A/N: Suddenly become a little obsessed with writing about the Weasley's. Written for Challenge #46 on Bellatrix Lestrange, The Dark Lord's Most Faithful Forum.
"This fortnight's challenge is 'times of day' (or night). For this challenge, I want you to set or focus your fic at a specific time, be that either an exact hour (X o'clock) or something more vague, like afternoon. The time can be either a prominent feature, or just a subtle reference, as long as it's included.
And, to return us to our challenge roots, so to speak, the word limits are either 100 or 500 words (give or take a few.)"
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
George turns onto his side in his bed, but can not get comfortable enough to fall into an often interrupted asleep.
Sitting up and glancing out of the window, George feels – if possible – even more lonely and misunderstood and terrified and grief-struck.
The sunset outside has just begun; the sun itself is on the horizon, threatening to disappear from the view the Burrow offers. Deep red, orange, blue and green spread across the sky, and the shadows of Ottery St Catchpole are silhouetted against the brightness of the colours.
George shudders against imaginary coldness, his tears shutting out his vision, but remembers the many times he and Fred – Fred, Fred, Fred – would race along on their Cleansweep Five broomsticks at this time of day, throwing a Gnome – because, really, they found it so much more challenging than a Quaffle – that they had not deposited of during the de-gnoming and denying their younger siblings the privilege of joining the game.
It is as if the world constantly feels the desire to punish George, because everywhere he goes, he can not stay there without thinking of his dead twin. So it is rare for George to stay at the Burrow – here, of course, is where he and Fred shared so many memories.
However, as much as he tries to stay away from it, he finds himself being dragged to the Burrow – like a force he can not repel.
Does the world really think that George does not go through enough torture without having this added on? Does it really believe George doesn't wish that he was the one who had been taken from life, instead of Fred?
And George is torn between hate – loathing – detest – and love – appreciation – adoration – for the sunset that comes and goes every day.
Thank God for Angelina.