After the War

After The War

George Weasley let out a sigh as he turned the key to lock the shop. Day by day it was getting harder for him to go to work alone. Each morning that he woke up to see the empty bed beside him, the loss of his twin set in a little more. The past few weeks were a blur to him, he was a walking corpse just going through the motions, yet the details of that horrible night were still etched clearly in his mind.

*

He stumbled through the crowd, bruised and bloody, when he noticed the figure, ginger hair standing out against the dark tiles of the Great Hall floor. He broke into a sprint, weaving in and out of people until he reached the spot where his brother lay. He was the first to reach him. He had known something was wrong, felt that twin instinct deep inside as he fought in the battle.

He dropped to his knees beside his brother's head and the tears flowed down his dirty, blood stained cheeks. Unable to control his sobbing, he sat there, stroking Fred's hair.

Slowly, the remainder of his family joined him silently. First Percy, then Arthur, followed by Bill and Charlie. Molly was the next to join the group and when she saw the boy lying on the floor she threw herself across his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. Ron was the last to arrive with Ginny. He had his arm around her shoulder and she was crying silently.

George could barely move. He was paralyzed by the sudden, unexpected loss of his brother, his partner in crime. He shut his eyes tight, hoping that when he opened them he would realize he was waking from a horrible dream. His eyes opened to the same scene that had lay in front of his before he had closed them and he cried even harder, not caring who saw or heard him.

His entire world had been torn apart in a single night. A few swift wand movements had robbed him of the one thing that was most precious to him.

*

He walked along in the dark, the cool air blowing through his long ginger hair. Lately, he found himself walking home most nights, not wanting to attempt apparation, feeling as though he wasn't in the right state of mind to do so successfully.

Finally, after what seemed to George to be hours of walking through the night, feet aching, he reached the door of the Burrow. He walked in the house, it was quiet. Everyone had already gone to sleep; drifted off into a dream world where they could image they were still just one big happy family.

No matter how hard anybody tried to actually make them a happy family again George wouldn't comply to join them in their charade. He was quite content, if not comfortable, sulking alone in the room he had once shared with the one person who had ever truly understood him.

He moved silently through the house, making his way into the untidy kitchen. He searched through the cupboards, looking for something to eat before realizing that he wasn't really hungry at all. There he was, following routine again.

He stomped up the stairs to his bedroom, aware of the noise he was making but not caring if he happened to wake anyone. He reached the room and undressed before climbing into bed to wrestle with another night of fitful sleep occupied by the nightmares he had experienced ever since the night of the Hogwarts battle.

*

George woke early the next morning. Half asleep, he moved to the bathroom, slid his boxers off his hips, letting them fall to the floor and steped into the shower. The cold water cascaded over his naked body.

Less then fifteen minutes later he left his room and walked out of the house without saying a word to anyone. That day, time seemed to have stopped. George dragged himself through the chronic routine at the shop, greeting the odd customer with a dull "hello". Business wasn't going well anymore. George hadn't been himself since the battle and most of the regular customers, mostly friends of the twins, had stopped coming into the store, unable to bear seeing him in the state that he was in.

After what seemed like an eternity it was time to close up for the day. Again, George made the long trek home in the dark. It seemed to take much longer to get to the Burrow that night. His feet didn't want to move and he dragged them along the pavement like a pair of bricks. When he walked into the house Molly was sitting in one of the big armchairs by the fireplace knitting. It could have been a sweater, or a scarf, George couldn't tell, nor did he care enough to find out.

She looked up from the task in front of her at her son but didn't say a word. She no longer knew what to say to her little boy. He had changed so much over the past couple weeks that he had become some what of a stranger to his own mother. He was no longer the bubbly young man that she would scold every time she caught him in the middle of some sort of mischief.

He went straight to his room without making his usual round through the kitchen before realizing he no longer had an appetite.

George closed his bedroom door and sat in the darkness, starring at the empty bed beside him that used to be his twin's. He let the tears flow, soaking his black tee shirt. He had cried almost every night since the war had ended, even though he knew it obviously wouldn't change anything. No amount of tears, nothing, could bring his brother back.

He heard his mother's footsteps on the stairs outside his door making their way up to the room she shared with her husband. When he was sure she was asleep he vacated his spot on the mattress and stood in front of the full length mirror that hung on the wall opposite the two beds.

Fred starred back at him. The blue eyes and ginger hair they both shared reflecting off the glass. Only, it wasn't Fred, it was George, eyes red from crying and cheeks a mess with tears. He raised his wand, pointing it at the reflection. He wasn't sure if his plan was going to work, but something inside him told him it would. He took a deep breath, almost second guessing what he was about to do. He had made up his mind earlier that day though. Anything would be better than living with the unbearable grief he felt every moment of every day, even this.

Gripping the piece of wood in his right hand as tight as he could, he closed his eyes and spoke the words. The stream of greed light that left his wand rebounded off the glass and hit George square in the chest. His knees buckled and his body collapsed on the floor in a lifeless heap.

*

The screams of terror and sounds of uncontrollable sobbing that echoed through the Burrow the next morning where far worse then they had been the night Fred had died. The Weasley family had now lost two sons, two brothers, two friends.