Dead and gone.
No pulse, no heartbeat, nothing. Just a cold body, to be buried beneath mounds of damp earth.
She finally, for the first time in her life, understood the meaning of the phrase 'time does not heal all wounds.' Because right now, Angelina felt hopeless and useless, like a slash had ripped open her safe, secure, happy future. And she could guarantee he wasn't feeling any better.
After the flicker of euphoria caused from the wars' end, reality sank in. He wasn't there. Twenty four hours ago, they, the twins and her, were holed up in the flat above the shop, laughing and joking and having a good time, blissfully unaware of what was to come.
But now they were, and everything was sinking in, like a mudslide, burying her six feet under - metaphorically, of course, because he was the one who was actually...gone.
Those first initial moments she refused to believe it. It had to be some practical joke; probably fainting fancies. Yeah, he was just knocked out. That was it, that was all, and suddenly he'd stand up, and they'd all laugh and grin and hug like they usually do and proceed to fight Voldemort and win.
That wasn't how it was. She felt motionless, limbless - breathing and conscious - but dead inside. She had imagined she'd look like the definition of death, too, but Angelina hadn't had the care to look. She felt careless and hopeless and heartbroken and gone.
Her blonde hair was spilled out across his should as she dug her face into the crook of his neck, her arms wrapping tightly around his middle. Oliver held her close; as close as two humans embracing could be, and he could feel Katie's sobs wracking both of their bodies, and he found it terrifying. They were heartbroken sobs, shattered, and he'd never heard anything like it again and never, ever wanted to.
He felt as though he was on breaking point too. All of the faces - the Creevy kid, ashen blonde hair full of dust and the body lifeless and unmoving, and he had felt sorrow like nothing ever before; not when they lost the Quidditch cup in his fifth year, not when his mother was ill in the hospital, not when his magical cat had died. No, this was completely new and Oliver couldn't help but feeling like the change was unwelcome. Because there was life in his hands - breathing, talking, laughing, fighting - and nothing but cold and a twisted expression of surprise on the body remained.
So that's why Oliver drew her closer; to feel her living heartbeat against his chest and make sure she was really there and not just an illusion, because he was close enough to loosing it as it was - and he couldn't bear if he lost Katie.
Angelina wondered. And shut herself off, from the whole world, just to think. She'd zone out, stare at a patch of drywall, and think and think and think until she mentally wore herself out and passed out, black rimming her eyes and much more thin than a woman of her size should be.
She did get better, though. It took a while, but her and George... they got through things. Not everything. The war had left an unseen scar that wasn't there, but they could still feel it and they probably would, too. He was a little broken, didn't have that same twinkle in his eye when he smiled and most of the time, it wasn't genuine; it was just to appease his mother, show her that he might, just might, be okay, some day.
Both Katie and Oliver had nightmares - not the cliche scary ones where you're falling, or drowning, but it was the best and the worst day of their lives, completely redone in their heads to scratch out all of the good and replace it with bad. Katie would wake up sweaty, bed sheets twisted around her ankles, crying those heartbroken sobs and he'd pull her into his arms, grateful that he still had his Katie, the exact object he'd be losing in those terrifying nightmares.
He'd have them too, and she would be jolted awake, noticing that the occupant of the other side of the bed was murmuring inaudibly in his sleep, eyelids fluttering and thrashing around violently. Katie would stand up, smooth out her pajama bottoms, and pad over to the kitchen of their flat, getting a glass of water for him and just letting Oliver hold her, to be sure that she was there.
Everything had changed. For the greater, most of it. There were a few things that Angelina needed to get over, and she found herself getting better and better; healthier and leaner. She started practicing Quidditch again, with the Harpies, trying to erase the Hogwarts Quidditch days and make new memories with her new team instead of sadly reminiscing over the old ones, one she had to keep reminding herself were gone.
Angelina had put the crumbling pieces of her life back in order. She met up with George frequently, using every excuse to get out of one of Gwenog's banquets for the Harpies so she could see him, and although they were both too stubborn to say it, they knew they needed each other and she promised herself she wasn't going anywhere as long as he was around,
The nightmares barely happened anymore, four years later and Katie would wake up happily, morning coffee in her hand as she read the Daily Prophet and admired the glinting stone on her ring finger, spinning it around whenever she lost herself in her thoughts.
Oliver was the same; happy and new, but with a small twinge of sorrow the war had embedded within him. It was hard to get over something like that, but he knew ihe had Katie and if George and Angelina would just admit their bloody feelings about each other, they weren't teenagers anymore everything would be a little bit more okay. Too much had been lost, but there was a lot to gain.
Whew, I wrote this in a good 45 minutes of nonstop typing and editing. A vicious plot bunny attacked me on my way to the mall, and I had to act upon it. :) Turns out, it fits in with many of my HPFC challenges. Yay ;p. Word count: 1,023.
Hogwarts Classes, category Muggle Studies
Six Senses Competition, category Emotion - Pain
Florence and the Machine Challenge - category Breaking Down
The Greenhouses Competition, category Palm
Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Competition - category Bruise-Remover paste
HP Potions Competition - category Death-Cap Draught
If You Dare Challenge, prompt #355 Too Much Had Been Lost
