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The cold wind slapped Willow across the face, like a violent reminder that she was alive, whereas her loved ones were not. They were taken away, stolen by wizards in black robes, stabbed by their green light. Mother, father and siblings were gone, and she was now the last standing member of her family. “Just like Ma’ was when the first Wizarding War ended. Just like Grandma’ when the war against Grindelwad ended.” She thought.
It seemed like a never ending circle to her. She was to get married, have children, and try to raise them without tainting them with all the trauma that the war had created in her. Like her mother did with her and all her siblings, and like her grandmother did with her mother. Then a new wizard will rise, just like Voldemort, just like Grindelwald, followed by those who are hungry for domination, superiority and purity. Afterwards, the world will be torn apart again, destroyed. “And I’m stuck in this saddening cycle of violence, all alone. How can I grieve if I have no one to grieve with, no one to talk with, no one to be with?” she wondered. “It seems that I have nothing left to lose.”
“Hey young lady!” a voice called. Willow blinked twice, extirpated from her thoughts as if she woke up from a dreamy nap. She realized that she was sitting on a bench, in an almost completely empty street.
“You alright?” the same voice inquired. It belonged to a homeless woman, sitting next to her, and watching her with an almost motherly look.
“Yeah, never been better.” Willow answered blankly. “Where are we?” she asked.
“We’re on the edge of the city, miss. No one comes here usually. Well, no one as warmly dressed as you.” The woman answered.
The witch watched her newly found environment. She should go home, it’s probably late. But who was going to worry about her, back home? Her apartment was empty, with nothing but an old, grumpy cat. The young woman noticed an abandoned flat, with old emergency stairs in front of it. The sight of the distance between the roof of the building and the ground created a deadly fascination in her mind.
“Are you cold? She asked.
- What?
- I said “Are you cold”. It’s freezing out here, and your neck is uncovered. Here, take my scarf. Willow told.”
The woman took the scarf and let her hand wander through it.
“It’s pretty soft. Must have been expensive.” she analyzed.
Willow nodded silently. The scarf was indeed soft: it had a bit of unicorn hair in it. She got up rapidly, said goodbye to the woman and walked toward the building. The young woman climbed the red squeaky stairs. She found herself on the roof fast enough, staring at the ground. If she couldn’t break the cycle of violence, she could at least refuse to endure it. She had no one left to miss her and the cat would find a new family. She was just a lonely grieving soul, broken by the war.
The girl was rooted off her thoughts yet again, by the noise of the stairs crackling under the brutal steps of someone going up the stairs. It was a man that arrived on the roof, staggering. The tiny light at the tip of his wand slightly illuminated his face. Willow could catch a glimpse of ginger hair and a myriad of freckles on his cheeks.
“It must be one of these Weasley boys” the young woman guessed.
“Guess someone had the same idea huh?” he mumbled in a hoarse voice. He sounded wasted. The girl didn’t answer. She let him join her on the edge of the roof. He smelled of vodka, puke, and despair. As a matter of fact, he was still holding the alcohol bottle in his hand. The witch frowned in disgust.
“You’re not a fan of the smell I guess? He asked.
-I just didn’t expect you to drink Muggle alcohol. Wizards aren’t very fond of these.
- I hate drinking in wizard bars. Everyone is just gushing about Fred, saying “Oh George, I’m so sorry for your loss”; “Oh George, your brother’s a hero”; “Oh George, you can visit whenever you want”. Bullshit. They never talked to me or Fred before; they have to check the hole that replaces my ear to get my name right. They don’t know… They don’t… They didn’t lose … him. I lost him… I …” the man explained while hiccupping.
“Shit!” he whipped tears away from his eyes, with a hand filled with saddened rage. “Those assholes couldn’t let me be miserable in peace. I don’t need those pitiful looks. Will not make me happy. Will not make me less… alone. Fred would do that, but Fred’s … Fred’s…”
Willow had listened to his speech, in silence. He was as ginger as she was raven haired, as strong as she was frail, and as expressive and overflowing with emotions as she was stern. But it was as if George was her reflection, just as lonely and lost, just as hopeless and pathetic. A soul, alone in the world that has abandoned any ambition of having a meaningful connection with someone.
“So, you wanna jump?” he asked.
The young woman gave a look at the void beneath her.
“I used to. I have no one who would miss me back home. The war took them all. I thought… I thought maybe loneliness was my curse. Not exactly the one of the hermit, of course, but the one of the person who has no one to heal with. But then you showed up, and maybe it means that my curse is broken. Maybe we don’t have to be lonely anymore.”
She stepped back from the edge and jumped back on the roof. George laughed softly.
“Damn. I always thought Fred and I were funny, but this is one of the best jokes I ever heard.
- I’m not joking. I rarely joke.
-Yeah. Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not the curse breaker you’ve been looking for.” he concluded, with a sprinkle of determination in the eyes. He was about to jump.
Willow grabbed his hand, forcing her fingers through his. The man stopped immediately.
“What are you trying to do? Let go of my hand!” he screamed
“No.”
“No? You don’t have enough strength to keep me from jumping anyway.”
“And I don’t have enough strength to keep myself from falling if you jump.” She answered.
“I thought you didn’t want to jump anymore. Will you let go of my hand?” he asked.
“I don’t want you to jump either. And I know you don’t want me to fall, or else you would’ve already jumped.”
The girl climbed back on the edge of the roof. For the first time, George turned his head and looked at her. He had haunted eyes, with a drunken veil of grief on it. Despite him demanding that she release his hand a little earlier, the man was now holding her so firmly that she feared for her fingers. His eyes followed a very simple track. The young wizard stared at the ground below, then he watched the roof.
Ground, Roof.
The cold winter wind rose back again and tortured their reddened cheeks.
Ground, Roof.
The lady who had Willow’s unicorn haired scarf ran near the building, probably looking for a warm place to stay.
Ground, Roof.
The few city lights that still functioned in this street were turned off. A gust of wind almost pushed the witch into the void. The Weasley boy held her back, surprisingly quickly given the fact that he was drunk.
“Thank you” she murmured.
Ground, Roof.
“What’s your name? George asked.
- Willow”
“Willow. You promise if I don’t jump, I’ll be happy?” he inquired.
“I don’t know, man. But I promise you that you will not be alone” she answered, jumping back on the roof while still holding his hand as strongly as she could.
Ground, Roof.
The wizard took a deep breath, and followed her, stumbling over his own feet. It made the young witch slightly smile.
“It’s cold.” she complained, feeling the freezing wind attacking her neck. “Why don’t we go home?”
George nodded. They both knew that for the night, home meant Willow’s small studio, lost in the great city, far from anyone who would recognize them as two individuals scarred by the war. And, scarred they are. But at least, they’re not alone for tonight.