After all I have done, all that has been done by others, all I have seen, I find myself at a standstill. I am in the great hall of a place I called home for seven years, dear Hogwarts. I am looking down at the lifeless body of my brother, Fred. His twin, George, looks up at me, his identical face screwed up and red with tears. I have nothing to say, for there is nothing I can say to bring him back. My mother is sobbing as well. I know I should be feeling... Something, but I can't. It's as if my brain has switched to something more reptilian. I see all the tragedy all around me, I know what I should feel, vaguely, but nothing comes until...
There. One touch of a hand at the small of my back. I haven't felt it for years, but it still has the same effect. I shudder in shame at the rush of excitement that flows through me, like it always has. I turn into what becomes an embrace because my little brother is dead, my family can't comprehend, and we are all so sadconfusedhateful.
I sob into his neck, like I did so many years ago, and I breathe in his scent.
Broom polish, cedar wood, broken rules, secret trysts, lust, love, Oliver.