AN: Thanks for the reviews that I have gotten, and I hope you will keep leaving them! This one's a good one, I hope you like it :)

Chapter 9

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After spending her afternoon with Katie, she had plans with George to visit his family. Only a few weeks had passed since the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and so George was still quite tense from the stress of it all. Naturally there had been a huge commemoration at Hogwarts. All those who fought in the battle were honored, and so both she and George had stood among their friends while Kingsley Shacklebolt, elected just after the war as Minister of Magic, spoke about the meaning of Harry's victory, the hopes for the new generation of wizards to live in a peaceful word, and of course the memory of those that had given their lives fighting to protect the school and wizarding world.

She had held George's hand for support, partly because she knew he needed it and partly because she wanted it, but she was pretty certain that he hadn't even noticed. His hand had been rigid, just like the rest of his body. She may have helped him come a long way from his bottomless pit of grief, but it wasn't any easier for him being back at the place his brother had died.

Because she knew how hard of time of year it was for George, Molly Weasley tried her best to keep his mind off things the best way she knew how—food. She regularly invited him and 'that lovely girl friend of yours' over for family meals, so he had finally relented and agreed to come.

Angelina left the café and returned to her apartment to change into a comfortable summer dress. She had just enough time to fix her hair up a bit before she had to meet George in Ottery St. Catchpole. The plan was to meet down the road from the Burrow so that they could walk together, but she knew it was also so George could relax himself a bit and walk off the tension. As much as she meant well, Mrs. Weasley had an innate capacity for overbearing love, and it was sometimes more than George could handle.

"You're looking quite summery," he said as she approached him on the corner of the road. "Shall we?"

She linked her arm through his extended arm and they headed down the road.

"Come off it George, you're putting on a good show. It's alright if you're uncomfortable. I know you've been tense lately," she said. She had grown more comfortable in the past few months with talking openly with George about how they felt.

"I'm not uncomfortable, Ange, really," he replied. He skipped a beat before speaking up again. "Alright, maybe a bit, but it's nothing really. It's just that… My mum just won't let up about you holding my hand at the ceremony, and I'm more nervous that you're going to get the overbearing protective Mum treatment."

Angelina felt her face flush. She hadn't realized that George had even noticed her hand holding his. And now he felt the need to protect her from his mum like it had meant anything more than holding her friend's hand. She consciously reminded herself not to react in a way that might give any impression and continued walking with her arm in his.

"I told her she doesn't need to worry, that you and I are just friends," he continued. "She knows that you've helped me through the worst of it, but she can't help but be a mum sometimes."

"Don't worry, George. I've met your mum before. I think I can deflect her mum-ness if I really have to. I'll just tell her that I have no interest in her son and that my real interests lie in shagging strangers."

George laughed.

"That's a good one, Ange. As if you could pull that off. I think that might actually make it worse. My mum knows you're not that type; she'd never believe it."

Memories of nameless blokes roared into her mind. She was waging an internal battle with herself to keep them out. She had never told George about her old methods of mourning, and now it looked like she never could after that remark. George had become her best friend over the past several months, and she had once hoped that she might someday be able to confide in him about the men she had slept with—men she had used to block out his brother's memory. She never had for fear of the same sort of judgment she heard in his voice today.

"What's got you thinking so seriously over there?" he asked, looking down into her eyes with a hint of concern in his. She tried to avoid eye contact with him, shaking her head.

"Nothing, really, just lost my train of thought," she said. George stopped walking, in effect stopping her with his arm.

"Now you come off it, Angelina, I know you and I know you're lying. Come on now, you know whatever it is you can tell it to me."' Angelina unlinked her arm from his and stepped back a bit. She stood with her back to him, but he reached out and pulled her shoulder to turn her around. Facing him, she looked up into his face and realized that a tear was forming in her eye.

"It's really nothing, George. Really. I don't really want to talk about it, please." She cursed herself for a poor joke. She hadn't thought it through very much before saying something so close to truth, albeit in jest.

"Alright," he consented. "I won't force it, but you know you can tell me anything." He started to walk again, but he stopped when she spoke up again, a little quieter this time.

"I am that type," she said. "I was very much that type after the war."

"What do you mean?"

Angelina sighed and sat along the little stone wall that lined the road near the Burrow. She hadn't intended on telling him any of this ever, but something in his voice pulled it out of her.

"I mean that I slept around, George. I was angry and hurting and sad and I missed your brother. I was bitter at him for leaving me before I got to have a real relationship with him, and I couldn't stop thinking about him. I didn't have anyone to talk to, so when it got really bad, I'd go to Muggle pubs, get piss drunk, and go home with a bloke. I didn't do it often but I did it enough. I regret it, I do. I didn't want you to judge me but I wanted to tell you. I haven't done it since before my birthday last year."

George nodded, processing what she said, and walked a few paces away. He sat on the wall on the other side of the narrow road and looked at her. She waited anxiously but didn't say anymore. She would wait to see how he would respond.

"Well then, you probably shouldn't make that joke to my mum," he said, straining to be funny. He winced when he saw that his attempt at humor had actually hurt her. He crossed the small road and sat next to her.

"Don't cry, Ange, I was only kidding you," he said softly as he wiped the new tears from her cheeks. "Really, it doesn't bother me. I'm sorry you were afraid to tell me about it. Hell, I'm sorry you didn't have any other way to deal."

He wiped her tears again and stood up, pulling her with him. She leaned into his chest and breathed slowly to control her tears.

"Alright, well now that the cat is out of the bag, I suppose it's time for some lunch," she said after she finally calmed herself down. "I feel quite a bit foolish now. I built that up in my head quite a bit, and here you are all fine and dandy with the whole thing. I guess that means I'll have to be fine and dandy about it."

George chuckled and linked arms with her again.

"I couldn't agree more. We've all done things we aren't proud of, Angelina. It's time that you get over it if you ask me."

She leaned her head against his arm as they walked.

"Thank you, George. Don't say anything to Katie or Alicia though. They wouldn't really understand it."

"Not a word. Your secret is safe with me. Unless you get me drunk, of course. Then I'm not to be held liable for my actions." He waggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

Angelina laughed as they neared the Burrow. She felt lighter as they walked.