A/N Hello all! I first want to thank everyone for their patience. I plan to continue this fic, but I don't have an exact timetable. Unfortunately, life gets in the way much too often. I hope you all have had a restful holiday season and have a much better New Years than our beloved characters below!

~Dot

Chapter 5

New Year, Same Old Shit

It was New Year's Eve and Angelina knew there was no way she'd manage to make it to midnight. She had a long day at work and her feet screamed at her for still standing, in heels no less. She gulped down her drink, knowing it wouldn't be enough to ease the pain and would probably just make her more tired, which is exactly what it did.

"Hey," she yelled, trying to be heard by her mates in the overcrowded pub. "I'm going to head out," she tried to say as regretfully as possible.

It seemed that only Alicia heard her, and she booed at Angelina's statement. "Don't be such a party pooper," Alicia slurred slightly. "It's not even ten."

"I know, I'm too knackered," Angelina rebutted. Alicia gave her a thumbs down and Angelina left to disapparate.

As soon as she landed in her flat, she removed her heels, massaging her feet as she searched for some Cadieux's Magical Pain Relief Crème. After finding a near-empty jar and rubbing it generously on her feet, she went to make some tea and watch some telly.

It wasn't the perfect New Year, and she was pretty sure she wouldn't be awake to see the first moments of 1999, but it was what she needed. Work had been especially taxing lately, and on top of that, her stress was sky-high. This was probably due to the uncertainty she had about her career. She knew it was time to go back to the Ministry, or at least to a wizarding vocation, but she just couldn't get herself to apply.

Every time she looked at the Prophet's job opening section or considered writing to her old boss, her mind went blank, and it felt like she physically could not hold a pen to write. Something was keeping her from returning fully to the Wizarding World, and she couldn't put a finger on as to why. And it made her feel a bit barmy.

She loved quidditch. She had loved her old job. But she couldn't picture herself back there. She thought that it was possibly because she couldn't picture the Ministry of Magic. Not without its heinous anti-muggle art and hateful rhetoric. It had been amazing, looking back on it now, how quickly a place that she loved and felt safe in had turned to the exact opposite.

She was a pureblood, but that didn't mean she had been safe. She had muggle-born friends, blood traitor friends, even muggle family members…technically. And even if she hadn't, it's not like she would have been able to stand around while they were abused and tortured.

Sometimes she wished she had done more. She had fantasies of staying at her Ministry job, of creating change from the inside. Though what change she realistically could have made from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, would have been minuscule at best. Yes, she fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. Yes, she supported and hid Muggleborns. But still, she could have done more.

As she was pouring her tea, still ruminating on the possibly life-changing decisions she needed to make, a pop came from the living room. It startled Angelina and nearly made her drop her cup—she didn't expect anyone to be home this early.

"Is anyone home?" she heard a deep voice ask.

She peeked from her spot in the kitchen and saw that George was standing in her living room.

"I am," Angelina said softly.

She hadn't seen George since Christmas. It was the shortest amount of time they'd gone without seeing each other since the battle, and she had prepared herself to not see him again for some time. She had written to him the day after Christmas. There wasn't much to say, but she told him how much she had enjoyed Christmas with him and his family. To no one's surprise, he hadn't written back. He also hadn't taken up the group's invitation to celebrate New Year's. In fact, there was no reason for him to believe that anyone was home.

"Hey," George responded with such a slight smile that Angelina wasn't sure it had even appeared. "I was in the neighbourhood," he said with a shrug. He was obviously joking, which was a very good thing. She just wished his joking manner appeared on his face—he was staring straight-faced at her, still looking like the George he had come to be. Except for one thing.

"You shaved," Angelina noticed, pouring another cup for George and bringing it to him in the living room.

"I was starting to look a bit too much like Dumbledore," George said, pretending to stroke an invisible beard.

Angelina nodded her head with a smile and sat on the sofa. He did look a little better. Even though she was partial to a well-maintained beard, his had been nothing of the sort, and it was much nicer to be able to see his full face. Though his long hair was still a bit scraggly and went to his shoulders, covering his missing ear.

"I wasn't planning on doing much," Angelina said, motioning to the television. "Just watching telly and calling it an early night. But you're welcome to join."

"Cheers," George said, taking a seat next to Angelina.

It didn't take long for George to become enthralled in the movie playing, and the two barely said a word until it was over. Angelina spent a good amount of that time looking over at him, trying to deduce how he was feeling, and why he was here. But his expressions stayed steadfast, which was hard to do considering the movie—The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

"What did you think?" Angelina said with a yawn, as it was well past her typical bedtime.

"It was brilliant," George said, with the same half-hearted smile Angelina thought she had seen earlier.

Angelina nodded her head and thought through her next word choices carefully. She was concerned about him and curious, extremely curious. Why was he here? Did he really want to spend his NYE watching telly and drinking tea? Angelina figured that he had an ulterior motive. But, what that motive was, she didn't know. She could ask if everything was okay, to try and understand why he wasn't at home or out with their friends, but she knew there was no way that he was okay, not really. She thought about asking him about his family but shot that idea down quickly as it was a sensitive topic. Instead, she tried to appear as though she wasn't prying, while definitely, 100 percent prying.

"I'm sure you didn't plan to spend your New Year's like this?" she asked, hoping to get some information out of him.

"Yeah, we don't have a telly at home."

Angelina nodded her head. Maybe that was the only reason he came over—for the telly. It made sense, she found herself missing it when she was gone too long. However, she thought there might be more to it.

"Are Ron and Ginny home?" She asked. "They're on holiday, right?"

"Yeah," George said, keeping his eyes glued to the television, appearing to want to avoid this line of questioning. "Harry and Hermione are staying over too."

"Full house," Angelina remarked, though she knew it was far from a typical Weasley full house.

George nodded his head and continued watching as Stephen Fry discussed his New Year's resolution on the screen. She figured that talking to him was hopeless and decided to give in and join him in watching the celebrations.

Angelina awoke to a loud bang, not even realising that she had fallen asleep. It took her a minute to reorient herself. The first thing she became aware of was that the celebrations on telly had ended–the screen now featured a bald man lecturing in a dry, steady tone. The second thing that caught her attention was that there was a scuffle coming from her front door. She presumed it was her flatmates returning home, drunkenly trying to unlock the door. That's what they did when they were too sloshed to apparate–take a cab and get home the muggle way. Angelina knew it was the safest way for them to get home, but she also knew that they'd probably take at least another minute to unlock the door because their dexterity was shot. The final thing she noticed was George, who was standing next to her with a worried and slightly panicked expression.

"I don't want them to see me," he half-shouted/half-whispered. "And I can't go home, not now."

Angelina nodded her head and took George by the hand, briskly leading him to her bedroom. She heard her friends enter the lower floor the moment that she closed George and herself in her room.

"What," Angelina started, adding a silencing charm to her room before continuing, "is the matter?" She tried to ask as gently as she could, but she was tired of beating around the bush.

"'S fine," George said as he nervously pushed his hand through his long hair and plopped on Angelina's bed. "I may have stormed out last night," he added quietly.

"Is everything okay?" Angelina immediately regretted her choice of words but blurted them out before she could stop herself.

"Same old, same old," George replied nonchalantly. "Just dad refusing to look at me, and mum treating me like I'm six. I shouldn't have blown up at them." He shrugged. "But I guess I needed some space."

Angelina nodded her head and sat next to George.

"That makes sense," she agreed.

She assumed he had a similar reason for not wanting to see their friends. She knew how they looked at him, how they treated him. Though that still didn't answer why he'd shown up in their home. She'd like to think that she didn't treat him any differently, but she could feel the pity rising up in her along with the urge to hug him and tell him it would all be alright. But, maybe she was a good actress, maybe he couldn't tell.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like," she said, not sure if she was talking about him staying in her flat or in her bed, but essentially offering both.

"I don't want to keep you up any longer," George said.

"You're fine," Angelina said, even though she felt exhausted. "I don't have work tomorrow. Or, I guess, technically today," she added looking at her watch and seeing it was a quarter to two.

"Happy New Year," George said, looking fairly guilty, as if it was his fault that she had a shitty day.

Angelina forced a smile as they mimed clinking glasses.

"Happy New Year."