn’t enough for Fred then, and now I couldn’t be enough for George.

They knew how to get my temper up, maybe that’s a contributing factor that led to me moving to Romania. They knew exactly how to rile me up, and they knew they could use it to their advantage.

I thought I’d left them behind when I moved away, but I always knew I’d be coming back home one day, so I never really felt homesick. I said goodbye to them when I was nineteen and they were sixteen, and barely saw them until Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

They’d grown up, they really had; they had their own business and it was booming. It was fair to say I was a little bit jealous and in awe – they were my little brothers and already had more money to their collective name than my family had ever had.

I grew closer to my brothers over that summer more than I had over the nineteen years I lived at home and at Hogwarts with them. I learnt about their business, their hopes for it for the future, the plans they had of renovating the flat above their store; but I also learnt about them as people – they weren’t just silly and annoying as I had so naively left England thinking, they were kind, considerate and warm. They constantly looked out for each other and for the family; they wanted to help us get better lives. They were the best men I have ever known.

The summer ended and we went our separate ways again; but this time there was this dull ache within me. Like something had torn away from my insides and was slowly draining me of all emotion. I didn’t know whether it was a premonition, or whether it was just the feeling of war, but I knew that something wasn’t right.

The next time I saw the twins was at the Battle of Hogwarts. I never knew that it would be the last time I saw Fred. And when he died, he left me and I have never felt so lost.

I held him in my arms, and his ghost is all that I feel anymore.

They were pains in the arse, both of them.

They never let me join in, they never liked to admit that I was their baby brother even on family holidays, they constantly ridiculed me, used my things to experiment on without telling me, played practical jokes on me, stole my broomstick, threw gnomes at me, took my bed and refused to give it back for four days, gave me their old textbooks that they had scribbled most of the instructions out of, took the doorknobs off my bedroom door, nicked my Chudley Cannons hat…And that’s just to name the stuff they did to me in the summer holidays before I went to Hogwarts.

But I didn’t mind that, I learnt to live with it and I laughed along with them. I even used to let them experiment on my stuff just so I could be involved. I rented out my room to them to use for a couple of extra brussels sprouts at tea time. I even took the blame for some of the weird things that they did just so I could feel as cool as them.

Now I’ll never get to see them again. Fred has gone and George will never return.

I lost two brothers that day, and I just wish I knew how to get George back.

I was their baby sister, and they took care of me like I was their own. They taught me everything I know – how to open locked doors without a wand, how to feign innocence, how to ‘acquire’ certain items of Ron’s and return them before he noticed that anything was different about them.

They taught me how to laugh, how to have fun, how to really live my life even when I knew that those I loved were in serious danger. They taught me the importance of listening, of trusting, of finding the worst in people and turning it into the best of them.

Everyone knows Fred and George as ‘Fred and George’, but I knew them as my brothers. Fred was quick on his feet, witty, and quick to lose his cool. George was much more emotional than Fred, but he was just as witty. He was the man who made the plans because he understood people more than Fred did, but Fred knew how to get to people. They were a perfect pair.

I’d like to think I was taught the best qualities of both of them. I know Fred’s temper rubbed off on me a bit, and so did George’s emotional side, but I’m happy with that. I’m their sister and I’m proud that I can still feel close to them even though Fred’s gone and George isn’t himself anymore.

Fred may have died, but I know we’ll see him again one day. He’s my brother, he’s never let me down before and I know he won’t let me down then.

Being George Weasley is not all that it used to be. Everyone knows who you and your twin are. Who you and your twin were.

Fred – my brother, my best friend, my soulmate – is gone. The one person who knew me better than I even knew myself, the one person who I could rely on, the one person who was so perfectly in sync with me that being with him was as natural as breathing.

The waters closed in around me on that day, blocking out all light and any sense of happiness in this never-ending torture. I walk around the Burrow, sometimes forgetting that he is gone and expect him to walk through the door with a huge smile on his face and a couple of illegal ingredients in his arms for our next product. And then I remember that he’s gone, forever, and it’s like I’m drowning all over again.

I moved back into the Burrow a week after…it happened. Mum tried to convince me to share with Ron, thinking perhaps that it was best if I wasn’t alone, but it felt wrong. I went back to our old room and sat on my bed, my body wracked with exhaustion from the lack of sleep. It made me numb, unfeeling and removed. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t know how to survive if I could feel again.

I glanced around the room and noticed the new addition: the green radio from Dad’s garage. It was Fred’s favourite. I used to watch him admire it when we were younger, how he went to take it out of the garage and stopped, put it back on the shelf and left with a smile on his face, like he was giving himself something to look forward to the next time we went to see Dad.

I turned the dial, knowing that Fred had done this a hundred times before. Maybe I thought I’d hear his voice again, coming out of the speakers and telling me that he was fine, cracking a joke about the people he’d met and telling me about the jokes he’d already played on them without me.

Without me.

I put the radio down and placed my hand on Fred’s pillow. I could almost feel the warmth from it as though he had only just risen a few moments before, but I knew that it wasn’t real. Just another lie to take the edge of the pain away momentarily.

The waves crashed over my head again. The walls were spinning. The floor beneath my feet gave way to a massive pit of nothing. There was no sky, no air…nothing. Nothing but emptiness; a black hole where once there was a smile, a chorus of laughter, a mischievous glint in the eye.

Deep breaths, that’s what I’d learnt to do; take deep breaths and think back to my favourite memory:

We were four and playing hide and seek. Fred had promised that he’d find me first so that we could hunt for the others together, but I didn’t want to be found. I wanted to win. I hid in the pantry, throwing Mum’s apron on top of me, and sat in the semi-darkness smiling to myself. Five minutes passed and I knew it – I’d won. But still no-one had told me to come out. Charlie came racing down the stairs and found me a couple of seconds later. He pulled me out and walked me to the stairs. I thought that I was going to get a prize – some chocolate, perhaps – for not being found for so long. I looked up the stairs, but there was no treat, only Bill and Fred sitting on the top step in silence.

Bill nudged Fred and he looked up at me, tears glistening on his eyelashes and cheeks. His face split into a grin, and mine mirrored his subconsciously.

“I’ve found you.” He said, bounding down the stairs and into my arms.

“Find me now,” I whispered, curled up on his bed.

I try to hold in the pain, the constant agony I’m in knowing that my soulmate, the one person who I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, was gone and would never come back.

And there isn’t a single person in the world who knows how it feels.

A/N: This idea had been in my head originally as a George/Angelina, but as I thought about it more and more, all I could hear were the voices of the other Weasleys and about what Fred's death meant for them. It kind of helped me to come to terms with it as well, I don't think I'd ever really thought about it that much until I started to write this. Your thoughts, as always, would be greatly appreciated.

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