Chapter Text
Lee flicked his wand and conjured a bunch of dandelions to lay on the grave.
He knelt in front of it, ignoring the dirt getting on his work robes. He worked for a wireless network anyway, appearances didn’t matter.
“Hey, Freddy.” He said casually. “So, this time I decided on dandelions. It represents ‘the return of life and rebirth’ according to the bloody book, which I think is rather ironic. D’you agree?”
He paused. “Of course, you do. It’s a damn good joke, if I say so myself. Plus a pretty great callback. Remember second year? The Halloween Feast?”
There was another long moment of silence. The breeze whistled through his robes and hair and against the gravestone, as though to break the depressing silence or trying to reassure him.
At first, talking to the grave as though it would actually respond had been a coping mechanism and Lee had nearly sobbed every time he’d realized there was no point and there was never going to be a withering retort ever again. The pauses had been crushing.
Now, though. . . .
Talking to his old best friend’s grave like this made him nostalgic. More upbeat than upset. More melancholy than rage at the unfairness of the world. More a lingering loving sadness than despair. More spasming than debilitating. The pauses were more symbolic of the departure from his regular life, the dipping back into those war-torn awful years.
“George has a new product out,” He continued, standing up and walking around, gesturing as he did when he told stories without a mic. “It’s a figurine of Harry, actually. He’s experienced a sudden upsurge of popularity since the Blackwood case. Should’ve seen his face when George told him. It was at the last DA reunion. George loved his reaction, though he probably loved it a lot less when Ginny started to ‘console’ him, if you know what I mean.”
He waited again, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of wind and sunshine. The Weasleys really had picked a beautiful place for the grave.
“Angie’s pretty great, too. She was all giggly with Luna and Audrey and Alicia at the reunion though, which makes me worry because that is a dangerous group. Don’t tell them I said that,” he added. “Also, she’s taken a break from the Wanderers. Because. . .”
He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s why I wanted to come see you today. I’m sure you must be wondering. It isn’t your birthday, or Christmas, or the 4th of July, or New Year’s Day or the anniversary of the battle. It’s. . . .”
He wondered how to put it. Fred had always liked straightforwardness, Lee decided. George was the one to dilly-dally and outsmart.
“George and Angelina told me they’re pregnant,” he blurted out. “Well, Angie’s pregnant. They’re having a kid,” he emphasized, in case Fred hadn’t understood.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’ll make amazing parents, but still, here I am, bachelor, trying to remember the names of my dates - I accidentally called Andrew Alan and he threw a tantrum and left last month - and there they are, having an actual, literal baby. And they decided to make me godfather! Me!” He gestured wildly at himself. “What the hell made them think that would be a good idea? Ha! Last week I nearly burned down my apartment trying to make something edible.”
Lee paused again, and continued softly. “Th-They’ve found out the gender. It’s a boy.”
He laughed slightly hysterically. “I’m going to have a godson! I’m going to be a godfather! How about that, huh?”
He hesitated. “And – well. I know it’s different, and complicated, and George and Angie are a bit—” He shrugged, not able to articulate it. George and Angelina and their relationship could be as complicated as easy, as ugly as beautiful, as defined by grief as by happiness, and as marked by Fred’s absence as by the presence of his lingering ghost and legacy. “But – there’s no way they’re ever going to end up naming him anything but Fred. Wait and see. George blathered on about some names they’re contemplating, but I’d stake my Gringotts vault on it.”
He let out a breath and then knelt in front of the gravestone again, tracing the letters on it with his finger. “Your life was way too short. And—” He remembered seeing Fred the last time, the easy smirk on his face as he twirled his wand and made a crap joke in the Great Hall, the way Lee clapped his shoulder and said ‘Later, mates’ before leading his own group out onto the grounds, thrumming with excitement and nerves and determination.
He remembered feeling guilty for his own grief, about how all-consuming it had been, when to him George had been more important, George who had lost his twin brother.
“I couldn’t save you. You died.”
He closed his eyes again, pressing his forehead to the stone. “But … it happened. Dwelling on it’s not going to help. I’m going to do my best to make sure Lil’ Fred has a long, long life. He has to at least outlive me.” Lee nodded determinedly.
“I know you’ll be watching over him,” He continued, getting back on his feet. “Just like you’re probably fanboying over Teddy and Victoire and Dominique and Jamie and Lance and Percy’s soon-to-come kid. And well – I will be too. So, one more collaboration, huh, Freddie?” He smiled in remembrance. “S’how we became friends, remember? You were so nasty about it. ‘One collaboration’, you said. ‘We’re a duo,’ George said. And that promptly went down the drain when we actually got into it.”
His mouth twisted in a half bitter half fond smile. Somehow, the old grief had returned as an itch from the celebration of a new life he had meant to do. Grief had that way. He could be standing and doing something perfectly normal one moment and the next want to collapse and curl up and sob. He couldn’t stand to be there a second longer. “Love you, Fred, you Merlin damned asshole. See you soon.”
And he turned and walked away, ghosts still pressing at his heels, back into his life.