Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. This story deals with the slow death of the narrator. Please exercise understanding of personal sensitivities before and while reading.

Song Recommendation(s): "Black Water" by Of Monsters and Men

Author's Note (01): This piece belongs in the same 'verse as Through the Storm, and it takes place during the first portions of that fic. While care has been taken that this piece is able to stand-alone, reading Through the Storm will enhance the enjoyment of this piece. As a companion piece, this work would also enhance the enjoyment of the other works in The Quiet Calm series.

Author's Note (02): This piece was written for the Houses Competition on the FFN Forums.

The Houses Competition Information:
House: Hufflepuff
Category: Short
Prompts: Running out of Time
Word Count: 1179

-= LP =-

Suffer the Sea

-= LP =-

Swallowed by a vicious vengeful sea
Darker days are raining over me
In the deepest depths I lost myself
See myself through someone else
– Of Monsters and Men, "Black Water"

-= LP =-

George had known he was dying since the moment he felt Fred being ripped from him. He could feel the slow seeping of his magic as it tried to follow his twin. Fred had never before gone anywhere that George could not follow, and they had never been apart in their twenty years of life. Those first few hours had hurt the worst; there had been more than a few times when timely interference had been the only thing which curbed his recklessness.

Somehow, he had managed to survive that awful battle.

Somehow, he had woke up the next morning.

Somehow, he had managed to pull together enough of a parody of life to be allowed to return to the tiny flat above the shop.

Somehow, he managed to push away the intimate knowledge of slowly bleeding lifeforce out of a wound that had once been his twin. He took a page out of Percy's book and focused only on the task in front of him, knowing that if he dared to look around to see how the world was somehow still going on that he would not have the willpower to fight against the impending death. He only had to last long enough to get their affairs in order, to make sure their dreams didn't die with them.

There was a frenzy of marriages in those first few months—love forged in the heat of battle and consummated with the sweetness of victory. Each new couple brought the shadow of a smile to his lips. He left a knut on the mantle when Alicia had tackled Katie in an enthusiastic kiss following a hard won victory by Katie's team, the Apples. Fred had been right about those two and deserved his winnings. Lee had fumblingly asked for his permission to ask Angelina out finally, as if George could give such permission when it should have been Fred because it would have been Fred who would have been jealous and hurt and broken-hearted. Of course, George had smiled and reassured Lee that it was fine, no hard feelings, because how could he ever begin to explain the feeling that maybe, in another world, where Fred was still alive or where he was strong enough to seal the bond that was still leaking and aching—well, the possibilities didn't matter, did they?

Because George knew it was only a matter of time before he finally caught up with Fred, and they had both loved Angelina enough to want her to be happy.

Harry and Ginny both started coming around to see him, but they never came together. George knew what his family and most of their friends wanted—how they were expecting the pair to get back together. Maybe at one point they would, but George doubted it. They had all come out of the war with jagged edges and Harry's no longer fit with Ginny's like they once had, not in the way needed to become the great love story everyone wanted. They both still loved each other and they still had a measure of understanding that reminded George painfully of what he had once had Fred.

The expectation of a relationship was wearing on both of them, and it seemed like George was the only one who could see that. Harry would never leave Britain, at least not this soon after the war, when all the wounds were still so fresh. If George was honest, he knew that it was himself that Harry wouldn't leave, knowing without knowing as Harry was wont to do when it came the infamous Weasley twins that Harry was the force getting George through just one more day sometimes. So George had laid a kiss on his baby sister's forehead and whispered an encouragement for her to run and as far away as she needed to in order to find a happiness which was her own.

George was sure that Fred would have been pleased as punch with her choices in companionship. What else would be able to balance out the Weasley temper than the gentleness of an artist and the flexibility that came with having almost everything explode on oneself? George shared a smirk with Harry when the family had received the first letter and each left their secret unsaid. Ginny would reveal her unconventional relationship eventually, when the time came for it.

As the New Year dawned, George felt the inevitable clock beginning to wind down. It wouldn't be much longer now. He got tired more easily—it was Lee who manned the shop more often than not anymore. George began to detail his research notes, removing the secret code they were in, the one which only he and Fred had known until Harry had figured it out some time in the immediate aftermath of the war. He finalized what projects he could, and Harry stayed silent at his side as he prepared.

George could see the growing fear and made sure to genuinely smile at the boy who had grown up too fast, much too fast. Most of the time, Harry's quiet worry was reassuring—Fred had once wondered how such a sweet disposition had survived growing up with such horrible relatives and George could only see Harry's worry as proof that the Dursleys hadn't destroyed everything good about the boy. Other times, George could only see how utterly alone Harry would be without him, and there didn't seem to be enough time to prepare for the fallout of his death, not for Harry.

The end was coming and George was torn between joyously welcoming it and drowning in sheer terror of the unknown.

It all came to a head the night before his twenty-first birthday.

"How does it feel to die?" he asked Harry. It was a topic which they had avoided these past eleven months, through unspoken agreement. George wouldn't have dared to ask now if he hadn't felt the clock ticking in minutes rather than days. He was running out of time; he was running towards a fate he wanted more than anything. He was just so tired.

"It's as easy as falling asleep," Harry whispered in return, and the words sounded like an echo. George could feel the fear washing away, leaving only the weary desire to Fred again.

Harry didn't mention how he knew that the question had a purpose, even as they laid out plans for the next day that they both knew wouldn't matter. George didn't tease Harry about his reluctance to leave, knowing that Harry had an intense need to take care of those he loved, to protect them from everything he could and in any way that he could. Harry did eventually return to his home, unwilling to cross whatever boundary someone had set for him.

That night, sleep took him over as if he was falling into black water, closing over his head like an endless sea. Instead of fighting for the surface, George willingly let go of himself.

Drowning was a lot like sleeping, just like Harry had promised.