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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

30. "Right now, I don't even care."
George x Angelina

He was a mess. A real, broken, screwed up mess. She'd taken on the almighty task of untangling him and putting him back together again. It wasn't easy. Sometimes she thought she'd made progress only to wake up the next day and find him staring vacantly into space again. Sometimes he'd yell and scream at her and tell her he hated her and that he wanted her to just go away. Sometimes he looked so much like Fred, so so much like Fred, that she felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest and all she wanted to do was break down and cry.

He was beginning to move on though, he could get through most days without completely breaking down and she was always there. Always. She never left his side these days. It was to help him but a tiny, incredibly selfish and twisted part of her had noticed how much like Fred he looked. Sometimes, just sometimes, she could pretend like Fred was still here. Sometimes. She felt like a bad person for even thinking such things. It happened though, she just couldn't help it.

They'd decided to spend the night as they usually did – getting utterly, rip roaring drunk. Alcohol, preferably consumed in large quantities, numbed the pain. So sometimes the numb feeling wouldn't go away but better no pain that overwhelming pain, right?

"I miss him." George said hollowly, taking a huge gulp of his drink. He was six drinks in and swaying as he stood.

"Me too." She'd been drinking steadily all night and was leaning on him for support. She slipped her hand into his comfortingly.

He turned to her. Something there made her gasp. It was him, that look. It was pure Fred.

Eyes blazing with a fierce determination, the kind born only of a peculiar mixture of pain, desire and alcohol, he pulled her to him and kissed her. It wasn't like Fred at all. The twins, it seemed, were not alike in this respect. It didn't matter though because when her eyes were closed, it felt like Fred and that was all that mattered – being with Fred.

She pulled away suddenly. "We...we..."

"No." George said seriously.

"Yeah, you're right."

"I know. You're hurting too though Ange. Everyone is so focused on getting me right, no one looks at you. You miss him too."

"Of course I do." She said. He still looked a lot like Fred.

He had, unthinkingly, moved a little closer. She kissed him again. "Sorry. I...I shouldn't have."

"No." He kissed her again. "You're his."

She nodded. "But, right now, I don't even care."

"Me neither." He pulled her to him, tilted her head back gently with one finger and kissed her again.

He wasn't Fred. He was George. And yet, when her eyes were closed, she couldn't quite tell and he could be Fred, he could be her Fred. Just for a little while.

She was a mess. A real, broken, screwed up mess. He would take on the almighty task of untangling her and putting her back together again. It wasn't going to be easy.