Alone
Dawn broke through the dark clouds hovering over Hogwarts castle. Little by little, the soldiers who fought in the battle returned to their homes, celebrating their win and mourning the deaths. Soon enough, the castle lay void of people, almost.
George Weasley refused to return home. Home; where they would all be crying over Fred, avoiding him or celebrating Harry's victory – their victory. How could he go back to such an opposing atmosphere, when the blood of his brother hadn't even dried yet?
All around him, the castle lay in ruins. Its once majestic and impressive walls had long since fallen, along with the high ceilings. Bricks were piled in messy mounds, surrounded by fine dust. For hours, the silence calmed him, yet the sun did little to brighten his cold and pale skin.
He was sick, in the literal sense. His skin was too pale and he felt empty. His eyesight was blurry, and he had a sharp pain in his head. He was exhausted, and his limbs felt heavy. He couldn't get up if he tried – not that he wished to. He was sitting in the same spot it all ended. The same spot Fred died.
He vaguely recognised a voice calling his name, but his mind refused to acknowledge it, and his mouth refused to answer to them. Let them search, he wanted to be alone. Alone to mourn, alone to cry, and alone to curse at the sky.
Entry for Shira Lansys' 'Word Count Drabble Challenge'. I had to write it in 242 words – a success, with no difficulty.