"Heya. I'm the actual author of this, and I don't have a fanfiction. I don't write a lot of stuff, so I wouldn't use one. My friend's graciously letting me use hers, so based on what the general reception is, I might get one. ;D
-Chena."
Angelina kept pace with George, mostly because he had her wrist tightly gripped in one hand and was pulling her along.
"Come on, Ang." George said, looking so damnably like Fred that she wanted to cry again. "You've gotta face it. Fred is..."
George didn't want to say it either, but swallowed heavily and averted his eyes before continuing. "Dead, Ang, and he's never coming back. It's okay to miss him, but..."
"I-I know. Fred..." She looked down, blinking tears quickly back. "I just... It's not fair, George!"
Without thinking, he gathered her into a hug that was brotherly, but she could think of nothing but the times when Fred had held her this way, and with Fred's clone doing it...
Shamelessly, she let herself be consoled, rocking with sobs. "I-I d-don't want m-my stuff back." She sniffled after three tries.
"But you need it back, Ang. You can't afford to buy all new stuff." He was gentle, trying to appeal to her in low tones so that she wouldn't cry harder.
"I know." Sniffing again and wiping her eyes, she vowed she wouldn't cry again. Not again. "'Kay, George."
"Alright." Without looking at her again, he opened the door with a key that fit perfectly. Quietly, he pushed her inside. "Angelina, you work upstairs. I'll stay down here."
Upstairs had been their room. He didn't want to intrude on their more personal things. How... Oddly sweet. "'Kay." Her voice was thick as she started for the stairs, unbidden flashbacks of the times Fred had carried her, squealing and protesting, up these stairs.
She felt tears well hotly up behind her eyes but bit the inside of her cheek to stop the tears.
The door was closed, as it always was when they left. She felt the cool knob under her hand and opened the door. It wasn't scary, as she thought it would be. Instead, it gave her a false hope; Fred's things were strewn about and mixed with hers; it appeared as though he'd be back any moment now, laughing and apologizing about being late and she'd try to be mad at him, but his charming way of smiling and his intoxicating way of kissing her just so would have her back under his thumb in less than half a hour.
No! She firmly cut that idea off, before listlessly searching under a pile of clothing that she knew to be Fred's. She needed something, anything, of his to keep him alive in her thoughts, but clothes?
No, no…. That wouldn't do. Frowning, she managed to stumble over to the closet and began to pick it apart.
Useless junk, some of Fred's pranks from his school days that he just couldn't get rid of (and God knew she couldn't tell that pout no!) that she considered keeping, clothes that hadn't been washed in who knows how long and one tiny box under it all. Curious, she picked it up. She didn't remember having anything like that. Gently, she shook it. It sounded empty so she set it aside and continued to look.
Finally, she found it. The thing she'd been looking for. A ring that matched the one on her right hand; one half of a heart. A silly little sign that she had insisted on until Fred, though sighing, promised he would buy for her. Although he so rarely wore his own, just knowing he had the matching one was enough to excite her.
She smiled down at it, but realized there was no way to carry it. Angelina glanced around the room and finally decided the most suitable thing for it was the jewelry box she had found earlier. Crossing the room, she opened it and prepared to drop the ring.
A glint caught her eye and she dug it out, a piece of paper clinging to it.
A ring. A simple golden ring. It was so beautiful, in its simplistic way. Carefully, she unfolded the note.
"Hey!" It began. "If this is Angelina, wow! You're nosy! Put this down. It's mine, of course. I'm sure you wonder what it is. Well, if you agree to read all this, maybe you'll know what it is."
Oh fuck, her mind warned. Stop reading. Just put it down. Her eyes kept reading, though, and it continued.
"Angelina, I'm going to sound really sappy, but whatever. I love you. You're probably the second most special thing to me. Second most, you're probably screaming. Yes. But only to my brother and I think you're tied even then. I couldn't imagine living without you. You're so you, Angelina. I knew you would find this (and I didn't want to have to give it to you) so I wrote this. I love you. I really do. And I hope you find this, because I really have got to know."
"Will you marry me?" The writing was uneven and she could practically feel the nervousness he must have felt writing this. All this feeling and sensing, and reading even, was lost as the paper fluttered to the ground and it hit her, really truly hit her, what this ring was. An engagement ring. He had wanted to marry her, and he was dead now. Her knees gave out and she hit the floor, sobbing over the poor ring.
George was upstairs almost instantly, afraid to enter the room. "Ang? Ang, you okay? What's wrong?"
Angelina knew she'd never manage to say it, so she held the ring out and looked at it.
"Oh... Angelina... I'm sorry." George knew instantly. It made sense; Fred had probably told his brother he was planning to marry her.
Shaking her head, she retracted her hand, something on the inside catching her attention.
Trying to still the tears enough to see, she realized it was an inscription. Quietly, she tried to read it. "Never again"?
Never again. It hit her, suddenly. She remembered the time they had laid there, him holding her tightly as she managed to tell him she was so scared that he would die or leave her, and she would be alone.
"Never, Angel. I couldn't leave you."
"Do you promise, Fred? Really truly promise?"
"I promise." And when she looked up at him, she realized he was as serious as he could ever be. "Never again, you'll never be alone."
She hadn't realized she was crying until the drops hit her shaking hands, coating the ring and making it glisten strongly in the light; her tears had it slipping from her grip and onto her finger, sticking on her knuckle in a way that she knew would fit perfectly, she was not consoled by this, only sobbed all the harder.
Well, that was two broken vows. It was a trend in their relationship.
While it had lasted.