Disclaimer: I do not Harry Potter or any of it's characters, that is all the property of J.K Rowling, publishers, WB, and not me. I own Ronald Weasley in my heart, though.

A/N: I haven't forgotten about my other HP fic; I was without my laptop for awhile (or at least, being able to write on it) so sorry about that. I'll be updating it within the month of whenever I have moe ideas, I don't want to to update with just anything for the sake of updating. But please r+r this one, thanks! :)

Chapter One

George Weasley felt a heavy sense of dread in each step he took toward his London flat. He'd spent his whole day working at Weasley Wizard Wheezes--a jokeshop once owned by he and his brother but even that didn't stop his slightly sour mood from being seen doing the day.

Many of the customers had asked him what was getting him down but he'd simply looked at them and smiled, "life, we all have those days. Even when you own a joke shop!" He flashed his trademark Weasley grin and immediately the customers moved on about the store, feeling at ease. It was not his job to tell people about all of his fears and inner demons--it was his job to make them forget about their own.

But as he turned his key in his door suddenly he wished he had talked to someone first. Had called his brother Ron, who would listen and not pass judgment. Or found a kind stranger on the streets of Diagon Alley or Muggle London...anyone.

He was instantly hit with the scent of candles and his girlfriend's burnt dinner. He could smell the stale scent of smoke in the air and cringed; she always cooked for him and he always ate it. He couldn't bare to tell her it all tasted charred and the same or that his siblings secretly made fun of her cooking. That his mother always sent him over some dinner which he ate greedily at the shop each evening before driving home.

"George!" Said the beautiful black haired girl running up to him and embracing him, "happy one year anniversary!"

Anniversary. She'd said the dreaded word, and now he closed his eyes even tighter as she kissed him behind his ear and pulled back. He opened his eyes to see her smile and kiss the side of his mouth, his lips.

It still baffled him that a hazy, drunken one night stand had turned into a one year relationship. George spun out of control after Fred's death. Not in an "obvious" way like drugs or mental illness but internally. He didn't know how to talk anyone and for some reason he couldn't bring himself to talk to any of his family. It seemed like they all had someone--his parents had each other, Ginny had Harry, Bill had Fleur, Percy had the love of his family back, and Ron--the lucky bastard, had his two best friends. Perhaps it was selfish to think of it in this terms but he felt he had a right to. He'd lost his brother and best friend. He'd thought about if Charlie must be lonely too but then decided Charlie was used to being away from the family at long periods of time anyway. He imagined it probably just felt like Fred was back home in England, that you couldn't really face the pain unless you lived with it everyday.

So naturally George was dreading celebrating having someone in his life who he didn't truly love but told her he did. Dreading the love they would make and the tears she would cry believing them to be "soul mates" or something equally daft or naive or both. He was dreading living another day lying to her, tempted to tell her the truth.

But she was playing with her long black hair, her bangs falling softly into her eyes. She had a pale, freckled heart shaped face, a small petite frame and she loved him. And as she smiled deviously at him in her thin white cotton dress he couldn't tell her. Not tonight, not when all of his sadnesses had combined and the only thing he wanted to do was taste her lips, her skin, her everything.

No. It wouldn't be tonight.