@brokenpair liked for a starter.
Bill didn’t know why he kept coming back to his uncle’s graves - all he knew was that it was hard for his mother to keep them maintained. Spells wore off and needed to be freshened up - flowers needed to be placed - and someone, at least, needed to let them know how things were going in one way or another.
Walking in tombs was something he had grown accustomed to - but there was something different about this tradition that felt a little less distant. Maybe it was because it was close to home, or maybe it was because the war was closing in and his own brother was now isolated from the family by the force of his own ambitions.
Maybe it was because Bill didn’t know how he would handle ever having to visit a grave with one of their names etched on it. Charlie would destroy him - that idiot was as much a part of him as Fred was to George. But Percy - Merlin, he was so smart, but he could be so stupid. Now wasn’t the time to step away from family, but here they all were. And Ron - hell, he was closer to the crux of this than any of them, what with being Harry Potter’s best friend.
“We’re not cut out for this,” He mused, adjusting the flowers before laying his hand on the cool stone. “I know mum won’t ask - but if you two could keep an eye out for us, I know she’d appreciate it. I know she doesn’t want you guys to be lonely or anything, but I’m sure she’d rather wait before you guys met the nephews and niece, if you catch my drift.”
The sound of a twig cracking drew him from his reverie. Without pausing, Bill ducked fast behind another headstone and dropped his wand into his hand. “Shit,” Mum would lose her shit if he got himself killed at her brother’s graves. “Who’s there?” If it was a friendly, that would be fine - if it wasn’t, well.
Sometimes the only thing you had in life was a name and a feeling. Well, he had two names, and it had been enough to lead him here. Graveyards always seemed so hopeful when they were maintained, the connection that you had with the people that came before, the feeling of love that still existed between families.
He had wanted to see if his family still remembered him, even if he couldn’t properly remember everything himself. He knew that his name was Gideon Prewett. He knew he had a brother named Fabian Prewtt. He knew that something terrible had happened to the both of them. Sometimes he even remember the faces of the family he had. Maybe even enough to go back one day. Still, it’s neater to be just a name on a stone, even if you weren’t actually under it.
Molly would worry herself sick if she found out the truth. Even if he does miss her terribly, he couldn’t justify putting that strain on her, especially since he’s not the same man who used to be her brother.
He can hear a faint voice up ahead, the words thin at this distance. ‘If you could keep an eye out for us...’ He steps closer to try to catch more of what’s being said, catching sight of brown hair kneeling down in front of two headstones. ‘Nephews and niece, if you catch my drift.’
A chill runs down his spine, rather like someone’s standing over his grave, talking to him. He ducks behind a tree, his heart pounding. The sharp snap of a twig rings out across the resting place for the dead, and he’s close enough to hear the expletive. He doesn’t want to come out, but he’s sure he’s going to get hexed six ways to sunday if he doesn’t, and then were would he be? No where good. He slowly turns out into the open, trying to seem as harmless as possible.
“I’m here to visit my brother’s grave, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here, nor did I want to interrupt. It wasn’t my intention to sneek up on you like that.”
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