keegan delaney has always been a part of george weasley's life. they were never close, though they both were always there for the important moments. it's only after hogwarts when keegan gets a job in a cafè right across from weasley's wizard wheezes...
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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: DECAY OF LIES
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SHELL COTTAGE WAS A place of seamless serenity. Beneath the clear blue sky, with the ocean spanning the horizon for as far as the eye could see, the world seemed... untouched beyond the windows of Bill and Fleur's new home. Not yet decimated by war and its cruelties; it was almost as if Cornwall knew nothing of the suffering caused by the Death Eaters, like Keegan and so many others could be free without fear, like dark times would never be upon them.
If not for the despair reflected in every single knowing face, the poignancy of the silence that always seemed to linger in the once beautiful parts of their magical community, Keegan might've forgotten why she and the twins had to stay there in the first place. Why home was nothing but a distant memory now, and would remain that way for the foreseeable future.
Weasleys Wizard Wheezes had been attacked.
No matter how many times she said it, twisting and turning the words around in her brain, it didn't feel real. They'd expected something would happen. In fact, Keegan was just surprised the Death Eaters hadn't come sooner. Several weeks had come and gone since the wedding that ended in disaster. Emery's had closed down for good during that time -- whether by force or by choice, Keegan didn't know. She wasn't sure what to make of the boarded-up windows, the pointless for sale! sign hung on the door. Would she ever see Emery Fawley again?
Next to close was a bookshop selling a combination of magical and muggle books, then Florean's ice-cream parlour; essentially any place that Keegan could think of that used to bring joy; now tainted by sorrow, they were gone. Just like that.
It was only a matter of time. George had said so himself. Still, a wounded part of her ached when their store of dreams went up in flames. To pack as many belongings as she could into a bag and flee the place she called home with mere seconds to spare, it scarred yet another piece of her that would never heal. Keegan had known to keep an emergency bag, just in case... but the inventions, both old and new, that the twins had poured their hearts and souls into? They were now the smoke and rubble of nightmares instead of dreams.
Keegan resented how easily the twins seemed to push forward. In the first few weeks they spent at Bill and Fleur's, she found herself missing the little things; the old mugs they'd drink tea and coffee out of in the morning. The scent of gunpowder on every surface, even the kitchen where Keegan would keep a fresh vase of flowers on the bench, a wicker candle burning low as she cooked. The yellow cushions she'd taken from her previous flat when she moved in with Fred and George. That one picture of her and Cedric she hadn't thought to grab off the mantle before they ran.
Gone. Smouldering to ash.
Sitting at the oak wood dining table one of Fleur's uncles had made for her, taking in the fine marble kitchen counters, the sheer lace curtains, the professionalism of the paintings commissioned and imported from France, the pristine perfection of a home run by Fleur Delacour with mere fragments of warmth washed away, was as foreign as it was disheartening as autumn crept into winter. Keegan was horribly disappointed, even more so in herself for her selfishness. Some people had nothing, and yet she was complaining at the unfamiliar feeling of a different home that someone dear to her had offered out of the goodness of their hearts?
