Brontide

Chapter Twenty-Six

This song was a must.

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Sunlight was attempting to force its way through my closed eyelids.

I grabbed onto the pillow that was underneath my hand, clutching it between my fingers, and squinted my eyes shut even tighter. Turning away from the light source, I let out a great yawn and sighed deeply. My mouth felt like I'd ingested cotton and I was very thirsty. On top of that, my stomach had started making strange noises and I knew it'd been a long time since I'd eaten, but...

My face was nestled into the pillow, and when I inhaled I recognized the scent right away, my eyes flying open and my body sitting upright.

Fred.

My breathing came in great, heaving gasps when I realized where I was. The sun shone through the striped drapes that were hanging over the window, particles of dust hovering in the air. The streak marks on the walls were exactly as I remembered them too, and when I looked to the bed opposite Fred's I could see a figure with its back to me, hidden under a set of sheets that matched the ones I was laying on.

I'd woken up at the Burrow, or more specifically – Fred and George's old room. I couldn't remember how I got there, and I couldn't remember changing into the nightgown I was wearing, either. But as I sat there in the early hours of the third of May, not realizing that I'd been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours, waves of pain started washing over me from every possible direction.

Not only did my entire body ache terribly – particularly my head, my left arm and both legs – but my heart began to twist cruelly when I remembered exactly why I was in Fred's bed alone.

There were many parts from that night that were a blur, which made sense considering how many times I'd smashed my head, but nothing, nothing would've been able to make me forget the blank faces and idle stares that were burned into my memory permanently. They existed there to haunt me forever, to remind me that nothing in life was everlasting, especially not in the life I had. The people I cared about all just seemed to vanish, gone in an instant like the wind. I was almost positive I'd seen them in my dreams, too. I knew it was very likely that I would for a long time.

Somewhere buried in my grief was a thought, a notion that I'd had before when I found out about my parents, and even earlier than that when I lost my grandmother. That thought was to leave everything behind and go, just go, because the remaining people in my life deserved to live happily and without worry. How could I continue to be around them when I half expected death to follow close behind?

It almost felt inevitable. Who would be next? Angelina? Mrs. Weasley? Lee? Devon?

I sat there, completely frozen with wide eyes, for who knows how long. My hand was over my mouth to keep my crying quiet so I wouldn't wake George.

George.

My eyes hovered on his sleeping form for a long time, my mouth now pressed into the pillow so my rasping sobs came out muffled. I honestly didn't know how I could possibly have any tears left, and perhaps that was why I felt so dehydrated, but my thoughts began to stray somewhere a lot less selfish.

Slowly, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and, trying to keep my wobbly legs steady, I tip-toed across the floorboards and opened the bedroom door. The rest of the house was quiet, and I thought it might've been too early for anyone else to be awake, but I closed the door behind me as I stepped onto the landing. As I began to walk away I heard it through the wall, confirming what I suspected – George had been awake, and the moment I left the room was when he let himself cry. I hesitated for a moment, but with a few deeps breaths, I forced myself to move away.