Harry Potter One Shots And Imagines

George Weasley- Recovery (c)

Time was said to heal all wounds; it wasn't true though. It had been seven months since Fred had died and although you were able to at least somewhat come to terms with it, George hadn't at all. You knew seven months wouldn't be enough for him to get his life back together after his twin had been killed along with so many of his friends, but you thought he would at least be able to talk to someone. You thought that some time apart would help him, not having you there hovering over him, but from your daily owls with Ron who had temporarily moved in with him to help him and the business, there had been no progress, if anything he had digressed.

Ron had told you that George didn't leave his room other than to use the toilet, he didn't eat other than the bare minimum and only if Ron took him food. He hadn't showered, he only drunk if Ron forced him to, he didn't try to keep himself alive, he just suffered.

Enough had become enough. You couldn't stay away any longer. All the Weasley's had suffered and still suffered but they weren't on the brink of death, you needed to care for your boyfriend.

Ron let you into the flat above their shop, a solemn look on his face.

"How's he doing?" You asked placing your handbag onto the floor by the front door.

"Not good. I don't know what to do. It's like he's given up. I can't get him to leave his bed anymore," he frowned.

You shook your head, not wanting to have to see him in so much pain, but you needed to help him, you needed to help him feel better. You instantly made your way over to George's room, the room that you had lived in until you thought space would help. Maybe if you had stuck around you could have helped. The guilt hung in you like a weight.

You knocked on the door but due to the lack of response you made your way into the room anyway.

"George," you said softly attempting to smile but the smell and mess knocked it from your face.

The room stuck as though something had died in it and the room was a complete tip.

You turned on the light and tried to manoeuvre the room, to the bed where George lay curled up in the quilt. His eyes were open, but he stared off into the distance.

"Georgie, it's me," you smiled warmly wanting to help him, but you weren't sure how. "Please look at me."

His eyes drifted to you, his expression flat.

"Please sweetie, you need to take care of yourself. I can't lose you, I can't lose you to this. Life is hard especially without him, but I love you Georgie, you need to fight," you whispered, trying not to cry at the thought of losing him. "You can do this, Fred would have never wanted you to suffer like this. You're throwing everything he wanted away. He wanted you to be happy, he wanted your business."

His expression changed. A tear in his eye, a tear that was fighting to fall down his cheek.

"I'm sorry..." he croaked, a pain that broke your heart. You had missed his voice, but you didn't want to hear it harbouring such a pained tone.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," you said gently. "Nothing at all."

You pulled your arms around him. "We are going to get through this, we will get through this together."

~*~

Written by Charlotte.

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