Prologue
Time is a fickle thing. It can pass so quickly, leaving marks on the softer materials. Look at sand, for example. At one time, it was stones, rocks. Strong and seemingly unbreakable. Yet, with time and pressure, it falls apart. The rocks crumble and breaks into sand, a softer material that is more pliable, easier to use.
Very similar to people, I'd suppose. We, as individuals, can only take so much before we crack and begin to crumble. Some of us are stronger than others, and last longer than maybe we should.
We went through so much. It still haunts us. I can see it in his clear blue eyes.
I feel for him more than anyone else. George Weasley. The boy who should have never been alone.
He lost his twin, his other half. And it shows. Every day he seems to retreat further into himself. He can't even look in the mirror anymore because every time he does, he sees Fred. The brother who never stood a chance.
It took a while, three months to be exact, before he let me in. After the war, he locked himself in his flat. His shop never opened. He never let anyone in.
We were all worried.
One day, I went up the stairs to his front door. I knew better than to knock, his charms and jinxes would only send me away, and I sat on the floor and began to speak. I told him about my parents, how they had been targeted after fifth year. How I had watched their torture. How they died completely insane. I told him how much it hurt to see. Then I told him how Fred saved me. How he made me laugh when I got to the Burrow. I told him how I fell in love. Then I spoke of the war. Of how scared I was, and how completely distraught I was to see him dead. I told him about how I murdered the death eater who had blown up the wall that crushed him. I didn't feel guilty, either. I told him that I was shunned. Harry had found out that I killed in cold blood. He told Ron, and now, neither speaks to me. I told him how alone I was. Then I stood up. I turned from the door and said to him,
"I came to say goodbye, George. I can't take it anymore. I- I have to go. I'm going to live with my adopted mother. She's a muggle. And she's lonely, I think. Her daughter moved away, so I offered to go back. I'm probably not going to return, George. I think I'm done with the wizarding world. I've been tortured, I've been hunted, and now I'm so alone. I feel for you. I hope you let someone in soon, before you forget that they need you."
I left. I didn't see or hear the front door open. I suppose that's for the best. I might have never left if I saw him reaching out for me.
I did move in with my adoptive mum. Jackie has looked after me since my parents died. Her daughter and I were best friends as children.
A week later, I had a job in a book shop. Despite leaving my life behind, I still had a passion for reading and for knowledge.
I had only just started working there when he came in. I was stacking books on a shelf, alphabetising them. His arms slipped around me and I turned around, prepared to flee, when I saw him. He looked worse than anyone I had ever seen. I suppose we were very similar. I held him as he cried onto my shirt.
I brought him home with me, and I looked after him. He told me how he was scared. How Fred had always been the brave one. He told me about his childhood, and how much they relied on eachother. There was never a person who could come between them. He told me how angry he was at everyone. How he had confronted Harry and Ron for what they had done, and how both were now looking for me. I didn't care. He told me how he'd been looking for me, how he slept on the street outside the apartment because he was too scared to knock on the door. He told me how much he missed Fred.
That was ten months ago.
We looked after eachother, from then on. He became my best friend, and I his. Jackie once questioned whether we were together, and we had both laughed the suggestion off. It was the first time I had heard him laugh.
We'd both stopped using magic. It took George a long time to adjust to muggle life, and sometimes he slips up still, but he's improved so much. His father would be proud.
Time changes everything. It breaks people down until they're just a shell of who they once were, but sometimes, just sometimes, it brings them back as well. It certainly brought us back. We weren't healed of the horrors. I still can't sleep right through the night without someone to hold me. But it makes a start. And maybe, just maybe, this Christmas will bring more than just gifts. Maybe it will bring a miracle.