Only Just A Dream: A Harry Potter Fanfiction
Disclaimer: I do not own J.K. Rowling's 'Harry Potter', nor anything that is associated with it. If I did, there would be a spin off about the life and times of the Dynamic Duo known as 'The Weasley Twins'.
He awoke with a start: his finger nails digging into the palms of his hands; his breathing quick and heavy. It took a moment for the screams to subside; to shake off the night terror that had plagued his sleep. He was hyper aware of absolutely everything in this state. He could feel the perspiration as it made its way down the sides of his head; his heated face doing nothing to alleviate the feeling of claustrophobia.
His breathing slowed down as he lay there looking at the ceiling and finally, after a few moments of doing nothing but staring off into the relative darkness of the room, he let out a sigh of relief as he recognised the familiar silhouetted items which made up their room in The Burrow. He almost laughed aloud at the silliness of the situation. He was old enough and ugly enough (a Muggle saying that both he and his brother were fond of) to know better than to allow a dream to affect him so, because it was just that: a dream. He did feel shaken though, which was why, despite the fact that he knew his twin was asleep, he broke the silence that enveloped their home.
"Fred," he called out tentatively, "I had a terrible dream. We were fighting in the war and you," he didn't want to finish the sentence, thinking back to the dream but continued on anyway, "you died." He waited for a minute or two but grew restless at the lack of response. The Twins shared a bond that no other could possibly understand; the depth of which seemed to be infinite. Usually Fred would be awake, sitting at the end of his bed and ready to comfort his brother. George waited a moment longer before he stood, tossing the sheets of his bed to the side. "Fred?" He questioned, making his way to the identical bed that lay less than a foot away.
His hands came down, reaching for the shoulders of his other half but when his hands met with the soft mattress he was left completely and utterly confounded. His eyes immediately began searching for Fred but to no avail. He threw off the blankets, hoping that this was some morbid prank that they'd be able to use at a later date. "No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no." He whispered, frantically searching for the figure of his brother once again.
Reality hit him with the force of a speeding train and he backed away from the bed slowly, as if not fully comprehending what was happening. He looked at his hands in horror and disbelief. His breathing once again picked up pace as tears started to blur his vision. His face displayed a look that encompassed pain, anger and denial as he began to shake his head. He only stopped walking when his legs hit the side of his own bed and he crumbled to the floor; hands wildly reaching for the duvet that belonged to his brother. He held it to him, clutching onto it for dear life, trying his best to will his brother back into existence.
A heart-wrenching cry echoed throughout The Burrow and the tenants within tried their best to ignore for not a soul would be able to comfort him; calm him, nor would another soul ever be able complete him.
