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Time Marches On by Cannons
Chapter 1 : ...tick...tock...
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 33

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A/N - I'm actually quite proud of this and loved writing it.
The Dumbledore quote 'do not pity the living' is page 578 Deathly Hallows. If you have any feedback please leave a review for me!


They say time heals. It is a curious thing, time. The familiar tick-tock of a clock is usually ignored; a sound so prosaic, your brain shuts it out. It is quite possibly the most well-known sound in the world, the most predictable and forgotten. It’s funny, how one moment in your life, one second in time, can alter the way you view life and time itself. It’s funny how in that one second, you become all too aware of the familiar tick-tock that will beat forever in your head.


It’s hard for you to comprehend that in a second, which was exactly the same as the one before, and exactly the same as the one after, you could change so much. It was the exact same amount of time that every single second you’ve lived through has been, and yet in that single second there was enough time to kill a part of you, to destroy half of you.

One moment everything is manageable in your life, the next it’s in ruins. When you look back on it in the future, you’ll see that this moment changed you. You lost part of yourself in him, half your soul destroyed. There is no one to finish your sentences, no one to run a shop with, no one to share a flat with and no one to be your twin. Your watch’s hands keep spinning, not stopping. Time stops for nobody, it marches on, akin to that of a well-organized army, and you’re being dragged with it.


They tell you time heals. You don’t believe them. You’re strewn across your bed, facing the ceiling. Your eyes are open but you’re not seeing. You’re playing the moment over and over in your head, the moment where he died. One moment you were duelling side by side, fighting for a cause, as you had always hoped the next your twin falls, dead before his chin smashes in-to the concrete. If you could see a picture of the moment, you are certain that you would see the proof. You are certain that the light didn’t only die from your twin's eyes that night. And yet, you are still here and time goes on.


Time marches on, each chime of the aged grandfather clock down the dusty hall, a reminder of another hour without your twin. Each accidental glance in the mirror causes a tightening in your chest, a squeeze on your heart. You're a constant reminder of him who is dead. Each time your eyes rest on the special family clock in your family's house, a tear in your eye. Each and every memory you have is with him, the only places he lives now, is in your head. Every tick-tock of time escorting you like a chained prisoner, further and further, away from him. You are times prisoner.

You see it in their eyes, the way they look at you with pity and despair. You know that they feel his loss too, but not as much as you. You see the way their eyes sometimes flicker with hope when they see you approach only to fade away when they realise it is not him, and only you. Your mother cries herself to sleep every night, the pain on her face is etched eternally in to her skin, every time she looks at you, and you know she wishes it was him. Each of your brothers coping in their own way. Your little sister, your only sister watching her family fall apart to deaths, werewolf bites and depression and yet she is the strongest. They see him in you, but he is gone, and time marches on.


The others are growing stronger by the day, taking solace in each other, taking each other’s pain away. You cannot do that, because your twin is dead. Have they forgotten him already you ponder in outrage? You are certain that you will never overcome this pain you feel, and you are not sure you deserve to. Why should you deserve to live when he has died? You should have died, because you know he would cope better than you are. He would go round, cracking jokes and playing pranks to get everyone’s spirits up. He alone could spare them their grief, take it away and carry the burden happily. You are making it worse, shut up in your room all day, shoving them further away, every silent day adding more pain. And yet they are still getting through it with each other.

You cannot believe how quickly they seem to move on with their lives. It has only been a few months since the battle and everyone seems fine, laughing and joking with each other. You realise this is a selfish thought, but you don’t care, you won’t let them forget him. Not this quickly at least. You can’t seem to face reopening the joke shop, not without him by your side. Who will make the customers laugh? You realise how lonely it is without him by your side. You haven’t had a proper conversation with anyone in months, simply drowning in your darkest thoughts. You wonder about how different life would be if he was still here, how well the joke shop would be doing. How you would be winding Ron and Hermione up about their relationship, how you would be teasing Ginny and Harry, asking if they’ve set a date for the wedding. How you wouldn’t be a prisoner in your own mind.

Yet you find it impossible to move on. Countless days, minutes, hours, have come and gone, but the smallest things set you of. That quill over there on the kitchen table, the quill you haven’t touched since you came back to the gloomy flat. That quill is the last one he used to jot down an idea for a product. That piece of parchment is on the floor in the corner of the room, covered in dust. That’s the letter he was writing when you were called to Hogwarts that night. You glance at your watch; it’s the early hours of the morning, and time is marching on, still dragging you unceremoniously with it.


What they say is true, time heals, you feel it within and yet you don’t like it. You resist it, you feel responsible to acknowledge his death at every opportunity. You start loathing yourself, when you are having a laugh at something with the others, and then it suddenly hits you, he’s gone. You’re still in denial that he’s moved on, not believing it to be true, but time heals, and you’re trying to embrace that. The worst moments are when you catch yourself, peering over your shoulder for him, and then you realise he’s not there, and won’t be here ever again. Or when you say something, and in your mind, you know what he would say. So, even though time is marching on, you are starting to walk alongside time now, each little step getting a little easier and not having to be dragged behind.

It’s your birthday today; you made an age your twin did not. It is hard, and yet today is the day you learn to live again. It is difficult but your family doesn’t allow you to withdraw this time. They help piece you back together again, set the cogs in motion for the future, your future. You realise they never forgot him, as you sit around the dinner table telling stories of him, surrounded by the remains of a special birthday dinner. For the first time you allow yourself to cry in front of them, each tear seems to be accompanied with a hug and they help you get through it and you help them although you don’t know it yet.


Time marches on and you accept it at last, you realise that he can live on inside of you, you can keep his spirit alive. A wise man one said, pity the living and not the dead, and it is with these words that you know he is safe and waiting. You know that in your death you will be reunited. For your twin is dead, and the only way to see him again, is by living.





thanks to patronus_charm for the beta




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