Hey! I've had this evil plot bunny in my head for a while, growing evilly. And as I don't have a Holy Hand Grenade, I figured I'd write the damn thing and get it out so others could be mauled, yes?
I own nothing except the plot.
Every year.
Every year for the past six years he'd come to this place, the one time when he was not the life of the party. Indeed, generally the place was too packed for anyone to notice or take pity on a red-haired man sitting on his own in the dark corner of the crowded bar, with the air multicolored hues from smoke and the residue of some fireworks some fool has set off inside.
Every year he requested two firewhiskeys, and sat down at a rickety little table in the back room It had been here, seven years ago that the two of them had planned called on Dumbledore's Army, and the Order of the Phoenix, ultimately bringing about the end of an evil so great, the people still did not speak its name.
They called him a Hero.
He didn't feel like one.
He could still hear his mother calling his voice as he barreled out of Hogwarts in search of something, anything evil to attack, to kill. But even as he cursed and hexed, he knew nothing could end the pain he felt.
Losing the other half of his soul.
He envied Lupin and Tonks, just a little bit, for their bodies had been laid together, even death could not seperate the couple who had fought so hard to be together.
He collected his drinks, sat down at his customary table.
And began to speak.
"James turns one in a couple of weeks, isn't that amazing? I can still see Ron's face when Ginny told him she was pregnant, I thought he was going to explode! And by the way she's glowing, I'd say they were at it again, it's a bit disgusting' they breed like rabbits, the pair of them. 'Mione looks like she's about to burst, and her knitting has really improved..." he went on for a while, laughing at his jokes, just chatting with his twin as if he was there.
And deep down in his heart, George believed he was.
His voice grew more somber; "Mum passed away this spring, but I reckon you already knew that, didn't you? She went totally nuts, tried to make Dad promise he wouldn't touch a single muggle thing after she passed. Honestly," he continued, adopting his mother's voice. "I don't know how I can just go like this and leave you helpless. You'd think she was planning a flaming holiday." He rubbed a burn mark left on the table. "I got engaged. I know you're calling me a git, but you know how I've always felt about Angela, I want to spend the rest of my life with her, though god knows we'll drive each other mad inside a week."
George looked across the crowded pub. He recognised most there, if not personally, then because of his large business. He kept the cowl on, however; this was a night he shared with one person alone.
The night continued, and as it grew late, he made his toast.
"To us, then, as it were. The triumphant, and the eternal struggle of good vs. evil," his voice grew quiet. "And to you, bro, for making me live."
He clicked his glass against the one sitting on the table, and threw the shot down his throat. Then, without a backwards glance, he drew on his cloak, and walked out the door.
If he'd looked back, he might have seen that both shot glasses were now empty, and a glistening drop of water graced the table beside it. He might have noticed the chair he'd been across from had moved, as if its occupant had left it.
He might have. Then again, in the six years, he hadn't noticed yet.
So that was my first one-shot. Give me a break and review, ok?