i don't want to go back alone

His fingertips trace patterns over the rock, its smooth surface chill against the padded flesh. He's been standing there listlessly for a number of minutes, having announced to the surrounding, sprawling trees and earth that he was going to leave. Yet somehow his feet remained firmly planted on the dewy grass, stubbornly still. He can't pull himself away; it's always the most difficult part. Hand still resting on the top of the stone, he turns and looks out towards the small village unfolding beneath the hill upon which he now stands, the same hill he and his brothers would employ as a makeshift Quidditch pitch in his youth. It was the perfect spot: relatively flat, soft ground with thickets of trees enveloping it and casting the whole place with an air of seclusion. The oaks and maples and yews also provided a good shaded canopy for whenever the heavens opened on the boys, as well as a place to cool off when the weather was the opposite. It overlooked the Burrow on one side, and the rest of Ottery St Catchpole on the other. Peppered around it were other hills and ridges, curving and dipping for miles to see.
George had never realised how beautiful the landscape was until Fred's grave had been put there.

He tears his eyes from the eggshell sky and looks at the headstone again, his throat still feeling raw and dry. Their chat that day had been one of the longest they'd had, George sitting next to the grave for hours on end.

He didn't want to go back.

The peal of bells catches his attention, and he turns on his heel suddenly. His alert features soften into a bittersweet smile, though, when he sees who it is that has joined him. Her white-blonde, curly hair tumbles past her hip as ever, and her feet remain bare, each toenail painted with a different swirling pattern. Luna. The sight of her fills his heart with a swelling ache so strong it threatens to engulf him whole each time his gaze finds her. Her eyes rest first on Fred's marble headstone, skipping along the engraved words like stones across the sea. They then swivel slowly to look at George, and her head tilts to the side slightly as a smile spreads over her features. Her hand stretches out, and is almost immediately connected with his as George rushes forwards to grasp it.

She nods at him, and through vision filmed with tears, he returns the nod to her.

He didn't want to go back alone.


a/n: first fic I've written for a long time - a very quick, messy affair, written on a spur of the moment, really. Inspired by the title of a Brazilian short film of the same name (which you should definitely watch). Hope you enjoyed reading.