Summery: "I need help, George." My voice falters, I haven't had to do this a while, I didn't need help from any one. But in a time like this, George's happiness is more important than my pride, I can act the helpless sister if it will help him.
Through her eyes
It's been one month, two weeks and four days, I've been counting. He left his bedroom for the first time last week. Normally when he disappears for that long we hear noises, exploding, snapping, and we'll see the occasional smoke seeping out of the room. Normally when he disappears for that long, he's not alone.
The house is dead, and the talking is fake. Harry's been around a lot, I'm glad; he's the only one I really talk to now. Normally I talk to them about everything; I went to them for help, they made me laugh, cry, scream. But nothing is normal anymore; the room has been quite, George won't talk to me, and Fred is gone.
I can't stand it. I don't believe it. I keep feeling like he'll jump out and yell 'just kidding!!' laugh his laugh that I miss so much, and ask 'it was a good joke, right? Not too over the top?' I would hit him; yell at him for doing it. I would curse him and scream at him. But I would love it. I would love for this all to be some horrible, twisted joke. But it's not; we buried his body, two days after everything was over. It was good funeral, he lies in the same grounds as Remus and Tonks, and I visit him regularly. Harry helped pay for a lot of the funeral, we tried to tell him no, but he wouldn't listen, said it was the least he could do.
For a while Harry would tell me it was his fault, that he should have been there, or he shouldn't have brought everyone into it. He was going on about how he should have keep it between him and voldemart, no one else. He would go on and on for hours, until I snapped one day and slapped him.
I hit him hard across the face, tears falling from my eyes; I yelled at him, I yelled that it wasn't his fault and how he can't blame himself. Said, out of everything let Fred keep his good death, he died doing what he wanted, he died fighting. I told Harry that Fred knew the risks and I told him how he wanted help. Through my tears I told Harry that Fred had a good strong death, and told him, that he can't take that away from him, it's the death he would have liked. It was that night that I slept out side on the garden bench, protected by Harry.
When I walked in the house the next morning, Harry behind me, my mom gave us disappointed look to both of us but said nothing, she understood, even though she didn't like it.
It funny, I can still hear him. I still see him walking in the house. Make everyone laugh and finishing George's thoughts.
George. Dear George. He's the worst out of all of us, he doesn't seem to be living anymore; like I said before, the whole house is dead. Sometimes I wish it was me who died; sometimes I wish Fred was here in my place.
I'm looking out my window, knowing that the room right next to mine that holds George is silent, I need go talk to him I need to open his door and get him to live again. I need him to live again, if not for himself, than for me.
"George?" it's surprising that he didn't lock his room, I never tried to open it, just assuming he locked it. "Can I come in?" not that what he says matters but I figure it's better to ask.
The room is dark, it like he's trying to drown himself in darkness, it's not at all like George, or at least like the one I knew, the one Fred knew. If there's one I thing I know about George it's that like Fred they would go to all lengths to make me happy, somehow I think they took pride in knowing they could always make me laugh and feel better. Somehow I think my happiness brought them happiness too. Seeing him, hunched in a corner not even realizing that I walked in, shows how much he needs my help now. Of course because I know I my brothers so well, I know that I can say tell them that they need help, and that I'm going to help them, no, I have go at the whole ordeal backwards.
"I need help, George." My voice falters, I haven't had to do this a while, I refused to do it; I was showing my brothers, all of them not just the twins, that I was fine on my own. I didn't need help from anyone. But in a time like this, George's happiness is more important than my pride, I can act the helpless sister if it will help him.
His figure moves in darkness. "Please, George." I'm crying, I don't know why I crying, I never meant to cry. Even still he turns around a see me standing in his door way, shoulders shaking.
I'm kind of pissed that I'm crying, I meant to play the act of the sister who needs her older brother, but I never meant to cry. I haven't cried in front of any of them in years. Even when everyone was dieing at the last battle I didn't cry. I wanted to, but I knew I had to stay strong. Through my now blurring vision because of these cursed tears, I see him patting his bed. It a signal for me to go and sit with him, it his way of telling me, he'll help. Instead I head to his arms, I let him wrap his arms around me rocking me like how the two of them would when I was upset; back when I needed help.
He was doing Fred's job too. You see, I would sit on Fred but hugging George, and Fred would have is arms around me while George rubbed my back. We would sit like this until I stop crying. But today in their room George is doing it all, it feels strange, but then again everything feels strange now. I can help but to wonder if George thinks it feels strange, too.
The tears come to an end, and I shift off of him sitting what would be in the middle of two of my brothers if the other one was here.
"there," his voice was raspy from not using it, "haven't done that in a while."
I give him I shifted smile, "I miss him." I don't have to say who I miss, it unspoken, but there no mistaking who I mean.
"Me too, Gin, Me too." I was losing him, I could tell; so I lean my head on his shoulder, hoping that he'll say something. The silence in the room is too much I want to say something but the words are failing me.
I slip back into my younger self, the person that asked question with out caring if they were dumb, back to the girl who let her brothers take everything away, all the pain and sadness away, "do you think he's happy?"
"Yeah, yeah I really do."
I can feel the tears coming again, damn it; why does my body hate me? I sniff to make them go away; though I know they are only lying dormant and will come back again.
At my sniff, George looks at me, "you know what Gin?"
I can't help but to ask, "What" a curious look crosses my face, a face I haven't let on in while.
"I bet… where ever he is. I bet you anything; He's setting off dung bombs, traps, jokes. Passing out puking pusels, nose bleeds"
"Don't forget about, faiting." I raise my head smiling, it's like I'm a little girl again, completely sad and miserable one moment but laughing the next.
I see George looking at me; his face is a little brighter. My eyes start to tear again, and cruse the fact that I can't hold them back anymore. He put his arms around me pulls me into hug, his shoulders shaking.
He's crying. It's making me cry harder. We sit on Fred's lower bunk in each other arms crying. The whole time he's telling that I need to stop crying, Fred would have wanted us to be happy. I couldn't tell if he was telling me or himself.
"there." He pulls away, "that was our cry. It's been one month, two weeks and four days; I think we have to moved on."
There that's what I wanted him to say, that's what I needed him to say. It going to be ok now, he's moving on.
"But why?" the words fell from my mouth before I could stop them. My job was done, I didn't need to be the helpless sister anymore and yet the childish words still were falling out of my mouth.
He hugged me again, "cuz Gin, he… Fred, would want us to be happy." He touched my chin and I couldn't help but to smile. "There. That's what he wants to see. He wants to us living again."
It's strange. It truly strange, for the past three years I didn't let anything effect me, the war was raging and people still had no clue. The only way to survive was to block out everything. Then last year I started to open up, or open up to Harry at least. But that that ended poorly and was I stuck at school, forced to stay in the safety, yet not so safe, of Hogwarts. There I became completely like stone, news of people dying and fleeing was every where. I started craving to get hit or cursed by those brothers who were taking over Hogwarts, because then I least I knew I was living and that I could still feel.
Slowly everything I wasn't feeling was building up into rage, and I used that rage. In that last battle I put everything I could into every curse I said, all my anger from three years of feeling nothing all being used in one battle. It was beautiful. I don't know how else to say it. The fighting and the dying were horrible but letting everything out was an amazing feeling, a beautiful feeling. Then it happened, one month, two weeks and four days ago, he died. In that same battle I was letting out everything, they took something I wasn't giving.
It's selfish, I know. And I know I don't have a claim on my brother, but he was mine. He was my brother, and I was his only sister, and they took him. I died again. I guess I haven't lived sense. I always figure I'd do things on my own. I thought I was strong enough person to take care of myself. I grew up fast, I grew up too fast, this war made me grow up, it made me grow up strong. Or it made me grow up thinking I was strong.
And that's why it's strange; it's strange that I went to help my brother, thinking he needed help and I could help him because I was strong. But he helped me. He showed me that it's ok to cry, it's ok to feel helpless, because we all will feel helpless and it's the strong ones who embrace it and live with it.
So we helped each other, my brother and I, and we will always help each other. I helped him to start living again. And he showed me I wasn't living at all.
I guess some part of me will always be that helpless sister who goes to her brothers to cry, and you know what? That is just the way I want it.