I don't realize that I'm sweating until Mrs. Weasley mentions it.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asks, and I realize that my hair is suffocating my head and my clothes are suffocating my body and my shirt's sticking to my skin and I don't think I can do this. But this is the fifth time I've tried this week, and this time Mrs. Weasley was out in the garden, so I couldn't run like I have the other times, and so I'm stuck.

"Fine," I say, and my voice cracks and I loosen my collar. "He's… ah, he's here, isn't he?"

I don't say his name, but she knows who I'm talking about, because I was his – their – best friend. Apart from each other. It was Fred and George before it was Fred and George and Lee, but now it's George and heartbreak and death and hey, here's Lee sneaking in from the sidelines. I feel like a coward. But I doubt he'd have been ready before now.

She nods. "If he doesn't want to see you, though-"

"I know," I say. "Believe me. I know. But I can't… I mean, I've got to see him sometime. Right?"

I don't know if she agrees with me, but she nods to the door and I head up to their – his, now – room. I've been here before, I know what steps creak and I know where the ceilings a little low and I know how to jimmy the lock on the bedroom door if he doesn't want to let me in.

Once I get up to the door, I don't know what to do. I don't know if I should knock, or if I should just walk in, or if I should just Apparate out of here, go tell Angelina that I couldn't do it and that I'm the biggest coward in the world and that it's really no surprise why she still won't date me.

So I stand there for a few minutes, and eventually I open the door. "George?" I call, and when I get the door open all of the way he's sitting on a bed – I don't even know if it's his or Fred's, and I don't know which would be worse – and he looks at me and he just sort of shrugs at me. The hole in the side of his head where his ear used to be is staring at me. It's creepy, but it's paying me more attention than George is.

I enter the room and shut the door behind me. I hesitate at the edge of the room, which is even hotter than outside. He could use an open window. I'll open the window.

I open the window, and then I turn to him and get ready to start talking but when I look him straight in the face my voice dies in my throat. I knew it would be bad. I knew it would be bad, but I didn't think it would be this bad, because his face is paler than his sheets and his hair looks like it hasn't been washed in days and he's wearing a weird mismatch of pajamas and old Quidditch robes. He's rolling something over in his hands, and it looks sort of like one of their Skiving Snackboxes, and I wonder if he's going to use it to get out of this conversation.

"So," he says. His voice is rough; it's thick and it's heavy and it sounds like he hasn't talked very much for a while.

"So," I repeat, and that's when it all comes out because shutting up and Lee Jordan don't go together. "So, I have tickets to the next Puddlemere United game, and if you wanted to come with me and Angelina-"

He looks at me and for a second there's the George I'm used to, but when he talks his voice still isn't right. "You got her to go out with you?"

"Well-" I say, because that's not exactly true. "Not really. She said she'd come if you did. I don't think she thinks I can get you to come, but, you know."

He doesn't say anything. This was the worst idea Angelina Johnson has ever had in her life.

"If not, I can go with someone else," I say. "I mean-"

He's still not talking. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, so I pace around his room, jabbering nervously and I don't realize what I've said until he's grabbed my arm.

"What?" he says, and I haven't even been paying attention to what I've been saying, so I just sort of shrug. "You just – did you just call me Fred?"

"I… don't know," I say. "Did – did I?"

My voice breaks and I don't know if he's going to punch me in the face or hug me. I'd take either, really. Both would be more emotion than I've seen in him since I got here. He doesn't do either, though. He just sort of snorts and turns away, to go back to his bed, and says, "There's a lot separating us now."

"Habit?" I offer weakly, but he doesn't turn around, and so I grab his wrist and pull him back and force him to look at me. "Seriously, George. I know I don't get it. I don't. But I'm torn up about it, too, and so's Angelina, and so's everyone else. You know what people could use right now? A laugh. If you keep your shop closed up forever you'll lose business, mate."

"Our shop," George mutters. "It was always our shop. I can't do it by myself-"

"You don't have to do it by yourself!" I say, and I'm yelling now, and I'm pretty sure Mrs. Weasley is going to run up and chase me out of her house or something, but I grab him by the shoulders and shake him. He doesn't do anything. "You've got me! You've got Angelina! You've got – you've got fucking Harry Potter!"

He actually does laugh at this, and even if it's weak and cuts off after about two seconds it's better than nothing, so I press on.

"Come on," I say. "Come to a Quidditch game with us. It'll be nice to see Wood, right? The old Keeper – well, he's not really in any fit state to play Quidditch, so Wood's the real Keeper now, he's how I got the tickets in the first place, and I think he'd be mad at me if I didn't get you to come."

"Me going to a Quidditch game isn't me reopening the shop."

"I know," I say. "But – hey, baby steps, right?"

so i finished my harry potter marathon re-read today. there might be a few other random oneshots within the next few days, but. you know.