Disclaimer: This applies to the whole story. Any recognizable Harry Potter characters, objects, events, places, scenes, quotes, et cetera do not belong to me. They belong to the wonderful JK Rowling and her associates. I am not making any profit through this piece and no trademark or copyright violation is intended. This story was made purely for the sake of my own amusement.
Summary: George is struggling to spend his first ever birthday without his brother. Entry for the Word Count Competition: Round 2.
A/N: Challenge on Megsy'42s Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum.
Taragh McCarthy's "The Word Count Competition": The Word Count Competition is a round by round, elimination challenge :) 1. Each round will start with a word limit and a prompt that must be used within the story that you write. 2. The word limits will start small and progressively get bigger. 3. But, don't worry, the length allowed for writing the stories will get bigger as the word count grows. 4. When each round concludes, one person will be voted out based on a rubric that I have put together.
Round 2: Word Limit: 1000 Words / Prompt: Stop the World / Due Date: April 5th 0004 GMT
The story itself is exactly 1000 words.
"Love knows not depth till the hour of separation." – Kahlil Gibran
A Fool's Day
The sweater lay wilted upon his lap, his fingers tracing the embellished "F" with care. His plucked at a loose strand of yellow yarn in its upper edge before smoothing it back against the knit. He had lost track of how long he had been sitting in the vacant room. He was exhausted and his eyes stung with the dryness caused by the hours of grief that had overwhelmed him the evening before.
It hadn't even been a full year since the War had ended and their—his—no, their birthday had arrived once again. He was a year older and couldn't even celebrate it with his other half. Eleven agonizing months and he knew there was always going to be an enormous gaping hole in his chest.
Everyone was moving on with their lives. Bill and Fleur were expecting; Ginny was engaged; Charlie had his dragons in Romania; Ron was completely head over heels in love with Hermione. Hell, even Percy had found himself a girlfriend who could tolerate him.
And as for George? Well, he was still trapped in the bind of coming to terms with his twin's death.
Why couldn't the world have stopped turning in a time when things were peaceful and innocent before all the carnage?
A lone tear managed to escape from the corner of his bloodshot eye, falling, almost instantly being absorbed by the wool.
He clutched the jumper desperately, fingers tangling within the knit.
It wasn't right…
"George?"
He didn't move with the exception of opening his sore eyes, ears perked grudgingly.
"Oi, George! You there?"
Someone—Ron by the sounds of it—was calling him from the fireplace in the living room.
He clenched his eyes shut, swallowing thickly. It was too much for him to handle. Why couldn't they all just let him suffocate with the memories of the past? He wasn't ready to face his family, not like this. Not without his brother and best friend.
Not without Fred.
Instead, he called out, "Yeah, sorry… I'll be at there in a few minutes, mate. Tell mum to start cutting the cake without me."
A mumbled agreement came from his younger brother and he was once again left alone to suffer in silence.
George lay back on the bed, feeling weighed down and miserable. He gnawed at his lip, wondering if his mother would hunt him down if he didn't show for the party and just stayed there. She probably would, considering that she already smothered and sobbed over him every time he went home for a visit.
His heart throbbed painfully. George hated being around his mother's once comforting presence. The look that would fill her eyes whenever she saw him was enough for George to contemplate never seeing her again. He knew that she saw Fred instead of him, but he also knew that leaving and never seeing her again would probably kill her. He didn't want that or his dad's anger on his conscience so he indulged her fussing without remark.
Sighing heavily, he worked gradually to get to his feet, sensitive to how his limbs ached with creaky stiffness. Subsequently, he glanced intently down at Fred's sweater, contemplating on what to do with it.
Carefully, as if it would unravel with the slightest of movements, George laid the jumper across the patchwork quilt adorning his brother's bed. He smoothed out the folds before standing straight.
He stared down at the article of clothing, an empty emotion scratching within his abdomen. It still felt too strange to see the sweater vacant of its previous owner.
His body moved at first against his will, his hands tugging his own pullover off and throwing it out the open door. The splayed jumper bearing the large "F" was over his head before he knew what was happening, and he urgently dragged his arms through the warm sleeves as if his life depended on it.
For all he knew, it did.
Soon enough he was staring down at the flat, wrinkle-free front of his chest. The same yellow thread was offensively sticking up again, and he quickly laid it flat once more.
He felt a little steadier now, a bit more whole (and less holey), like a smidgen of Fred was once again alive within him.
Before anything could change his mind, he made his way from the unused bedroom. He closed the door softly behind him, ignoring the abandoned jumper on the ground. The fire was dead in the hearth prior to the fist-full of Floo powder he threw in. He emerged in the Burrow's clutter kitchen, glad no one was present at that moment to see his grimace. Low chatter was distinguishable from the direction of the living room, and he tried desperately to ignore the wrenching in his gut.
He knew they were likely expecting him to play a massive hoax on everyone, or at least Percy, considering that it was April Fool's Day.
To be honest with himself, he hadn't felt like pranking for almost eleven months to the day. While the joke shop was booming as much as ever, but it no longer truly felt like Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Other than the inventing, he left most of the shop work to Verity.
He would think of some kind of joke to pull today though, for his brother wouldn't want him to not do at least one. It was tradition.
George sighed heavily and glanced toward the window. The fresh spring fields and budding flowers surrounding his childhood home were not what he glimpsed. Instead, his attention was caught by the freckled redhead returning his gaze through the glass.
He offered a sad smile.
"Happy birthday, Gred," he whispered.
His twin smiled back.
You too, Forge.
Straightening the jumper one last time for good measure and a tad bit of luck, George braced himself as he entered the living room.
It was still unbearable, but all he could do was hope it would get easier with time.
A/N: April Fool's Day, and I have been in a rather depressed state after reading some Fred-centric fanfiction. I wrote this to show my love for the Weasley twins. If there was one thing I could give George for his birthday, it would be his brother…
Please take some time to review and let me know what you think.
~Lira Veralily