Title: Fall
Author: Pareidolia
Disclaimer: HOLD ON TO YOUR LAWYERS! JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, George Weasley, Fred Weasley, and any other Weasley you can think of! She even owns me, in a metaphorical sense.
Warning:This story contains very, very, very mild slash. In fact, you could even call it preslash. Becuase that's what it is. Preslash.
Summary:With the death of his other half, George falls. Now an empty shell, there's nothing to do but fall again. PRESLASH, GWHP.
A/N:Wow. This little prologue has become on of my most successful stories, if you consider this is only one little smidge of writing. This story is very dear to me, as it is one of the first I've ever written in the Harry Potter fandom. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
Thirty two days, forty hours, and eight minutes.
An angel, fallen, but otherwise unharmed, stares at the ceiling and sees absolutely nothing. He closes his eyes and stops his breathing when he hears someone enter the dormitory.
Thirty two days, forty hours, and eight minutes since Fred had been taken from him. Thirty two days, forty hours, and eight minutes of nothingness. George had hardly spoken to anyone, hadn't even shed a tear. His days were spent in solitude, remembering the good times he'd had with his other half.
The footsteps stop. He tenses up, waiting for the probable confrontation Ron and Ginny had in store for him. He can almost feel them reach out for the curtains. He tries to smile, the muscles stiff from disuse. The curtains fly open.
Thirty two days, forty hours, and nine minutes of walking around in a living coma. He agreed to everything, answered questions with a simple 'yes' or 'no'. He didn't remember it, but he agreed to go back to Hogwarts so that he would be with friends. Someone was always around to make sure he ate, slept, and bathed. Someone was always around to make sure he didn't end his own life.
His smile falters; he hadn't expected Harry Potter.
George vaguely remembers Harry staying at the Burrow that summer. He was always in the background, away from George, away from them all, afraid of intruding upon the family's grief.
Harry sits down on the bed and stares at him. He knows the young savior can see straight through his empty eyes, straight into his soul. He doesn't know why, but something about Harry's stare makes him panic, makes him want to hide. He closes his own eyes, still seeing the hauntingly beautiful green eyes of the intruder. He wants to scream, wants to make them go away.
Thirty two days, forty hours, and ten minutes since Fred died, and George began to feel again.
He feels a hand lightly brush his cheek. His hands clenches the bed sheet and, against his better judgment, looks up. Harry doesn't say anything, just stares. But that's all it takes. He lunges forward, grabbing hold of Harry like he's his last lifeline. And the tears come.
Thirty two days, forty hours, and eleven minutes ago, Fred was murdered. And for the first time since then, George can properly mourn. For the first time, he can begin to move on.
He sobs into Harry's shirt, pouring out his guilt, anger, sadness, and self-hatred into this one display of emotion, of life. Harry whispers comforting nonsense into his ears.
"...Fred wouldn't want this."
Thirty two days, forty hours, and twenty minutes since he first fell, and George realizes that what Harry said was all too true. Thirty two days, forty hours, and twenty minutes, he'd wasted.
He lets go of Harry and wipes his eyes dry. After a moment of silence, he looks up and faces his liberator. They don't exchange words, but they don't need to. The words are better left unsaid.
Thank you.
And even after everything that had happened, the angel is destined to fall again. Only this time, it would be for all the right reasons.
Because Harry Potter is worth falling for.
Thanks for reading! This'll become a full story one of these days. Please review!