I'm not J.K. Rowling (Unfortunately) So I don't own Harry Potter (Again, Unfortunately) I just own the plot. (:
She couldn't sleep. She was amazed how Ginny could. Looking over to her right, shefound 2 sleeping figures holding each other as tightly as possible, like they never wanted to let go.
Although, she thought, If I loved the Chosen One and I thought he died, but then he suddenly came back to life and we finally got together after 6 years and he was lying next to me in bed, I might be able to sleep soundly too.
All she could do was sit upright on her bed and replay the scenes of the battle in her head. Some good, like when Harry told Voldemort how he wasn't the true master of the Elder Wand, and some, not so good, like seeing the casualties lying all around the castle. When she tried to push those thoughts out of her head, they flew right back in. When she tried to close her eyes to drift away into a harmless, dreamless sleep, the images invaded her mind like a hoard of Dementors, ripping out all the joy in her life.
The castle, destroyed.
Watching people she grew up with die right before her eyes, while all she got were a few scratches.
She couldn't help but think that this whole war was partially her fault. Her mind started to get cloudy and so did her eyes, as tears started to form, but she refused to let them drop. She should be celebrating, but the despair outweighed the happiness.
As a lone tear rolled down her cheek, she heard a distinct noise coming from across the hall. Someone was laughing? No, crying. This person was weeping softly to themselves. And she knew exactly who it was.
As silently as she could without waking Harry and Ginny, she crept out of their shared room and down the hall to the source of the noise. A lean boy with ginger hair was hunched over the side of his bed sobbing over a picture. Tears rolled down his face like quicksilver and he had to bite his tongue to keep him from bawling out loud and waking the others. She tiptoed into the room and sat down next to him. He didn't look up, but by the way his body stiffened, he sensed her presence.
He had stopped crying, probably to mask his pain in front of her and make it seem like everything was fine, so she would leave and he could continue crying in solitude. But Hermione was smarter than that. She put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close, signaling that it was okay to cry, because she was here to help.
He took that signal, turned so his head was buried in her chest, arms around her waist,and wept like a helpless child. His tears began to soak through her thin, oversizednightshirt, but that didn't even matter. He was crushed and crying on her in the middle of the night.
At this point in time, Hermione had started to cry too. She knew of his predicament and why he was crying, and it only made her heart wrench and feel asthough all of the oxygen had been ripped out of her lungs.
When they pulled away, they made eye contact to examine each other's appearance.
He looked terrible. Bloodshot eyes, tear stains covering his face like tons of little railroad tracks, but she was no better. She had puffy eyes, with bags under them from lack of sleep, and her lower lip was quivering. They locked each other's gaze and she gave him a slight nod, whichmeant, it's okay to keep crying, if he wanted to. He immediately complied and rested hisarms around her again, his head, this time, resting in the crook of her neck and his voice wracked heart wrenching sobs throughout the room.
Hermione didn't know where to go from here, because she didn't want him to keep crying, but she didn't know how to make it stop. She decided to settle for the next best thing; she started to talk.
"George, please stop crying."
She uttered and at her command, his sobs slowly, but surely, turned into little sniffles. She turned to face him and tried to meet his gaze, but he wouldn't look her in the eye.
"You know Fred wouldn't want you to mourn over him", she started and he sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of his name. "He was probably the happiest person I had ever met. He would want you to celebrate the life he lived, not grieve over the one he lost."
He stared blankly at the wall behind her, still trying to fathom the words she was saying. She wanted him to stop crying over him and think ofthe times they spent together? It wasn't like he could ever forget that he was gone. His legs sprung up off of the bed and he started to pace. He gathered all of his strength and found his voice,
"Hermione, it's not like I can pretend he's still here. He's gone! Forever! And every time I speak I hear his voice and every time I look in the mirror all I can see is his face. He was my partner-in-crime, my best friend, MY OTHER HALF!"
He had started to raise his voice, and had tears streaming freely down his already wet cheeks but now, he didn't care if he woke up the entire Burrow, he just needed to get this out.
"Everyone just expects me to dust off my shoulders and go back to a normal life, but I just CAN'T! Every single one of my memories includes him. And I can't walk into my room or the shop without breaking down. I can't forget him Hermione, I just can't…"
The last part was a whisper, but Hermione heard it. She quietly got up off of the bed and enveloped him in a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her until she could barely breath. She pulled away, grasped one of his hands, and led him to sit back down on the bed.
"Listen,"
she started, unsure of how to phrase what she really meant by her earlier statement,
"I-err… George, when I said I wanted you to remember his life and to not mourn, I didn't mean to forget the fact that he is gone. I meant to embrace the life he lived and remember the good times you had." Again, her eyes became misty, but this time, she blinked them back. She had to be strong. For George.
"I just want you to be okay again. We all do. We miss you. All of us. More than you can imagine. And even though this may sound strange; you're the only thing that we have left of Fred. You knew him better than any of us; you were basically attached at the hip. And when you're not with the rest of us, the entire family is reminded of why you're not, and the whole atmosphere becomes somber. We need the old George back. Please…for Fred." She finished and glanced up at George with a pleading look.
For a fraction of a second, a glint of hope flashed past his eyes, so fast if you blinked, you would have missed it, but Hermione saw it.
She flashed him a small smile until he spoke up in a firm voice, eyes shining with determinedness and said,
"I'll do it. For Fred."
AN: Hi, this is my second story, but i discontinued my first one, so it's more like my first story. Anyway, flames are accepted, but try not to make them too harsh. I have feelings. Read and Review please!