Loss
George Weasley sat, alone, on a small patch of grass in the little cemetery of Ottery St. Catchpole. It was the one year anniversary of Fred's death. All the other mourners had already left but George had decided to stay behind. Even though a year had passed, he still wasn't over the loss of his twin brother. Fred had been his partner-in-crime, his constant companion, his best friend. Without him, the world didn't seem to make sense.
In the days that had followed Fred's death, George had felt worse than he had ever felt in his life. It was like someone had reached into his chest and wrenched out a gaping hole. Even the cold, melancholy of the Dementors couldn't compare to the despair he'd found himself. And now, after a year, he had made much progress. He still believed he'd see his brother sleeping in the bed next to him when he woke up in the morning, still expected to hear his voice calling out to him with a new idea or joke, still longed to have him standing next to him.
Tears were flowing down George's face now. For the first few months, everyone had been sympathetic. They'd comforted and consoled him in his grief. But now, their patience seemed to be growing thin. Only his parents and Hermione seemed to understand what he was going through. The others, especially Ron, looked at him with pity. To them, he was nothing more than a former shell of himself, unwilling to let go of the past and look towards the future. Didn't they understand that a future without Fred was nothing but an empty, mirthless void of sadness and despair?
"Oh, I didn't know anyone was still here." A soft, dreamy voice drew George's thoughts away from the dark thoughts that had been creeping through his mind.
"Hello Luna," said George. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to pay my respects to Fred," said Luna. "I didn't want to intrude to I wait for everyone else to leave. I have a good view of the cemetery from my window. Do you mind?"
"No," said George, "you got ahead." Luna, whose arms were full of flowers, moved forward towards Fred's grave. After she added her flowers to those that the other mourners had brought, she pulled out a letter and placed above the various arrangements.
"What's that?" asked George in spite of himself. He really wanted to retreat back into the malaise of his inner mind but Luna's presence made such things impossible.
"It's a letter I wrote for Fred," said Luna.
"Why?"
"To express my feelings. I know he'll never read it but it better than just letting all the pain sit inside."
"What feels?" snapped George. "You barely knew him. What could have possibly said to him?" Luna turned her protuberant eyes upon George.
"I told him that I was sad that he is gone. I told him that he was very funny. I told him that I wish I had gotten to know him better. And I told him about how sad you are."
"You what?" asked George, taken aback.
"Hermione and Ginny have talked to me about you. How you barely talk to anyone anymore. How you haven't made a joke since Fred died. How your business isn't doing so well. At first, I thought you'd just been infested with wrackspurts but now I just think you haven't moved on."
"Why is everyone always telling me to move on?" roared George, his ear turning red in his anger. "My brother is dead! He's been with me my whole life and now—" George stopped mid-sentence as he tried to find right words to express himself.
"It's like part of you died with him," finished Luna. George nodded sadly. He turned away from Luna. He couldn't stand to see another person pitying him. He expected her to say something but she remained silent. After about a minute he looked back up, assuming she had left. She hadn't. She was still there, looking down at him with a curious expression in her eyes. It wasn't pity. It was more like understanding.
"Are you feeling better?" asked Luna softly.
"A little," said George. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."
"Oh, that's alright. At least you got it out of your system. If you want my advice, you should write a letter to Fred too. It's very helpful."
"How would you know?" asked George scornfully.
"It's what I did when my mother died," said Luna. "I helped me a lot. I think it might help you. Anyway, I think I'll be going now. I think I've intruded on Fred enough today, don't you?" And, without waiting for George's answer, she turned on her heels and walked dreamily back toward her house. George watched her go with a mixture of confusion and fondness. Though his mother and Hermione had been supportive during his time of grief, he had never seen the same look of understanding in their eyes that he had seen in Luna's. It was a little unnerving. So much so that he was still thinking about their encounter while he lay in bed that night. In fact, he found himself completely unable to sleep as he played the scene over and over in his mind. Finally, without any other recourse available to him, he got out of bed, sat down at his desk, and pulled out a parchment, ink, and quill. He dipped his quill into the ink and began to write.
Dear Fred,
Ravenclaw, Prefect, Standard, George/Luna, 927