AU. PruHun. Oneshot.

Inspired by a scene in the most recent Harry Potter film. (Can you guess which one? ^^)

It is incredible how easy it is to recall the details of a moment so unutterably awful that the shockwaves rattled one's very life to the core. It is similarly remarkable that such catastrophic events can begin with something so small as a single phone call.

On this particular day, Ludwig Beilschmidt had happened to be standing nearest to the handset in the kitchen and had, therefore, answered the call. His brother, Gilbert, had been sitting at the breakfast table, busily working his way through a bowl of soggy cold cereal. Glancing up to silently inquire as to whom might be calling at such a time, the older male was struck by the look of horror on his sibling's face. Without meeting his gaze, Ludwig had nodded and replaced the receiver, hand shaking slightly as he did. His lips tightened, his Adam's apple bobbed, and the words had stumbled forth to stain the pleasant morning with blood.

"Elizabeta… she's gone."

Lost to the rushing in Gilbert's head, the words "drunk driver," "out of nowhere," and "I'm sorry" flew meaninglessly about the room, wounding more than they could heal. The elder brother had taken a deep breath and laughed, colorless, scarlet eyes pleading as he asked (unconvincingly) if Ludwig had been trying to be funny.

He hadn't, and the world had tilted dizzily on its axis, swinging out of control like the operator of the automobile the night before. Feeling oddly numb, Gilbert excused himself and retreated to the basement, to solitude.

And that's where it struck him full force: the realization that Elizabeta – his Lizzie – wasn't going to be calling him on Friday night to ask if he wanted to come over for a movie marathon, or threatening to beat him senseless, or laughing at his crude jokes until tears came to her eyes and she begged for mercy. His skin felt cold, but at the same time, he felt nothing but the great, hollow void that suddenly seemed to blossom from within. It was then that the sobs had come, wrenching themselves free to litter the still air of the lower level with gut-wrenching loss. It had been so long since he had cried, that he had almost forgotten he knew how. Shoulders jerked forward and up, slicing through the tightness in his chest as he fought for breath against it. The raw noises that were drawn from his painful throat ground agonizingly against his eardrums, bringing with them the salty liquid of sorrow.

He had cried the rest of that day and into the night – unable to contain himself, unable to stop – until he finally collapsed in his mourning and surrendered to a fitful slumber, all the while fighting the splitting headache that comes with so many tears.

Now, staring at the body, he felt detached, as though not fully seeing what he most certainly saw. Gilbert could feel his brother fidgeting beside him, uncomfortable in his dress suit and with the setting. The bloodshot stare and shadowed expression made it obvious that Ludwig, too, had lost sleep in his sorrow, but he had not known the deceased as his brother had. He had lain awake for most of the evening simply listening to the haunted grieving that had echoed so terribly through the house.

"Thank you for coming, Gilbert." Her husband was saying, shaking her best friend's hand half-heartedly as he attempted to remain dignified.

Gilbert snorted but he said nothing, nodding wordlessly until the other man walked away to greet and thank another mourner.

He stood there for a long time, saying nothing as his tired gaze wandered across a falsely peaceful face.

"You're wearing too much makeup." he whispered finally, as though she would answer him back. "That dress is too fussy and it makes you look fat."

By instinct, he flinched back, half expecting a sharp blow upside the head. However, when it didn't come, it was somehow more painful than receiving it. His eyes grew hot and wet as he lowered his mussed head to hide a set of quivering lips.

"You've never looked that calm a day in your life." he continued, voice dangling in the limbo between uproarious laughter and crippling sobs. "Even when you were sleeping, you were kinda smirking a little, you crazy bitch."

Battling again for breathable oxygen, Gilbert forced his mouth to form the words, "You're really not fooling anyone."

"Are you ready, Bruder?" A broad hand was clenched lightly around his bicep, and his brother was murmuring into his ear. "There are other people who still have to see her."

"I know." Unable to answer the question, he shrugged away the other's contact and strode away with his hands in his pockets. "I know."

As he stood off to the side letting the surrounding conversation ripple over him like water over a riverbed, he tried to remember her as he'd last seen her. She had been laughing, rolling her vibrant, green eyes at something ridiculous he must have said.

"You're such an ass, Gilbert."She had always told him, shaking her head in manner that suggested that she really didn't mind in the least. In response, he'd always just cackle and throw in some outrageous comment that would leave them both gasping for air in the end. Then the long-awaited punishment strike would come, knocking semi-harmlessly against his skull even as she grinned. He had always loved that smile, those eyes, that woman, but he had never quite been given the exact opportune moment to put those emotions into the proper words.

"Auf wiedersehen, Lizzie." Loosening his tie with a sharp wrist movement, Gilbert tossed his head in an outward display of arrogance. The words still lingering on his pale lips, he added softly, "That means that someday, we'll see each other again."