A/N: House: Hufflepuff | Category: Theme | Prompt: Anger | Word Count: 769
George was sick of the sympathetic looks, the covert glances, the hushed asides, the soft tones—he just wanted to be treated normally. But nothing would ever be normal again, and he wasn't sure exactly what the new normal was supposed to be. He just knew it wasn't this. The pain of loss was still raw, but it wasn't for a lack of his efforts to heal. He had, in fact, tried many times to move on, but it was hard to do when everyone treated him as if he were terminally ill. Every time someone spoke to him in that gentle voice or gave him one of those looks, he felt as though they were dictating how he should feel, which then led to guilt if he was feeling better than they expected. The constant reminders made it nearly impossible for his wounds to heal. Not that he needed reminders. The death of his twin would always haunt him—it was the one thing he was absolutely sure of.
A soft knock on the door snapped him out of his reverie. He glanced warily at the door as it opened to reveal his mother. He tensed and sunk deeper into his bed covers.
"Good morning, Georgie. How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice saturated with concern. It made his skin crawl.
"Fine," he snapped. She recoiled, and he felt a brief stab of regret, but it was quickly drowned out by his anger. He knew she loved him and was worried, but he couldn't stand the suffocating sympathy anymore. She quickly rallied and tried again, though.
"Are you sure, dear? It's okay to be upset." If he had had any control over his temper before, he immediately lost it at those words.
"I know it's okay! But do you know what else just might be okay? Not being upset! If only you lot would let me!" He threw his covers off and stormed out of the room, not even bothering to put his shoes on.
He ignored the surprised looks of his family members as he made his way through the house and left through the back door. It didn't matter that he didn't have anywhere to go; he just needed to get away, to escape from his family—his wonderful family—if only for a little while. Once he reached the end of the wards, he apparated to the first place that came to mind.
He arrived with a loud crack and looked up at their—now only his—store, which had been abandoned during the war. Now, six months after the war, he was ready to at least go inside. The street was packed with people bustling between shops, so he carefully pushed his way through them and placed his hand on the door handle hesitantly. It would be a lie to say he wasn't afraid of what he would feel once inside, but he summoned all his strength and slowly opened the door. He hadn't known what to expect, but he was still surprised to see the damage. It looked like the Death Eaters had ransacked the place—broken bottles and burnt parchment littered the ground, shelves were knocked into each other, and a thick layer of dust covered the shop.
George made his way around the room as he took inventory of everything that needed to be fixed, but he stopped short at the sight of a picture frame lying face down at his feet. He already knew what the frame held, but that made it more difficult to pick up. He did bend down to pick it up, though, and he carefully turned it around so that he could see it. Through the web of broken glass, he saw himself and Fred grinning back at him. They wore identical mischievous looks and seemed to be plotting something. It felt like it had been both just yesterday and a lifetime ago that they had been together like that. George closed his eyes against the welling tears and clutched the frame tighter. Once he regained some of his composure, he reopened his eyes, slid the photo from the broken frame, and tucked it in his pocket.
"Well, Fred, you've left me a right mess to sort out," he joked to himself half-heartedly, but he was pleased to find it didn't hurt as much to say his name anymore. Saying his name and talking to him now felt comforting and kept his memory alive. He still had a long way to go, but, for once, he felt like he was finally beginning to truly heal.