It hurts to lose a friend.

It hurts to lose a brother.

It is pain to lose a twin.

But it's torture to lose a son.

Molly Weasley was being tortured.

Fred Weasley, her son, her funny, joke-cracking son, was dead.

Dead with a smile on his face.

He died laughing.

That made Molly feel less bad but it wasn't enough.

When she saw Fred her heart broke. It broke. Simple as that.

Fred was dead.

She couldn't bring herself to believe it.

Fred wasn't dead, she would tell herself, he's just sleeping. He will wake up.

But he never did.

Torture.

She loved Fred. And shouldn't a mother's love save her son? Lily Potter's love saved Harry.

But no. Love couldn't have saved Fred, because if it could her son would still be alive and making jokes.

George was crushed. Molly could see that but she was still tortured.

She missed Fred.

Everyone missed Fred.

Later, after the war, Molly was in the Burrow, sitting on the couch, curled in a blanket and sipping tea.

It was hot tea that should have burned her mouth but she was numb.

Her heart ached as she stared at the fire.

It was truly torture.

Molly Weasley broke in two.

She cried silently and cursed and prayed to whomever stole Fred away from her.

But Fred was dead and he was never coming home.

It tortured her.

Who knew what happened to Fred.

She didn't.

But she wanted to know.

"Mum."

Molly looked up. There, in the fire, was Fred. A sad smile on his face.

"Fred," she whispered.

"I don't have long, mum. But I just wanted you to know that I'm fine. I'm happy and I love you," Fred said and started disappearing.

Molly's eyes went wide as she said, "No, Fred. Don't leave. You can't leave." Her voice cracked.

Fred stared at her with love. "Don't worry anymore, mum. I'm fine," he said and was gone.

Molly awoke with a sense of calmness on the couch. It was a dream but it had Fred in it. He had told her he was fine and she believed him.

It still hurt her when she thought of Fred.

But it was no longer torture.