I don't own Harry Potter.

I guess mum reckons you can remember your own name, but we're not stupid. We know we're called Gred and Forge.

Harry had been both dreading and, in a horrible, morbid way, looking forward to the day.

He was dressed entirely in black, he fumbled with the buttons while looking in the mirror, lost in thought. He was still at the Burrow, in a room that Ron still shared with him, though Rom was planning on moving out after the funeral.

It was a miracle, Harry mused, that only one of the Weasleys had died in the seven years he'd known them. They were more accident-prone than any family he knew. That did not make it any easier to face them for the first time since that horrible night.

Harry was met at the bottom of the stairs by Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. Both looked like they'd been recently crying. "George is watching the body." Mrs. Weasley said, more to herself than anyone else. "Couldn't pry him away. Charlie is there, too, watching George."

The second twin, the other half, had been under careful watch since Fred's death. Harry assumed that most of the Weasley's thought he might decide to join his brother prematurely. Harry understood this point of view. George and Fred, Fred and George, had always been so closely entwined that they were almost unidentifiable when they were separated.

Ron was already sitting at the table, staring at a loaf of bread but not looking the slightest bit hungry. Hermione was next to him, silent and watchful, staring at Ron. Harry sat next to his friend. No one else spoke.

There were so many people at the funeral. Most of the same who had sowed up for Tonk's and Lupin's a few days before. Lee Jordan stood close to George, who was looking at the casket imploringly, as if half-expecting Fred to emerge, smiling, claiming it was another joke. Just another joke. Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnston and Katie Bell all stood close to each other, Oliver Wood not far off. The rest of the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and Fleur were grouped together near Aberforth Dumbledore, who had left his home for the occasion.

Others were grouped around the small graveyard. Neville, standing next to Luna and his grandmother, Seamus and Dean, once again untied, arms entwined as they leaned against a small stone. Hagrid, leaving Grawp for once. Professor McGonagal, her hair up in its stately bun standing next to tiny Professor Flitwick.

There was no minister, no chairs, and yet it seemed like the most formal thing Harry had ever been to. Each of the Weasley brothers said something, and each word was like a pang in Harry's heart.

Like Percy's recital. He stood next to the casket for a full minute before beginning, "I was next to Fred when he died. He was laughing  at me, actually  when he died. It was so typical of him." He paused before continuing. "He was the first person to welcome me back, which was odd. I thought he and George were going to hex me." He glanced at George.

"We thought about it." George assured him, smiling a little as he pried a laugh out of the crowd.

Bill was next. He slipped out of Fleur's grip and walked up to the front. Harry noticed that his walk was always just on the edge of sinking into a crouch. "A year ago," Bill began, "I got attacked by Fenir Greyback at Hogwarts." He paused slightly and swept his hair back. "Fred and George were fighting next to me. While George was holding off their attacker, Fred carried me up to the hospital wing. I never forgot that. He probably saved my life."

Ginny's was punctuated with pauses in which she was trying not to cry. Harry wanted nothing more than to comfort her. "The first memory I have is Fred and George turning my hair blue." George smiled a little, obviously remembering. "They were six, and had just discovered that they could do magic. Only thing was, they didn't know how to undo it. So Fred covered my head with tomato paste and told me mum wouldn't even know the difference."

Ron's was the shortest. He couldn't seem to get very many words out. When he did, he looked straight at George. "At Hogwarts, the twins always helped me out. Always there when I needed them most, and usually around when I didn't want them to be. And Fred always knew how to make us laugh. Always."

George was last. He sat on top of Fred's coffin, his feet brushing the ground as he swung them back and forth. Harry noticed dark bruises under his eyes and knew that George probably hadn't slept for a week.

"Me and Fred told each other everything. In our plans, we always included each other. We knew we wanted to open a joke shop when we left Hogwarts, so we worked on making people laugh. Which might be why we didn't pass very many classes." He nodded at Professor McGonagal.

"But Fred wasn't stupid. He just didn't care about predicting his own death. For some reason Professor Trewlawney thought he'd die first. We laughed about it. It didn't mean very much to us. We had already decided we'd die together."

George looked around at the crowd and smiled a small smile. "I haven't cried about Fred since that night. Please don't cry about Fred. He'd laugh at you."

A small chuckle flowed through the crowd. George seemed relieved. It was a familiar sound to him. "I miss him. A lot." He suddenly frowned. "And I love him. He was a warm, funny, generous person. But don't cry when you think of Fred. Laugh. That's what he'd want."

The casket was lowered into the ground by Fred, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley, doing it manually just like Harry had with Dobby. They slowly piled the dirt over him until it was smooth. Then everyone stood back as George placed a stone in the center of the smooth spot and started tracing letters into it.

FRED WEASLEY.

APRIL 1, 1987  JUNE 14, 2007

SON, BROTHER, FRIEND, TWIN

AND A DAMN GOOD PRANKSTER

Harry kissed Ginny, who was crying again, before starting to weave his way through the crowd. He had to find George. It was his fault, all his fault, that George was now twinless.

George hadn't moved from the stone. He stood in front of it, a ghost of a smile on his face. He didn't turn around when Harry approached him but said, "Hey Harry, I knew you'd come over here."

Harry stood next to George, suddenly unsure of what to say. Fred and George had been the first Weasley boys to talk to him. They had given him the Marauder's map. They had been thrown off the Quidditch team with him. They'd been distraction when he had needed to talk to Sirius. And now one had died for him.

"Hey, no fainting, now."

George's voice was calm, yet concerned. He seemed to guess what Harry was about to say when he opened his mouth. "I don't blame you Harry and I highly doubt that Fred does. He was always too reckless, he never really thought things through." He rubbed his hand over the stone. The letters were neat and clean, much better than Harry's hap-hazard array on Dobby's grave.

"You know, he admired you, Harry." George's words were quiet. Harry suddenly remembered that George was only twenty. And Fred would stay twenty forever. "He really did. The way you stood up to Umbridge and the ministry."

Harry didn't believe that anyone admired him, let alone Fred, who always seemed so confident and sure about anything.

George wasn't finished yet. "And you always seemed to be able to tell us apart. You and Lee and Ron." He pushed a lock of hair away, as if meaning to tuck it behind his ear, then laughed as he remembered he no longer had it. "I did that a lot a year ago. Fred would make fun of me for it."

Harry could imagine the two of them in their shop, laughing at something like getting an ear blown off. Only they would laugh at that. He suddenly thrust his hand into his pocket. "I meant to give this to you before." He held out the Marauder's map. "It's been dead useful, but it's yours."

George pushed it away. "Nah, it's your Harry. Or at least it's your father's. Since all of them are gone, it goes to either you or Teddy." He looked backwards at the small boy, who was laughing quietly to himself in the arms of his grandmother. "And since I doubt he can read yet…"

Harry tucked the map away, admiring George for his cool head. Even after everything that had happened, he could still joke, still laugh.

And Harry walked away, feeling a smile tugging at his lips as he heard George start humming the familiar tune, Weasley is our King.

I was upset that there was no funeral in the book, so this is for Fred and George, because they deserve it.

Review.