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Chapter 3

Until now, there had only been a shoe.

It was a lovely little picnic by a lake near her grandparent's house. They watched the sun come up and then she'd magically enlarged a basket from one of her pockets and they'd eaten some cold sausages, and hunks of fresh bread. She magically heat up some tea for herself and pulled out a pint sized carton of orange juice for George. The sun was up entirely and the food was gone before either of them said anything.

"I need to go see my parents at some point today." George said finally. Dread it as he would, he knew that he owed it to them.

Angelina nodded. "Yeah…" she said leaning back on her elbows. "Me too."

There was another minute of silence. Normally such things were very uncommon between them but for some reason, today, George felt his throat closing up.

"I can't believe it's been a year," he said softly.

Angelina gently reached over and set one of her hands on top of his. He didn't stop- he wanted to, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate.

"We talked about it… you know? We talked about what would happen if one of us had died. We talked about it… but I guess it just never sank in for me. I mean, if we could survive the hundreds of faults that went wrong with our inventions… the nosebleeds and boils and explosions… abrasions… why couldn't we survive a war? Why not?"

"You did survive George." Angelina told him.

He didn't' seem to hear her. Annoyed she sat up and shifted until she was right in front of him.

"George…" she said. "Listen…" she took a breath and let it out. "It's… gonna be okay, you know?"

George looked up at her. "I know," he whispered. And he did. After all, the war was over. Even if Fred had known that he was going to die, he would have gone to fight anyway. He still would have wanted to contribute, to try to fight and take down as many death eaters as possible. He was a Gryffindor after all.

'But I'm a Gryffindor too…' George thought suddenly. 'This way I've been living… it's not brave… it's not brave at all…'

Angelina's face still hovered inches away from his own, looking worried. George felt suddenly worried.

"Angelina…" he whispered. "I-I'm really sorry-"

That was when it happened. For some reason he couldn't even begin to fathom, for some reason he couldn't begin to explain, Angelina leaned forward and kissed him.

It wasn't long and romantic, nor was it short and quick. It was just short enough to be a question and just long enough to know what the question was. George was frozen, and when she opened her eyes again she saw how incredibly surprised he looked. None the less she didn't allow herself to become frightened. After all, she was a Gryffindor too.

"George…" Angelina said steadily, seriously. "I'm in love with you."

He stared back at her.

Angelina laughed nervously. "You could… say something…"

George swallowed. Looking anywhere but at her face, he jumped up. Angelina jumped up too, grabbing the front of his coat.

"George… look. I've been hanging out with you now for a month. I've never made you talk about anything. Even when you talk about Fred you say it so casually, it's like he's the elephant in the room that we talk about casually without actually acknowledging that it's a problem."

This annoyed him. "He's not a problem-"

"He is and you know it!" Angelina snapped. "He's the reason you won't let yourself move on! It's okay that you miss him! I miss him too-"

"You love him!" George yelled suddenly, surprising her so much she let go of his coat. "You don't love me, you love him! I'm just… just…" he turned away, his face contorting. "I'm a shoe, damn it!"

This stopped her in her tracks and she blinked. After a moment, she shook her head. "George… I don't follow…"

"I'm a shoe!" George said, sitting down again, clapping his hands on his head. "Don't you get it? I came in a pair! We were good as a pair but if you loose one it's useless without the other, no one wants a right shoe without the left, no one needs one shoe without the other…"

If he would have looked at her he would have seen how furious she was. As such she fell on her knees and grabbed him by his shirt lapels.

"… you absolute MORON!" she fairly screamed. "Haven't you been listening?! Didn't I just tell you-"

"You're Fred's girl-"

"I wasn't in love with Fred!" she said angrily. "I mean, yes I liked him… I had a huge crush on him, I went to the Yule Ball with him… but nothing became of it! We left school and went our separate ways. Don't insult me and tell me I like you just because you look like Fred Weasley! You may share the same sense of humor but that's where the similarities end!"

Then, to his complete astonishment, she leaned forward again and kissed him again, more passionately than before breaking it off, pushing him back so he fell onto the grass. She stood up and looked down at him; fear, sadness and anger mixed across her face.

"You're George Weasley," she said finally. "You like orange juice, your favorite color is neon green. You like cantaloupe with salt and your favorite singer is Craig Dragonian. You refuse to pick up your socks and you get irrational and angry when people try to help you. On the other hand, even when you're hurting you try to smile and make the people around you laugh. You're selfless like that," she trailed off. With a soft laugh that sounded more like a sob, she turned, walked a few feet away. George swallowed. Slowly he stood up, his back to her.

"Angelina…" he turned to face her.

She wasn't there. She had disappeared, soundlessly as always. Feeling as though his heart was frozen, he stared off into the distance, wondering what had become of his life… wondering if she had meant what she said.

Wondering…

Wondering.

She didn't come back to work. After a month of having someone look after him, George knew he needed some help. Ron had gaped at him for nearly five minutes after he asked, his ears turning scarlet, but in the end he was very pleased about it. It was strange having him around the shop, but George found that he got used to it, and even appreciated it. He may have picked on Ron excessively, but let's face it… he was one of the Weasley twins. At one time or another, he had picked on practically everyone. Besides, George was rather fond of his ignorant-yet loyal brother, (not that he'd ever admit it). Not to mention that with Ron minding the shop, he could finally do something he'd been avoiding for months.

Standing upstairs he stood outside Fred's room, debating whether he should enter. He hadn't gone in it for a year… not for ages. The first time he'd entered the flat, after the battle, he'd taken everything around the house that had been or reminded him of his brother and thrown it into the room, locking the door.

Now he found himself unlocking it and walking inside.

A thick layer of dust covered everything, the sunlight pouring through the window making everything glow iridescently. Carefully, the first born twin stepped over his brother's dirty clothes, shoes, half eaten apples and unmentionables.

After clearing a spot on the bed for himself, he sat down and looked at it all. To his surprise, he didn't feel overwhelmed or angry… he didn't really feel anything. Taking out his wand, he vanished the dirt and filth. With another flick of his wand the shoes walked across the room, putting themselves in their closet, the clothes jumped into the basket and books floated back onto their shelves. Within seconds the room was clean.

Standing up, he went over to the corner where a large cauldron stood, various ingredients on the table beside it, ready to be mixed and made into mischievous products. A tablet was laying open, and Fred's familiar scribble was there, spelling out several ideas, with a few cross outs and question marks. George picked it up and paged through.

Wide awake- something that liquefies the eyes, so a person doesn't have to close them to sleep- tap toes calendar, for people who are always late or blokes who always forget important dates- levitating sherbet balls, try to figure out recipe and come up with something better for… floating puffskeins?

George continued to page through. Some of the ideas were bad- very bad. Some of them he found himself nodding to. He flipped another page and stopped in surprise.

A picture had been taped to the inside. It was of their Gryffindor Quittich team the year they had won the cup, Oliver, the girls and Harry were there, screaming and jumping up and down, their mouths silently moving but saying, "We won! We won!" He and Fred appeared to be dancing, their arms around each other's shoulders, laughing and shouting themselves hoarse.

Fred's face looked so happy. George remembered that smile… remembered how it had been there, even when his heart had stopped beating. Slowly he reached out and flipped the picture over.

Instead of a name or date, there was just another invention idea on the back. Apparently Fred had come up with it and didn't have a spare bit of parchment. George smiled a little at the thought, and even more when he realized the idea he was holding.

Carefully, he started a fire underneath the cauldron, filling it with water and starting to assemble ingredients. He suddenly felt more energetic and more creative than he had in months. Fred had always been the better at coming up with ideas, but he had always been better at figuring out how to make them without blowing something up.

The pain was still there. It was Fred's room. It was Fred's notebook. But in that moment, George had never felt more alive.

R&R

Last chapter may take a bit longer. :)