A/N: This was an idea that I had a while ago, and finally I've had the time and inspiration to write it out. Please note that I am crying as I write every single chapter. Seriously.
I am obsessed with Fred and George, and clearly the end of Deathly Hallows was kind of traumatic for me. So here is my resolution. I don't own any of the characters or Harry Potter and such, etc.
His mom had suggested that they all try. She even sent owls to friends, people who survived the war, anyone who had ever met or had ever known Fred, and asked them all to try.
It had been nearly nineteen years since that awful, wretched day, and nearly nineteen years that George Weasley has tried to live without his other half. Some days he was close to successful. But most days, on days that reminded him of his twin brother, days like today…. he felt like he was dying. Today was the anniversary of Fred Weasley's death in the Battle of Hogwarts.
Now, here he was, back home again where their lives had begin together. His family had gotten together today in memoriam for Fred and Remus and Tonks and those who had died nineteen years ago today. They were all downstairs, actually, trying to hold it together as long as they could until everyone went their separate ways to grieve and break all over again because time really didn't heal the wounds. George knew that better than anyone.
He was sitting, alone, in their old room looking at all the remnants of their seemingly boundless childhood, their pranking and experiments that had all started in this one tiny bedroom with the two twin beds. All those things seemed a lifetime ago, and not even a part of his life anymore. Almost as if it was part of a Muggle movie he might have seen, or possibly a dream. But as George looked around, every thing triggered a vivid memory, and he knew he wasn't dreaming. His eyes scanned over the black scorch marks on the ceiling from the time when they had been attempting their trial runs of their signature fireworks, and then down to the discolored stain on the carpet in the corner from their first, utterly misguided batch of Puking Pastilles and Nosebleed Nougats. George looked over to the cramped desk in the corner of the room that was covered in piles and piles of product designs and marketing ideas and order placements…until he finally was staring across the room, at the furthest wall. The one that held a lifetime of memories in smiling, moving photographs. Fred was in every single one of them, his arm slung around a tiny, picture-copy George.
The real George was alone, now, and instead of his brother beside him, all he had was a box. This box, sitting on his brother's bed. George sighed and ran a hand over the side, over the lid, feeling the smooth worn wood of the packaging. His mum had told him that he needed closure, and that he needed to know that he wasn't the only one grieving Fred's death. Then, maybe, he'd be able to heal, if just a little bit.
And that leaves him with a box of letters. Molly Weasley had written and asked everyone to write letters and express their grief at this time. But not to her, no. Or to George, or anyone else in the current Weasley clan. No, these were letters to heaven.
Letters to Fred.
His mum had given him the box earlier that morning and told him to take some time to read them all. She said they were as much for him as they were for Fred. She said it might help. George didn't need help. He needed his brother back. Slowly, George raised the lid off the box, and immediately he had to stifle a sob. He was not expecting this…though; he really shouldn't have been surprised. It had been Fred, after all.
The box was filled to the brim with parchment letters, various scrawls visible on various envelopes, all saying "To Fred". There must have been close to thirty or forty letters in there. George sniffed, knowing that he was close to crying fully and trying to stave off that final breakdown, and reached a trembling hand inside, pulling out the topmost letter. They were addressed to Fred, every one, but he wasn't here to read them, so it was up to his other half to open all the messages – the goodbyes, the "I'm-so-sorry's", the thank-yous, and the grief that came with it all.
Slowly, with a deep steadying breath, George slid his finger to unclasp the wax seal, slid the parchment letter free, and unfolded the first letter.