Why Do I Still Do This?

by Laurellas

George and a mirror. It's tiny really, I just suddenly had the urge to write it. Post Deathly Hallows, about 3 years after Roxanne was born. Rated M for one use of language, probably the wrong rating anyway, meh.

I don't know why I do this. I know what the result will be, every single fucking time. It's never any different. So why do I keep doing it?

My eyes greedily drink in the reflection in the mirror. It's easy to ignore any discrepancies, one ear instead of two. The face in the mirror is older than it should be, but I don't really care. It's not my face I'm looking for here, most people wouldn't quite get it, they'd just see a stupid git grinning like an idiot, staring at his own reflection.

I reach out a hand to touch the bathroom mirror, a single tear leaks out and leaves a trail down my cheek.

"George!" I can hear Angelina shouting faintly from downstairs. "Roxanne's refusing to eat her dinner, could you come and give me a hand?"

I clear my throat "Sure, I'll be down in a minute." I wipe away the dampness on my cheek, run my eyes over the face once more and turn to leave. I'll be back up here again, no idea when, but it'll happen. It's pretty inevitable, I just wish it wouldn't end the same way.