Author's Note: Before you start reading, if you haven't finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, don't continue. There will be spoilers. And, also, none of the characters are mine; they belong to J.K. Rowling. Now that that's over with, this is just a simple short story that I wrote after I finished Deathly Hallows, because I was unsatisfied with parts of it, especially after a particular death. I don't really plan on continuing with this one, and it's very rough, a quick little story as mine have a tendency to go. So, with that said, I hope you enjoy it! Constructive criticism is always welcome, good and bad.
The Small Things
Angelina Johnson sat on the far end of the long wooden table. The four of which had recently been replaced in the Great Hall now that the battle was over. She stared absently at the illusion of sky that was visible among the rafter in the ceiling. Dawn had been hours ago and clouds now moved slowly across the otherwise clear sky. She had crossed her feet underneath of her and she picked at a sandwich that had been brought over to her when the house elves sent up a feast.
Angelina broke up the food but didn't eat any of it. She could hear people at the opposite end of the Hall talking in loud voices, the dozens of conversations becoming mangled together creating a general hum in the background as she sat.
She was just as ecstatic as any of them at the recent defeat of the Dark Lord, but she had been avoiding their celebration. The aftermath of their struggle was still too much in her mind to enable her to be completely at ease.
Angelina looked across from her at the bodies of those who had been killed in the battle. She saw Colin Creevey, an underage wizard, but he had insisted on fighting with all of his will until the end; Lupin, a previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; a woman whom she did not know by name, but who was Lupin's wife; and, finally, Fred Weasley, a fellow Quidditch player when they had been in school, and one of her best friends.
Tears started to fall down her cheeks as she looked at Fred's body. She pulled her gaze up to the ceiling again and forced her eyelids shut to shield against the tears.
Angelina forced herself to cry silently so that she would not draw attention to herself. Despite her disapproval of such an early celebration, she refused to interrupt the excitement.
"Come on," said a voice behind her, "you should come join us."
George Weasley moved the plate that held the sandwich and took a seat next to Angelina on the table. He let his legs hang off of the end and leaned back on his hands, letting his arms support his weight. Angelina continued to look forward as she cried.
"Smile," he asked her, leaning over and nudging her shoulder with his.
Angelina turned her body to face him. She said nothing, but she cried just a little harder.
"Oi! Breathe!" George said with an air of lightheartedness. He smiled as he said it, sitting up to take the weight off of his arms.
"You should know me better than to ask that, George," she said, trying to regain control of her emotions and match her voice to the calmness in his.
"And, yet, here I am," he said matter-of-factly. "Ang," he continued playfully, "think about it, do you really think he'd want you to act like this about it? Because I would think that he'd want you to have a few laughs." George stopped and gave Angelina a serious look, but still managed to smile through it, "But, then again, who am I to tell you how he really felt?" George added rhetorically.
That add-on succeeded in making Angelina laugh, but she continued to cry through it, and George pulled her over to him with one arm, letting her lean into his shoulder.
Angelina was suddenly relieved that George didn't mind her tears and let herself sob uncontrollably into him. She tightened her arms around his mid-section and he wrapped his other arm around her, gently rubbing his hand into her back to soothe her.