Angelina followed the tattered stone wall at the far end of the orchard. She had given George plenty of time to stew before making her escape from the Burrow. The debate was still going strong with poor Ron idling in his own thoughts. And Molly had decided to start dinner. Work makes everything better; a mechanism George had inherited.
She knew the walk well. The part of the yard had been long forgotten by the Weasley family and used only by young Fred and George as a hiding place for their high jinks. It also overlooked the entirety of Ottery St. Catchpole especially the church and cemetery. The same cemetery where Fred was laid to rest.
When she came to the small opening of the wall that led to the Muggle world, she found her husband crouched down in his usual spot. He was tearing at a blade of grass with his arms on his knees, but he was entirely someplace else.
"Can I join you?"
"Free country," he said flatly.
"Help me," she gripped his shoulder as she began her long haul to the ground.
"You may never get back up from down 'ere," he gave her his arm to her for leverage.
"I'll chance it," she slapped his thigh as she situated herself. "Fleur took the children home. She didn't think it would be a good idea to have them here when…" she couldn't bring herself to say it.
"Are you alright?" his silence was torture. It was like it was twelve years ago and they had just had Fred's funeral.
The sting of his death had cut George deeply. He had lost a brother, business partner and best friend in one moment. The two of them weren't always "Fred and George" or "George and Fred." Occasionally it was just Fred or just George, but the fact that it would forever just be George from that moment on took its toll on him.
"No," he said firmly as the blade of grass rolled between his fingers.
"George..."
"What?" his voice hitched "It's goin' to be alright? Everythin' will be fine?" He stood up kicking the long grass. "How do we know this...this person is even Fred? It could be anyone puttin' on," that had been one of her first thoughts as well. The war had left many many scars.
"And if it is Fred?" she had to get that possibility through that thick Weasley scull.
He huffed, focusing on the cemetery. His hands had moved to his hips thinking to the possibility.
"I don't know," she could see little tears falling down his cheeks. "It took me so long to get used to him not being here. How am I ever going to get used to him again?"
"I don't have an answer for you. I do know it is not going to be easy. We're all going to have to learn to having him around again. But I'm certain it not going to be easy on him either."
"I 'spose," he straightened his robes. "Doesn't mean I have to like it, mind you," he cracked a grin her way.
"Never," she agreed in jest. It was such a relief to see his smile. "Now, get me up," she pushed him over to a stand and held out her hands for him. "I bet your poor mum is probably ready to send out a search squad after us."
"Yes, dear," he said endearingly with just a tinge of sarcasm as he got her to her feet.