Fred

You lie on your back in the long grass at the back of the Burrow. There's not a cloud to mar the blue of the sky, and the trees sway gently in the wind. You're not in the most comfortable of positions - the grass scratches at your legs, your arms, your ear. You have to squint or the sun will blind you. It hurts, but so does everything these days. It hurts because you're alive. When your mother calls from the house, telling you to get ready, you stand and take one last look around. It strikes you in a sudden rush that it really is a beautiful day. It's a beautiful day to die.

You sit on the hard wooden chair in the front row, wearing his best robes. Light green and blue pin striped, he always said they brought out his eyes even though you both knew the colours did nothing of the sort. They just clashed horribly with his hair. You've had no input into how this is run, none at all except for the fact that you told everyone not to wear black. When your mother asked why, you were going to say that's how he would have wanted it but then stopped yourself at the absurdity of that statement. He wouldn't have wanted any of this at all. He would have wanted to be here, with you.

You sit there in your chair, and you stare incredulously at the little white haired man standing on the podium. He drones on and on about youth and vitality, about life given freely for a cause and cut tragically short. You stare at him in disbelief because he doesn't understand at all. All he spouts are words and more words and bigger words, but they're all empty because what do they have to do with your brother? If someone was to do him justice they'd stand up there and let off a firework or ten, or wave a wand that gives a loud squak and turns into a rubber chicken. If someone was to do him justice, they'd sneak up there and pour itching powder into the stupid little man's trousers just for a laugh. In fact, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea. You reach into your pocket to the emergency kit you carry everywhere and pull out a clear bag. The white grains inside move gently with your motion. In a daze, you begin to stand and are half way out of your seat when a small strong hand takes the packet off you and pulls you back down. Your sister leans over and puts her head on your shoulder, not only for comfort but probably to stop you from trying to do what you were just about to do. But she doesn't let go of your hand, either, just puts her fingers through yours and holds on tightly. You have no strength to resist. Instead you just sit there until the ceremony is over and your family begins to file out in silence, and you wonder how everyone could have so greatly misunderstood him.

You lie on your back in the long grass at the back of the Burrow and you crumple the pinstriped dress robes your mother pressed so carefully this morning. It's the dead of the night, all the guests have left, your parents have gone to bed and you're left with your brothers and your sister. It's just the six of you in the backyard where you all grew up, the six of you and an empty space. You all sit or stand or lie as you will, in silence with your own memories, until Charlie stands and suggests that you remember your lost brother properly. He heads into the house briefly and comes back out with little bottles of Firewhisky. One each, he says. One for each of you. And when you count the bottles he's levitating over, you realise there are seven.

You wake up in the morning with your head on fire and the sun beating down on your face. You're still in the backyard with all your siblings - it seems none of you managed to find your beds last night. You close your eyes and flashes of memory from last night come back to you. Bill, strands of his hair creeping forward towards his face as both he and his ponytail get looser and looser as the night goes on. Charlie churning back shot after shot as he finishes his bottle before most of you have even properly warmed up. Percy - Percy actually drinking, going red in the face and even throwing in his own recollection or two. Ickle Ronnekins, who seems to have grown up without you noticing; Ron, who's awkward and slightly insecure as always, but now with the pain of the last year etched into his face. And Ginny, the baby and the darling and the almost woman, holding her own amongst all of you. You all told story after story and the combination of the whiskey and the memories turned their tears from the morning into long hard laughter, but you found it didn't work for you. Not matter how much of your bottle or his that you drank, you were still just left with tears.

You lie on your back in the long grass at the back of the Burrow and you know you should be doing something else. You have a business to run, a flat to fix up and live in. You have jokes to create and children and teenagers and the occasional adult to entertain. But you can't do it. You just can't.

When the war was over and your world was being rebuilt, Harry was put through his paces. Every detail of everything he had done pertaining to Voldemort was asked of him and examined and turned over and debated. One of the biggest revelations was the existence of the Mirror of Erised. It was searched for high and low but it seemed that Dumbledore had done his work well. For weeks it had been a favourite topic of conversation among your friends and family. What would you see in the Mirror? Everyone had their own opinion, some were conflicted or unsure. But you were not. You knew exactly what you'd see.

You'd see your face, staring back at you and smiling. Your face with two ears, slightly more confident, more of a leader, more of a fire starter. Your face, alive and happy again. No one would be able to tell you weren't looking at yourself, but you would. It would be your face in the Mirror, but it wouldn't be you. You'd stare at your reflection that wasn't your reflection, and reach out to the glass to try and touch it, grab it, hold onto what you could see. You'd do what Dumbledore warned Harry against when he was eleven and sit there and stare at it forever wasting your life away. Wishing you could fall into it and meet the boy on the other side. So you could be together like you were always meant to be. So you could just be with him. With Fred.