Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, as much as I wish I did. Blah, blah, blah.
Author's note: A short drabble featuring George. I know he's a bit out of character, but he did just lose his twin.
A shock of red
He stopped sleeping in his own bed sometime after it happened. Maybe he thought there were monsters lurking under his own bed, or something of the sort. No one was really sure. They never questioned it, of course. He had always been eccentric. He and his twin. The unstoppable duo that not even Hogwarts could tame.
"Is he still in there? He hasn't come down for meals in days."
"He'll come down eventually. He just doesn't know how to cope with this yet. None of us do."
"Wouldn't he feel better if he was with the rest of us? We could help him through it. We need him as much as he needs us."
He would curl up with the pillow, the events replaying in his mind. The smell of the past was tightly woven into the fabric. It gave him little comfort. He tried to think of something unrelated. Their business. New prank ideas. Ways to market products now that the war was over, and people had lives to rebuild. But, nothing worked. Every new thought was intertwined with the thoughts of that day.
No one expected him to be the same after what happened. He personally knew that he wasn't. His other half was gone. It was a bitter fact that he bruised his hands over repeatedly. Nothing was spared the wrath of his anger and frustration. Dents and holes started to form from repeated punching. He knew that damaging property wouldn't bring the missing back. He knew that he wasn't the only one experiencing loss. But, damnit. He should be allowed to be selfish. At least for a couple of days, right?
He couldn't face everyone else. It was too much. His face was a reminder of someone who wasn't there. Who wouldn't be there again. He couldn't change it at will. Even if he could, it wouldn't change things. It was hard to see one without the other. An incomplete, broken set.
He needed laughter. It was said to be the best medicine. It banished boggarts. So, maybe it'd banish this sadness. This uncharacteristic gloom that kept his heart heavy and his eyes closed. He knew that those who had gone wouldn't want him to be like this. They'd want him to live. Not resort to childish behavior, like beating up wardrobes. But, they weren't here. They weren't experiencing the pure onslaught of emotion that he was feeling. They…they were gone.
"I hope he comes down soon. I really miss him."
"Me too. We've lost enough people in the war. We don't need him to be gone too."
He decided that tomorrow, he'd join the rest. Not the ones who passed on. No. He knew he needed to be here. Here with the ones who were still living. This selfishness wasn't doing him any good; he wasn't the only one who lost because of this war.
Tomorrow. One day at a time. And, maybe, just maybe, he'd find a way to laugh again.