Hello! I've had this in my notes for too long and thought it would be nice to upload it...
It was a sad dream, the kind you wake up from with tears but initially have trouble remembering why. Afterward, I couldn't get this image out of my head. This is short and my very first Harry Potter piece but I hope you enjoy it. It may be silly, but my heart still bleeds for you, George. Takes place in The Great Hall, right after Fred's passing.
"I need to fight! I need to avenge him, I'm alright, let me fight!" George pushed himself up, wobbling drunkenly with grief before planting himself weakly in place. Molly Weasley's eyes welled as she could only stare back at him. She, as well as everyone else, could not see past his pain.
"Stop staring at me like I'm broke, I have a wand! Let me fight!" His newly small stature and devastated expression said otherwise. The decision cemented within her, enough was enough.
"Alright, dear." She murmured, approaching him slowly, cautiously. She needed to steady him, she needed him not to run. Delicately, her beaten fingers touched his hair. A second passed before his wide-eyes seized into a delayed flinch. She remained, her hand levitating soothingly above his cheek. "But first, have a drink. You're not well. As soon as you drink, you can fight." She pushed a small carton gently into his grasp. He stared down at it, surprised by its sudden existence. The expired milk smelled perversely sweet as he lifted the beaten carton to his lips.
A short second passed between the cool liquid splashing against his lips and his body giving in to the power of the sleep elixir. The carton slipped out of his grip and his body crumbled, spilling to the ground as his mother caught him in her waiting arms. Molly waved Ron over to help move the incapacitated George next to his brother.
The cement floor of The Great Hall should have felt cold against George's body, but all he felt was heavy warmth weighing down on each limb. Without needing to look, he felt his brother's skin. He felt his brother's presence radiating next to him. Finally, he found it in himself to break the silence, his voice sounding odd even to himself as it croaked and cracked.
"Hey, Freddie. The cow, what sound does it make?"
A long foreign silence followed the skipped beat as he waited, before pitifully finished the sentiment:
-"moove."-
His head lulled upward as his vision hazily focused on his brother's peaceful sleeping face. Tears flooded over as the heavy weight over his eyes closed.