It was some time before George came back to himself. He slowly became aware of his surroundings as his sobs quieted and the river of tears ran dry. He felt his knees pressing into the cold, hard stone as he sat bent over the ground, hands resting on his thighs. Listening to the sounds of his own ragged breathing, he then noticed Angelina's arms, one wrapped tightly around his middle, while the other cradled his head against her. He felt the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and out. She loosened her grip slightly as he quieted, leaning back to peer down at him. Straightening, he sat back on his heels, wiping his face with the back of his hand, his eyes still cast downward towards the ground.

He felt the coolness of Angelina's palms soothing his feverish skin as she gently took his face in her hands, cupping his cheeks in her palms. As she rubbed her thumbs under his eyes, George looked up at her, watching as she dried his tears. He took in her expression of deep concern as her eyes focused on him, her own face wet with tears which she didn't seem to have noticed. George reached up to return the favor, the backs of his fingers brushing against her skin as he gently dried her cheeks. She captured his hand then, grasping it in hers. She hesitated a moment, looking into his eyes, before pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

Though still filled with an aching sorrow, George somehow felt a little bit lighter. As the storm inside him had passed, he felt something shift within him. Though the weight of his burden remained, it now seemed a weight he could carry. His sight felt sharper, the air in his lungs crisp and clean, sounds were more distinct, and even his thoughts seemed a little bit clearer.

Looking at Angelina, George surprisingly felt no embarrassment over what had just happened, though he did find himself struggling for words, not knowing what to say. She saved him the trouble. "Well, I don't know about you, but I wouldn't exactly call this a cozy place to spend our afternoon," she said as she stood up, then leaned down to offer him a hand. He took it, rising slowly to his feet, his knees creaking after resting so long against the cobblestones, legs tingling as the blood rushed back through his veins.

"Oh, I don't know," said George, casting a glance around the cramped and darkened alleyway, "I think it's quite a charming little spot." With an appraising look, he added, "A few throw pillows, a couple paintings on the wall, I think we could really do something with this place."

Angelina rolled her eyes, but a smile was on her lips as she moved toward the street, calling back over her shoulder, "There's no accounting for taste."

George lingered a moment before following, rubbing his hands roughly over his swollen face as he took a deep breath. Sighing it out, he ran a hand through his hair before following Angelina into the street. She glanced over at him as he caught up, bumping him slightly with her shoulder. He gave her a half smile and they walked on companionably for a while.

As they approached the Leaky Cauldron once again, their footsteps slowed before finally stopping as Angelina turned towards him. "Well, I guess I'd better go. I'm heading back into London," she told him.

"Alright," replied George, "It was…good seeing you again, Angie." He looked down at her as she gazed up at him, one hand on her hip as the other shielded her eyes from the glaring sun.

"You too," Angelina replied sincerely, giving him a searching look before adding, "Let's keep in touch, yeah?"

George nodded, feeling something stir inside him as she looked up at him earnestly. His eyes roamed her face, taking in her smooth skin as they followed the curve of her cheek, lingering on her full lips, before moving back up to meet her deep brown eyes framed by long lashes. "Absolutely," he said.

Angelina reached out, her hand almost touching his face, but dropping instead to his shoulder. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

George felt her hand slide down the length of his arm before reaching his own hand and squeezing gently. His fingers returned the gentle pressure before letting go. "I will," he promised her.

Angelina gave him one last smile before turning to leave. George watched her go with a strange mixture of emotion. Then, stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turned away from the Leaky Cauldron and made his way back toward his flat. As he shuffled down the cobblestone street, he looked in shop windows and watched people walking by, catching bits and pieces of conversation as they flowed past him. He felt somehow more aware of his surroundings than he had in a long time.

As George passed by the post office once more, he slowed his steps, lingering on the sidewalk. His hand resting against the door, he paused momentarily before pushing through and walking inside. Stepping up to the counter, he contemplated a stack of parchment and assortment of quills that were resting there, before selecting one of each and scribbling a short note.

Dear Ginny,

I'll see you on Sunday.

Love,

George

Rolling up his letter, George selected an owl at random and handed over a few coins to the clerk behind the counter, watching as she attached the scroll to the owl before setting it free. As the owl took off, its wide wings creating a breeze as it flapped past, George felt something ease inside of him, a tightness in his chest he hadn't noticed was there until it had suddenly dissipated.

George then left the shop, stuffing his hands back into his pockets as he began the short walk home. As he approached the building, he decided to enter through the side door, feeling that he wasn't quite up to entering the shop again today. He muttered the password he and Fred had set together long ago to ensure that only the two of them could enter. Listening as the lock clicked open, he turned the knob and pushed open the door, stepping into the front hallway before proceeding up the stairs. As he climbed up the two stories to his bedroom, he could feel his feet growing heavier with every step. Exhaustion began to creep over him, the events of the day leaving him emotionally drained.

Entering the room, he paused only to kick off his shoes before collapsing face down onto his bed. His throat was dry and his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. He thought vaguely of dragging himself up to get a glass of water, but instead let the thought drift out of his mind again as he relaxed his body, burrowing further into the mattress. He was too tired to bother. His head felt fuzzy now, as though it had been stuffed with cotton. Turning his face to the side, he opened one bleary eye and looked over to the bed adjacent to his. A wave of sorrow rolled through him then, a distant, echoing feeling, and he closed his eyes again. Rolling over, he wrapped himself in his blankets and curled onto his side. Sighing, he let the exhaustion overtake him, sinking down into a blissful unconsciousness as sleep claimed him at last.