Embers of the Heart ; George Weasley

Fifteen - 2.0

As we stepped through the door of our small flat, the air felt different— tinged with the scent of dust and neglect that had settled during our absence. It was a stark contrast to the sterile hospital environment we had grown accustomed to in recent days. Freya, now a big sister, clung to my hand tightly, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

George hovered behind us, carrying Rosie in her car seat, his expression a mixture of weariness and determination. He set the seat down gently near the entrance, careful not to disturb our sleeping newborn. The flat seemed smaller somehow, more cramped than I remembered, as if it had shrunk in our absence.

"Home." Freya whispered, her voice barely audible, as if unsure whether to feel relieved or apprehensive.

"Yes, sweetie." I murmured, kneeling down to her level. "We're home."

Freya's grip on my hand tightened, her fingers seeking reassurance. "Where's uncle Freddie?" she asked suddenly, her innocent eyes searching the familiar surroundings.

My heart clenched a the question, a reminder of the void left by Freddie's absence. "Sweetheart," I began gently, struggling to find the right words. "Remember what daddy told you? Uncle Freddie... he's not here anymore."

Freya's brow furrowed in confusion, her lower lip trembling. "But why?" she whispered, her voice filled with a child's inability to comprehend loss.

George stepped forward, his hand resting on my shoulder. "Uncle Freddie..." he started, his voice thick with emotion. "He's in a very special place now, sweetheart. He's watching over us."

Freya stared at us, her eyes wide with a mix of sadness and curiosity. "Can we visit him?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with hope.

I exchanged a glance with George, silently communicating the unspoken truth. "Not like that, sweetie." I replied gently, feeling the weight of the moment. "But we can remember him and talk about him whenever we want."

Freya nodded slowly, her understanding deepening as she processed our words. She squeezed my hand tighter, seeking comfort in the shared bond of grief and love. "Okay." she murmured softly, her voice barely audible.

George knelt beside us, wrapping his arms around both Freya and me in a protective embrace. "We're here together." he said quietly, his voice filled with reassurance. "And we'll always be a family, no matter what."

I leaned into his embrace, feeling a swell of gratitude for the strength and love that bound us together. "Thank you." I whispered, my voice catching with emotion.

With a deep breath, we began the slow process of settling back into our home. George retrieved Rosie's bag and started preparing a bottle while I led Freya to her small bed, now adorned with her favourite stuffed animals and a new picture of Uncle Freddie.

As I tucked Freya in, she clutched her teddy bear tightly to her chest, her eyes drifting towards the picture on her nightstand. "Goodnight, Uncle Freddie." she whispered softly, a small smile touching her lips.

In the dim light of the bedroom, I watched over Freya for a moment longer, my heart heavy with both sorrow and hope. We had survived the war, but the battles within us were far from over. Together, as a family, we would navigate the challenges ahead, honouring Freddie's memory with every step we took.

Returning to the living room, I found George cradling Rosie in his arms, gently rocking her as he murmured a lullaby. The sight warmed my heart, reminding me of the love that had sustained us through the darkest of times.

"Home." I whispered to myself, echoing Freya's earlier sentiment. Despite the scars left by war and loss, this small flat was more than just a place— it was the sanctuary where our family would heal and grow stronger together, one day at a time.