A/N: Okay, the quote from the A/N in the last chapter was from "One Winter Night in August." A truly hysterical poem by X. J. Kennedy that you have to check out. You'll be laughing your head off. :-D

Chapter 12/Grave Misunderstandings

It was a day before my birthday, while I was working the front counter as usual, when he walked in. He was grinning broadly, his weathered face crinkling at the corner of his eyes. Heedless of the costumers currently browsing the merchandise, I squealed happily and ran to him, throwing my arms around his muscular frame in a tight hug. I had not seen him for a year and watching him walk through that door was the best thing that had happened to me so far.

As I pulled away I could hear Ron calling to his brother from across the store. Charlie waved at the younger red-head and then turned to me.

"I got your letter; sorry I couldn't get away sooner. Is there someplace we can go where we can talk about it?" His face was suddenly serious.

I pondered this a moment. I glanced at my watch. "I have a lunch break in about twenty minutes. How about then?"

He nodded. "I'll be waiting for you underneath one of those brightly colored umbrellas, okay?"

I smiled. "Sounds good, see you then."

The twenty minutes passed quickly. I practically raced out the door once my break started, calling to Ron where I would be. He looked amused. I didn't see why. I was just anxious to see a close friend whom I hadn't been able to talk to face to face in long time. I spotted him right away, his bright red hair gleaming in the light from the sun which was high in the sky. It was hot outside and by the time I got to the chair opposite him, I was sweating.

"So," I said as I sat.

"So," Charlie smiled. It was the first genuine smile I had seen on the face of a Weasley and it warmed my heart. I knew that Charlie missed his brother as much as any other Weasley, but what I liked about him was that he did not dwell on the past. He had the strength to move on and continue to live. I wish I had that strength.

"You got my letter," it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, and I want to know the entire story, starting with when I left for Romania. What happened?"

"Well, I started working at the shop and that's when I noticed the change in George. Ron and I got along fine, but whenever George looked at me, the sight of me seemed to hurt him. He avoided me at all costs, only speaking to me when he absolutely needed to. He stopped eating as much, and I know he isn't getting enough sleep. I'm worried about him, Charlie. What's wrong with him?"

Charlie looked thoughtful. "Well, obviously he's taken Fred's death harder than all of us. Even you." I could not deny it. "I know that Fred was in love with you, maybe seeing you hurts George because you remind him vividly of Fred. I heard that Fred couldn't stop talking about you. Maybe when George sees you, he remembers those confidential conversations he had with Fred about you."

I bit my lip. That was a definite possibility.

"What should I do then? Stop working there? Keep him from seeing me?"

Charlie's lips tightened and he shook his head slowly. "No, no I don't think so. He needs you, but he doesn't know it." He suddenly grinned. "Ginny can explain it better than I can."

A waiter came and took our orders, we ate mostly in silence. After a while I glanced at my watch again. The thirty minutes of my break was almost up. I stood.

"Sorry Charlie, I have to go now."

He stood as well. "I'll walk you back; I've got something for you."

I smiled. "My birthday's not until tomorrow."

Charlie just grinned. "I know," he said simply.

I took his hand and he looked down, surprise fading to fondness. Even though he was seven years older than me, I felt a connection with him. He was by best friend besides Ginny. Well, and George, if he ever snapped out of this strange stupor of his. We entered the shop and Charlie led me to the back storeroom. I looked for George but he wasn't there. I almost felt disappointed. Charlie spun me out in front of him and turned me to face him.

I dropped his hand. "So," I said, crossing my arms. "What's the something?"

His mouth twitched. "Turn around and close your eyes."

I frowned slightly. "Can't you just give it to me?" I asked, holding out my hand.

He tapped my palm with his finger, pushing it down. "No," he said, laughing. "Now turn around."

I sighed and did as he told me, feeling foolish. I closed my eyes and waited. I felt rough hands push my hair off my neck gently. I shivered slightly at the sudden breeze I felt. Large fingers fumbled with the clasp to my locket. I grasped it tightly.

"What are you doing?" I asked, fearful of losing my prized possession.

"Trust me," came Charlie's deep, reassuring voice.

I hesitated only briefly. Of course I trusted Charlie. My fingers slowly slipped from the small, golden heart and he lifted it off my neck. Something cold landed with a soft thump right beneath my collar bone. Charlie fastened a slender chain and pushed my hair back into place. I opened my eyes and looked down, slowly turning to face him.

It was a heart-shaped locket, silver, with small "A" carved into it. Other than that embellishment it was plain. It was larger than my previous locket. When I opened it I was surprised to see it opened into three smaller hearts. Places for three pictures, for pictures of my parents, Cedric . . . and Fred. I closed it and looked up slowly at Charlie, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. He handed me my old locket and I wrapped my fingers around it. I could never get rid of it completely and he knew that. However this new locket was just what I needed. I smiled brightly up at him.

"Thank you Charlie," I said softly, "I love it."

Standing on my tip-toes I wrapped my arms around his neck in a tight hug, pressing my cheek against his tough one. He buried his nose in my hair, holding me close.

"I thought you might," he murmured.

I pulled away but kept my hands resting on his shoulders. "How did you know I wanted a larger one?"

He smiled. "I think you mentioned it once in one of your letters. That you wanted a place to keep a picture of Fred."

I reached up and kissed his cheek.

Just then a loud sound like the clattering of a dropped box startled me. I turned, as did Charlie, towards the source of the sound. I was surprised to see George standing in the doorway, a box of fake wands open and broken at his feet. His eyes were wide and he looked from me to Charlie to me again. I realized my arms were still around Charlie's neck and his were still around my waist. I stepped away quickly. Charlie seemed to understand.

"Hey George," he said tenderly to his younger brother. "How are you?"

George didn't answer; he was still staring at me. I tried to read something in his gaze. Was that hurt? Bewilderment? Shock? I couldn't tell. But something had definitely unnerved him.

Charlie turned to me and spoke in an effort to break the uncomfortable silence that was descending upon the room.

"So, Angela, how come you keep making excuses about coming to visit me at work?"

I flushed. I had hoped he would ask that. "Well, it's the dragons—"

"I wouldn't let them hurt you," Charlie said firmly. "Visitors aren't allowed near them anyway."

I shook my head. "No, it isn't that. It's just that—"

"She's afraid of fire." George said from his vantage point in the doorway.

We turned to look at him in surprise. His voice had been calm, factual, almost normal. Charlie looked at me frowning slightly.

"Is that true? You're afraid of fire? Why didn't you just tell me?"

I sighed. "It's complicated. My father died in a fire. . . . I witnessed it."

Charlie nodded slowly, his brown eyes compassionate. I turned to George.

"How did you remem—"

But George was gone. I raced towards the door and jumped over the box of fallen fake wands. I looked around for the one-eared Weasley but could see him nowhere. In fact if not for the scattered wands, it would have seemed like he hadn't been there at all.

0000000

I didn't see George at all the next day. Ron gave me a small smile and wished me a happy birthday. I thanked him and continued with my work. We were going to the Burrow later on, for a small party. George was invited but I wasn't sure he would come. I wanted him to. I wanted him to speak to me plainly again. I wanted to hear him laugh, to see him smile.

I got off work early. It was my birthday after all. Taking Ron's hand we prepared to Disapparate. I looked behind me in search for George. He did not show. I sighed and Ron squeezed my hand encouragingly. Spinning on the spot I concentrated on the Burrow. I felt the familiar jerk behind my navel and soon I was standing in the middle of the sitting room.

Ginny almost bowled me over with a tight hug. Molly was right behind her to crush me to her chest. I actually felt grateful for the suffocating hug; even though it wasn't the arms I wanted to be held by. . . .

Bill and Fleur were there, as well as Harry, Hermione, Mr. Weasley, Charlie, Cho Chang, and even Percy. Cho was watching Harry surreptitiously but Harry had eyes only for Ginny. He was watching her every move, memorizing her features. . . . I smiled slightly. Had Fred looked like that while he watched me?

My cake was a large one; Molly had baked it into the shape of a heart. I looked at her questioningly.

"Because of our love for you," she said, great tears welling in her eyes.

My throat constricted. Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands in front of her and I could tell she was about to make a speech.

"Angela, dear," she began. "You have been a part of our family for the past four years now. I am pleased to see how you have grown in maturity and skill. We all know that you held a special place in our Fred's heart," here her voice caught. Mr. Weasley stepped up to her but she waved him away. "And I want to thank you for standing with us during our time of grief. It was much appreciated."

I flushed with embarrassment at this attention yet I couldn't help but smile. I nodded.

"You're welcome" was all I could find to say.

She smiled brightly at me and wiped away the tears from her eyes. She then clapped her hands loudly which made me jump slightly. Plates were handed to everyone and after a hearty round of "Happy Birthday" the cake was cut and everyone began to eat.

Then came the gifts. I was still wearing the locket Charlie had given me. My parents in one space, Cedric in another. The one reserved for Fred was still empty. Hermione handed me a present that was shaped suspiciously like a book. Sure enough it was Hogwarts: A History. It was over one thousand pages long and I had already read it, being a Ravenclaw and it was one of the many books at Aunt Muriel's. However I did not own it so I thanked Hermione graciously.

Ron gave me a Skiving Snackbox (from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes) and several Chocolate Frogs, Harry gave me an Everlasting Candle and I had to smile. Ginny must have told him how much I liked candles. Bill and Fleur gave me a wizard chess set. I thanked them but did not know whom I would play with. I had played a few rounds with Ron one year at Hogwarts. He repeatedly beat me but said I was pretty good at thinking up strategies. One of the advantages of being a Ravenclaw I suppose.

Cho gave me a Seven-Lock Trunk. Percy gave me an eagle feather quill and a stack of parchment. Typical but his heart was in the right place. I could see he was trying hard to be nice to me. I decided I should try to get to know him more; he was the only Weasley I hardly spoke to. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave me a talking mirror. I didn't think I needed one but thanked them warmly nonetheless.

Charlie had already given me his present, so he stood behind me, chuckling quietly at my hesitations over the gifts I felt I didn't need. The truth was I felt spoiled and undeserving. I shouldn't be here, receiving presents and praise. I should be with George, trying to break through the shell he had created around himself.

Ginny gave me her gift last. It wasn't wrapped and was small, but it was one of the best presents I had ever received in my life. She handed me a small photograph, and when I looked at it I gasped in surprise and a bittersweet feeling filled my heart.

It was a picture of Fred. He was laughing at something, his mouth wide and his freckled face shining. There was an empty space next to him and I wondered if George had been there, and if he had been, if he had walked out. This thought made me feel sad. George should stay with his brother, not leave. But it was the picture of Fred that I needed and wanted. I looked up at Ginny with tears in my eyes and mouthed a sincere "thank you." She nodded understandingly.

Later as I arranged my presents in my apartment, I sat down on my bed and ceremoniously placed Fred's picture in my locket. He looked so happy, his body shaking with mirth. I wondered what he was laughing at. Slipping the locket around my neck once more, I fingered it as it lay upon my chest, just above my breasts. I picked up my old, golden one and placed it in the first compartment of the Seven-Lock Trunk. I also placed alongside it Cedric's photograph from the Room of Requirement during my sixth year, and the scarf Ginny made me in Cedric's Hufflepuff colors along with my letters from Charlie. Locking the trunk with the smallest of the many keys, I patted the top of it gently.

"Well Cedric," I whispered to the empty air, "another year without you. But you know what? It wasn't that bad. It wasn't that bad."

The full moon shone brightly through my window as I climbed into bed after a nice, hot shower. The covers felt warm around me and I sighed contentedly and snuggled deeper within their comforting embrace. Tonight I felt at peace.

0000000

I was standing in the middle of a deserted Quidditch pitch. Why was I standing here? I started towards the exit but suddenly it disappeared. I looked around and there it was across the pitch. I walked towards it but again it disappeared once I reached it. This was strange. I heard the sound of broomsticks and looked up. There was Fred and George flying back and forth, hitting Bludgers. Ginny and Harry were there too, chasing a small golden Snitch. Ron hovered near a goal post, watching his teammates closely.

There was Angelina Johnson with the Quaffle, tossing it to Katie Bell who in turn threw it to Alicia Spinnet. I watched silently, wondering again why I was here. Suddenly a broomstick was beneath me and I was rising in the air.

"Nice of you to join us," Fred grinned at me. I felt my heart flutter at his smile. I flew towards him and hovered alongside of him.

"Fred?" I asked, incredulous.

"That's right. I'm Fred, the one with two ears."

I laughed, I was so happy to see him again, alive and well. But was he alive? This had to be a dream. But I didn't care.

Suddenly the pitch spun around and I was in one of the hallways at Hogwarts. Fred was still beside me. He was holding my hand. I looked up at him and he pulled me close, placing his mouth over mine. This time I did not hesitate but reached up around his neck, leaning into him, fingering his flaming hair as his hands pressed against my back.

But suddenly his hair grew shorter, his lips grew chapped, and the arms that held me were large and muscular. I pulled away quickly and cried out in surprise to see that the one I was kissing was not Fred, but Charlie.

Before I could ask what was going on, a Bludger came out of nowhere and hit Charlie in the stomach. He was knocked to the ground, grunting in pain. I looked around and saw George, his face as gaunt as ever, his freckles standing out like ink dots on his pale face. In his hand he held a bat and he was glaring furiously at his older brother. He had hit the Bludger at Charlie, but why?

"George! What are you doing?" I cried out in horror, concern for both Weasley brothers building up in me.

George turned his gaze to me and the expression in his eyes changed from anger to hurt bewilderment.

"Angie . . ."

He stepped forward but before he could reach me he collapsed. I ran over and turned him over. He was breathing shallowly; his body was wasted and could no longer support him. He was dying. I screamed for help.

I awoke in a cold sweat. My eyes were wide with fear. That had to have been one of the strangest dreams I had ever had. I did not dream much but when I did they were usually significant. What was this one trying to tell me? I looked at my clock. It was three in the morning. Could I risk waking up Ginny? I had to talk to her. She could tell me what my dream meant.

Slipping a robe on, I spun around on the spot, concentrating on Ginny's room. I landed with a loud crack on top of her bed. She shrieked and sat up quickly, groping for her wand. I saw that I had landed on her legs and got up quickly, pressing my hand against her mouth.

"Shhh, it's okay. It's me." I lifted my hand away when I was sure she would be quiet.

"Angela?" She whispered.

I picked up her wand which had fallen to the floor.

"Lumos," I said softly.

The light from the tip of the wand illuminated Ginny's pale face. Her eyes registered surprise and then annoyance.

"What did you Apparate on top of me for?" she hissed.

I smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I have something very important to tell you. And then I need to ask you something."

Something in my tone must have told her the seriousness of the situation. She sat up completely and scooted to the side so I could sit next to her. I did and handed her the wand. She held it up so she could look at me.

"What is this about?" She asked, her freckled face shadowed by bewilderment.

I took a deep breath and then told her about my dream in detail. Ginny remained stoic throughout the entire description and I couldn't read her expression. When I finished she pulled her lips together tightly.

"Have you and Charlie kissed?" She asked, her tone almost accusatory.

I frowned as a slightly flush of anger reddened my cheeks. "No. I gave him a kiss on the cheek when he gave me my birthday present, but that's it." I said this stiffly, wondering what her problem was.

"Did George see you?" She was relentless.

My frown dissolved however when I realized what she was getting at. Now I was confused.

"Ginny no, no. That's not possible."

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. I went on, upset that she would even insinuate that George . . . that he . . . liked me.

"George could not have feelings for me. He can't!"

"Why not?" Ginny was surprisingly calm.

I sputtered, trying to find a good excuse in my muddled brain. "Because—he's not—he doesn't—why won't he speak to me then? Why does he avoid me? You say he feels one way Ginevra, but clearly, his feelings are opposite."

"But if you will just speak with him—"

I cut her off. "He doesn't want to talk to me! He doesn't want to look at me! I might as well have killed Fred for he seems to hate me."

Ginny looked shocked. "He doesn't hate you Angela! But obviously he's in pain. Look at your dream! He's dying!"

"Then it'll be his own stupid fault for not taking care of himself."

"But he needs you—"

"Shut it, Ginny! I'm sick and tired of you and Charlie telling me that George needs me, that I need to be here for him, that I need to be strong for him. I'm sick of pretending to be strong for someone who clearly cares nothing about me or else he would come to me!"

"But—"

"I've had enough," I said with finality.

Turning on the spot before she could say more, I Disapparated. Once I was back in my apartment, I went straight to the kitchen and began chopping up vegetables as hard as I could, taking out my frustrations on the poor plants. Although it was four in the morning, I had to do something or I was afraid I'd go mad.

I had tried my best, I had plastered on the fake smiles, laughed at Ron's jokes, kept a brave face for George just like Charlie had asked me to. None of it had worked. And it was ridiculous to think that George had feelings for me. Hadn't he seemed happy for me and Fred when Fred had revealed his feelings for me? And now that Fred was dead he almost completely ignored me. Was that the behavior of someone who liked someone else?

I finished dicing the vegetables and stomped into my small sitting room. Sitting down heavily on the couch I stared at my reflection in the large kitchen knife's blade. I looked tired and worn out. My caramel colored hair hung limp down my shoulders. I was worn out from trying to hide my true feelings.

The fact of the matter was I had not completely gotten over Fred's death, despite my appearance that I had. I longed for his touch, I ached for his presence, I almost moaned in agony whenever I thought of his gentle yet passionate kiss in the hallway. It was like when Cedric died all over again.

Fred would not want me to ignore his brother while he was in pain. Deep down, I knew that. But it was hard, looking into the face that was exactly like Fred's minus an ear. Now that George's face was gaunt with malnourishment, he did not look so much like Fred but the resemblance was still extremely strong.

I knew I mustn't see Fred in him. That wouldn't be fair to George. George was his own person, not Fred. I had to keep remembering that. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection and watched as it stuck its tongue back at me. I sighed and bowed my head.

"I can't do this anymore, Cedric," I said to my locket. "I can't live like this. Should I go to him? I should, I know. He needs me. I just wish that—"

I was interrupted by my door flying open and George rushing in, wand held high. I was too shocked to move. George pointed his wand at me and shouted, "Relashio!" The knife fell from my hands. I looked from it back up to George, wondering why in the world he was at my apartment this early.

"Angela don't! You can't!" He shouted at me. I had no idea what he was talking about. There was a crazed look in his sunken eyes.

"George?" I breathed, unable to speak louder than that. "What—"

"Don't—you can't—Fred—" He was breathing heavily in great gasps, his words came out garbled and broken. "Can't—you too—please!"

Tears were rolling down his cheeks. I was beginning to understand. He'd seen me with a knife in my hands; he must have heard what I was saying to Cedric. . . .

"Wait, did you think I was about to kill myself?" I asked, horrified.

George was trembling all over. "Lose you too—I can't. Not you too! Please don't!"

He collapsed in front of me, grabbing my legs tightly. His head fell forward onto my lap and his shoulder shook as sobs wracked his body. I was too stunned to do anything. He finally had begun speaking to me, but what a way to start! I hadn't seen him cry this hard since we knelt beside Fred's body in the Great Hall a year ago.

My legs were getting numb from George's solid grip but I did not push him away. I slowly brought up my hands and started running my fingers through the flaming red hair, fingering the fiery strands. My fingertips brushed the dark hole that replaced his left ear but I did not recoil.

"Shh, shh," I soothed.

"I heard you talking—holding the knife—couldn't let you." His voice was muffled from my robe.

"I know, I know," I said softly, tenderly. My fingers brushed his neck and I felt a strange tingling go up my arm. I returned my fingers to his hair.

"I can't lose you Angie, not after Fred. . . . I need you, Angie. I need you. Don't leave me."

He sounded like a little child. I moved my fingers to under his chin and forced his head up to look at me. He looked so pitiful and my heart went out to him. I brushed his hair out of his eyes and leaned over to press my lips to his forehead. When I straightened there were tears in my eyes.

"I'm not going to leave you, George," I said gently. "I wasn't contemplating suicide."

He looked confused. "But the knife—your words. You said—"

"I was talking about you. Whether or not I should go to you. To find out why you've been avoiding me all year and not opening up to let me help you."

George looked rueful. "I didn't want to bring it up. I thought it would hurt you. . . ." He looked like he wanted to say more but no words continued to flow from his mouth. I sighed.

"I need to talk about it too," I said. "I miss him too."

I reached down and grabbed George under the armpits, helping him to stand and standing myself. I held him to me for a moment, each of us taking deep breaths. Then I sat him down on the sofa and took my place beside him, leaning my head against his chest, listening to his heart beat rapidly.

"I feel," began George, "like a part of me has been ripped from my being. Fred and I were really close, you know? I could sometimes tell what he was thinking and the same with him to me. I sometimes expect his voice to speak with mine, in unison, the way we used to. But his voice doesn't come. I hear only my voice and it scares me."

He paused and I drew away in order to look at him. His eyes were red and mine were misty as I listened to him pour out his heart.

"Fred was always the leader. I just followed. He had a prank to play, I copied him. He spoke, I echoed. Now I have to lead and that frightens me. I have to be the leader. I have to be the boss. The hole that Fred's supposed to occupy gets bigger each day. I can't eat, he's not laughing at the table. I can't sleep; he's not snoring in the bed next to mine. I can't speak, he's not giving me the reason to."

A tear trickled down his cheek. I reached up with a trembling hand and touched it. It dissolved on my finger and I touched it to my lip, leaving it there. When I ran my tongue on it, it tasted salty. He hadn't noticed. I was surprised his voice was so steady. There was a moment of silence. I reached up and turned his face to look at me.

"If you invite people over for dinner, or go to the Burrow, there can be laughter once more. If you let Ron or Percy be your roommate, there can be snoring again. If you find the courage, you won't have to wait for a reason to speak."

"Who will give me that courage?" He asked wistfully.

I smiled slightly. "I am here for you, George. And so is your family. We want to help you. But you have to let us."

He lifted a hand to my face and touched my cheek gently. I let him, still staring into his eyes. Very slowly he began to nod.

"I'd like some help." He said softly.

I smiled and placed my head back against his heart. His arm fell around my shoulder. I was suddenly tired; this late night/early morning drama had drained me. I stifled a yawn.

"What were you doing here anyway?" I asked sleepily.

"I was going to leave your present outside the door. I'm sorry I missed your birthday."

"Where's the present?"

"Outside the door."

"What is it?"

"A Wizard's Wireless."

I smiled slightly. I did not own one. That was thoughtful of him. I would get it in the morning. My eyelids felt heavy.

"Tomorrow, you're eating three full meals." I murmured.

"Yes, mother." I could hear a smirk in his voice which made me smile. Some of the old George was coming back.

There was a moment's pause during which I almost fell asleep. However George had still one more thing to say.

"Angie?"

My lips curled upwards at the sound the nickname the twin's had given me. It had been too long since I heard it. "Hmm?"

"What's with you and Charlie?" There was sincere curiosity in his question.

"Nothing," I said truthfully. "I love him like a brother. . . . That's all."

George did not say anything else and I promptly fell asleep.

A/N: Okay you guys, one more chapter and maybe an epilogue until the end of this story. I think you've got the gist of the reviewing thing. This time however, I am not going to post the next chapter until I get at least 4 reviews for this one (hint, hint). :-P