Hey Freddie

Love, Fred

An old man walked up a flight of stairs. Despite being withered and gray, he bore a remarkable amount of agility. His brown eyes shown kindly behind his wrinkles, and his skin was was covered in liver spots. He wore an old suit of dragon skin, and his black shoes were neatly polished. To everyone who lived in Diagon Alley this man was instantly recognizable as George Weasley, owner of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. He was a man of great humour, and was beloved by everyone who has ever had the opportunity to meet him.

George stopped in front of a small oak door with a disproportionately large door knocker firmly attached to its centre. This was the unmistakable flat of his late brother's widow and George's best friend, Y/n Weasley. They had scheduled to have afternoon tea together, and George always enjoyed when they had tea at Y/n's house, because she had always made it taste perfect.

George reached out his weathered hand, and rapped the knocker a few times. It was unusually quiet inside of the flat, and no movement came at the noise. He knocked again, to no avail. George gently tried the door handle, which to his surprise was unlocked, and the door easily creaked open. The warm smell of pumpkin spice and firewood wafted into George's nose as he stepped into the foyer. Y/n's keys were still on the key rack, so she was home. George took off his shoes and proceeded into the living room. An old ginger Kneazle lay curled on the sofa, next to an unfinished crochet scarf. The apartment wasn't messy, but it wasn't very neat either. Books were scattered over every surface imaginable; the tables, the couch, the counters, the floors...

George walked over to the bedroom door that was propped ajar ever so slightly by a small and tattered vest pocket dictionary. The bedroom was large and well furnished, with oak furniture lining the walls, and a large bed with a beautifully decorated frame sat in the centre of the room against the wall. On it lay Y/n, propped up on a few pillows. Her eyes were closed, and a small smile played on her old and wrinkled lips.

"Good morning!" George said cheerily walking over to where she lay.

She however, didn't stir in the slightest. Her eyes remained closed, and her facial features reflected the utmost and perfect tranquility.

His eyes couldn't help but be drawn to look at something his late friend was clutching to her chest. It was a small piece of yellowing parchment paper.

George gently unclamped Y/n's fingers and took the piece of paper from her hands, carefully unfolding it. A wave of emotions washed over George, as he saw a few words scrawled across the note, in that all familiar barely legible handwriting.

Rest assured pumpkin, I'll be waiting for you with open arms. See you soon.

-Love, Fred