What is grief? He asks himself.
Grief, he thought, was hearing news of his uncle's death, at age 10. He thought of the joy he brought them- the laughs.
Grief, he thought, was his sister being dragged into the Chamber of Secrets. He thought of the regret they felt, the horror, that they hadn't helped her.
Grief, he thought, was his big brother leaving their home in a fit of fury, and thinking just a little bit that it was their fault that he didn't talk to them anymore.
Grief, he thought, was his father ending up in hospital, nearly dying for a cause they were yet to learn of.
Grief, he thought, was the loss of Sirius, wishing that he could have had one last laugh with them before he was gone.
Grief, he thought, was seeing his baby brother in the hospital wing, nearly dead. He thought of how long they had waited for him down in Hogsmeade.
Grief, he thought, was Dumbledore- a great leader, no matter his faults- lying at the foot of the Astronomy Tower, his mother sobbing as she said the words to them.
Grief, he thought, was his big brother announcing the death of a man they had always respected.
Grief, he thought, was seeing the Order members laid out in front of them, already too gone for them to say goodbye.
Now he sits in the Great Hall, waiting. He sits alone, and sees them come in. One, two, three, four- and not quite a five. He feels his stomach clench, his breath catch, his eyes water, his legs stiffen.
It's the shake in Ron's shoulders.
The regret in Percy's eyes.
The hollowness in Hermione's eyes.
The agony in Harry's face.
Soon it will be the scream in his mother's throat.
The disbelief in Ginny's voice.
The limpness in his father's body.
He seems him there, on the floor, surrounded by their family. He thinks of the weddings he'll miss, the nieces and nephews he'll never hold, the love and family of his own that he'll never have or experience.
It's seven becoming six. It's a missing half of a phrase. It's their memories becoming his.
What is grief? He asks himself.
This, George thinks. This is Grief.
