- The Dark Arts
- Fred Weasley/George Weasley
- Fred Weasley George Weasley
- Drama Angst
- Harry and Classmates During Book Seven
Published: 01/27/2007Updated: 01/27/2007Words: 718Chapters: 1Hits: 803
Don't Let Go
- Story Summary:
- How can I die if someone is holding on to me this hard?
That's what I can feel. Nothing. I can't see anything either. Am I dead? I try to move. I can't.
Maybe I am dead.
Then I can hear noises. Maybe they're angels. But no - wait - they sound distressed. What's wrong? Where am I?
I strain to hear what those voices say.
"Oh my God!"
I understood that. Then I'm not dead? But still blackness presses in on me, and my body seems lost, far out of my feeble reach.
Here? Where is here?
"Oh God, is he...?"
Dead? Wouldn't I like to know. Can I talk to these voices?
No. Damn it.
"What's going- oh God."
Talking of God, where is he in all of this? Shouldn't I see white light, pearly gates, that sort of thing?
Something's happening. I'm being... pulled. My thoughts drift apart as I struggle to remain focused - have the voices gone?
No, not gone. But I'm losing myself. Drifting away. Let me be, I beg those voices silently, I want to go.
The numbness is spreading. My mind is freezing, time is stopping - I'm going. Goodbye, voices. My body slides further away as I let the current drag me to wherever is next.
I know that name.
"Over here! He's here..."
It's as much a part of me as my own. Wait... my name? Yes... I have a name. Somewhere...
Then something seizes me so hard, in a grip so tight, that my journey halts and consciousness surges back for a moment-
"Fred, let go-"
"What's happening? Do something!"
"Fred, we can't-"
Ouch. The grip is tightening. But I'm beginning to go again, sliding away into darkness.
That's my name, isn't it? But it's too late now. The pain fades to a gentle tingling. My body is detached, and I am floating.
Let me go...
"Fred, there's nothing we can do."
Please... I am ready...
"Leave him be-"
Then something falls onto my arm. Water, it feels like. But it burns...
"George, please don't leave me..."
I am disintegrating, I can feel it. Filtering away. But this time, I don't want to.
No! Wait, please... I can't go. He needs me. I can't leave Fred... wait! No, you can't take me!
With a final, desperate effort, I reach with every fibre of my pathetic, feeble being, my soul, and hold.
It hurts. Every particle screams for release as I grip onto... what? Nothing solid, no rope, nor handle... yet I am holding, and the current tears at me, dragging me back.
"George... please... don't leave me alone."
Then the current stops. Limp and trembling, I hover for a moment.
Then I am FLUNG back into my body with such a force that my head rings and I lie panting. Each breath hurts. Oh, it hurts... but I don't mind, because I am in my body. Alive.
I look up into hazel eyes. I remember them. They're my own. Well, almost. The owner is gripping the front of my arm so tightly it's cutting off the circulation.
Another stinging droplet falls onto my cheek. A tear. It trickled from those beautiful eyes and splashed onto my face.
Suddenly, Fred pulls me into an embrace so hard it knocks the breath from my body. But I don't care, because I have buried my face in my shoulder and we weep together.
Others surround us. People I remember suddenly. Their faces, names and stories filter back into my memory like sand through an hourglass. But I ignore it and concentrate on the body pressed against mine, and the tears that run down our faces and onto the floor. Whose are whose?
Does it matter?
I still remember that day, the day I almost died. Do I tell people? Do I tell them how the greatest force known to man - death - was challenged that day? Defeated, as one twin wept for the other as he lay, presumed dead, in the wreckage of the Final Battle?
No. I usually tell people I don't remember anything, that everything went black and the next thing I knew, the battle was over.
But I told Fred, and he held me like he would never let me go.