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The sky was bleeding red with the rising sun on the horizon. Same as the ground actually. Just without the blood. Red, coppery, flowing blood. And there was a lot of it too. Enough to paint the scenery. Both the sides had provided the color.
Harry tumbled ahead in a mindless haze. Corridor after corridor. Mind numb. He had killed. A well deserved kill. No more Voldemort. No more adventures. No more dead loved -
No. Please no. He begged his mind to stop thinking. But now that the rush of adrenaline had subsided, the thought banged against the walls of his mind with enough force to fracture his soul. It made him listen to it again and again and again till he could repeat it in his sleep.
He was dead. His love was dead. Half of his heart was dead. One of the people that he fought for. What was the use of the war then? What did the victory mean?
Nothing.
That's why he wanted to move on. To greet death with open arms. Maybe its lullaby will sooth some of the everlasting pain.
Because he was dead.
Harry turned the corner solely on muscle memory. He remembered what Sirius had once told him. In a war, they were no winners or losers. Just survivors who learnt to live with grief.
And right now, he was drowning in it.
He wanted to end his life. Wanted to move on to the next plane. Go find his love, his parents, Sirius and Remus. Die, die, die-
But he couldn't. Because one half of his heart had left him. But the other half, it was still here.
George was on his knees in front of him; back turned. Shoulders hunched and posture defeated. Lost. Incomplete. His ear-less side was drenched in blood. A few cutting curses. His ankle was bent at a weird angle. A bone breaking curse. Harry swallowed.
George shook with repressed emotions. The feeling was beyond expression. Beyond few worthless tears. He had lost half of his heart too.
Harry shuffled forwards and stood behind George. His shaking hand rose and settled on his love's shoulder. George tensed. Harry let his trembling fingers brush against George's neck. George slumped like a doll with its string cut. He relaxed for what might be the first time since the battle commenced.No, not relaxed. Let his guard down.
He recognized him.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. They just stayed like that. Staring ahead. Seeing yet not noticing. What was there to notice? What was to notice in the body of the man that both of them loved more than their lives?
Fred lay ahead. Cold. Dead. Utter dead.
Harry committed his features to his memory. They would take him away for the funeral soon. People said that his twins looked just the same. They didn't. Fred smiled brighter. George could wiggle a single eyebrow. Fred had a mole under his belly button. George had a birthmark on his upper thigh. Fred-it made his chest hurt and his breathing hard and his heart-
George pulled him down and wrapped a hand around his waist. He settle him in his lap. Harry clung like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. He didn't have a lot to convince him to continue living anyways.
Other than George. Because he too was searching for reasons to die. Harry knew it. And if they could help each other live a little longer, just one day at a time, maybe Fred would be proud of them. One of his hands wrapped around George's neck; tugging on the hair across his nape.
Maybe they were waiting for each other's comfort. Because when they clung to each other like that, they cried. And cried did they. They bawled their eyes out. For everything. For the mutual future they had dreamed about. The house the three of them had bought together in secret. The Trio-bonding ceremony they had decided for their wedding. The love they had shared. Hugs. Kisses. More.
The sun rose and the survivors dispersed. The house-elves tried to piece back the broken halls. The Weasleys came. Tried to console them. To separate them long enough to apparate them home. And failed. Because their home was no longer with them.
They stayed like that. Till Harry passed out crying. And then George did too. Even further, both of their free hands held Fred's hands. They were Cold. Dead. Utter dead.