Chapter Nine

Last update in November?? I am completely ashamed. My promise to you now that I have gotten past my major writer's block is to try to update every month! Hold me to it, readers!

As always, a HUGE thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, favorites, and alerts this story. Please do not leave me after this chapter, good things are coming!

Input is, as always, appreciated and valued and pretty much makes my day :)

Victoire Weasley was born May 2, 1999 at 11:32 pm. At 7 pounds 6 ounces and 20 inches long, she clearly already possessed her mother's beauty. After having rushed from Hogwarts a few hours before, Bill and Fleur had been ushered into a private room in St. Mungo's, while the horde of Weasley's and friends waited anxiously outside. Molly had been pacing restlessly for the past hour, frantic about the health of her first grandchild.

"Mum, relax," said Charlie for the millionth time. "You had seven kids! You shouldn't be so worried."

"Yes, but Fleur is such a little thing. Oh, dear!" she cried as an especially loud scream echoed around the waiting room.

"Everything is fine, Molly," Mr. Weasley soothed, stroking his wife's hair. "Bill would tell us if something was wrong." She nodded in agreement, but her eyes remained fixed on the door, wide open in anxiety.

George was seated on a plush couch inside the waiting room, staring blankly at the whitewashed wall before him. In all the chaos around him, he was completely still. Angelina came and sat beside him, linking her fingers through his. "How're you doing?" she asked him.

He gave her a half smile. "I think the question is more of how Fleur is doing."

"Maybe. And yet it's you I worry about." She kissed him on the cheek.

He laughed, "I'm a big boy, Ange, I can look after myself."

"Sure you can," she responded sarcastically, smoothing an errant hair on his head. "If you were willing to live off pasta for the rest of your life."

"I can cook more than that!" he protested. Angelina raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Like what?"

"Er…toast!" She punched him playfully in the side and snuggled closer when he lifted his arm invitingly. They continued their bantering for a few more minutes, until the occasional cries of Fleur in the next room halted and were replaced by that of a wailing infant.

At its first shriek of life the whole family tensed and remained silent, as if one movement and the cry would disappear. Bill opened the door and all the sudden the spell was broken. As a unit they rushed him, demanding answers. How was Fleur? Was the baby okay? Boy or girl? Name?

Bill raised his hand for silence and began to speak, his voice husky with emotion. "Her name is Victoire, and she's a perfect, beautiful baby girl. Fleur's resting now, but you can come see the baby."

Mrs. Weasley began sobbing. Mr. Weasley gripped her hand and even let a tear or two escape himself. Charlie raised his wand in the air and pink confetti fell from the ceiling in celebration. Ron looked a little nervous, but Hermione towed him inside. Percy followed them in. Harry and Ginny brought up the rear, their fingers barely touching. He opened the door for her, and looked back at George with sympathetic eyes before entering.

"Come on," Angelina said, nudging him with her elbow.

Inside the small room, nearly the entire family was crowded around the hospital crib in the corner, ooh-ing and ah-ing over the tiny creature inside. Angelina joined them, though George walked over to the hospital bed. Fleur was reclining against the light pink pillows, her blonde hair matted and her face sweaty, with her eyes closed. She was murmuring to Bill, though it seemed as though it was mostly to herself.

"I will 'ave to write to Maman, she will want to come 'ere. And my grandmuzzer, she will want to 'ear about Victoire…"

"Hey, Fleur, how are you?" George asked, looking at Bill and Fleur. Bill had the shining glow of a new father, while Fleur wore the haggard expression of a new mother.

"Oh, tired," she responded with a dismissing wave of her hand. "But don't worry about me. Go, see your niece!"

The word didn't sit right in George's chest, but he went anyway.

Victoire was lying in the bassinet in the corner, surrounded by cooing family members. Her beauty was already apparent—she was obviously her mother's child. However, this was not what George saw. All he saw in her was Fred. Not so much in her looks, though she did have some clear Weasley features, but more in the fact that she was what Fred would never have. His twin would never get a chance to be a father. He would never get to hold a little girl in his arms and promise her the world. This was why George looked around at his family and was filled with an inexplicable loathing, though it shamed him. Hadn't just a few hours ago they been mourning Fred, and other loved ones lost? Now, all seemed forgotten as they reveled around this tiny being. He needed to get away.

He backed away from the hub of excitement almost cautiously, as if not wanting to disturb anything. He felt Bill's eyes on him as he walked through the door, but didn't stop to explain, and Bill didn't pursue him. He walked through the pristine halls of the hospital, unsure of his destination, until he heard footsteps behind him.

"Hey, what was that all about?" Angelina asked, pulling a hand on his shoulder.

"Er, nothing. Just felt a little crowded, I guess." She studied his face, and George knew she didn't believe him, but she didn't ask and he didn't elaborate.

"Well, we should probably head back, they'll wonder where you are." She stared at him strangely. For once, she felt like she couldn't read his emotions.

"Actually, I think I'll just head out."

"Fine. I'll go with you." She lead the way out, stopping briefly at the front desk to ask the receptionist if she would inform the Weasley family of their departure. The stepped outside and, glancing either way first, apparated together, loud cracks announcing their arrival at their flat. They changed into pajamas in silence and climbed into bed, giving each other the briefest kiss. Angelina didn't understand exactly what or why, but something was going on with George.

It's funny how one moment can change things.

The next morning George woke up feeling guilty. For the way he had been so cold to Angelina, yes, but also for his—still lingering—feelings toward his niece. Victoire's arrival had opened the floodgates to the feelings George had finally been coming to terms with. He was falling back into old ways. Could a person have a relapse if they hadn't fully been healed?

There was a rustle beside him as Angelina untangled herself from the sheets. She turned to face him, assessing what mood he might be in, before wriggling close and curling against his side. He draped his arm around her and buried his face in her thick mane of hair. They lay there for a while, not saying anything. It wasn't the same kind of silence, however, that George was accustomed to, where it seemed as if words weren't necessary. It was more like neither were sure what words to say. George often wondered in the future if things would have been different if he had told her right then how he was feeling.

Instead, he gently pulled away from her warm embrace and began pulling on fresh clothes. He cursed as he stumbled while trying to pull on his khakis, tumbling to the ground in a large heap. Angelina regarded him with a somewhat amused glance. He stood with a disgruntled look on his face.

"George," Angelina called as he walked into the kitchen.

"Hold on a sec, Ange!" he called back. He had just tried to turn on the stove, and now it was making a horrible hissing sound, leaving George in a confused state of panic. After a few unsuccessful spells, he finally managed to properly light the stove as Angelina padded into the kitchen, still in her pajamas.

"George," she began again, folding her arms together. "At practice yesterday, Carrie was telling us about this…George? Are you listening?" George's gaze had fixed on the clock behind her head, and she recognized the blank look when he wasn't listening to her.

"Bloody hell, is that the time?" he exclaimed. "I've got a meeting with a client in five minutes!" He quickly grabbed some bread and butter for breakfast, gave her a quick kiss and flew out the door with a fading, "Tell me you're story tonight."

Angelina sighed. She had the apartment to herself for a few hours, she supposed she should feel lucky. Yet this feeling was absent as she walked around the desolate flat. It was all too familiar, even almost ten years later.

Angelina's parents had gotten divorced when she was twelve. She remembered her father rushing out the door. She remembered the words still on her mother's lips. She remembered the disappointed expression worn whenever he didn't stick around long enough to hear them. She remembered the tears. She remembered the silence after he left for good.

The sky had already turned a deep purple when Angelina straggled in from a particularly gruesome Quidditch practice. After four hours of intense strategy, technique and teamwork training, the light had faded, though Carrie insisted on rerunning a play until Angelina and her fellow Chasers, Jackson and Aurora, got it down. Emmett had misaimed a bludger in the dark and ended up hitting Tim in the nose. Luckily Carrie was proficient at first-aid spells, but the ordeal had left Angelina exhausted and not in particularly high spirits. And coming home to find a moody George didn't do anything to raise them.

"What's the matter?" she asked, collapsing into a chair in the living area.

"Bill and Fleur just floo'd…Said they were in the neighborhood and are going to drop by for a bit," he replied, disgruntled.

"And this makes you mad because…?" she prompted, trying to uncover the secret code that was George.

"It's just--" he halted abruptly at a loud knock on the door. "Come in," he called, managing to mask the reluctance in his voice.

Fleur breezed into the room. All traces of her exhausted state from yesterday were gone. She was glamorous and perfect once again, and Angelina could have almost laughed. In her arms Victoire was wrapped tightly in a silky pink blanket. Bill followed, the glow of fatherhood still lingering on his features.

"Allo!" Fleur called merrily, kissing Angelina on both cheeks.

"Motherhood seems to be agreeing with you, Fleur."

She gave a radiant smile. "What eez not to like?" I 'ave a wonderful baby girl, a perfect 'usband. Nothing is missing." Bill wrapped an arm around her waist. George, however, looked mutinous.

"That's great," Angelina enthused, while shooting George a sideways glance.

"Well, we didn't mean to interrupt anything," Bill said, talking pointedly to George, "Really we just wanted to thank you for coming to the hospital. It meant a lot to us."

Angelina gave a reassuring smile. "We were glad to do it. Right, George?" With a forced smile, he nodded in agreement.

"We'll be off then," Bill continued. "Wanted to drop by Percy's before heading home."

Angelina waved and escorted them out the door. When she was sure they were out of hearing range, she closed the door softly and turned to face George.

"Alright," she said. "What the hell was that?"

"It's nothing."

"Don't give me that," she said angrily. "You know perfectly well its something. They're your family! And you couldn't have been more rude."

"You wouldn't understand," George responded bitterly, his knuckles turning white from his viselike grip on the edge of the counter.

"You're right, I don't!" retorted a frustrated Angelina, throwing her hands up in the air. "Please, enlighten me!"

"No—I mean, you can't understand. That's the thing! No one can understand what I feel right now! It disgusts me how they can be so happy with their little baby when all I can think about is how she has taken the empty space that Fred used to fill! And it sickens me that I feel that way, but I can't help it. No one can understand it, not even you, because you have never lost someone as close to you as Fred was to me!"

"You don't think I know that?" she responded, her voice choked. "You don't think I know the hole he has left in you? 'Cause trust me, I do. You aren't the only one who has felt pain, George. But you are the only one wallowing in self-pity! Don't you understand how much it hurts me to see you like this? How it makes me feel that I can't take away your pain, fill up the holes that Fred left?" George cringed at the use of his twin's name. "It's killing me, George! Little by little, every day. And I don't think I can do it anymore!" George could see the tears sparkling in her eyes now, spilling slightly over the edge. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was wild. The sight of her almost made George's heart want to break, but he had gotten used to holding his emotions at bay.

"Then go!" he shouted, turning his back forcefully on her.

"But I—" Angelina's voice cracked as she tried to respond, finding no words coming to her as George abruptly left the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him. He threw himself down face first on their bed, absolutely silent until he heard the soft sound of the front door closing, and he knew she had really gone. Then he let the tears come.