A/N: Hay y'all. I'm in the middle of my exams at the moment, so, go me for procrastinating. *pompoms* :D Anyhow, this is for the Glee Challenge at the HPFC, the prompt being the song title, Dancing With Myself. Bit different to my usual stuff, quite short for one of my oneshots, but, yeah. Just a ten minute thing.
Much love.
Disclaimer: Own nothing.
He hadn't been in this room for years and years. Working in the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, he never had time. But he had gotten a notice from the Ministry, it was closing down to make room for another Dervish and Bangs. WWW was closing down. And so was George.
He knelt in the centre of the small room, his hair clashing horribly with the maroon light soaking through the curtains from the late afternoon outside. The bed was still unmade. He hadn't managed to get up the courage to come in here and fix it. But now, six years later, he had to gather up his twin's things, throw them out. Start over. He had to dance by himself for the rest of his life.
He leant over and picked up a sickle, lying in the dust near the bedpost, and flipped it over his knuckle. It left a small round mark where the dust had gathered around it. He had expected to come in here and feel distraught. Lonely. Broken. Crushed. But he felt nothing. Nothing, everything, nothing. He didn't know what he felt. Just a funny emotion that told him, you shouldn't be here, you shouldn't be here, you'll only get hurt. And yet, he wanted to be here. So much. Because he missed his other half beyond anything anyone could imagine.
He stood, brushing the dusk off the knees of his purple Weasley's Wizard Wheezes robes. It settled in a cloud of fine dust around his feet. Gazed around the room.
He could feel his heart twitching within his chest, tightening, constricting, hating Fred for leaving, loving him for existing, now swelling, then folding in on itself like a tiny piece of paper, folding, folding, until it was the size of a bumblebee. Tiny. Insignificant.
"I don't know what to do. Fred. Please help me. You're my other half. You're my dance partner in this life." There was no response. Only the soft fluttering of the curtains, and the spots of sunlight shivering over the floor.
There were so many things he regretted. Not telling Fred how much he loved him. Not telling Fred how much he meant to him. Not telling Fred how much he wanted to tango through the rest of life with him, side by side, laughing at the world, on top of everything, soaking up the glory and splendour that would be his life. It was his regret that had stopped him from saying these things, from doing these things, and from being these things. And now, it was his regret that it was regret that had stopped him.
He collapsed in on himself, and lay on the floor, choking on his own sobs. George… He breathed in dust, and coughed, and coughed, and didn't care, because nothing mattered anymore. He was gone, and could never have him back. He remembered what Fred had once said to him. "Never regret anything, George. If it ended badly, it was probably funny as anything when it was happening."
And he was right. Their life together was 'funny as anything.' And that was all that mattered. He had the memories. He had the friendship. And he had the scars on his soul, not to regret, but to be proud of.
Because, while his twin was gone, he was still here. And he would never regret that. And neither, he was sure, would Fred.