A/N: Thanks for clicking on this story, I hope you enjoy it!
This is my entry for Round 4 on the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition forum. The challenge was to write an angst story between 1000 and 3000 words, with the prompts stupid, bed and black.
Also, a huge thank you for gote, for beta'ing and helping me with this story! Thank you!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
For Two
Shock.
He must've gotten hit in his stomach; all the air was punched out of his lungs. For a long moment he couldn't breathe, everything around him going black. Only one thing remained, one image burned itself in his mind, making him see it even when he closed his eyes.
A body. A red-haired body, laying motionless on the ground, the robes standing out against the grey floor. The face pale, making the freckles even more apparent; the eyes closed, the lips still half-smiling.
For a fraction of a second, he believed this all to be a dream. A nightmare. He hoped it was, because then it wouldn't be real. Just something that happens in your mind when you're asleep. You would wake up in your bed, breathing heavily, and then you would realise it was just a dream, calm down, and go back to sleep again.
George expected to wake up every moment, to open his eyes and see the familiar ceiling, to notice that those stupid blankets had fallen off his bed once again, and most of all, to realise that this all had been a bad dream.
Then realisation hit.
It ripped out his heart and filled his eyes with burning tears. He dropped on the ground, not feeling the pain when his knees hit the stone floor. Everything was numbed by the overpowering pain of his loss, the loss of the thing what was most important to him, the loss of his other half.
His twin brother.
Without being able to think about anything else than the mantra Fred dead Fred dead Fred dead he rested his head on his brother's unmoving chest, crying. His hands were clutching at his clothes; his heart clutching to the futile hope that his tears would bring him back to life.
They didn't.
The curtains were closed, the door too. The room was completely closed off from the outside, just like the person laying on the bed. His eyes were closed, his mouth a thin line. He had been laying here since it had ended.
George shuddered when he thought back at it.
The funeral. No, not the, but his.
Fred's.
It had felt like his brother had died again. The coffin disappearing in the ground had something final, though George still struggled to acknowledge that Fred was now really gone. How could he? It was like a part of himself had died.
He hadn't cried. George couldn't cry anymore. He had run out of tears. Instead, he had just sat there, numb, staring at nothing. The funeral had felt so wrong. Everyone had been silent, and despite the shining sun, it had felt like it was the coldest day of the year. People had clung to each other, some sniffling, some sobbing. It was so very unlike Fred, but at the same time it reflected his own feelings so very perfectly.
At the funeral, everyone had been able to say something, to murmur some words, but he hadn't been able to open his mouth. It wasn't like he had nothing to say to Fred, because there were still so many things he wanted to say to his brother, but he wanted to say them to Fred, not to some coffin. Not to some corpse.
It was nothing he hadn't told him before. It was nothing that Fred didn't know already. The usual mushy stuff. But still, George wished he had been able to say goodbye to him.
It was cruel that death had parted them so early. Cruel, extremely cruel, and it felt so incredibly unnecessary. What was the point in dying?
What was the point in living? What was the point in living on, without him?
He wasn't whole anymore. Maybe that was his punishment, for still being alive, while his brother was dead. They were twins, they were supposed to be there for each other. He hadn't been there when Fred had needed him, and now...
He should've been there! He should've been there, with Fred, he should've protected his brother, should've pushed him out of the way, should've taken that hit himself. Why was he still alive? Why?
He didn't deserve to be alive. He hadn't been there to protect his brother, he deserved to die.
Slowly, George pushed himself upright on his bed, and stared at the curtains. He got up, and walked very calmly towards the window, deliberately taking each step. Moonlight fell into the room when he opened the curtains, and a cool breeze blew inside when the window was opened.
The window was high above the ground. If he jumped...
It was such an easy solution. He would be with Fred again, and he wouldn't feel this hurt anymore. His guilt would be gone, he would be happy again. It was so easy...
Still standing in front of the window, he closed his eyes. Silent and unmoving he stood there, thinking. An unknown amount of time passed, but when George opened his eyes again, the sun was just starting to rise.
In wonder, he stared at it. The night was over, it was morning. Another day.
Was Fred worth dying for? Of course he was, George didn't doubt that. But that wasn't the right question to ask himself.
Fred wasn't the only person in his life. There was still his family, and his friends. And what about the shop? His brother wouldn't want it to stop, wouldn't it to die. Fred wouldn't want him to die either.
Yes, Fred was worthy to die for, but his own life was worth living. Fred was worth living for. He owed it to Fred to live his life. He owed it to Fred to do the things he couldn't do anymore. He owed it to him.
With a shaky breath, George closed the window. Fred died for a noble cause, a better world, and he had been seriously thinking to throw that away? Disgusted with himself, George shook his head. His brother would've been ashamed.
George would live. He had to live, for Fred. The hollow feeling in his chest, that hole in his heart, that would never go away, but he would live.
Because he lived for two.
A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :) Please tell me what you thought about it in a review!
Thanks again!