100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,647
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,647
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Spirit
Title: Spirit
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T+
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: Petting? DH-spoilers.
Summary: #55 – Spirit. He would always be engrained on his soul.
Word Count: 642 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words.
Prompt 55 – Spirit
There was a cliché, he knew, but it was fitting. He had lost a part of himself in more ways than one. Despite the ear, something he could easily live without, there was something even more important missing.
Fred.
George Weasley sat in the large bed they shared in their flat over the shop, leaning back into the headboard, hugging a pillow. The War was over, there was still general celebration in the Alley below, but George sat alone. Occasionally a Whiz-bang would light the room, casting his shadow on the bed.
He had begged off from the celebration, and returned to the flat. Ron had seemed worried at first, but when Hermione grasped his hand, pulling him away with a knowing look to George, Ron only clapped a hand on his shoulder.
‘Take care,’ was what Ron said.
Take care…
Fred had always taken care of him, and vice versa.
He had managed to maintain a sense of composure during the funeral, but broke down later, alone. A week had passed since then.
If he squinted his eyes hard enough, he could almost see Fred leaning back into the footboard, regarding him with a strange smile. If he cupped his hand behind his missing ear, he could almost hear him.
George sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.
Fred was more than a twin brother and business partner, and Fred’s side of the bed had been cold for a while now.
You’ll be alright, Forge.
He buried his face into the pillow he was clutching, Fred’s voice, very much like his own, whispering through his head.
I will always be with you.
George reacted, throwing the pillow to the footboard, face twisting.
“Don’t torture me!” he roared, leaning from the headboard to the place where Fred usually sat when they talked on the bed.
Always be with you…
George jumped up from the bed to gaze out the window behind the centrally placed bed, gazing down at the merry making in the Alley below.
As long as you live, I will always be with you.
George slammed a fist into the windowsill. It was not good enough, Fred should have lived, should be hugging him now. Fred should wrap his arms about George’s waist and kiss his neck as they watched the Whiz-bangs glide like coloured ribbons along the Alley.
Always love you…
For an instant, a phantom sensation brushed against the side of his neck, like a kiss. George closed his eyes, letting his forehead rest against the glass pane of the window.
“Please…” he whispered.
The sensation moved past his ruined ear to the nape of his neck, along his spine to his hips. Phantom hands grasped his waist, and an odd warmth pressed into George’s back.
As long as you need me…
“I do,” George whispered, the sensation running to the front of his denims.
His face slackened, his eyes fluttering as ghostly cool fingers slipped past the waistband, sliding against the crimson hair between his hips.
As long as you love me…
George groaned, half from the feeling of a strange touch, half from grief. “Always,” he whimpered.
Already tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes.
A ghostly hand cupped his cheek, but George kept his eyes closed, afraid that if he opened them, the airy, yet familiar, touch would disappear. The kiss pressed into his mouth was soft, sending chills down his spine. Even as he felt airy fingers wrap about him in the front of his denims, George kept his eyes shut.
I love you.
The hand was gone; the imprint of a kiss gone from his mouth, and George opened his eyes.
He was alone, but not truly.
Fred would always be with him, not a ghost, or a phantom, but a spirit that was engrained deep inside George for all time.
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T+
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: Petting? DH-spoilers.
Summary: #55 – Spirit. He would always be engrained on his soul.
Word Count: 642 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words.
Prompt 55 – Spirit
There was a cliché, he knew, but it was fitting. He had lost a part of himself in more ways than one. Despite the ear, something he could easily live without, there was something even more important missing.
Fred.
George Weasley sat in the large bed they shared in their flat over the shop, leaning back into the headboard, hugging a pillow. The War was over, there was still general celebration in the Alley below, but George sat alone. Occasionally a Whiz-bang would light the room, casting his shadow on the bed.
He had begged off from the celebration, and returned to the flat. Ron had seemed worried at first, but when Hermione grasped his hand, pulling him away with a knowing look to George, Ron only clapped a hand on his shoulder.
‘Take care,’ was what Ron said.
Take care…
Fred had always taken care of him, and vice versa.
He had managed to maintain a sense of composure during the funeral, but broke down later, alone. A week had passed since then.
If he squinted his eyes hard enough, he could almost see Fred leaning back into the footboard, regarding him with a strange smile. If he cupped his hand behind his missing ear, he could almost hear him.
George sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.
Fred was more than a twin brother and business partner, and Fred’s side of the bed had been cold for a while now.
You’ll be alright, Forge.
He buried his face into the pillow he was clutching, Fred’s voice, very much like his own, whispering through his head.
I will always be with you.
George reacted, throwing the pillow to the footboard, face twisting.
“Don’t torture me!” he roared, leaning from the headboard to the place where Fred usually sat when they talked on the bed.
Always be with you…
George jumped up from the bed to gaze out the window behind the centrally placed bed, gazing down at the merry making in the Alley below.
As long as you live, I will always be with you.
George slammed a fist into the windowsill. It was not good enough, Fred should have lived, should be hugging him now. Fred should wrap his arms about George’s waist and kiss his neck as they watched the Whiz-bangs glide like coloured ribbons along the Alley.
Always love you…
For an instant, a phantom sensation brushed against the side of his neck, like a kiss. George closed his eyes, letting his forehead rest against the glass pane of the window.
“Please…” he whispered.
The sensation moved past his ruined ear to the nape of his neck, along his spine to his hips. Phantom hands grasped his waist, and an odd warmth pressed into George’s back.
As long as you need me…
“I do,” George whispered, the sensation running to the front of his denims.
His face slackened, his eyes fluttering as ghostly cool fingers slipped past the waistband, sliding against the crimson hair between his hips.
As long as you love me…
George groaned, half from the feeling of a strange touch, half from grief. “Always,” he whimpered.
Already tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes.
A ghostly hand cupped his cheek, but George kept his eyes closed, afraid that if he opened them, the airy, yet familiar, touch would disappear. The kiss pressed into his mouth was soft, sending chills down his spine. Even as he felt airy fingers wrap about him in the front of his denims, George kept his eyes shut.
I love you.
The hand was gone; the imprint of a kiss gone from his mouth, and George opened his eyes.
He was alone, but not truly.
Fred would always be with him, not a ghost, or a phantom, but a spirit that was engrained deep inside George for all time.