Written for Harry Potter Prompts!
Prompt:
Quote: "There it goes again. That heavy feeling in your chest when you don't feel any desire to speak or move. All you want to do is close your eyes and sleep, because the process of being broken is incredibly exhausting. You attempt your best to make your days seem fulfilling, but no matter how hard you try you can't seem to connect to anyone or anything."
Written for Hogwarts. Event: Treasure Hunt.
Restriction: No '?'
A/N: I don't even know why I wrote this. Probably just to match the dull atmosphere of the day... read at your own risk!
Gone
You settle down at the kitchen table and stare at the chair which used to be occupied whenever you sat in yours. Hermione puts a plate of breakfast in front of you; you pay no heed. Your mum hasn't cooked in days.
You look across the table: Percy is eating with his head down, not boring anyone with cauldron reports; Bill and Fleur are sitting on the couch, staring at the family clock where the hands are down to nine again; Ron has not touched the food piled in front of him; your dad hasn't asked about eckletric switches and feletones from Hermione or Harry in days. Nothing is normal.
It seems as if an army of dementors is present outside the Burrow. Has sucked the life out of it.
"Mum, can we stay here for the night," you hear Bill say.
Your chest clenches as she merely nods at him. Once, your mother would have scolded him for even asking this question.
"Fleur, you can bunk in with Hermione and Ginny," your dad says. "Bill, you can take F-Fr—Fred's bed."
There it goes again. That heavy feeling in your chest when you don't feel any desire to speak or move. All you want to do is close your eyes and sleep, because the process of being broken is incredibly exhausting. You attempt your best to make your days seem fulfilling, but no matter how hard you try you can't seem to connect to anyone or anything.
The only person who could have understood you is gone.
Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Percy lower his head; he still hasn't forgiven himself.
Neither have you.
Fred didn't have to die. You could have died instead. You should have died instead.
You pick up a spoon and stare at it. You find Fred staring back at you. The pain is unbearable.
The spoon drops on the floor with a clang. You find yourself kicking the table. Standing up, you storm out of the room. The pitiful stares of your family burn holes into the back of your head.
You don't need their pity. You don't need them. You don't need anyone or anything—the only person you want is gone.
Gone!
That word rings in your ears. Your vision gets blurred as tears form in your eyes. Black spots appear; you see his face, and then, you see no more.