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seriouslyblacklikemysoul · 2 years

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«A»Lethe - George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

You wanted to say goodbye, but your heart couldn’t make you squeeze out the words. Not again. So, you decided to leave like thief, in the middle of the night, without seeing anyone. Instead you left them letters, telling them you were going on a long vocation in Italy without a solid return date on your mind. But, life wasn’t forgiving. With a small backpack in your hand and your wand in the other, you tried to make your way out. “Please, don’t” a broken voice begged you and you knew that you would turn around and face George. And you did just that. He was looking at you as if he was drowning and you were taking away his last breath. “If I don’t, I’m gonna lose my mind” you answered truthfully. It was harsh but it was honest. He pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding slowly. He knew it. He didn’t move but now that he was here, and you inevitably saw him, you had to say your peace. You dropped the bag to the ground and put your wand inside one of its pockets. “I get it. Truly, I do. It’s just that –” he tried to smooth his initial reaction over. You dismissed it. “No, no. You��re not the one who should apologize. I know that it’s undignifying sneaking out of this place, but I couldn’t bring myself to see you – ” but this time, he cut you off. He looked sad and angry at the same time. You hadn’t seen him like that. And he and Fred were nothing alike. Fred got furious and then he was completely chill about everything. George… he felt that deeper.

“So, a letter would cover it, huh?” he waved the envelope he was holding. You closed your eyes and took a big breath.

“So, you care about me but you’re leaving. You care about everyone, I take it. But you’re leaving. How’s that okay?” his voice was breaking at points but it was not loud. He wasn’t raising his tone, but it felt like he had fired bullets. You couldn’t explain. Yes. You had to go. Fred’s memories were making you go insane. Before George could shoot you again, you gasped for air, letting go of your thoughts.

“He is everywhere, George. I can’t breathe. Everything is always him” you admitted. Memories flooding you, a garden of roses making its home inside your lungs. He paled. “I’m him, right?” a whisper so soft, it was probably meant for himself only. You snapped your head at him. He was barely standing, almost crumbled underneath the weight of that feeling. You took a step closer. He wasn’t even looking at you anymore. How could you say that he was never him, without sounding offensive? “You’re him, in the same way Ginny is” you pointed out, trying to help him save whatever it was left of his soul. Fuck it, you thought. You stepped closer, respecting his boundaries. “Hey. Hey” you muttered, attempting to get his attention back from whatever thought it was. You weren’t ready for the brutality of his gaze. You took it in, letting the mist settle. “I just see you” you told him. And it was the absolute truth. Since the day you met them, you had never confused who was whom. It was as clear as it could get. He didn’t believe you, of course. And that was okay. He had heard it and at some point, he was going to accept it. He hugged you and you felt the differences, again. Softer, gentler. Less enthusiastic. You felt that George was no longer really himself. It was as if he thought the better part of him was missing. He had closed down the shop, and that cost him. He hadn’t been in their apartment above the shop and at some point he would have. You were certain that when that happened, he would call for you. And you would oblige – you had to go there too. But for now, it was better if you could all just catch a breath.

He nodded and you knew that little understanding was his way of letting you go. You wanted to tell him to take care of himself but instead, you smiled, a ray of hope towards the end.

Since he went away, the stars didn’t burn as brightly. Words lost their meaning. The taste of vinegar lingered on your tongue. Sharp words swallowed like swords, keeping your jaw shut tight, in a barb wire snare. This blade both cut and silenced you. A deep place inside, a forest fire in your heart since the day he died. You had to survive. He wouldn’t want you to join this early in the game. You could almost hear him. In your dreams. Telling you it was not as dark as before. You feared the relentless wave of forgetting. Time like a current in the river, pulled you further away, until you would struggle to remember. You feared the forgetting. This bloodletting. All these black pool bruises in your skin. A tell-tale sign of sensitivity.... or was it fragility? And holding on as you had all that time, you didn’t know how to let him go. You didn’t know how to resolve his absence from this world.

Watching the moon hanging in the sky, the traffic running by. Italy was a blast. You were still here, waiting for life to begin. But all the wine, and all the sun in the world, wouldn’t make up for what had happened. And you kept finding yourself, wishing you had one more day. It was so weird to no longer have someone in your life. To be left with all of this knowledge of someone else and have no use for it anymore. The way he liked his coffee, his favorite meal when he was feeling low. A story from his childhood that he told you when you both saw something that reminded him of it. Now it reminded you of him. To have someone out in the world, this or the other, with so much casual and intimate knowledge of you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was happy, creating chaos with the Marauders. You smiled at the thought. Maybe they were all okay. Maybe one day you would meet him again. You raised a glass to the sky. You knew that after two months, you had to return. George not calling you, could only mean that he was down the rabbit hole. You huffed and smiled. “Until we meet again, my love”.

Returning was harder than going away. You weren’t aware of the exact situation back home, but you knew it was not good. You had sent a letter to Molly, letting her know you were on your way back, only to have her letter within few hours, informing you that George needed help. Your heart clenched and you wanted to just be there for him. You had to do some facing your problems as well. You went straight to the apartment. You didn’t know what you would find. And there was no way to be prepared. You carried the same backpack with you, as you knocked on the door. This time, you didn’t place it on the ground; it fell when you saw him. He hadn’t noticed you when he opened the door, thinking it was his mother or sister. He was not himself one bit. “I don’t need – ” he tried to sell his story but then his eyes met yours. Every façade fell and you didn’t know how face that honesty. He stopped talking, he momentarily stopped breathing. “But I do” you whispered with a voice so cracked you thought it wasn’t yours. If he couldn’t admit his weaknesses, you would tell him yours. You stayed there, a moment longer. And then he pulled into a hug, held you like he was desperate. His tears splashed on the crown of your head and you had to remind yourself that you were here for him, not the other way around. Slowly, he let go, opening the door wide, and you took a step into the house. The same house, you and Fred lived together for a short while. You saw it in his eyes; he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he took the bag out of your hands and closed the door behind you. He hadn’t opened the door to Fred’s door all this time, but maybe he could do it now that you were here – you stopped him. You weren’t doing this now. “I’ll sleep on the couch” you offered immediately. He got it. He nodded in agreement and stopped dead on his trucks. “I don’t know why you came or if Molly sent you but I think I could have managed” he was offensive. You dropped to the couch, trying to stop your thoughts from escaping through your mouth without a filter. You wanted to slap the shit out of him but instead, you huffed and chuckled darkly. “And humanity is tragic...because no matter how much we long to be held we don’t say it. We see it in the movies and in the books and in our lives. We have all these needs that we don’t communicate because we’re afraid that if we show we need things people will leave us. Humanity is its own worst enemy, not always people against other people but us against ourselves. We long for love, and laughter and commitment and tears and life and darkness but we suppress these urges under the guise of religion, self-control, professionalism, and self-improvement. But when was the last time you just let yourself be? When was the last time you admitted that you had no idea what you were doing and that you were terrified that you’ve been wasting the time you have? When was the last time you were just honest and emotional and a mess that you didn’t feel like you had to clean up right afterwards? What I’m really asking is when was the last time you took a moment and recognized that you just wanted to be held?” you did let your words run wild. You always had a peculiar relationship with words; they either came in waves or not at all. He sat down next to you. Eyeing you carefully, with a trembling hand, he reached for yours. He needed all the support he could get. He wouldn’t talk, but he would listen.

“Whenever grief creeps up on me, I try to find some solace in knowing that a part of the people we loved will always remain with us. And even when my heart breaks a little, I try to hear an echo of his voice in someone else's story, try to hold on to the things he left behind. Fragments, scattered across our lives and memories like footprints even the tide can never fully wash away. I’m not talking about obvious things like photos and the clothes we can’t bring ourselves to throw away. This is different. When he left, he became one with this world. I‘ll find parts of him in a beautiful sunset. In the first drop of rain that hits the pavement on a summer day. In the first breath of fresh air after leaving a crowded room. I can find them in so many aspects of life that I know I will never be alone, and whenever I reach out to him, he will be there. And maybe this won’t make it hurt less. It will certainly not bring him back. But at least it will allow me to find peace someday, knowing that wherever he is right now, he is never truly far”. You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, but you weren’t the only one. And if you had guessed correctly, it would be one of the few nights he actually slept.

The first week, words were the exception. You would exchange a good morning but that was about it. You had opened that door and George had found you on your knees, crying and mumbling things he couldn’t make out. You weren’t letting him move you, you wanted to soak up all the memories, the perfume that lingered on in the room, Fred. He had had enough when you couldn’t breathe – you were having a panic attack. He just scooped you and closed the door. You hadn’t talked about that. He had moved you to his room, placed you down on the bed and stayed there, awake until you fell asleep. He left the house, seeking numbness. He was getting pretty good at sneaking out, or so he thought. Since you were in his room, he slept on the couch but you knew he wasn’t there during the nights, when one night you woke up from a nightmare and went to check up on him, only to find an empty living room. You waited that night, awake and worried sick; you waited until you heard the key turning. You run to the room and almost closed the door – his steps weren’t precise, his movements were frantic, unintelligible mumbling was all there was and too much noise. You said nothing. A week passed. You mustered the courage and cleared most of Fred’s room, since his brother wanted nothing to do with it. You knew it was a phase and you kept most of the things inside boxes, stored in the closet. George didn’t know that. A second week passed, and you were done pretending. You waited until he got home. This time, you didn’t run to the room, you stayed in the darkness of the living room, ready to scare the shit out of him when he would turn on a light. But he never did. Instead, this time, he had brought a bottle with him. You snapped. You stood up and the next thing you knew, you had grabbed it and had thrown it across the room, alcohol – whatever was left – splattering the walls. He looked at you like a deer caught on led lights. He had never seen you mad. “I am done. If this is who you are now, fuck you. I am out”, you deadpanned and tried to grab your bag so you could leave but he was faster, grabbing your arm. You were confused and angry and you felt betrayed. You didn’t want to look at him because you knew that you wouldn’t be able to hold it against him. “It should have been me” he confessed, and your anger was simply not there anymore. He truly believed that, his eyes were completely blank and it terrified you. Your exhale was long and pained. You had nothing to say. Nothing he could listen, anyway. You let him support his weight on you as you guided him to his room, wondering when the pain would pass on. You felt it too, every minute was heavier than before, but you had to deal with it in a more… respecting way. He wouldn’t want you to drink like there was no tomorrow. When did your lives become so messed up? You made sure he was nestled in his bed but before you could go, he turned and faced you, searching for an answer. You sat down, drawing circles on the sheet. “No” you softly told him. It was a dangerous game, playing around with what-ifs. He seemed lost in a memory. “I remember the day we found out how to open the Marauders Map. Fred was ecstatic. Our pranks would be the best – no teacher to ruin them. After a while, he kept checking it for you. All those “incidental” meetings – yeah, not to so much” he let on, a small, sad smile carving his lips. You arched your eyebrow and shook your head. You should have guessed it long ago. “And you helped him stalk me?” you questioned him, pretending to be shocked. He chuckled. For the first time, it was genuine. You started laying back too. Too tired to pretend not to want to sleep, but too invested in this to go sleep on the couch. “We weren’t stalking you… okay, fine, maybe. It was fun” he commented but you could hear the lightness in his voice. You hadn’t heard that in a while. He casually put his arm behind your head. You spent the rest of the night in George’s arm. You shared memories of Fred, some sweet, some funny, and some that made you cry again, until the sun was up, high in the sky, warn rays coloring everything in a rose-golden tint. You fell asleep as if nothing had happened. But something did. And it was changing so many things.

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