𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 | 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

The Three Stages of Grief

authors note: mentions of homophobia in this chapter.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

April 10, 1994

The pounding didn't stop for days. Literally. The entire weekend, George had been locked in his room playing the drums. It was one of those rare April days where it was actually hot and muggy out, so Elodie had her head stuffed under a pillow in the common room to try and muffle the incessant pounding, flipping it over to the cool side every once in a while.

It wasn't that George wasn't good-he was brilliant, actually-but it was the ceaselessness of the drumming that made it so headache-inducing.

She had also run out of clean blouses that morning, so she was stuck with this tiny black button-up that must've been from second year.

The only way to describe that day was uncomfortable.

Elodie had just been on the verge of marching upstairs and asking George to please, please take a break when Fred came down, looking exhausted.

"Hey, Els." He said wearily.

Elodie waved a tired hand at him, not taking her head from under the pillow.

Fred flopped onto the couch next to her, red circles under his eyes. "George is grieving," he noted.

"Clearly."

"We have to let him be, alright?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Elodie frowned.

"Moping."

"I am not."

She was, a little bit, but how could you not, on a weekend like that?

"C'mon, love, don't you want to go out?" Fred said, shaking her shoulder.

"Nope."

"It'd get you away from the drumming." He pointed out.

"I'm not going out in this shirt, it's embarrassing." Elodie huffed. She sat up to show him her blouse, the buttons looking like they were closer to bursting the farther they went up her chest.

Fred coughed. "It's... tight." He nodded, eyes having a hard time deciding whether to look at her face or her shirt.

"I'm not leaving the common room." Elodie shook her head, folding her arms over her chest. "Not wearing this."

"I'm going to be honest, Els, I'd have you wear that every day if I could." Fred ran a hand through his hair.

"Oh, shove off." Elodie kicked him lightly, flopping her head back down on the couch.

"C'mon, I haven't seen sunlight in two days." Fred pleaded.

"I'll go with you," Elodie compromised, "If we fix can Georgie by tomorrow."

"I think he's going through the three stages of grief." Fred said wisely. "Denial, anger, and drumming."

Elodie almost laughed. "Right."

"Maybe you should try to go talk to him." Fred suggested.

Elodie sat up uncertainly. "Really?"

"Yeah. I expect a quidditch game when you get back, though." He grinned.

Elodie made her way up the stairs, the steady beats getting louder as she approached the dormitory.

"Georgie?" She cracked the door open.