Passing through the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley, George paused and turned to Angelina. "Where to?" he asked.

Angelina glanced at George and asked "Fancy a walk? I've still got these letters to send off."

"Alright then," George responded easily and fell into step beside her.

Heading toward the post office, they walked in silence for a while, George listening to the combined sounds of Angelina's boot heels as they rang out against the cobblestones and his own worn out trainers as they thudded steadily along. After some time, he noticed their strides had synced up, their footsteps creating a soothing rhythm.

All at once, George realized why this sensation felt so familiar. Until recently, he had always had someone by his side mirroring his footsteps. Not just someone, but Fred. Stumbling slightly, George missed his next step and immediately fell out of sync with Angelina.

She looked over at him. "Alright?" she asked.

"Yeah…fine," he responded, and falling a little behind, he deliberately remained out of step with her the rest of the way, feeling somewhat relieved at the discordance.

Approaching the post office, George stepped forward to pull open the door, pausing to let Angelina pass through before following her inside. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The place was packed with owls of every sort. While Angelina approached the counter, George wandered through the shop, taking in the variety of shapes, sizes, and colors of the many post owls.

Coming across a very small, dingy-looking copse owl, George was reminded of the letter he'd had that morning from Ginny. That familiar feeling of guilt crept up on him as he imagined the disappointment on Ginny's face when she saw Pig return empty-handed. The words of her letter ran through his head. We miss you. Come visit. The truth was, he missed them too. If anyone would be able to understand his grief, it would be his family. But that's exactly what he was afraid of. He didn't want to grieve. He didn't want to face it. So, he kept himself numb, pushing away that awful truth, keeping it at arm's length for fear that it would get too close and crush him under its weight.

He shook his head, banishing these thoughts, and turning on his heel, went to find Angelina again. As he approached the counter, Angelina turned and looked up at him, her smiling face sobering into a more thoughtful look as she took in his expression. Her hand moved, halfway crossing the space between them, before dropping back to her side.

George cleared his throat. "All done?" he asked her.

Angelina nodded, looking at him for a long moment before responding, "Yeah."

George found he couldn't quite meet her eyes. "Well then," he said with false brightness, gesturing towards the door, "shall we?"

Following her out, George moved away from the door and began to proceed down the walkway, when he found his progress hindered as Angelina grasped his arm, pulling him into an alley between the post office and the shop beside it.

Staring at her anxious face, George was dumbfounded. "What's the matter?" he asked her, glancing behind them in confusion, wondering what she was hiding from.

Angelina stared at him intently for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, then closing it again as though she were afraid of her own words. Finally, she opened her mouth once more and said, "I just…wanted to say…I mean, I know you may not want to talk about it, but…" she paused, trying to gather her thoughts.

Halfway through this speech, George's face began to grow white, and a cold pit of dread fell into the center of his chest like a stone into water, reverberating outward like ripples through his body.

Taking a breath, Angelina said, "I just want you to know that I'm so…I'm so sorry about Fred." George felt a stabbing pain go through his chest at the sound of Fred's name. She continued, "I know those words are meaningless, but…he was such an amazing person, and I know it's nothing to your loss, but I really c-cared about him…and I care about you, and…I'm so sorry that he's…gone…" She finally trailed off, no longer able to make her thoughts coherent.

Looking at him intensely, her eyes brimming with raw emotion and her mouth pressed into a slim line as she finished speaking, Angelina waited for his reaction. George felt a ringing in his ears as though a bomb had exploded nearby. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. That's not normal, he thought distantly, bringing his hands up and gazing at his palms absently. Suddenly, he found his view obscured as she slid her hands into his, covering his palms and squeezing gently. Wrenching his eyes away from their now joined hands, he brought them painfully up to meet her gaze. Her eyes held a steady look, bravely meeting the anguish she saw swimming in his own. She seemed to be waiting for something.

George vaguely supposed that he should probably say something, but he found his mind empty of thoughts. He opened his mouth as though the words might just fall out of their own accord. What did come out surprised him, his heart missing a beat when the sound reached his ears. "Fred…" he croaked, his voice breaking on the name. And as if that one word were the catalyst, he felt the dam inside of him suddenly break, the waters rushing in on him, drowning him in his own grief.

He found himself suddenly on his knees, doubled over against the pain, Angelina's arms wrapped around him as he sobbed uncontrollably. He didn't notice how he had gotten there, and he didn't notice anything else for a long time either. Angelina held him silently as he collapsed himself into his heartache, wave after wave of sorrow and anguish overtaking him. Neither of them spoke except for the single word that George found himself repeating unconsciously, "Fred…"