RP: What's the opposite of two?
Date: 20 October, 1999
Characters: George Weasley
Location: Grimmauld Place
Status: Private
Summary: George reflects on being alone.
Completion: Complete
Conversation had turned to Lee again, today. Greystone had been his usual calm self, responding to George's frustration and anger with questions and insight. Offering practical ways to deal with what George felt was a completely impossible situation. Write a letter, even if you don't send it.
He'd been sceptical, as usual, but he'd agreed to think about it.
And now he sat at the scrubbed kitchen table with a cup of Kreacher's excellent coffee and a half sandwich with a pickle, staring at the lines on the blank notebook page.
He'd finally managed to convince the elf that he wasn't likely to eat an entire meal at one sitting, although his appetite was improving a little bit. Half a sandwich. Maybe some soup. He didn't feel hungry, but something in him still tried to go through the mechanics of eating. Maybe it was the memory of Greystone telling him that it was possible to simply sedate him and feed him by magical means. Maybe it was himself, remembering that he really didn't have any interest in dying.
Or becoming a drunk, but fuck, a drink sounded so good, right now... He took a sip of the coffee instead, telling himself that it was just as good. He didn't much believe himself, but he made the effort anyway.
George propped his elbows on the table, running both hands through his hair. Looked from the notebook, to the pencil, to the pair of wands lying alongside them both. Fred...
He hadn't been home. Had met his dad for lunch at the canteen and gone over a few business things. Promised to make it home soon. Hadn't been to Fred's place. Hadn't been to the Alley. Hadn't seen the shop.
Couldn't. Not yet.
He needed to, though. He had an appointment to meet the insurance guy on Monday, to look at the property one last time before they made a settlement offer.
And tonight, a group meeting up at Utopia. Normally he'd be either too busy with the shop to go, or tempted to tempt Lee into another half-hour in the shower, or an early bedtime... He sighed, reaching for the sandwich and taking a bite. Not now. Not today... Maybe not ever?
It was so frustrating, not even knowing where he was. If he was okay...
He ran a hand over the blank sheet, then reached for the pencil and began to write without thinking, a flow of words across the page.
Lee,
It's nearly impossible for me to believe that it's been a month since it happened. Three weeks since I've seen you. Have we gone that long without seeing each other ever, since school? It feels like losing Fred all over again It feels like a huge part of me has disappeared.
I wish you'd write, even if you don't tell me where you are. I just want to know that you're okay. That you're somewhere safe and warm and there's somebody with you, even if it isn't me.
I'm sorry about the shop. Sorry that I couldn't deal like you needed me to. Sorry that I'm not stronger than I am. I don't know if I'll ever be strong enough. I wish I didn't need a head-guy, I wish that between the two of us, we could work through the world and be okay.
But we can't. There will always be things that we can't fix for each other. I can't change how the war affected you. Can't fix your hand. Can't be the strong person you need to love. You can't fix my head, or bring Fred home. And I don't know if we can fix this for each other, either.
Us.
Greystone says maybe we can, if we're honest with ourselves and each other. That it won't be easy because we've got so much shit to deal with, and put together, it might be too much. Or it might not. You said once that even if what we had together ended, we'd still be best mates, but I wonder. Maybe you're hurting as much as I am. Maybe you're just as afraid of everything, and you wish there really wasn't a reason to get out of bed in the morning, because staying there with the covers over your head feels like a really good idea.
I don't know. I haven't seen you to ask.
But I have to keep going. I have to. I can't stay in bed and cry for Fred, and you, and what was my home and my life that's all wrapped up in a burnt-out building. I can't bury myself in the bottom of a bottle, as much as I'd like to. I can't take a drink from another little bottle and just be with Fred, as much as it sounds like the easy way out.
I don't know what to do with any of this, not the shop or the building, or the thoughts in my head. I wish you were here, but you're not. I can't make decisions about whether to live or die, or how to do either one, based on what I think you might think. And if you're not here to tell me what you do think, then I have to leave you out of the decision.
You know where to find me, when you're ready.
George looked at the notebook. He'd filled nearly two pages with his close scrawl, just an outpouring of words. Maybe they made sense, maybe not...but they were true. His own raw feelings, put down on paper.
He stared at them for another moment, then looked up at a flicker of movement across the room. Kreacher. "Is there parchment anywhere? I need to send a letter..."
The elf disappeared, then returned with a blank scroll of parchment and handed it to George without a comment.
"Thanks..." He unfurled it, then picked up his wand and charmed a copy of the letter onto it, then rolled it tightly and addressed it to Lee.
"Is there an owl? Can you send this?" He handed over the letter, and Kreacher took it, nodding.
"There is, and Kreacher will..." He popped out of sight, and George sighed, then reached for the rest of his sandwich.
Characters: George Weasley
Location: Grimmauld Place
Status: Private
Summary: George reflects on being alone.
Completion: Complete
Conversation had turned to Lee again, today. Greystone had been his usual calm self, responding to George's frustration and anger with questions and insight. Offering practical ways to deal with what George felt was a completely impossible situation. Write a letter, even if you don't send it.
He'd been sceptical, as usual, but he'd agreed to think about it.
And now he sat at the scrubbed kitchen table with a cup of Kreacher's excellent coffee and a half sandwich with a pickle, staring at the lines on the blank notebook page.
He'd finally managed to convince the elf that he wasn't likely to eat an entire meal at one sitting, although his appetite was improving a little bit. Half a sandwich. Maybe some soup. He didn't feel hungry, but something in him still tried to go through the mechanics of eating. Maybe it was the memory of Greystone telling him that it was possible to simply sedate him and feed him by magical means. Maybe it was himself, remembering that he really didn't have any interest in dying.
Or becoming a drunk, but fuck, a drink sounded so good, right now... He took a sip of the coffee instead, telling himself that it was just as good. He didn't much believe himself, but he made the effort anyway.
George propped his elbows on the table, running both hands through his hair. Looked from the notebook, to the pencil, to the pair of wands lying alongside them both. Fred...
He hadn't been home. Had met his dad for lunch at the canteen and gone over a few business things. Promised to make it home soon. Hadn't been to Fred's place. Hadn't been to the Alley. Hadn't seen the shop.
Couldn't. Not yet.
He needed to, though. He had an appointment to meet the insurance guy on Monday, to look at the property one last time before they made a settlement offer.
And tonight, a group meeting up at Utopia. Normally he'd be either too busy with the shop to go, or tempted to tempt Lee into another half-hour in the shower, or an early bedtime... He sighed, reaching for the sandwich and taking a bite. Not now. Not today... Maybe not ever?
It was so frustrating, not even knowing where he was. If he was okay...
He ran a hand over the blank sheet, then reached for the pencil and began to write without thinking, a flow of words across the page.
Lee,
It's nearly impossible for me to believe that it's been a month since it happened. Three weeks since I've seen you. Have we gone that long without seeing each other ever, since school? It feels like losing Fred all over again It feels like a huge part of me has disappeared.
I wish you'd write, even if you don't tell me where you are. I just want to know that you're okay. That you're somewhere safe and warm and there's somebody with you, even if it isn't me.
I'm sorry about the shop. Sorry that I couldn't deal like you needed me to. Sorry that I'm not stronger than I am. I don't know if I'll ever be strong enough. I wish I didn't need a head-guy, I wish that between the two of us, we could work through the world and be okay.
But we can't. There will always be things that we can't fix for each other. I can't change how the war affected you. Can't fix your hand. Can't be the strong person you need to love. You can't fix my head, or bring Fred home. And I don't know if we can fix this for each other, either.
Us.
Greystone says maybe we can, if we're honest with ourselves and each other. That it won't be easy because we've got so much shit to deal with, and put together, it might be too much. Or it might not. You said once that even if what we had together ended, we'd still be best mates, but I wonder. Maybe you're hurting as much as I am. Maybe you're just as afraid of everything, and you wish there really wasn't a reason to get out of bed in the morning, because staying there with the covers over your head feels like a really good idea.
I don't know. I haven't seen you to ask.
But I have to keep going. I have to. I can't stay in bed and cry for Fred, and you, and what was my home and my life that's all wrapped up in a burnt-out building. I can't bury myself in the bottom of a bottle, as much as I'd like to. I can't take a drink from another little bottle and just be with Fred, as much as it sounds like the easy way out.
I don't know what to do with any of this, not the shop or the building, or the thoughts in my head. I wish you were here, but you're not. I can't make decisions about whether to live or die, or how to do either one, based on what I think you might think. And if you're not here to tell me what you do think, then I have to leave you out of the decision.
You know where to find me, when you're ready.
George looked at the notebook. He'd filled nearly two pages with his close scrawl, just an outpouring of words. Maybe they made sense, maybe not...but they were true. His own raw feelings, put down on paper.
He stared at them for another moment, then looked up at a flicker of movement across the room. Kreacher. "Is there parchment anywhere? I need to send a letter..."
The elf disappeared, then returned with a blank scroll of parchment and handed it to George without a comment.
"Thanks..." He unfurled it, then picked up his wand and charmed a copy of the letter onto it, then rolled it tightly and addressed it to Lee.
"Is there an owl? Can you send this?" He handed over the letter, and Kreacher took it, nodding.
"There is, and Kreacher will..." He popped out of sight, and George sighed, then reached for the rest of his sandwich.