Quick little thing I wrote before going to bed. Might be crap. Might be great. Either way, I'm too tired to figure it out. Please point out any errors you see, I'd like to get them fixed as soon as possible. I await your criticisms.
Molly Weasley was the first one to walk away from Fred's gravestone. She couldn't bare the sight of something so lifeless to serve as a monument to the life that was lost. Arthur Weasley, of course, left at his wife's side, just as heartbroken and desperate to leave his son's final resting place. Both would revisit eventually, but at a time when the wound wasn't so fresh and the ache in their heart wouldn't feel so debilitating.
Bill and Charlie left next, Fleur in tow. Ginny and Harry not so long after, with Ginny barely able to hide her sobs, always wanting to be just as strong as her older brothers.
Percy wanted all at once to stay forever at the foot of his brother's grave and to run as far away from it as possible. Somehow, unbeknownst to him, he eventually found his way back at the Burrow and in his mother's arms.
Ron, the last of the Weasley's save for the one how lost the most, stood next to his older brother for as long as he did out of sheer loyalty. And though his loyalty was steadfast, his will was wavering, so he glanced over to the one whose hand he clung to and with a look, asked her if she was ready to go.
"Go ahead," she whispered. "I'll be just a minute or so longer." And with the faintest of nods, the last two standing were George Weasley and Hermione Granger.
After the pop of disapparation, the silence lasted for only a few seconds longer.
"During the months leading up to the battle I imagined just about everyone dead," confessed Hermione. The softness of her voice nearly melted into the sound of the breeze, but it was enough to knock George out of his reverie. "But never once," she continued, "could I wrap my mind around a world without the Weasley Twins."
George stood in silence not knowing what to do with her confession. Was she looking for something? A pardon? Comfort?
A shaky breath from the brunette let him know the pause was unintentional; she wasn't yet done with her condolences. "I think that's why this hurts so much more than I expected. You can't prepare for what you can't conceive. And I'm afraid that he means more to me now that he's gone—which is just a—a horrible feeling because I never meant to take any one of you for granted."
A flash of pain washed over George with a hint of anger. Was that all she had to say to him? She was sorry she didn't appreciate him more before he had died? How was that supposed to help him deal with the loss of his twin brother? His best mate? His identity?
He wanted to hurt her for her folly so he said the most hurtful thing he could think of.
"He fancied you, you know?"
She had been looking at the grave marker up until that point with a watery gaze, but when the words registered, she slowly looked over to him. "What?" She was actually bewildered.
He knew she had no idea, so he set the scene for her a bit more.
"It happened right before the Quidditch World Cup. He accidentally caught a glimpse of you coming out of the shower and he said you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on." He felt a vindictive sort of glee when her cheeks reddened at the reveal. She recovered quickly, however, curiosity getting the better of her.
"Why didn't he ever say anything? He was never the type to be bashful around girls."
"Ron liked you first," he answered honestly. "Even if he didn't know it. We did. Brothers respect that sort of thing."
George waited for the tears. For the wave of regret to take over the foolish little bookworm who had taken his second half for granted. He wanted to see her hurt. He was going to ache for his brother for the rest of his life, so why not she? Let her long for what could have been.
He watched her fall to her knees in front of the gravestone. She reached a small, pale hand out to graze the long stoke of the F of his name. He expected sobs from her when she shook her head, but what he heard next was a chuckled.
"What a bloody fool," she said towards George whose simmering, vindictive rage was dissipating at the sight of her unrestrained smile. "I always imagined myself with an older bloke."
He stared down at her as she looked warmly at his brother's name etched into stone and he wanted desperately for her to teach him how to smile again.
So there it is. This has the potential to be continued, but it would be more shorts like this. Feel free to share your opinions.