The Other Potter: Book 7

here's a thing. sorry thing took so long.

The rest of the train ride was silent. Luna was gone. Any happiness we’d had at the thought of going home had been sucked out of us, as though a Dementor had paid a visit. Actually, a lot of the time was like that now. As if we all had our own personal Dementors following us around, making sure no one had hope, no one was happy.

We’d lost so many people.

We were to lose so many more.

Moaning Myrtle and Mum and Dad and Quirrell and Bertha Jorkins and Frank Bryce and Mr. Crouch and Cedric and Sirius and Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance and Florean Fortescue and Karkaroff and Hannah Abbott’s mum and Dumbledore and Moody and Scrimgeour and whoever the fuck else. I’m sure there are more by now.

God knows what’s happened to Luna.

Or Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

For fucks sake I should never have left them.

I should never have left Harry.

*******************

We were sitting in the Weasley’s kitchen on Christmas day.  It was really strange this year, since we all actually fit inside their kitchen. Myself, Fred, George, Ginny, Mrs. And Mr. Weasley were the only ones there. There was hardly a sound made. The silence was almost unbearable; yet no one could break it.

The day before yesterday, Ginny and I arrived. Mrs. Weasley burst into tears at the sight of us. She asked about Ron, Hermione and Harry, and I could only offer her the truth; I didn’t know. Bill and Fleur were boarded up in a safe house near the beach somewhere; Charlie was safest staying in Romania, where the war wasn’t raging as rampantly; Ron was on the expedition with Harry and Hermione; the rest of our  friends  were doing their own part for the Order. It was just us.

George and I hadn’t spoken, no one had really spoken all that much.

What was there to say?

I could speak about the thousand fucking times I’d been tortured this year; I’m sure that would lighten the fucking mood.

I made awkward eye contact with George across the table. And it was awkward.

I could almost taste the awkward.

Awkward misery was a physical presence in the room for the entirety of lunch, well, for the duration of the visit more like.

It was as bad in the home as it was at Hogwarts. There was no longer love, warmth and unity flowing through the air; it was as though every breath was inhaling more sorrow.

After a miserable, and somewhat-less-tasty-than-usual Christmas Dinner, I walked up to Ron’s room, where I’d been given to stay. I collapsed on the bed and burst into tears. The walls were a bright joyous orange. There were even pictures of us on display. It was too much.

Hot tears leaked down my cheeks. I felt all this pain suddenly weighing down on me. It was going to be up to me in the end. I was to determine whether we would win this war. The lives of the present, the past, and the future were riding on my back.

And I didn’t want it.

I understand Harry’s angst about his life now. I understand why he never wanted all this fame, and how draining it must be with people being so determined that he is the saviour. It is hard enough realising your fate without the world realising it too.

I would have given anything to win this war; I WOULD HAVE GIVEN MY LIFE! But this was so much worse than that. And in that moment, I could feel it all crushing down upon me. The burrow, where I had always felt so warm and invited was cold. And I realised the world was now cold.

The eternal winter had begun, and I was the one who had to bring back the warmth.

I lay on the bed with a pillow over my face. My tears turned to sobbing and then, after a while, I lay there motionless; exhausted. Crying couldn’t relieve my sorrow this time, it just drained me of all that I had left.

 “Will?” I didn’t have to look up to recognise the voice. “Are you alright?”

“Is anyone?” I replied, my voice muffled by the pillow on my face.

“That’s beside the point.” George said, sitting down beside me. “How are you? The entire world going to shit is completely irrelevant.”

I pushed the pillow off of my face and rolled my puffy, red eyes.

“With or without this current context,” I said exasperatedly. “I am so fucking dandy that I can hardly bear it.”

“Oh Ha. Ha.” George rolled his eyes back at me. “Well, that makes two of us.”

He squished beside me on the bed and the pair of us just lay there in silence. I lay my head on his chest and listened to him breathing. I could hear his heart beating. He was so warm. So alive. I was cold as ice. Dead, but still breathing.

“Willow?”

“Mmm?”

“D-do you...do you wanna maybe possibly like marry me when this entire war thing is over?”

I coughed.

“What?”

“When the war is over, will you marry me?” I felt his head manoeuvre and look down at my head. “You don’t have to agree or anything now, like, just think about it.”

I looked up at him and blinked a few times.

“Yeah. I will.”

“What?” he said, sitting up and looking at me.

“Did I answer wrong?”

“No. You answered perfect. I just didn’t expect... gimme a second.” He stood up, knocking me to the floor and fled from the room.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I asked myself. Am I giving false hope? Or won’t it hurt because he won’t know? Don’t I deserve a moment of happiness?

George returned a moment later with a big box.

“Open it.”

I opened the box, which contained a smaller box, which contained a smaller box which contained a smaller box, which contained a smaller box which contained a smaller box, which contained a smaller box which contained a smaller box, which contained a smaller box, which contained an engagement ring.

“Fuck.” I said, because that has now become my response for everything.

He snatched the ring off of me, and slid it on my finger.

“If you take this off I will break your face.” He smiled romantically.

“I love you.”

“And I you.”

He leant in and kissed me on the lips.

“Did...did we just get engaged?” he asked.

“I’m like, sixteen. Is that even legal?”

“Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t talk technical to me.”