A/N: Prompts used - 'inkling' and "What have I done this time", OTP - George/Luna, Written for Round three: Tutshill Tornados - Chaser 1

Slippered feet slap the floor as a zombie like man shuffles across the room. Day light poured though the crack in the curtains and caused the creature to withdraw, the UV rays feeling foreign to this secluded man. The worryingly deep blue circles that hung under the eyes of the man, were two of the many signs of malnutrition and the deprivation of basic needs. His usually bright orange hair was faded and greasy, growing down below his hollow cheek bones. His chin was covered in a patchy beared which aged the young man a decade.

George Weasley had not seen anybody since the end of the war, and whenever knocks came rapping at his door he ignored them until they finally faded away. The clock ticked steadily on the wall as George made his way to the kitchen. His hands lazily went to work making a cup of tea, shaking slightly as he attempted to pour the boiling water into the cracked mug. He swore as a small splash of burning liquid landed on his skin.

The water swirled with colour as he dropped the tea-bag into the mug. Lifting the mug slowly to his lips, he took a deep breath and softly said:
"Mornin'."

The apartment had fallen into disarray; mail clogged the doorway and dust covered every unused surface. George walked back through the apartment and returned to the bedroom, which he occupied almost twenty-three hours of everyday. The other hour had him in the kitchen, making tea, or in the bathroom. He had received countless letters from his family and eventually stopped opening them, knowing what they would be saying. He took a swig of the burning liquid and lay across his mattress. His eyes glanced from the cluttered floor to the empty hall, landing on the closed door which belonged to his brother. His chest felt suddenly heavy as his head was filled with the memories of what he had lost.

Quickly getting to his feet, George walked – for the first time with convection, to the door and opened it. His eyes washed over the dark surfaces, the items that reminded him too much of Fred. Weasley Wizard Wheezers products littered the floor, coloured suits filled the cupboard, mirrors lined the walls and photographs were stacked high on the desk. His eyes landed on the bed where a tattered quilt had been thrown, the coloured patches looked worn from years of use and love. George slowly walked to the bed and, sniffling slightly, he sat down. Pulling the quilt into his lap, George looked at the faces smiling back at him.

Their mother had given them the memory quilt when the twins left, hoping to give them something that felt like home in their new apartment. Something to remind them of her. Years before, she had sewn each of the faces of their family into the material, even Harry had made an appearance in Ron's patch. George's eyes glazed over as the tears obstructed his vision and he gave in. Suddenly he couldn't breathe. He felt as if the air in his lungs had been sucked out.

Sobs once again filled his being. Searing tears made hot streaks across his face, as his chest became increasingly tighter. He lifted the quilt to his lips, his tear streaked cheeks rubbing against the material. He could hardly breathe as he held onto the image of him, Fred.

The knocks sounded again. He could hear them but nothing registered, nothing but the very confused image of Fred, which was now cringing from the seeping, salty tears on the wool. Luna's voice called through the apartment; she had climbed through the closed curtains of the windows and was now searching the rooms for the troubled Weasley. "I'm sorry I barged in. You didn't answer your-" she stopped at the door to Fred's room and smiled sadly. As she watched, George's hunched shoulders shook, his breathing slowly evening out.

"I had an inkling that you needed a pick-me-up," she placed a bag of strawberry donuts on one of the piles of books around the room. "George?"
"Go away!"
"What have I done this time?" She tried to joke, but sensed that it wasn't the time. She shuffled across the room, slowly, cautiously sitting down on the bed. "George, please let me in..." His eyes closed, and he cringed away from her voice, clutching the quilt closer.
"I wasn't-" he attempted to say, before he began breathing heavily again, fresh tears falling down his cheek. "I wasn't ready to lose him!" He blurted out, clutching at his chest. His shoulders shook and he seemed to curl into himself, convulsing slightly. Luna reached out, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.
"I know."
"I can't breathe..." He wheezed, his face contorting with agony. Luna held him, closing her eyes, her heart aching with his pain. He hadn't let himself let go, he hadn't let himself lose control. Until now.

They sat there, tangled in each other's limbs, the quilt pressed between them. When they both calmed, George listening to the steady beating of her heart, Luna spoke again.
"They miss you," her voice was soft, only just loud enough for him to hear.
"It's too hard, for all of us," he whispered. "I- I look too much like him."
"They need you, to know that you aren't going to leave them as well. You've all lost enough already." She looked at him seriously, her eyes watching his carefully. They washed over his face, taking in the dark circles, the wrinkles, the beard, her brows furrowed in concern. "That space you feel," she said softly, "will be filled by something equally as great, you just have to let it."

"Thank you, Luna," he breathed softly. While he still felt as though something was squeezing his heart, it was finally not as tight.