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A/N: Thank you for the reviews!

Chapter Three

George waited until he was out in the hall before he Apparated. It was one of those things that always seemed to frighten Lana--him disappearing with a crack right before her eyes. She said it was just a "Muggle, right? Yes, just a Muggle reflex!" but he still tried to avoid doing it in front of her.

It was a humid, rainy England day and he was glad to not have to walk in it. He'd since moved out of the flat above the shop, turning it into an area for the mostly young testers he'd hired. Harry, an Auror for the ministry would often joke with George that now when students graduated being an Auror, Healer, or tester for Weasley Wizard Wheezes were the top three jobs. "I wish you needed testers when I was in school" said Harry, "you pay well and it's fun!"

"You have to be really good at Potions though" said George, "and Snape probably would've flunked you just on principle if he knew you were going after tester."

George laughed to himself as he turned the lights on in the shop. Life without Fred wasn't so bleak--at least not all the time, not when he didn't allow himself to become immersed in how much he missed him.

George didn't know whether to revel in the quietness of the shop before it opened or to think about how empty it seemed without Fred. It'd been a little over a year since Fred's death and everything--no matter who was around or how much fun George tried to make himself have, was boring. It felt weird not having anyone around who knew exactly how he felt at every moment or even before he said what was wrong. It felt weird to suddenly be alone in the world, no matter how many other people lived in it or the fact that he still had six siblings who loved and cared about him. It didn't matter, because everyday of his life was spent being lonely and alone.

Just then there was a slight knock on the door and George turned. It could only be someone in his family being there this early and they knew they could just apparate in; he'd had Hermione place special charms around the place that would recgonize them all.

Sighing George went a peaked out the door prepared to say, "we're closed" but he saw a familar face. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him and pulled the door open as quickly as he could manage. And there she was, Angelina Johnson.

On the day of Fred's funeral George had spent all day thinking of ways not to cry. He'd been crying for that past two days nonstop in private--the shop was to be closed for a week, his pillow felt permanently damp, and everyone in the family gave him his space. However once in the vicinity of Fred's casket and seeing his body for the very last time, George felt as if he would undoubtedly break down. He chosen to see Fred's body earlier in the day, before his family and even all the guests had arrived. When the funeral started he had sat alone, in the back crying.

Angelina came and sat next to him, beautiful even in her somberness. She'd worn a black thin-strapped dress, black heels, and her legs bare. Her dark hair was pulled into an elegant bun off her face, she seemed regal somehow whenever George stole a glance at her. She didn't completely breakdown--she only dabbed at her eyes from time to tome, determined to stare straight ahead at Fred's casket. George admired her.

"Hey" he said in a low voice, afraid his shaking voice would give away the tears he was trying so desperately to suppress.

"Hello, George" said Angelina and she paused for a moment as if thinking of what to do. Finally, she placed her hand over his and he looked at her. There was a fierce softness in Angelina's warm brown eyes, "you know George, you don't have to be so strong. No one is expecting you to be a robot and it's okay to cry."

"What about you?" George had asked of her, "you're not crying, either."

Angelina smiled at him weakly, "I don't think I can cry anymore."

George nodded, he hadfound someone who could share in his pain. "Me either."

The next morning he felt better, waking up and not feeling so alone in the world. But he'd received a frantic--almost hysterical call from Angelina. She was crying and saying she was a coward and that she couldn't deal with it all. That she was going to the States to live with an aunt. Before George could tell her she was far from a coward, or persuade her to stay she'd hung up.

It was perhaps silly, but since that moment--since reassurance and solidarity seemed to escape him, George had felt no one would ever understand his pain. And he felt no need to share it, afraid that perhaps they might leave him too. He didn't blame Angelina, yet at the same time if her brave facade could falter--his could too.