Deathly Hallows was a calamitous book, and I was lulled into a small sense of security by the low death count Rowling seemed to promise. There were several characters who I thought might die, but if you had asked me who definitely would not die, one of my first answers would have been Fred and George. "She's not going to use up both deaths on Fred and George," I reasoned, "and she couldn't kill one. It would just be too cruel." I underestimated her, and as much as the other deaths upset me - and my predictably uncooperative tear ducts only allowed me to shed tears for Dobby, whose death was the only one that was really followed by a contemplative break in the action - Fred's is the one I just can't get out of my head, and it seems so pointless and random, and I have to shake the awful possibility that he died because he was distracted by Percy, whose sudden, fierce reconciliation with his family was a high point in the book. In an epic battle like that with a death toll of more than 50, I guess she thought we needed a few familiar faces to really drive the tragedy home.
Losing Remus and Tonks was terrible, with their nearly newborn child a double orphan like Harry, who would now need to take his role as godfather even more seriously, though I assume Andromeda would raise Teddy herself. It was dreadful, but it occurred off-screen, and there was more of a sense of resolution about it since we saw Lupin with the Resurrection Ring and later saw his son, all grown up. We only got a glimpse of George grieving the brother who had been like an extension of himself. The two were virtually inseparable; how would he deal with being on his own for the first time at the age of 20? Was it really necessary to kill Fred, and to ensure upon encountering the twins on future re-readings, the usual joy they bring will now always be tinged with sadness?
If I feel like my heart's been ripped out of my chest, how in the world must poor George feel? He will be merry again, I'm sure. But I suspect it will take quite a while...
Without You
I sit beneath the willow tree;
It's weeping for you, Fred.
I'm floored by the finality.
Oh, how can you be dead?
How can I stand to never stare
Into your friendly face
And see my own reflection there?
The opposite's the case.
I shrink from mirrors that I pass,
Reminders of my grief,
But sometimes touch the barren glass
And hope to find relief.
I hope to see you smiling back
With two untarnished ears,
Prepared to toast me with a snack
Of foamy butterbeers.
I while away my days in sleep
To see you in my dreams,
To be with you again and keep
Devising savvy schemes.
I'm not surprised to hear you left
In laughter, with a joke
Before they snuffed you with a deft,
Unmerciful wand stroke.
A lifetime seems too long to spend
Without you by my side;
With you, my first and truest friend,
A fragment of me died.
How hollowly I laugh alone!
I wonder when my lips
Will form a sound beyond a groan,
Return to flinging quips.
I wonder if they even should.
What right have I to laugh
When you've been stripped of life for good?
My soul's been torn in half.
My spirit is in shambles, Fred.
I can't believe it's true.
I wish they'd murdered me instead;
I'm nothing without you.
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2 comments:
Losing any sibling must be terrible. Losing a twin must be unbearable. To think this is someone you've shared space with since the womb.
I had a teacher in h.s. who had lost a twin at birth -- she lived, and her twin died. She said even though she never knew her twin, she'd felt like she'd grown up missing another person very deeply, probably because of the time they spent together in the womb. It must be an incredibly deep connection.
Very nice poem, Erin. I'm glad you're finding ways to grieve the multiple deaths in this book.
Yeah, I can't imagine... I really am eager to see what Rowling has to say about George in this encyclpedia she's publishing. I hope she gives us some indication that WWW continues, successful as ever, or that George does something entirely different, but whatever it is that he is able to go on to a full, productive life, though never forgetting Fred.
It is cathartic to write poems about these things. I need to write something about Dobby too; his death was so incredibly sad... Do you think we're supposed to extrapolate, from the way the house-elves join in the fray at the end and wind up sitting together with everyone in the Great Hall, that we're on the cusp of a shakedown on some of these prejudicial wizard policies that have kept them oppressed for so long?
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