Al said to try this, so I will, even though I think it’s stupid.
It’s a stormy night, the best kind, but it’s also the worst. Ignoring any protest from Al I walk out of the Burrow, your broom clutched firmly in my hand. The wood feels smooth, but worn, kind of like your hands did. It just fits you… and I know it’s stupid, but this is when I feel closest to you.
On a stormy night, flying your broom. It’s just like the night you died, and the memories are flooding my brain, and I need to run far, far away. But I also need you; I need you to tell me it’ll be all right, that I can go on, that somehow you’re all right. I need to hear your voice, not the howling of the wind and the cracks of lightening. We’re all trying to move on, but I just seem to hold onto you – or rather the memory of you – even tighter. It’s so hard though, because there’s a huge hole in our lives that none of us can fill.
There’s no one to fill the awkward silences, there’s no one to make me smile when I just want to scream, and there’s no one to hold me tight and tell me it’ll be okay. There’s no one who knows my little secret anymore, but it’s killing me slowly inside. They all think I’m missing my best friend, my Almost Older Brother.
Quickly mounting, I take off into the night, and remember how much I used to hate flying. Until you left.
It was at the end of the first week I found your broom. Then, just like I am now, I flew for hours and hours. I screamed and cried and yelled at you for leaving me, for leaving everyone, and it was like you where there with me. I wasn’t afraid of falling, and I could almost feel your arms around my waist, keeping me aloft.
It was honestly always you, even when I knew you went to The Bad Place. I could see you weren’t sleeping, I remembered the days you would hardly talk, and when nothing I could say could shake you out of your mind. Somehow, though, you were there for me. When I was failing Potions, you helped me, and when I dated that b*****d that you told me would hurt me, you were there every time I came back in tears. God, you were so perfect, and you understood.
Now, as I feel the wind shake the broom, I remember the best moment with you, way back in the secluded corner of the castle.
“What is it, James?” I had asked, annoyed, because I was trying to write an essay the period before it was due.
“You seem … peeved,” you’d then teased, before snatching my quill and twirling it around your fingers. “I don’t think you should be so stressed, you might even start sprouting some grey hairs.”
“James, I swear to Merlin give me the bloody quill.” I had tried to make my voice low, but by this point you were already making funny faces at me to distract me.
“Hmm…. Nope. You’ll have to get it,” he taunted, and I saw the familiar sparkle in his hazel eyes. Within minutes, we were nose to nose, and I smelt the familiar musk of the Quidditch field mixed with some other intoxicating scent. That was when he leaned in, and though I tried to look down, his lips met mine.
At first it was tentative, because we were cousins and why would we do this, but then it evolved. It got greedy, and I felt something grow fiery in the pits of my stomach. I had kissed plenty of other boys, but not like this. This time it meant something, and I found I didn’t care. It was James, and James was perfect.
It didn’t get better from there, though. I loved the moments with you, and even told Al, but I realized too late it was tearing you apart. You felt guilty, and you just got worse. The circles under your eyes were too deep, and though you tried to fight it your mind was winning.
I’m sorry, James. I ‘m sorry I did this to you, and that I drove you to a place where you couldn’t come out. Now it’s my turn to hurt, to hope that by some miracle lighting will strike and it will all be over.
But I don’t. When the morning comes, I’ll just fly back down and try to continue with my life, to wipe the tears off my face. I just can’t wait to see you again.