My boyfriend died yesterday. Today I kissed him under the pine tree in the garden.
His red hair shone brightly against the cold spring sun. I thread my fingers through it, like I always did when we were together like this. He smiled at me. The smile looked so familiar, but there was something off about it.
Everything was a little off.
The length of his hair. The tiny wrinkles of stress by his eyes. The placements of his freckles. All of them. A little, little bit off.
In the end. He wasn't Fred.
"Angelina." George looked at me. His brown eyes catching the sunlight in this so familiar but yet unfamiliar sight. "We should go inside, you'll freeze to d… you'll catch a cold out here." He stopped himself, continuing as if nothing happened. It almost happened. And both of us knew what it was. Everyone knew these days.
Death, a word no one dared to utter. Everyone in wizarding britain lost someone in the war. A friend, parent, cousin, uncle, mentor… or a lover. It was that one word, which would bring a shadow over everyone's gaze. Would make them stiffen, silent or bring the glistening reflection of water to their eyes.
"No." I shook my head and buried it in the crook of his neck. My nose brushed against his plain woolen jumper. He didn't wear his Weasley sweater today. There was no George without Fred, after all. Gred could not exist, with only George. Forge could not exist with only George.
"Can't we stay a little bit more?" My voice sounded muffled, even to my own ears, as I spoke into the woolen fabric. But he understood. He probably understood even better than me.
"Ok." He replied.
Strong arms wrapped around me.
My boyfriend died yesterday. And a cheap imitation of him is standing in front of me. He looked so alike, felt so alike. I could close my eyes and feel his embrace, and pretend we were back. Back before everything. And he would be my Fred. He was not.
But maybe.
Maybe I could get used to the misplaced freckles, the longer hair and the lighter glimmer in his brown eyes.
Maybe one day, but not today.