I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters featured.

You couldn't possibly know how it feels to have to watch them grieve over you, unable to touch, to speak, to contact them in any way. Just watch.

When George and I were children we would play fight in the garden whilst mum was preoccupied with our even smaller siblings. I remember this one time, George had been laughing, overjoyed that he had managed to pin me down to the floor and keep me there no matter how hard I struggled. I remember how he accidently elbowed me in the face, and as I didn't know how to react to it, I just stopped moving, tried to control myself so I didn't cry.

I remember George freezing, as soon as he realised I wasn't fighting back anymore, I remember feeling his hands gently pressing on my shoulders, trying to get me to react, when I didn't move, he started shoving me, shouting about how he was getting annoyed at my behaviour.

When I still didn't move, he began to softly cuddle me, whispering how he was sorry for hurting me, that he didn't mean it, that he wishes I would move because he misses me already. It was at that point I felt a drop of water on my face, thinking it was rain and I didn't want to get wet, I opened my eyes, eyes which were swimming with tears from the pain in my nose, and looked him in the eye.

Only to find tears streaming down his face.

I made him cry that day because I wouldn't move, because I had pretended to be dead. That day I made a promise to him; I will never pretend to be dead ever again.

That is why; the surviving witches and wizards at the Battle of Hogwarts are currently observing a hysterical George, shouting at my dead body, demanding that I had lied and broken that promise.

I watched my mother trying to be a mother to her living children, rather than a weeping mother to her dead child. I watched my father stone faced and frozen, staring at my bloodied body, crushed from the fallen in wall. I watched my little sister on her knees with her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I watched my older brother standing furthest away from the rest of the family, confusion and shock etched over his face. I watched as my younger brother came over to him and put his arms around my older brothers' shoulder; comforting him.

Everyone's slowly moving on with their lives now. I watched as both my younger brother and sister married their childhood loves. I watched as my father finally got the job he wanted and deserved. I watched my other brothers prospering in their careers and fortune.

All my family were moving on, except one. My identical twin brother; so alike to me in looks, personality and strength, would continue to grieve over my death for years after the battle had ended.

I wished so desperately I could talk to him one last time, to tell him how much of an idiot he was being, to tell him to suck it up and get on with his life. To get on with our baby, our joke shop; which was failing from his neglect.

Who knew you can move objects even as a fragment of your former self, even if it does take a fucking age to figure out how.

I managed to move a quill into an ink pot and slowly write a letter, addressed to my dear twin.

It didn't take him long to find it, I managed to place the envelope on his face whilst he was passed out on his sofa; the result of a night full of firewhiskey.

I watched as he squinted to make out the lettering on the front of the paper, his name, written in our identical scrappy handwriting; I think for a moment he thought he had written it to himself, a reminder or something to that effect.

I watched as it removed the letter from the envelope and began to read its contents.

Forge,

I'll make this nice and quick as its taking some effort to manage this, and it's a bloody fucking tedious task.

What the fuck do you think you're doing, old boy? You're making a fool of yourself! Fucking pull yourself together, mate.

Have you seen what's happening to our baby? I'm not about to let you just sit here on your lazy ass and let all our hard work go to waste!

Trust me, I'm fine. It's like fucking wonderland here, mate! And I'm having a fucking ball watching over everyone. Oh, the things I've found out!

All my love and that mushy bollocks,

Gred.

I watched him jump up, his eyes wide and his arms stretched out to the sides as if to balance him. I watched him spin around, looking for something or someone. When he realised he was alone, he softly called out to me, using our scrambled together names.

His call was met with silence. I can't fucking talk to you, you idiot. Why else would I bother with a letter rather than just argue with you in person?

I watched as his head fell onto his chest and his eyes shut tight. A single tear ran down his face and dropped to the floor. I'm in agony yet again as I observe his pain.

It's different this time though; he doesn't immediately go for the alcohol. He lifts up his head, wipes at his face with the back of his hand and with his other hand he lifts my letter to him back up to his face to read again.

I watch as his arm drops down by his side, his face a refreshing sight; no longer remain the tear streaks, gone the dullness in his eyes.

I watch as he determinedly walks across his shabby apartment, grabs his wand and apparates away.

I stand there for a moment. Fucking finally, he's good; He'll be fine.

And with that, I slowly walk away, leaving through the flat door and walking out into the unsurprisingly wet and dingy day.