the gentle moon / george weasley

an astronaut wandering on the moon

The desire for her was sharp and deep. Nothing in the world could silence it and nothing in the world could fill it for George, except her. His days were filled with fake smiles, so good enough it had convinced everyone around him that he was okay. It got so good, he was convincing himself that he was fine, but then night came and his arms would reach over to her side of the bed. Well, the side of the bed he had deemed hers, even though she only slept in it a handful of times before she left. She probably wouldn't even know that he had picked out the perfect pillow for her head, that he would never use in fear he would ruin it for her. There is nothing more than sighs in his mouth, thirst in his lips, and the throbbing of emptiness in his arms when his eyes open in the morning. Then there was the force of his lips curling when he left his empty, dark room. Colors faded and flavors became bland. He was full of letters, that he could never send her.

Come home, my heart feels heavy with so much I want to tell you and long to give you.

It's funny how everything was all the same, nothing changed when she left. The sun still rose in the morning, and the birds still chirped. Diagon Alley was filled every morning with people and merchants. Fred still laughed when Lee made jokes and Angelina and Alicia still go out for drinks when their shift at the coffee shop ends. The world kept going when George's stopped. All this would be hundred times easier if they were young again. All the way back when she hadn't met Harry yet. When she was just the quiet girl in their friend group, not putting herself in danger. When she was cautious and hid away from the word. Sure it was painful for him to watch her so isolated, but she was safe then, she was right in front of him then.

Now he is older, standing at the front door for a few seconds more before he locks it, waiting like he did for his dad to come home from work as a kid. But she never showed up.

Come home, I can't bear this anymore, this missing you.

She was out there building this new life for her, while also building him a new one. A new one without her in it, a new one with loneliness. But he tolerates it because he has to. He has to believe that she was coming home. He had to tolerate this isolation from everyone because he had burned bridges. August was not the only werewolf he lost contact with since that night. He did not know if Remus would forgive him for asking him to do such a terrible thing, but he also never tried to ask for forgiveness. He was filled with too much shame.

He always laughed when August and he would get into small tiffs, and she would say he was being unfair. That he tricked her into loving him, and how he told her it would be okay, that they were okay, till the end. Of course, they were okay, and he knew that. He knew she never had the chance to fight, that she told herself she wasn't allowed to. So when they do fight, it scares her and she blames herself and then blames him for letting himself into her heart. Letting him love her. And now he has to ask, was this the end?

But the funny thing is, she tricked him. She changed his world, so it would orbit the moon. And then she had left him stranded there — like an astronaut wandering on the moon. Like a drifting planet in the middle of space. Alone.

After August left, and days turned to months, George had to mourn her as if she died. But there wouldn't be a funeral, so he lived his life like a funeral. Waiting until the day death came back and everything could be buried into the ground and forgotten about.

George and Fred were sharing a flask of fire whiskey in the backroom. They had just received a shipment today and were surrounded by boxes. They had just closed up shop for the day and were in the back counting their day's earnings.

"How'd we do today?" George asked.

"Eh," Fred shrugged, "Definitely not summer numbers. But we're only weeks out, we'll get back. We both knew how hard it would be when school was back in."