Harry Potter does not belong to me, I have merely borrowed the incredible characters of J.K. Rowling to write this. Long live the queen!
(Figuratively, of course, as that sentence may be considered blasphemous to my actual queen. Or something...)
Every Mirror
So typical of a man… George thought as he turned the smooth wood of his wand over and over in his hand. Always wanting what he can't have. He drew in a short, shuddering breath and glanced up through lowered lashes at the shiny glass in front of him.
The perfect gilded frame reflected light into his eyes, making him tear up. He blinked angrily and flicked the salty betrayal away with trembling fingers; yet still his vision remained blurry as he stared at the floor, never willing to view that cursed reflection.
It was his fault. Why? Why did he do it? He curled his fingers tightly into a fist and glared down at his scuffed shoes. His free hand came up, gently touching the tender, new flesh that the healers at St Mungo's had constructed on the side of his head.
'There you are,'one of them had said with a smile, 'whole again.' And oh, how that angered him. Whole? Whole? How could he ever be whole again?!
He coughed, and his throat rasped, his lungs rattled. He ripped the hand from his ear and hit his hip harshly, casting all thoughts from the stupid women at Mungo's. They had tried to get him to see, tried to get him to look, but he had refused. Just like before he couldn't see, refused to even try out of spite for himself.
"How could you?" He tried again, his voice barely human. "How could you be so stupid!? This is a war, there's no time for laughing! Keep your guard up you stupid, stupid excuse for a man!" He cried out softly.
"How could you leave me, F…" he quieted again, stuck on his name. "I'm falling apart without you. I miss you, you arrogant arse." He sniffed and tore his gaze from the floor to the perfect, shiny mirror in front of him. And his heart skipped a beat, for there right in front of him was… him. Battered, bruised and, god, did he really look that bad? It was hard to remember, it had been so long and the last time he was… no.
He blinked again, and swore that the salty tracks weren't from his tears.
He made to move forward and stumbled, and suddenly the illusion was broken. In front of him was not his better half, his entire life. It was a pained, downtrodden reflection of himself, and he was disgusted.
He sobbed and turned away, sinking to the floor.
He needn't bother finding the mirror he so desperately searched for; there was no need.
Because every mirror was the Mirror of Erised, to him.
A/N Here is my take on the effect of Fred on George, set a few months after the war. St. Mungoes were not able to construct a functioning ear for him, or re-attach his ear, but have managed, through complicated enchantments and an advanced version of the muggles' skin grafts to create a lifelike artificial one for him. You know, in my head :P
I hope you liked it! Please Favourite and Review, it lets me know if you like my work or not, and how I can improve :)