More than Most
After so long, so much time spent fighting, it's understandable that many of us would find it hard to go straight back in to normal life. Even just finding the beauty in small things, like they suggest, is more difficult than I expected. Some of us – me included – were asked to see a man every few weeks, just to make sure. To make sure…
He asks questions and I answer them.
How are you feeling? Fine.
Have you had any more dreams? Every night.
Are they getting easier? Never.
He wants to know how well we are coping, he wants to know we're getting better. But I'm not.
I want to get better, but sleeping is difficult when you're haunted by the dead. Being awake should help, but it just serves as a reminder that those who visit me in my sleep are gone forever. I guess sometimes I feel guilty about being scared of the nightmares – because at least in them I get to see my brother. I get to tell him I'm sorry. I get to say good-bye.
I wake with a start, my breathing and my heartbeat faster than ever as I stare at the wall. Fred's name falls from my lips before I can stop it, and the tears come. There are arms around me and I hold them tight, trying to sort out what's real and what's not.
His smell. Real. The screams. Not Real. My sweat. Real. My tears. Real.
I think I have a handle on it now.
Neville is whispering in my ear, he's telling me everything is okay, that I'm okay. After a few deep breaths I think I have it under control. He summons a towel from the adjacent bathroom, and it races towards us. I watch it come, slowly at first – though I know it's not really moving slow. There's a flash in my mind, a memory. I scream out.
"Depulso," Neville calls quickly, and the towel halts, turns around and flies back to the bathroom. My hands are stretched out in front of me, and my eyes are wide.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I didn't mean to scare you." I can see it flying towards me, then stop. I feel so stupid, and shake my head. This problem has become bigger, has raged out of control. That charm has become my go to, as I forget that my mind cannot handle items – streaks of colour – racing towards me.
How did it get this bad?
Neville's hand rubs my back as I mumble nonsense to him. He understands, more than most, he gets me.
A/N: Words – 435
DADA - "use Depulso.." GTEra - Ginny and Neville.