Reblogged from girlwhodied
thebloody-baron asked:
↳ I want something angsty and make me cry. post-fred death.
George never trusted mirrors following the war. They lied to him. Especially if he turned his head a certain way and hid his ear. Fibbing was one thing, but lying was something else. In the long haul, he didn’t get along with the reflective surface. Or any, for that matter, but mostly - mirrors. It was a rainy day when he, Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione ventured to some muggle event called a carnival. There wasn’t any harm, surely - not that he saw. Until he ran after his youngest sister - into a building he didn’t take heed to read the sign of. And suddenly, George saw him all over. Fred stared at him from all angles, looking just as confused as he and, after a moment, whole-heartedly shocked - and finally hopeful.
Until he touched the mirror, and it was cold and flat. Fred’s dead face flashed through his mind. He jerked his hand away, cocked his head the opposite direction as if to sweep the thought away. Another replaced it. Fred, looking down at him from a hover by the couch; concern bleeding from his gaze like George bled from his ear. A film played before his eyes, but then he blinked and everything Fred was gone, and Ginny was staring at him with a broken heart in her eyes.
“So mine wasn’t cool enough?”
“You don’t know why I listen to that radio every night do you? To make sure I don’t hear Ginny’s name. Or Fred. Or George. Or Mum.”
