George Weasley is drunk. Pissed off his arse, can't walk in a straight line, blurred vision drunk.
"I just saw her and I stopped, you know?" George slurs to the bartender, who looks unamused, though the drunken man doesn't notice. "Everything stopped. I mean everything. She can do that, you know. Stop the whole world with the blink of her eye. She's gorgeous, but that's not all she is. She's smart and funny and she's got a temper, too. You don't want to be on the wrong side of her wand, mate. Trust me."
"If I didn't know better, boy," the bartender says. "I'd say you were in love."
George sighs. "I might as well be. That's what my sister says anyway. That the way I act around her is enough proof that I love her. I just don't know if I can love her right."
Suddenly, he hears someone behind him take a deep gulp of air. Spinning around on the bar stool, he spots Angelina standing behind him, with a blank expression on her face.
"Angelina!" he cries, standing up and throwing an arm around her shoulders. She is tense under him. "We were just talking about you. Ol' Frank and me."
"S'its Jason," the bartender replies grumpily. "You mind gettin' rid o' him?"
"Well," George sniffs. "I'll just take my company else where."
With that George turns and walks away, only to trip on a chair and fall face down on the floor.
"Oh, George," Angelina sighs as she helps him up. Once he's righted, he tries to thank Angelina, but finds himself being sucked through what feels like a vacuum. When they land in Angelina's apartment, George doubles over, his head between his knees.
"Merlin, Ange, what was that for?" he groans.
She doesn't answer. Instead, she heads into the kitchen. George is indignant. She is the one who brought him here and made him almost throw up and now she's walking out? Then she returns with a glass of water for him and he takes back any bad thoughts that he had about her. Quickly, he swallows the water, letting the liquid splash his burning throat.
"Thanks, love," he mumbles.
"Let's get you to bed," she says in monotone.
"Your bed?" he suggests.
She doesn't reply to this. Leading him down the hallway and into what is indeed her bedroom, Angelina finally lets George rest on her bed. He lies back on the soft covers that smell so much like her and tries not to let his lower regions give away his attraction.
"Angie?" he calls as she starts to leave the room. "Stay with me, will you?"
She sighs. "Of course."
Then she lies down next to him and lets him wrap an arm around her waist. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, tomorrow will be the day he tells her just how much he cares about her, just how much she means to him. But as he drifts off to sleep, he knows better. He may be a Gryffindor, but he will never be that brave.