...ahem. Dezolat, e englezeşte.
--
I look without seeing at the setting sun sinking low in the west over the rolling hills. Before, this would have been a beautiful sight, but now, the beauty is washed away by a sea of bittersweet memories. All the times we ran down those hills, the Quidditch games over the orchards, the time we pushed Ron in the little stream flowing through the trees there...
Never again.
Tears fall from my eyes and leave tracks on my face. I don't bother to wipe them away. It doesn't matter; no one can see me here.
I can't believe he's gone.
We'd spent all our lives together; we'd shared everything. Everything. Not just our business. Not just physical things, like underwear or broomsticks, but things that were more... I don't know the word... like stories, and memories, and too many happy experiences to count.
But now it's over.
We were Fred and George, Gred and Forge, always together, always cooking up mischief. Now it's just George. Alone. I feel as though a part of me is missing, like my whole body has been torn in two, but this time, there is no numbing solution, no Skele-Gro, no end to the pain. Pain worse than having an ear cut off, worse than the Cruciatus Curse, worse than anything you can ever imagine.
And yet...
Yet I am forced to survive, alone, in this world. This pain, unlike the physical, has not even the subtle release of death at the end of it. I must survive with a missing half.
It's so unfair.
This I yell as I turn away from the window and slam my fists into the wall. The anger passes as quickly as it had come, and I am left pressing my hands to the wall and sobbing. When I open my eyes, I notice the stain on the paint in front of me. That was from when our first attempt at Nosebleed Nougat had exploded. A shaky smile forms on my lips.
I loved him.
I reach into my pocket and take out the silver quill he gave me the day before he died. It had been the prototype for something -- his last invention. To check the charm on it, I press it to the wall and scribble, "Fred Weasley." The writing shimmers in the sun before every line of every letter rearranges itself with the others to form a gigantic smiley face.
He loved me.
What would he have wanted? Surely he wouldn't have wanted me to be so upset because of him. He wouldn't have wanted me to give up. He'd have wanted me to continue the legacy. Our legacy. The legacy of the Weasley twins.
Twins no more.
Wiping away my tears, I pocket the quill and turn to the door. On the way out, I wave my wand and a thin silver tripwire stretches across the doorway.
The legacy still lives.
07.08.2007