Why Fred Weasly?

George knelt down on his knees, his hands shifting through his pile of junk at the back of his closet. He rummaged around, looking for a clean pair of socks and annoyed that none had emerged for the past few minutes. Something soft and familiar brushed his hand and he picked it up, getting a closer look at it.

His eyes filled with tears as he saw a woolen sweater with a large letter "F" blazing in the front.

"Fred," George said sadly, his voice thick with tears.

His heart, thought to be recently patched up, creaked open again.

Greif overwhelming him, George clutched the sweater to his chest; he bent over in agony. Each beat of his heart brought fresh waves of pain, each breath felt raw in his throat. The heaviness in his soul was weighing him down.

A scream burst out of his gaping mouth, as silent a whisper but it poured out all his sorrow and angst in one single, low, endless note. The scream did not help what's so ever; it only added to his misery.

Heart wrenching sobs shook his body to the core; his breathing came out in panicked gasps, making his chest heave and ache from the strain.

George looked up at the ceiling as though he could see through to the heavens and he asked the only question that he ever wanted answered, "Why?"

Tears ran down George's stinging cheeks, knowing that no answer will ever come, not to him, not to anyone.

Suddenly, George could feel warm arm wrapped around him, an embrace that George would know anywhere.

"Fred?" George said, his breath hitched in surprise.

No words were said but that was enough for George. Fred's warmth flowed through him, giving him strength. He slowly got up, weak yet growing more steady on his feet. George gently folded Fred's sweater and put it away. He walked out of the room, ready to face the day with a feeling of peace and relief.