Written for the HPFC 'Writing Quotes' Challenge.
Living Unaware
'Some things are meant to be broken. Imperfect. Chaotic. It's the universe's way of providing balance - contrast, you know? There have to be a few holes in the road. That's how life is.'
Stairs
One month. One month exactly since the final battle, since the end of the second wizarding war. Blood and tears had been spilt, but slowly the world was returning to a calm state. Mothers, fathers, spouses and siblings still wept occasionally, and of course they would still be seen visiting their loved one's graves quite frequently but life was returning to as close to normal as it would ever become. Smiles and laughs became a more common thing amongst everyone, well almost everyone.
In the village of Ottery St Catchpole stood a tall rickety looking house. If you were daring enough to wander inside this house you'd see quite the opposite than what you'd expect. Instead of dust, spiders and debris, you'd see a comfortable living room with signs of life in every corner, you'd see pictures which appeared to be moving, every single one of them showed a happy smiling face of redheads, a brunette or a figure with raven locks. If you moved further in you'd see a wonky staircase with parts slightly missing; and this staircase is where our story takes flight.
A lone red haired man sat on the creaking stair case at The Burrow, the Weasley family home. Tears steadily trickled down his freckled cheeks but he took no note, tears were common for him these days. He'd lost Fred, Fred his other half, his soul, and with only half a soul, was there really anything left to live for? Sure, he had four other brothers, five if you counted Harry, but that wasn't enough, none of them were Fred, his Fred. He tried to remember the happy times they'd had together, the pranks, jokes and bad grades, but he couldn't, the only thing he could remember was that feeling, the feeling he'd felt when the light had left Fred's eyes, emptiness. He'd known when it had happened, he'd felt it, part of him died on the battlefield with Fred, but he tried so hard to pretend that he wasn't feeling it, to pretend that Fred was still there, but then he'd seen the body identical to his own. Every time he closed his eyes he'd see the lifeless for of his brother, his twin.
Soon, the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes to hours, but George didn't know. George didn't see the worried looks his mother gave, he didn't hear the hushed whispers between father and son nor did he notice when the raven haired man took his hand and led him to his room, his and Fred's room. He may have been living, but he was living unaware, not noticing as the world drifted by.