Chapter One


Be The One

It's hard when a friend goes away, and it's harder when he goes unexpectedly. Ripped from your life leaving a large gap, a gap that you're nearly sure will never be filled, ever again. It's even harder when that person is your brother and with you for nearly every second of the day. It's inevitable that when that happens your life sort of falls apart. The dishes had piled up. The curtains remained closed. He had no clean clothes to wear so he didn't bother getting changed, or out of bed for that matter. He hardly ate anymore and there was no food in the cupboards, fruit was mouldy and the bread hard. He drank tap water because there was no juice in the fridge, no tea bags in the caddy and the milk had gone sour. Owls came now and again and he had to let them in because the constant tapping on window panes annoyed him, but he never read the parchment. It sat yellowing on his bedroom window sil.

People came every so often, at the beginning they flooed right in and saw him slowly devolving into a silent brooder who hadn't showered in quite some time, so he magically put a block on his floo to stop people coming in, but somehow a few were able to stick their heads through. He had a feeling that Harry or his father had pulled some strings at the Ministry, so he owled the Ministry directly and got his flat taken off the Floo network all together, now the fireplace looked empty without the usual small fire that was magically kept alight. This forced the more determined family members to come to the flat directly which involved flooing to the Leaky Couldron and walking through the crowds of Diagon Alley, each person they met congratulating them, whispering condolences or giving them pitying looks. He knew that this must have been a long and enduring task. In another mind set he would've appreciated it. He would sit in the now cold living room that was dark at all times of the day and listen to the hushed conversations on his porch. They would knock and talk. Leave food or clean clothes for him. Sometimes it was a reporter wanting to know if he could have that interview now because the Prophet's doing a piece on resistance during the war. There was someone who came each day, they never said anything, left anything or made any attempt to show that they were there. He never answered or spoke to them back.

One day, a good day. He didn't wake up and think that he was still here. He didn't roll over in the bed and think that he would be in the room too. He didn't get up for work and go to the shop only to find it just as dirty and destroyed as it had been when they had fled. He didn't open the door to the bedroom right next to his to wake him up and see the empty bed and the messy room full of his things. He didn't break down and cry as he tried to find a pair of matching socks or a box of cereal to eat as his stomach rumbled loudly. Today he got up and knew exactly where his brother was. He knew that no one was next door or downstairs. He felt oddly relieves not to feel the sick feeling in his stomach or the burning in his throat as he tried and failed to keep it together. He pulled on his last remaining clean t-shirt and a pair of not so clean jeans before he went into the living room. He sat on the sofa, staring at the door until someone came. Then he heard them. The small footsteps as they arrived at the door to the flat. The sound of fabric against the door as they slid onto the floor. The soft thump of a head as it settled against the wall beside the door.

He got up, so quickly that his head spun on his empty stomach. He straightened his crumpled t-shirt and shuffled over to the door. He looked at the door handle before he took a deep breath and pulled the door open. The person on the door mat looked up startled. He didn't say anything and neither did she for a moment. He heald out a hand to pull her up and with a small smile she accepted it and got to her feet. She brushed off her skirt and picked up her bag all in silence before looking at him, taking him in. With a small frown and an even smaller smile she finally spoke.


George looked at her properly and met her eyes. This was the first person he had seen in so long. He stepped to the side and let her into the flat. She looked around and set her bag on the sofa. She walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains. George made to stop her but his voice wouldn't work. Light streamed through the room and he squinted in response to the intrusion. He blinked and looked at her properly in the summer morning light. She too looked crumpled and creased. Her eyes were red like his and she looked eternally tired.

"Are you alright." George asked. His voice was scratchy and quiet because he hadn't used in so long. He looked at her and saw her smiling.

"I should be asking you that. I'm not the one who lost - lost a brother and locked myself in the house." She stumbled over her sentance but finished quickly. George looked at her. At the mention of brother she had looked down and her face had twisted.

"Yeah." He croaked again. "But you and - "

He couldn't say his name.

"Him." She helped him and took a step forward. George realised he matched her action and stepped towards her aswell.

"Yeah." He spoke softly. "You had something. You - you -"

"Loved him." She sighed. They were close enough now that George could touch her and he reached out to hold her hand. He didn't know why but he just did it. She smiled at his attempt to comfort her and held his hand back.

"Yeah you did." George muttered and she looked at him. Her eyes watered and a tear spilt over the edge of her lashes. George reached up and brushed it away. She held his hand on her cheek and he felt her skin go hot. She lent into him and quickly kissed his lips. She paused for a moment and kissed him again, this time longer.

"Angelina." George mumbled as he pulled away. He knew that this was wrong.

She started at her name and let go of his hand. George shook his head and grabbed it back again, not allowing her to leave.

"Please." She murmured and pressed her lips to his again. George let his eyes close. Let everything melt away. His family, his friends, the weather and the state of his flat, the shop downstairs and the hungry feeling in his stomach. He focused on her lips on his, on her hands on his chest, the gentle pressure she exerted on him as she walked them to the sofa, the softness of her skin under his fingertips. As she undressed him and he her the feelings that it was wrong went away, he didn't care, he was focused on her and what she was doing to him. He found relief in it all. But never, at any moment did he forget that he was dead.

please review :) chapter two should be up soon. xx