Title: We are the Champions
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling
Notes/Type: General fic, mention of death, Weasely twins
Summary: What lies behind after the war.

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These are the lies we tell ourselves.

Time heals all wounds.

The day is bright and in the wards of St. Mungo’s we can only see, but not smell, the chill winter air. We lie in bed and we listen to the other patients and instead of the pranks we could have played, our thoughts freeze. We have a new nurse, one who keeps mixing us up and tries to tell us that we don’t really need two trays at each meal. She says that we ought to be grateful that we’re alive, and we’re luckier than many others. She lies. She’s not even a very good nurse.

We wait for our brother’s visit. Brother. Yes, only one now. What a terrible sound that word makes: one. Ron is a father now: twin boys. When he first brought in the two, tiny perfect red-haired babies, we laughed until we couldn’t stand. Ron cried. Little Ronniekins, he always had a soft heart. When he isn’t around we wait for time to pass and wounds to heal. We speak with one voice; we play chess with each other.

They stormed the Burrow. We were there. So was Mum, and they killed her before they attacked us. We saw twin flashing green lights. We don’t remember who got in front of whom. It hurt like the blazes, though. The Avada Kedavra is supposed to be painless. They lied, again.

Well, Harry did what he had to, and after the attack on the Burrow, he killed Voldemort. There was much rejoicing and celebration, and we would have broken out the Ton-Tongue Toffee if we could. But we couldn’t, and we didn’t.

It has been five years. Time wounds all heals.

The door opens, and our stupid nurse sticks her head in. “Fred… sorry, I mean, George. Harry Potter is here to see you again.”

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