"I'm so glad, you made time to see me,"

"I'm so glad, you made time to see me," I grinned falsely, heading over to the kitchen in my two-bedroom flat in Ottery St. Catchpole. I had moved in barely two months earlier after taking a six-month leave from England to explore what was the "home of the brave" which I decided would be the best place for a Gryffindor, like myself, to vacation. A few months after that I abruptly left back to America for what I thought would be a permanent stay. Forever.

It didn't last long, however.

"So how are you?"

"How's life, tell me how's you're family,
I haven't seen them in a while.

You've been good

Busier than ever, we small talk

Work and the weather"

He also gives a smile, radiating faux happiness showing me that he really wanted to touch a subject that was not to be touched. His bright crimson locks, or what is of them, were now a dreary and faded dark orange and were conveniently placed so that you couldn't see his lack of a right ear. His hair shook as he replied swiftly, "I'm as good as to be expected."

I silently cringed at the blunt and almost mean response I received, though I was not surprised at all. I mean, had it of been me I would have behaved the exact same way. Oh wait, it was me. I winced again at my carelessness.

"I've re-opened the shop now," George nonchalantly continued, purposely ignoring my reaction, relaxing back on the coach after I set down his tea. "Surprisingly, the shop has been busier than ever- even in the middle of the school-year!"

But as soon as he opens up, he just as quickly retreats back and glares into his cup. George resorts to less personal chit-chat: the weather.

"Your guard is up and I know why,"

I didn't blame him in the least. I acted the same around him from September up until that faithful day that I fleeted into self-pity and misery.

"Because the last time you saw me,

Is still burned inside the

Back of your mind

You gave me roses and I left them there

To die"

"No!" I screech as loud, if not louder than a banshee. It's December ninth, and you're standing in the same spot, stunned at my reaction, your soft baby blue eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. 'How can you do this!' you're thinking. 'He was my brother-twin as well!'

I can't stand it anymore, I decide. The anger and sorrow over Fred's death that I had only heard about in September, and the guilt and also anger that I had fallen for his brother only months after his death. I have to leave, have to.

For a moment there, I flashback to the horrible day that I found out of his death. Sitting on his grave, crying in your arms over and over again. I am horrified, it was the first time you had ever seen me cry.

"I-i can't do this a-any-m-more," I silently quiver before throwing down the yellow roses onto Fred's grave and rotting corpse. I walk, more slowly, back to where you stand looking down remorsefully because it's your fault.

"Goodbye," not too sure of which twin I really meant it to I apparated back to my flat and gathered my belongings.

It's January first and I'm at my flat in America, I just came back from a party. I decided that twelve thirty was late enough to go to bed, not ignoring the fact that I hadn't had a nights good sleep since I left you.

Every time I did try to get some shut-eye memories of me leaving you for good replay endlessly in my head. Thinking of would-have-beens and what should have been.

I resolve quietly to never sleep again.

It's your birthday. I really wanted to call, really.

But it's also his birthday, and I can't stand to have that reminder.

I quickly hang up the receiver before you can pick up your phone.

You wouldn't have wanted to anyways.

That day, May the second, I tried to think about the good times. I really did.

As the time crept on, all of those beautiful times were washed put and replaced by new ones.

The dark days, as Melinda puts it. The cold and fear sneak up on me too, so I stopped thinking about it.

But not before that brisk December day could slip into my head; the day you told me you loved me and I stomped and squished down your hopes and said goodbye. I hate you.

I love you.

I am brought spinning back to reality by a hard prod on my shoulder. I looked back and saw it was George, now standing right behind me confused. I was probably spaced out for a very long time, it seems. Or he wouldn't of needed to poke me.

George let out a snort that nearly had me giggling as well. I had apparently voiced out that last part of my inner monologue.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" I blush profusely against my wishes.

He clears his throat uncomfortably, clearly not expecting me to ask that.

"I was wondering- if you were in the neighborhood at that time- if you'd like to see the family?" It came out more like a question than a statement., but it shocked me all the same. Here was a guy that I let years ago, asking me to meet his family (that I had already met, granted) on the day Fred died.

"I miss your tan skin,

Your sweet smile.

So good to me

So right."

I don't respond for a while so I guess George takes it as a no and right before he went to grab the door, I spun him around to face me.

But this is me swallowing my pride, standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night.

"I'd go back to December all the time." I grab a fistful of his hair and pull his face down to meet mine. Our lips touch and sparks fly between us, figuratively of course. Before I know it he's kissing back with full-force and we're making out on my table.

I pulled back and said, "Of course."

A/N: Alright-y folks! So that's my third-fourth? Installment of the songfics with the lyrics of "Back to December" by Taylor Swift. Lately I've been listening to her new album so I decided to give it a shot. I couldn't tell this is about a girl who fell in love with Fred before the war and a month before the Final Battle goes on a six-month trip to America. She comes back in September to find Fred dead and goes to George for comfort, than starts falling for George. Mystery girl finally goes to visit Fred's grave in December where George says his undying love for her; she moves to America. The italics are the past, yaddayaddayadda. Thanks or reading! It's 10:32 pm. I really need to get to sleep.