Something Else
It's odd, the way things worked out, she muses, staring at the picture in her hand and blinking away the imminent tears.
He was her first love, of course—he took her to the Yule Ball, played Quidditch with her—and there's nothing stronger than the bond of sweat—and kissed her.
She can still taste the butterfly wings of his fingers on her lips, of the softness of his own pressed firmly to her, of the feeling when he'd rub their cheeks together and kiss her earlobe. She can still shiver along to his moans when she'd get right underneath his collarbone. She can still feel tendrils of his hair when he'd give her a short, fiery goodnight kiss, promising silently that there would be more to come.
She can imagine it's him, walking away from her in the dead of night, down the dark hallway. How picturesque it was, she reflects. He'd look back only once, before he'd turn the corner, and he always mouthed something and blew a kiss.
She could never make out what he said, but she'd had many theories when she'd go back to bed, laying in her bed for hours trying to imagine what he'd say to her.
She'd asked George, yesterday. "Fred turned back—"
"Only once. Do you want to know what he said?" the empty George asked, without a trace of a smile.
"Yes," she'd murmured. "Yes, George, please." She never realized how desperate she was for the knowledge, the answer. But when she said those words, she understood the longing for those secrets in her heart.
And so did George. "It's sacred," was all he said, and walked away.
And perhaps that uncovered the secret—perhaps it did not. But George knows. George knows what he said, and that is all that matters.
She sits in their flat, watching silently as George moves to and fro, deftly packing up and placing things in boxes—neat boxes, so unlike either of the twins.
There is only one thing he gives to her, with a tiny bit of a smile, for the first time since May second. It's a picture of the Quidditch team, Harry Oliver Katie Alicia George Fred Angelina written across the bottom, and circled in bright red Muggle magic marker is the part of the picture depicting her sitting on his shoulders, laughing as she watches the rest of the team celebrate a victory. His hand is reaching up to her cheek. Occasionally it will flit down to his mouth, and then back to her blushing face.
But it's his face she focuses on. It's alive and happy, but she senses something else.
Love. It's love on his face, love for her. And on her own face are feelings of merriment, joy, and love. It's that Something Else, always something in the shadows, but she can see it clearly.
She looks up at George. "Thank you," she whispers, and he smiles again, at her, and she can sense that Something Else, something there, hidden away.
But it doesn't matter now, because now is not time for over-analyzing or blushing or loving at all. Now is a time for looking at this picture and missing. And she's allowed to miss, because George has taken a break to pack everything away, and it's her turn.
"Thank you," she says again, more meaning to her heavy words, and she jumps up to hug him. Something Else's and Shadows will have to wait, now, because she's hugging him and he's hugging her and they're missing together, and they don't need turns or tears or eloquent speeches.
And it's more than memories and missing when they pull away, it's more that Something Else and forgotten pictures.
It's togetherness. They feel it, heavy in the air, smoldering them, forcing them to breathe it in.
"You're welcome," he says, rather breathlessly.
It's odd, she muses, sitting back in the chair, the way things work out.
It's true; you don't marry your first love. Because it's sacred, like the twins said. It's a sacred love, and it's your first.
But there's his brother…
A/N: Written for the First Love Challenge at the HPFC forum. It started Fred/Angelina and grew a bit…I know most people hate the latter pairing, but could you review for me anyway? -puppy-dog eyes-