This is a one-shot about George and Angelina, taking place just after Fred's funeral, it explores how the couple come together and deal with the lost of a man they both loved.
May 1998, The Burrow
The glass slips from my hand. I do not care. I do not care about anything. He is gone. Gone. Forever. A storm rages inside my chest. How can he have left me? It just couldn’t be true. He could not be gone. Not really. My arm snakes around my stomach and I squeeze hard, trying to stop myself vomiting over the gathered mourners. The mourners: they made it real. It was there fault. All of them. How dare they?
Nothing matters any more. Nothing ever will. I am a shadow and the object that casts me has gone. How can I still be here? There is nothing left for me now. Nothing at all. Emptiness fills me. I feel nothing. I never will. How can it have come to this?
I need to get out. To escape. I need to breathe. To regain composure. I need him to come back to me. I need him to laugh. I need him to smile. I need him. The sound of their voices is deafening. The mourners. How can they be so loud? I need to get out. I need a break from the anguish.
People are here. I cannot tell them apart. Do I even know them? Did they even know him? Why are they still here? He is gone yet they remain. Why won’t they leave? I cannot hear the distant echo of their voices. Far away. I need to get out. I need an escape from this emptiness.
I used to be strong. I thought I was strong. I had never been tested before. Now I am weak. Weaker than I thought I could ever be. I do not care. He is gone. Nothing matters any more. I head for the door.
People move out of my way. Why are they looking at me? I am a shadow. You cannot see a shadow unless the sun is out. There is no sun today. There will never be any sun again. The door looms before me. I leave.
A hand on mine. A twisting feeling. A warm breeze. A small cottage. Where am I?
I touch her hand. I take her with me. The cottage I bought. Why did I buy it?
The door is unlocked. It opens easily. He is not there. He never will be. Why did he leave me? What is my life without him? How will I go on living when there is nothing to live for? He would not have liked to see me like this. It would have made him sad. But he is not here. It does not matter. He can never be sad again. Never.
He never saw this house. He never walked through this hall. There is no memory of him here. Yet still I can see him. Why can I see him? Why does he haunt me? Why does he not speak? He would not have liked it here. Too quiet. But it does not matter. He is not here. He never will be. Never.
The rage roars inside me. Why did it have to be him? Why could it not have been me?
The emptiness echoes inside me. Why did it have to be him? It should have been me.
I must escape the torment of my thoughts. I must close my mind to the suffering. How can the world move on as if nothing is wrong? How can is still spin when its core is gone? He was my core. The centre of my world. He never even knew. For so many years. He was my life. I loved him. I still love him. I always will.
I must escape the hollowness I feel. Or rather, do not feel. For I do not feel anything. Nothing. There is a void where once my senses dwelled. How can the world go on turning? How can my heart still be beating? He was the real me. I was his shadow. Without him, I am nothing. Nothing but the fragment of my own imagination. How can a fragment exist? Why should a fragment exist?
Please. Help me. Let me forget my heart. Let me block out the pain. The anguish.
Please. Save me. Let me forget I am alive. Let me block out the void. The emptiness.
I turn around and see him. But it is not him. Not really.
She looks at me and I know. I know she wants me to be him. Always him.
It hurts. It hurts too much to bear. He is my escape. He is my respite. He understands. I know what will happen. I know how to escape. If only for a while. It is better than this anguish… Anything is better than this anguish.
The remains of my feelings leave me. She is my escape. She is my relief. She understands. It will happen now. I know how to escape. If only for a while. It is better than this emptiness… Anything is better than this emptiness.
His touch is slow. Gentle. I know he needs this just as much as I do. If not more. We can save each other. We can save ourselves. My robes fall to the floor. The cool wind wafts in through an open window.
She does not flinch from my touch. She knows I need this just as much as her. If not more. I know we can save each other. I know we can save ourselves. Whatever purpose that may serve. She is human. As am I… If only the shadow of one.
The room behind me has a bed. I move towards it. He follows. I take off his robes. He does not protest. We are safe here. No one will find us. We can try to heal. We never will. Not fully. Too much is lost. Too great a scar.
The bed is soft. Comfortable. I can lose myself here. No one will ever know. The cool breeze tangles in her hair as she lies on the sheets.
I close my eyes. He moves against me. The remains of my clothing are removed. As are his. He is soft. Softer than I thought. He is steady. He just rubs himself against me. Slowly. Testing.
She closes her eyes. Perhaps she is imagining him. I need to escape. To forget. His face. She is soft. I focus on her bear flesh. It helps. If only a little. I move myself against her. Slowly. Testing.
My body begins to tingle. My thighs begin to burn. Thank you Merlin. For giving us physical releases. I let the tingling distract me from the anguish in my heart.
Should I kiss her? Kissing is personal. I need to kiss her. It will help me forget. Her eyes are still closed. Should I kiss her now?
His lips find the skin on my neck. Exploring hesitantly. I need more. The passion he has awoken in my body demands more. I search for his face.
She pulls my head up. Kissing my lips. It is a sweet escape. She tastes like firewhiskey. Burning. I need her now. She is my escape. I need more.
His body begins to move faster. I can feel his growing desire between my thighs. My body prepares for his approach. I need him now. Now.
She is running her hands down my back. Pulling me closer to her. I think she is ready. I shift slightly. Her body is reluctant at first. Then more willing.
It hurts. But it is a physical pain. A good distraction from my shattered heart. He is gentle though. Tender. He moves faster now. More demanding.
I. Need. More. More. More. She is whimpering but I cannot stop. I do not think she wants me to. I move faster. Demanding. I need her more than I have ever needed anything before in my life. She is my sweet escape.
Oh. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. He is persistent. Part of me is begging him to stop. Part of me wants him to go on forever. Urgh. He needs me and I need him. More than I need anything else. He is my tender escape.
I can feel her sweating body beneath me. Her nails crawl down the skin on my back. Breaking it. I bleed. It is a comforting pain. A physical pain.
Oh. Sweet. Merlin. Please. Please. Please. The anguish is pushed aside as my body cries for an escape. He is giving it to me. Giving it well and truly. He can help me escape. For that I am eternally in his debt. He has stopped me from crumbling.
She is moaning now. Words leak from her lips. Please, she says. Over and over. I want to give her what she wants as she is giving me what I want. What I need. She has filled the emptiness with her body. She has saved me from falling.
My back arches as he sends me crashing against him. Oblivious to anything but our conjoined bodies. He has saved me. He has given me my escape.
She crashes against me and I know I have served her well. I let my mind go blank, thinking of nothing but our sweaty bodies tangled in the sheets. She has saved me. She has given me my escape. Angelina. My saviour.
I know that I can have no one else. He is my saviour and I need him. We need him. Me and my child. His child. George’s child.
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