Untaken Dream

Untaken Dream

Say not in grief that he is no more
but say in thankfulness that he was
A death is not the extinguishing of a light,
but the putting out of the lamp
because the dawn has come.

-Tagore

George was sleeping, of that he was sure.

He was in the garden behind his house, staring at a gnome hiding in one of the bushes. That, in itself, could not prove a dream. When Fred walked through the unkempt grass to stand next to him--that made him know it was a dream, his first thought. His next was, I'm having a dream...I don't want to wake up.

"You know," Fred remarked casually, also eying the small creature, "I never really liked gnomes, but with all that we fought for, maybe we shouldn't throw them around to see how far they fly." He grinned. "Even though I could throw them about 100 feet farther than you."

"I think I could throw farther, if I remember correctly," answered George, turning to his twin.

"Your memory's a bit shoddy then...or should I say holey?"

George laughed, and took in his closest brother's appearance. He was not transparent or floating or glowing. He didn't look dead, and George was grateful for that. Fred had been so animate when he was alive, that it wouldn't make sence for even death to change that. Fred had been too strong a person for that. George's chest constricted. Had been, as in, no more.

"You're dead," remarked George.

"You've looked better yourself." Fred looked at him, a Percy like sternness on his familiar features. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to insult your elders?"

"I was born a minute before you!" corrected George indignantly, but laughter danced around his eyes while he looked at his best friend.

"That still doesn't excuse your shoddy degnoming skills."

George looked back at the gnome in the bush; it eyed him back furtively. He used to always degnome the garden with Fred; it had been a game, ever since they were very young. They would see how fast they could spin the gnomes around before falling down, breathless, and compare how far they could throw the gnomes over the low garden wall. Once, George had tossed a gnome past the huge oak tree almost 200 feet away and Fred had given him a whole box of Cauldron Cakes he had nicked from Bill's bedroom the day before. George had shared them with him as they watched the gnomes sneak back into the garden, backs hunched to avoid capture again, and they had laughed until tears streamed down their faces, reflecting the sunset. They had been eight years old.

"I'm dreaming," George informed Fred, turning away from the bush to his brother.

Fred sighed and looked around the garden. "Yeah, well, you were always pretty uncreative. You could have at least dreamed up some veelas into it as well.

George laughed, but it was short and difficult to feel. Looking at his brother, he took in his bright red hair and long nose, the countless freckles and bright blue eyes; he could have been looking into a mirror. The ache that seemed to have wedged itself between his ribs and over his heart tightened painfully. "Fred," he began, looking at his brother, "who am I going to degnome the garden with now?"

Fred's eyes seemed to loose their brightness. He motioned towards the brick wall with his hand, and they both moved towards it. They sat, backs against it, the same height, even sitting down. Fred looked sideways at his twin. "I'm sorry," he told him after a pause. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

"No," George replied hurriedly, "this was a good idea, which for you is rare, so I think we should savor it. Make a plaque or something. 'Git with a Good Idea,' we could call it and make a gnome carry it around, serenading you." As soon as he finished this thought, he instantly regretted it. There was no Fred to serenade anymore and any plaque would just be a painful reminder of his loss, of everyone's.

Fred grinned, not acknowledging this. "Now you're talking." He picked up a brown leaf from the ground and fiddled with it, tracing its thin veins with his fingertips. After several moments of this, he turned towards his brother and said, seriously, "George...I don't think I have much time here."

"What do you mean?" His heart raced in his chest. Fred couldn't leave now; he didn't know when he would see him again, and he wanted him here, needed him here for as long as he could. It was odd how he had always assumed Fred's presence, working off his own so that the force of their personalities was as blinding as one of their own fireworks and now....

"I'm here as long as you're still asleep, which, knowing you could be awhile, but I want to ask you something first, just in case we get interrupted." He paused and George waited patiently, something he had never been good at before. "I want to know how you are, which I know sounds stupid, but I just...I want to know how you are so that I don't forget. Because George," he continued, still worrying the fragile skin of the leaf, "I don't want to forget. I want to remember everything and I just had to see you, to know you're ok."

"I'm not ok," George said, looking stunned. "How do you expect me to be ok? You're gone and I don't know what to do. I feel like somebody chopped off my leg or my arm or my other ear, something I really need, and I don't know how to get it back or how to work without it. I don't know if anyone will get my jokes anymore or crack them with me. I don't know what will happen to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes with only one Weasley." He was distantly aware that his cheeks were wet and he was crying, but he made no move to brush them away or turn his face away. He had never had to hide who he was with Fred. "I don't want you gone. I want you back, and I never thought you wouldn't be around to do experiments with, or joke about girls with, or annoy Percy with. I never thought that you wouldn't be there all the time with me. I thought that we would die at 150, laughing in our sleep. I didn't know that you would leave me alone, because Fred," he told his twin, looking at him hopelessly, tears streaming down his face, "I don't know how to be alone."

Fred grabbed him in a tight embrace and George clutched at him like his life depended on it, as if he could keep Fred here with him by his sheer will and determination to not give him up to the unknown. He felt so alive to George. His body was solid and even though he couldn't hear it, a heart might as well be beating strongly inside the chest of his brother, when, in actuality, he knew it wasn't. Fred was dead, gone from George, ripped away at seams where they had been joined for so long, and George felt it like a physical injury. This could not be it, this crude dream where Fred might be alive, but George still knew the truth; it tainted this fantasy like poison. This could not be the last time he saw his brother. This could not be it...

"You're not alone," Fred told him fiercly. "I'm not gone and you're a git if you think so. Do you think something as stupid as death could stop me? George," he told him, half laughing, "I am so much more amazing than that!" He pulled away, but kept his hands on his best friend's shoulders. "Death can't take me from my brother. It would take much more than that--perhaps veelas or those girls from Charlie's magazine collections. But death?" He chuckled. "I'm stronger that that. We're stronger than that."

George gave a brave attempt at a grin. "I think some of those girls in those magazines were really blokes. Meant to have a conversation about that with Charlie..."

Fred laughed again and sat back against the wall. He put his hands behind his head, and leaned them back against the low stone wall, looking relaxed.

George looked at him, the picture of peace, and a thought sprung up again in his mind, one that had been plaguing him for what felt like ages. "Did it hurt?" he asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

Fred shook his head. "Nah, it was like those punching gloves we developed a couple years back that you didn't expect to hit you when they opened, and when they did it took a second to realize what had happened."

George looked at the wasted grass under his hands; his fingers were fisted in their brittle blades. "Where are you now?"

"Besides in the garden, talking to you?" Fred shrugged. "I'm not sure. It's nice though; there's no real pain, or at least it's dulled from how it would be in reality. And I feel...as if nothing could go wrong when I'm there. Like I could do anything, ignite thousands of boxes of our fireworks or sing loud, crude songs about Peeves and the Giant Squid with no repercussions at all." He looked at the ground for a moment. "But you're not there, so it's hard sometimes, but I'm ok. I wish I was back here, obviously, but I know that everyone's basically alright so..." His voiced trailed off.

George did not tell him that no one was alright, that they were far from alright, and that he feared that no one and nothing would ever be alright again. He knew Fred wanted to think that they would be fine without him to ease his own pain and loss. So George said nothing. He forced a weak smile onto his face. "Tons of veela, I suspect," he said after a pause.

"Oh, yeah, loads," laughed Fred. "Can't keep them away, mate." His eyes suddenly narrowed in thought and then he said pensively, "I think our time's almost up."

"Oh." George looked at the ground, his brow furrowed, then back up again, his eyes catching his brother's. "But you're happy?"

Fred smiled. "Yeah, I'm as happy as I'll ever be without everyone. And it's not as if I won't see you ever again. One day," he told his twin, "one day, when you come...we'll light up the sky." For a moment, Fred tilted his face up towards the setting sun, his face bathed in red and gold, eyes closed, his lashes like light ink strokes against his freckled skin. He breathed in deeply and then opened his eyes. He looked around the garden one last time, at the murky pond, at the crooked gate, at the crumbling, low wall, at the scarcely concealed gnomes, and then at the high, tumbled, sleepy house. Fred stared at it for quite awhile--long enough for the sun to creep down until the earth glowed, long enough for the trees' branches to sway lazily in the dusky breeze, long enough for George to realize that some silences, in large enough quantities, ease the taste of loneliness.

Eventually Fred got to his feet, unfolding his body from the ground, pulling George up with him. Standing face to face, they stared at each other for a long while, memorizing each other's faces. George was looking at the brother he had hit once when he was five for playing with his toy broomstick and, as a result, spent the next hour crying over his vehemence until Fred had handed him a tissue, telling him to stop, otherwise he would hit him back. George had sniffed and buried his face in Fred's shoulder then, sure he had ruined everything until he realized that Fred was crying for him too. Fred was looking at the brother he talked to about his first kiss while George rolled around in laughter on the bed until Fred had hit him with a pillow to prevent anyone waking up and separating them. George was looking at the brother with whom he had done experiments with until their hair was singed black and smoke pooled from their pores and Fred had joked that they should make it a perfume and call it "Essence of Skipped Steps Where Things Blew Up" and George had told him it was too long a name to put on a bottle. Fred was looking at the brother that had stolen the Maruader's Map with him and, eyes bright with mischief, formed plans with him to make their lives amazing. They were both looking at their brother, their twin, their best friend, and they knew that it could be a million years before they saw each other again, and still, they would never forget. It was impossible; not even death could do such a thing.

George mixed his gaze with Fred and felt the memories of tears salty on his skin. And then Fred grabbed him, hugging him tightly and they clutched at each other for a long while, unable to break apart. Their arms were around each other, heads buried in each other's necks, breathing the other in, taking the other with them. When they finally released each other, they were both smiling, a little sadly, but grateful, still, for the opportunity to say a goodbye they hadn't gotten to have the first time. Fred looked at George and George looked at Fred.

"See you Gred," said Fred.

"See you Forge," said George.

George felt the tug of consciousness, and then they were spinning away from each other, and, as George saw his brother swirl from him in a quiet laughter of colors and shapes, he felt himself fall back into reality with his best friend, not at his side, but in his heart.

And that made all the difference.