Intertwined Souls by Darcy/nothingville

Notes: Originally written for The Time Turner magazine on Enchanted Sanctum.

Disclaimer: All characters from the HP universe belong to J. K. Rowling.


Paris was the trigger that blew me back to the past.

I went to a concert. Alone, of course, my best friend had deserted me for another companion.

It was a spectacular concert, not that I enjoyed it. Indeed, I emerged from the theatre sweating, although the night was cool. I was shaken. I had had a gun pointed at my head, blasting me back to what had been.

I remember the lights. I remember the screams and shouts. I remember the laughter. I was angry at the concert. I wanted to burst out of the double doors and run away, but I could not. The concert was a parody of the past. Of the distant past that seemed but a second away.

He was all that I had.

I stumbled back to my hotel room, scaring the manager on the way. I must have looked like a common drunk, clothes all ragged, smelling of cheap drink. Once in the room, I opened a bottle of firewhisky and drank the lot, gasping.

He would have shared it with me, but he was gone.

I slept on satin sheets. I felt guilty when I woke up. The sheets stained with the dirt I'd brought in the night before. The carpet still wet from the splatters of vomit. I hated the sight. It showed how much I had cared for him. Too bloody much. I needed another drink.

I staggered over to the bar. A face that was not mine looked at me from the mirror above the bar. Bloodshot eyes, a broken nose. Lips cracked and bleeding and hair all messed up. Clothes torn, ripped. I wanted to break the mirror. I did.

He would not have wanted me to turn out this way.

I cried, blood mixing with my tears as I covered my face with my injured hands. I wanted him back. I wanted him to be with me. We were supposed to be together, for as long as we lived. We promised that we would die together.

Was it he or I that broke that childish promise?

I remember his laugh. I remember the smell of his hair. I remember the games he played. I remember the ideas he had. I remember the scoldings he got into. I punched the floor once, twice. Memories would not bring him back.

I wanted him, so much.

I went back home the next day, all sobered up. The manager was glad to see me go. I had caused so much damage in her hotel room. I didn't care. I was reckless.

I cried again at home. The house smelled of him. The rooms were faded, as if only he could bring them back to life again. Too much.

Why should I torture myself like this?

I went to visit him. Red soil, white marble, blackened roses. Words carved on the marble were unfamiliar; I had not bothered with the arrangements. I was too depressed at the time. A part of me was buried with him. I felt numb.

I laid down a letter. I placed white roses. I cried once more.

I said my goodbye.

To my brother.

To my 'other half'.

To my best friend who deserted me for another companion, Death.

I love you.

I miss you.

I want you.

I made a promise that I would keep.

Hear me, brother?

I will live for you.


Narrator is George, the brother is Fred (no-brainer).