Title: Points of War
Author: Calex
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nada. This is JK Rowling's.
The fall of Voldemort, while a joyous occasion, had also been hard for all those involved. People had lost friends, family, loved ones. Towards the end, the happy celebrations did not come, not to the extent that they all thought it would. They'd all lost far too much for them to rejoice upon the fall of the Great Dark Lord. Everyone's lives had been affected, and towards the end.....towards the end people were merely glad that it was over so that they could mourn their losses in peace.
The Golden Trio had fallen to one lone member; the faithful Ron Weasley died as a goad to the great Harry Potter, who himself died while killing Voldemort, from an Avada Kedavra curse thrown at the same time. Hermione Granger was the only one that was left, and she had nearly been driven mad by her losses. The death count for her was both her parents, Harry, Ron, Victor Krum, Dumbledore, Arthur Weasley and Minerva McGonagall. Her family, her friends, her loved ones.
And he? What had he lost? A father, three brothers, two ex-girlfriends, his headmaster, his best friend, and his twin. The Forge to his Greg, his mirror image, the other part of his soul. His brother had fallen by a killing curse meant for him. He still remembered the event as clearly as if it had been yesterday, as if it had been merely a few minutes ago. It should be a familiar sight, he saw it every night in his nightmares.
Fred....Fred had seen Marcus Flint raise his wand to him, to George, and had shouted a warning, knowing it was too late. He himself had frozen, and he remembered one thought flowing through his mind: this was it. Then he felt someone shove him, and heard a cry, his? Fred's? and fell, fell, fell..... He hit the ground hard on his side, and a short time later, a second body fell beside him, and he blinked, thinking that it was himself. Except this one's eyes were wide open, tinged with green. His eyes, his face, but dead. That was when he realised that it was Fred.
He'd screamed. Screamed because he'd felt it before he saw it. Screamed because it had hurt, because he was not whole. Screamed because he was half a soul, half a man, because the other part of him had gone. Gone......it had hurt, still hurt. Hurt so badly. Bill had had to carry him away, kicking and screaming, and Bill was crying too, crying for another person in his family who had died.
Too late, too much. Too many memories, too many people grieving. What was the point? The point of the war, of the death, of the grief. They were gone, gone, gone. Gone forever, his, theirs, all of them. Gone. Ginny still went with Hermione to Ron and Harry's graves, both mourning. But Gin was lucky. Her loved one, her heart, was still alive, still breathing, still there. Ginny was Ginevra Malfoy, and she even had babies with the man she loved. She was lucky, and still had someone, even if it was Malfoy. He still thought that old Gin girl had gone mad for falling in love with the ferret king, but there you go. Proof that they were all insane, all starkers anyway.
And him? Was he as dead as his mother was? Crying all the time, eyes empty and swollen from tears that still fell, even when she was doing nothing and everything. Answer was.....No. No, he wasn't. He grieved, yes. He hurt, hell yes. But he wasn't completely and utterly dead inside, despite the fact that he should be. Why? Why wasn't he dead like his mother?
"George?" a soft but firm voice asked, and he felt arms going around his waist, arms drawing him into a warm body. "What's wrong, luv?"
"Nothing", he answered, "just.....thinking about the past. Again."
"Fred?" George nodded.
"And Ron, and Harry, and dad. Charlie. Everyone. Us." He turned around and embraced his love, laying his head on shoulders that were strangely broad.
"It's an unhealthy topic", his love reminded him gently, and George nodded. He sighed. "We all lost too many people."
"Yes, we did", George said hoarsely. He took in a deep, ragged breath. "I miss them all so much".
"I know, I know, love. I miss them all too"
"I wake up in the middle of the night, crying. But sometimes...sometimes I find myself able to forget, to forgive, to live. Is that wrong?" George glanced up, looking anxious. He found himself being kissed and kissed harshly. The kind of kiss that stole his very breath away, a kiss that made him feel, for a short moment, fulfilled.
"It's not wrong", his love said, voice ragged and harsh, "Not wrong at all. It's inevitable, it's good. Don't blame yourself for healing"
George nodded, crying. He hugged the figure tighter toward him and leaned in for another hard, bruising kiss.
"I love you, Colin Creevey".
"I love you too, George Weasley"