George kicked his blankets off, feeling stifled. He heard voices laughing downstairs and scowled. How could people still laugh when Fred was dead? He slipped from the bed and padded toward the door. He stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the others talking about him.
"He doesn't really talk anymore," Ron said softly. "It was kind of weird at first, but now it just makes me feel like crying. It's like he thinks Fred was the only person he could talk to."
George scowled and turned, storming toward the bathroom. He made a point to slam the door behind him, hoping they knew that he heard everything. He stripped his clothes off and stepped into the shower. He turned the water as hot as he could handle and stood under the spray until his skin felt raw. He heard a knock at the door, followed by Bill's voice asking if he was alright. He grabbed the first thing his hand touched- a bar of soap- and hurled it at the door.
After at least an hour, he got out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stood in front of the mirror. He wiped the mist off of the glass and peered at himself. His face was hollow and his skin was so pale his freckles stood out more than before. His hair brushed his shoulders and his stubble was dangerously approaching beard territory. He sighed heavily and tugged open one of the drawers under the sink. He pulled out a razor and some salve. It wasn't one of the nice voice controlled razors that Fleur's parents had given him and Fred for Christmas a few years ago, but it would have to do.
Another half hour passed before he worked up the energy to leave the bathroom. He stepped out, one hand holding the towel around his waist up, the other hand pulling the door closed. He walked to his room, where he let the towel fall to the floor. He considered curling up in the blankets, stark naked, but something at the back of his mind made him reconsider.
He heard another bout of laughter from downstairs and frowned. He stormed to the dresser in the corner of his room and pulled out some clothes. He tugged them on and walked toward the door. As George walked down the stairs he winced, realizing the shirt he was wearing had been Fred's. He walked into the kitchen and the laughter stopped.
"Merlin, George," a soft voice said from by the back door.
George turned. The second his eyes landed on her he stumbled backward, his back slamming into the counter. He stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open. The one thing that had ever come between Fred and George was sitting in the kitchen like she owned it. What the hell was she doing there anyway?
"Angelina wanted to see you," Bill said, trying to ignore George's momentary loss of control.
Angelina looked up at George from where she sat, her chair tilted back on two legs so it was resting against the back door. She was wearing a pair of loose, faded jeans and a red t-shirt. Her Gryffindor scarf was loosely wrapped around her neck. She leaned forward, the front legs of her chair slamming into the floor.
George flinched and his hands tightened on the edge of the counter.
Angelina stood, tossing her braids over her shoulder. She raised an eyebrow at George and his hands relaxed. "You're not even going to say hi?" She asked.
George swallowed and clenched his jaw shut.
Angelina leaned back on the counter next to George. "That's alright, George. I know you don't talk anymore."
He looked down at her and she smiled.
"I'll just have to do all the talking," She said.
…
George and Angelina sat on the couch together. Angelina had her legs tucked up under her, and one of her arms was resting along the length of the back of the couch, her fingertips occasionally brushing against the fabric of George's shirt.
Fleur walked into the room and set two cups of tea on the small table in front of the couch. "'Ow is it going?"
"Great!" Angelina beamed up at her and tugged at George's shirt. "I've been talking his ear off."
There was a long pause as Angelina looked at the dark hole at the side of George's head and Fleur's jaw dropped.
George felt his throat begin to constrict as he looked at the horrified expressions on the women's faces.
"Shit, George," Angelina said. "I'm sor-"
George let out a burst of laughter, felt it rising up from his chest and bubbling out of his mouth before he could hold it back. He clapped his hand over his mouth, stood, and rushed out of the room.