Disclaimer: I own nothing because everything belows to J.K.Rowling

About This Story: I was suddenly inspired one evening after listening to a song on my MP3. It was so sad but so beautiful and I was determined to translate it into a four-shot. Deathly Hallows was a fantastic book but also so sad with the deaths of so many. I will attempt to translate my own feelings about these deaths into the POVs of the characters. Each chapter of this four-shot will feature a different narrator and a different death. The song is If Only Tears Could Bring You Back and I strongly urge everyone to go listen to it. The lyrics and music and voice is absolutely beautiful. I hope you all enjoy this. Please tell me what you think in your review!

Fred is dead.


That single word sends you reeling in total shock and disbelief. You stumble back from Percy in horror as if he has struck you. This can't be true! How can it be true? Just a minute ago you were caught up in a wild happiness at the defeat of Voldemort at last. Fred is obviously here somewhere: celebrating! How can he be dead? You stammer out fervent denials and angry reproofs at Percy's joking so inappropriately. Then you look at his white face and red-rimmed eyes; you realize his voice has cracked on the last word; you hear the quiet sobs he tries to conceal. You feel ice-coldness spreading through you and you know that what Percy says is true. You feel completely hollow inside: Fred is dead. Your twin. Your fellow mischief-maker. Your best friend in the world.


You half-stagger to the courtyard and see his sprawled body being laid reverently among all the others who died fighting for Hogwarts. The bottom of your stomach drops as you experience the horrible whooshing sensation of falling – falling so hard without anyone to catch you. Your knees suddenly don't want to support you anymore and you fall to the ground. Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. Your heart begins thumping so loudly and so hard against your chest that it hurts. Your throat is tight with choked grief. But most of all you feel empty.


Ginny is there suddenly. You dimly register her speaking rapidly to you; you see her reach out to touch you. But you've become as cold and hard as marble, and you can't feel the warmth of her little hand on yours. Her soft words of comfort and love make no headway with you. You hear them but cannot listen; each word registers in your mind but does not connect with the others. This isn't like the other times you've felt grief and anguish.

You cannot cry.

You've frozen completely into place. It is as if there are two Georges all of a sudden; one kneels on the floor, hunched over and shaking uncontrollably. Another cold and empty inside, watching silently. You know you should cry, you want to cry, but the tears don't come. You're frozen inside, the grief is packed tight and locked up good in your heart. You can't get it out, and it's inside you, trapped, desperately trying to break free, but unable to. This incredible grief is so different from every other time.

This time you cannot alleviate the pain.

You've felt the excruciating agony of anguish before. When you were only a fourth-year and Ginny disappeared into the Chamber of Secrets. When you were hauled out of bed at midnight by McGonagall and informed in a far gentler voice that the one she usually employs that your father has been attacked by a giant serpent. When you were waiting for Ron to show up on his birthday at Hogsmeade, and was told instead by a shaken Hagrid that he had been the victim of a poisoned drink.

This time is different.

Because all the other times you have had someone to share your pain. Fred. Your twin, your comrade, your best friend. The one who always knows what you are thinking. The one who always knows exactly what to say to make you feel better. The one who can always think up a clever prank or witty remark to lighten an awkward atmosphere. The one who always looks on the bright side. Fred has always been the confident, wildly creative, imaginative one.

But now he's gone.

His loss is almost like a physical thing to you. When you ask offhandedly to the air what a good prank to cheer up your family might be and no one answers. When Ginny and Harry drags you to Diagon Alley for a breath of fresh air and you see two little blond-haired twins clamoring for a broomstick. When you watch your siblings and friends try to forget their grief in a wild game of Quidditch, and Charlie and Bill take the Beater's bats. When Ginny forgets and uses her affectionate nickname for you and Fred, "Freorge." When you start a sentence only to trail away into silence, because there's no one there to finish it. When you go down to the dinner table, and the place beside you is empty. When you finally haul yourself back to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and you see everything that you and your brother have created together.

But now you're all by yourself.

Time passes but the pain doesn't dull. The wound doesn't heal. You eventually go back to work. Verity is always there with a warm smile and a hello, and she quickly spots any mischievous-looking kids walking through the door looking for a good prank, and deals with them, because she knows that you can't. You manage to stumble through each day and stagger up the steps to your flat over the shop. You manage to get through every day.


Because you can't get over the fact that Fred is dead. The two of you have always been inseparable; you've always felt like one person, the Fred-and-George, the Freorge. Without him, you don't even know who you are anymore.

You feel lost.

How can he have died and you survive? How can one twin of the inseparable duo be dead? The two of you have always been practically the same in love of mischief making, bound together by the unbreakable bonds of forever friendship reserved for twins. You were just a bit calmer and more practical, where Fred was the wilder one. You two balanced each other out and made the perfect team. Now he's gone, and there's no one to make you whole. You're only half now. Half a person.

It's like a nightmare.

Only you don't wake up.

How will I start tomorrow without you here?

Whose heart will guide me when all the answers disappear?

Is it too late; are you too far gone to stay?

This one's forever, should never have to go away.

What will I do, you know, I'm only half without you.

How will I make it through?