you won't know; george weasley, harry potter, molly weasley
He was fine. Getting up only took him about an hour these days. No longer two or three or even five like in May when cloudless skies and hot summer days burned his skin. Molly would almost have to drag him out of bed. Always fussing around him, her motivation insincere, keeping it barely together.
Falling asleep took him 3 hours and no more sleeping potion. He could fight the tears, finally. He would just talk to the darkness pretending Fred was still lying three meters away from him, a smile playing on his lip planing the next big joke. But the joke is on him and darkness doesn't answer. He really was fine.
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How was he still alive when so many caring, good-hearted and noble people were dead because of him? He pretended that this wasn't on his mind when he lay in bed at night. Ginny was careful not to address the issue but she knew. She always knew with him. She was cautious to touch him or kiss him because even though he would never admit she knew that deep inside he felt like he didn't deserve any of this. Happiness and love and life.
Once she was fast asleep next to him, breathing heavily and content, he would get up and return to the places that held special memories. Times he shared with Lupin and Tonks and Fred, even Colin. He would mourn them night after night. A way that wasn't helping him heal but that reduced the guilt.
He returned in the early morning and climbed into bed noiselessly. She would stir but never wake up. He could almost breathe normally again then, inhaling her scent, thinking one last time about those he lost. In the morning, he thought, it was going to be fine.
-
Molly had played it out in her head a million times before the day that took one son from her forever. Wizarding wars always produced a lot of victims and she would have been overly optimistic to think her family might just get away. Of course she had secretely hoped to go first. The idea of losing just one ripped her heart open and suffocated her. She would thought about this at night when Arthur was asleep next to her and wouldn't see her hand trembling.
Not once did Molly think about Fred and George. Because they had each other, the only ones that were never alone. She envied how close they were and even though she didn't approve of everything they did she knew that one would look after the other. Their laughter filled the burrow with life and Molly was sure that no one that hold that much laughter was allowed to die. And just like that they took Fred. And with Fred her world came crumbling down and covered her heart with bits of memories she could not recall. Was Fred the first to crawl or George? Did George get bitten by his Monster Book of Monsters or was it Fred? She hated herself for forgetting. Hated her ignorance towards their vulnerability because obviously laughter does not fight off death, it welcomes it.
When she brought tea to George's bed in the morning, she would steal a quick glance at the empty bed next to the window. And her knees gave in, her hand clutching the window sill. Once George opened his eyes, she had straightened up again, giving him the cup of tea, pretending to be fine.