Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This applies to all following chapters.
A/N: Welcome to my little (probably 3 chaptered) story about Fred. This one starts with the end.
George's gaze swept over the crowd, but he couldn't focus on anyone because tears blurred his vision. It was just a mass of black, blurry figures, like an ink stain on the green grass. Furiously, he wiped his tears away, clearing his throat. Now he could see them, the people dressed in black robes, their expectant gazes, and he felt like they were choking him.
Why the hell did he agree to give a speech? He should have known that he wouldn't be able to, that the words would get stuck in his throat, that the mere thought of Fred would break him, and that he would fall to pieces right there and then.
George cleared his throat again, loudly. It echoed over the graveyard, and he saw Ginny flinch.
"My brother Fred," he began hoarsely, his eyes flickering to the speech he had written the night before. It had been a speech for Fred, he now realised, not about Fred. It had been his goodbye. But now, it just didn't fit. Funerals weren't for the dead, they are for the living.
"He would've wanted me to crack a joke, to let something explode, to slip a love potion in the punch or canary cream into the cake," George attempted to continue without knowing what he actually wanted to say. With a slight feeling of satisfaction, he noticed some of the guests glancing nervously at the contents of their glasses, suspicion creeping into their features.
"That's how Fred was, what he would've done if I were –" George quickly interrupted himself. "But I can't… I'm sorry, brother, I just can't."
Tears were streaming down his face again, but he didn't bother wiping them away. "People always thought of us as one. As FredandGeorge. One word. But …" he swallowed thickly, "calling him my other half means that neither of us is whole."
And he wasn't. It was true. He had lost a part of himself, and that part would stay lost forever. Some people are grieved for eternity. And George knew that never a day in his life would go by where he wouldn't miss Fred. It was that thought that ripped him apart.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, now addressing his family. He couldn't do this. He couldn't bear this grief, and pain, and heartache any longer. His sadness alone was enough to handle, but the weight of everyone else's grief took his breath away.
He had to get out!
With one last look at the crowd, at his family huddled together, trying to keep the others from falling apart, George turned on the spot and disapparated, disappeared.
Just like Fred.
*Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 4*
Prompt: "Calling him/her/them my other half means that neither of us is whole."
A/N: Thank you to sunsetandstars and nottheonlyfangirl for betaing.