Letters
By Rai-chan
It's quiet now, though I'm sure the silence won't last long. It's spring, and the birds would be chirping again once the sun rises. It's warmer than it's been in ages, but it's still a bit cold. A breeze sweeps into our -- erm, my -- room through the open window, the sashes that cover it, flying lazily into the room. I could see the stars from my position, lying on my side of the bed, my hands under my head, and thinking.
What day is it today? I completely forgot. Ever since the war ended, it feels... almost like a dream. People aren't so afraid to go out of their homes anymore, and I'll be going back to run the shop in Diagon Alley with Lee and Verity in June. How many days 'til then?
I start reaching over to my left, about to ask the question, but stop abruptly. Fred wouldn't answer. He couldn't, now, even if he knew the answer, wherever he is. He was always better at keeping track of days and records and all that stuff.
I miss him.
Sitting up, I open the drawer beside the bed and pull out two letters. The ink was a little over two years old now, and Fred and I had written these almost like a joke. I still remember it, clearly.
We had decided then, to write a letter to each other, in case one or the other has to go. It was just after Voldemort had risen again, and his presence put a damper on a few things. We were bored, stuck in Grimmauld place with nothing to do. I held the one I wrote on top. I have the words etched into my memory. At the time, I didn't think separation from Fred, of all people, was even possible. At the time, then too, I assumed I'd still have both ears intact for as long as I live.
That was thick.
Well, anyway, I look back down at the paper. I lit my wand, and it read:
Hey Fred. You'll miss me, I know. If you're still wondering where I hid your favourite set of Quidditch robes I stole from you in third year, they're in the broom closet, in the locker rooms.
Ta,
George.
It makes me feel a bit guilty. I could have said more. I wonder, if I was the one that was killed by the explosion, stuffed under a rock, would he be here, too, reading what I wrote? And would he be satisfied to have his old robes back?
I sigh. I haven't read his letter. Not yet. I was afraid I'd cry endlessly again. It took ages for mum to calm me down, even though she never did get over it herself. I hear her cry sometimes, when she thinks no one's near and she's preparing breakfast. For one less a child.
I hold my breath, as I lay the top sheet down on the bed, and bring the other closer to my face. There were only four words.
I love you, brother.
And I thought mine was short. I hold the piece of parchment to my chest, lay my head back down on my pillow, and cry.
Hi y'all :D I'm here with another fic. I really pity George. Lost an ear and a brother. Well, anyway, tell me what you think with a review, kay? :'D