A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews. Here's the next chapter. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!

Disclaimer: All fictional places and characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just drawing on them.

Chapter Three: Firewhiskey

Angelina glanced at her watch. It was 11:34 and she was already standing outside the famous pub. Excellent, now she'd have to wait alone inside for almost half an hour. She might've gone into Diagon Alley to look around for a bit, but just her luck, she'd be spotted by George from his flat or the shop. She sighed miserably. Her feelings about him were so complicated. He was both the last person she wanted to see and the person she wanted to see most. She didn't want him to think she cared too much, but she'd beaten herself up for letting him think she didn't care enough.

She pushed the door open and walked inside. It was busy today; she'd have a job finding a table for them. As she pushed her way to the other side of the room, old drunken men leered at her with crooked smiles and catcalls. Angelina tossed her hair over her shoulders and put on a spectacular show of ignoring them. It was going to be a very long twenty minutes.

"What are you doing all alone, sunshine?" called a man from the corner. "Come sit with papa."

"She's not alone," said a voice from behind her. "Bugger off, will you?"

Angelina's face brightened considerably. Whatever mixed feelings she'd had before, she was delighted to see George Weasley. He grinned sheepishly. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. She looked him over. "You're early."

"So are you. I don't much fancy this crowd. Let's get out of here." He took her hand and led her out the back door, where he tapped the bricks that led to Diagon Alley with his wand.

It was a complete one-eighty from the last time Angelina had been here. Sunlight streamed across the busy streets as they stepped out of Muggle London. And somehow, with the weather change, came a new feeling of hope. She became very aware that her hand was still clasped in George's, but she didn't let herself pull away.

"Where to?" she asked, looking around. There didn't seem to be any place where they could sit down and escape the mills of people.

"Come to my place," he said, not waiting for an answer.

Angelina was not entirely sure how she felt about being alone with George in his flat, but he didn't seem to be paying her much attention. At any rate, she couldn't have offered a better suggestion. So she followed him to the place where he had lived with Fred for over a year above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Sorry, it's kind of small… and lacking a bit in the furniture department," George said apologetically. "We didn't see the need for a sofa or anything."

"But it's yours," Angelina said. "It's wonderful." She looked up at him and smiled shyly. He offered her a smile in return—small, but genuine.

"I do what I can," George said brusquely, breaking the spell. "Anything to drink?"

Angelina swallowed, suddenly feeling extremely awkward and out of place. What was she doing here? "You got any firewhiskey?" she half-joked.

"Angelina!" George gasped, his eyes wide. "I'm so… so…"

"Surprised?"

"Proud!" He grinned sideways, making his face seem even more lopsided with the absence of his ear. "I didn't know you were so… so…"

"Adventurous?"

"Wise." His smirk widened, evening out a little. "After half a decade of hell, I think we deserve a bit of… adventure." George waved his wand once, and a glass bottle and two cocktail glasses appeared on the little table next to him.

"When did you become so adept at nonverbal magic, Mr. Hogwarts Dropout?" asked Angelina as George poured her drink.

"Natural talent, I suppose," he said, pouring one for himself. He settled himself back in his chair and Angelina sat across from him on the unmade bed. George raised his glass. "To old friends," he said.

"To old friends," Angelina repeated, and they clinked their glasses together. George tilted his head back and drained the glass in seconds. Angelina lifted the glass to her lips and took asip—

And spat the entire mouthful all over herself, coughing uncontrollably. She set the glass down on the floor and regained her composure. Reluctantly, she looked up at George, who was nearly shaking with glee.

"You've never had firewhiskey before, have you?" he deduced, pouring himself another glass.

"Glad my idiocy has got you in such high spirits," Angelina said, rolling her eyes.

"You're not an idiot, Ange. You've never had it before. Hey, listen, I've got some butterbeer in the fridge, I think."

"No!" Angelina said vehemently, rising to her feet in her excitement. She snatched the glass up from the floor and downed the entire drink in one gulp, determinedly ignoring its fiery burn. Then she held it out to George. "More, please."

George grinned. "There's the Angelina I know and love. Never turns down a challenge." He refilled her glass. "How long until you give up?"

She slammed a newly emptied glass down on the table. "No such thing."

Three glasses later, Angelina's resolve had somewhat softened. She collapsed back down onto the bed, her fifth glass half full.

"Done?" George asked, smirking.

"Not quite," she said firmly, lying down on the bed. "I'm just… on break. Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm not done yet. You'll see."

George laughed.

"It's good to see you laughing, even if it's at my expense. It reminds me of the old days. That's the way you and Fred always used to laugh at me when I did something stupid."

"We weren't laughing at you," he insisted. "We were laughing with you. Except when you woke us up at the crack of dawn for Quidditch practice. Then no one was laughing."

"Well, you didn't have long to deal with that, did you? You and Harry beat the crap out of Malfoy and lost me three of my best players. I don't think I'll ever forgive you for almost ruining my captaincy."

"Doesn't sabotaging Umbridge's regime count for anything?"

"Okay, maybe a little. But you guys left, so I'm docking a few more points. I mean, despite the legacy you guys left, it still wasn't the same as having the real Fred and George around to lighten everyone up during NEWT year, you know?"

"Well, you were always welcome to visit the shop."

"Well… I- I did."

His face dropped slightly. "Oh. Fred. Right." George took another long sip of firewhiskey to soften the blow of the tense silence that followed these words. "Hey, Ange, look… he, er... he really cared a lot about you."

More silence. "I know," said Angelina very quietly. Then, more quietly still, she said, "It must be awful for you."

George merely looked at her.

"I mean… in seventh year," she continued, prompted by his silence, "when you and Fred left, it sort of felt like… even though everyone else was still there, it was always as though something was missing. When someone would say something, I'd always imagine the sort of jokes you two would make about it in my head. Does it feel like that for you now?"

She was staring at him intently, and he stared back in wonder. No one had ever asked him so blatantly how he felt about his brother's death. In truth, he'd never imagined he'd be able to properly articulate it. He'd never had to think about it, either, because people usually tiptoed around the subject, giving him sidelong glances and asking if he was "okay." He considered what Angelina had said, and slowly, he nodded.

George waited before posing the question Angelina had been waiting for since the day she'd first seen him again. "Why didn't you come to the funeral?"

"Because… because I was a real prat. You see, I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but I was a bit… I felt like I was being abandoned. I didn't know what was going to happen, and it seemed like no one cared enough to check how I was doing. And I told myself that if… if he really wanted… to see me… he'd have found a way. So when he died, it sort of… hit me all at once what a complete idiot I was being. You all were out there, sacrificing everything to fight You-Know-Who, and here I was being a self-absorbed prat and blaming everyone else. I couldn't go and face that. I guess I was just afraid to face my own stupidity. And more than that… I couldn't face the fact that after being so stupid, I wouldn't ever get to see him again and make it right." She sighed. "I know I'm a complete coward. I wish I could be brave like you and Fred and all of the Weasleys."

"Don't say that, Angelina. You were there in the end, fighting with the rest of us. We needed you. We needed everyone."

"You're just saying that," she mumbled, but now she sounded distant.

"Are you okay?" George asked quickly, concerned that this heavy subject matter was bad territory. "Maybe we should change the subject."

"I'm fine. You're the only person I've ever really spoken to about Fred or the final battle or any of that stuff." She realized as she lay on the mattress, the world slowly spinning around her, that she felt… well, she felt good.

"Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Me too." He looked up when she giggled softly. "What's funny?"

"I was just thinking," she said slowly, "how funny it is that I was scared to come here in the first place, but now I feel loads better."

"You were scared to come here? Why?" George could tell she was starting to feel the effects of the firewhiskey, but the alcohol seemed to be working as well as Veritaserum.

"I thought you were going to be mad at me for not coming to see you before… or that I was going to disappoint you again. I can't be as brave as you guys. I'm not used to having to face things like this. I really… don't know… if I…" She had drifted into a doze.

George watched her for a moment in wonder. Then, he got up from his chair and nudged her gently. "I should take you home."

She looked up at him groggily and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once she was standing, however, she tipped back over and sagged toward the ground until George was holding almost her entire weight.

"Okay, maybe you had a few too many drinks." He stumbled backwards a bit as she fell into his arms; normally he could have carried her, but he was a bit tipsy himself. "Come on, let's get you home."

He Apparated her away to her house and rapped hard on the door. No one answered. Angelina, still being supported mostly by George, turned over her keys. He struggled quite a bit with the lock; it was quite hard to get the little key into the hole when it was swimming before his eyes. Once he'd finally gotten it open, he guided her to her room and set her down on her bed. However, they were so tangled up together that he tumbled down next to her, with one of his arms trapped beneath her.

"George," she said, grasping him more tightly than she would have done if she were sober. "Thanks for everything. It was really nice talking to you. I don't know if I've ever told you this, but you're the bravest person I know. I always thought so."

"Funny. I thought the same about you."

"Me? No." She reached up to hold his face in her hands. "George…"

He looked down at her, still feeling considerably lightheaded. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were slightly unfocused. Her body was nearly cutting off the circulation in his arm, and she smelled strongly of alcohol. George noticed none of these things. What he noticed was how incredibly inviting her lips looked as they formed around his name. He leaned forward and accepted the invitation.