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Chapter 15

Three weeks later, Mrs. Weasley told George to invite Angelina to dinner for what was probably the millionth time.

"She's such a lovely girl," she said. She regularly pestered George about his friendship with her. She asked him about what she did and how she was getting on and when he was going to bring her back for dinner again. He finally relented and promised his mum that he'd bring her the following Saturday for dinner.

He hadn't told his parents yet that they were officially seeing each other and had been for almost a month. He knew exactly how his mother would react—first full of excitement, then telling him she had known this would happen, and then telling him that he'd better be acting a complete gentleman with her. He figured it would be easier when things weren't so new between them. After promising his mum that Angelina would love to join them for dinner on Saturday, he feigned a need for the bathroom and went upstairs to Ginny's room.

"Blimey, George, you're lucky you clod up the stairs like a lead-footed troll," Ginny said as he walked in without knocking. She and Harry were on her bed, close enough that they'd obviously been much closer before he entered. He pretended he didn't realize that he interrupted them. It was better not to think about the fact that Harry was doing the sort of things to his sister that he'd kill any other bloke for doing.

"Sorry Gin, I'll walk more quietly next time. But now that I'm here, think you could lend an ear for a minute?" George didn't often go to his sister for advice, but she knew better than any how to deal with their mother. She had been living in the Burrow since Hogwarts, after all. More than any of them, she had been dealing with the often overbearing love and attention of their mother. Ginny resigned to the fact that her brother would not just go away and made herself comfortable by leaning into Harry. She waved her hand, gesturing for him to sit and continue.

"Mum asked me to bring Angelina to dinner this weekend," he began. Ginny rolled her eyes. She knew that her brother had become romantic with his friend. "Do you think I should tell her now, wait until Saturday, or just keep on pretending that nothing's changed?"

"Well you might as well just wait until Saturday," Ginny offered. "You know that Mum would just make a big deal of it if you told her now, and you probably wouldn't be able to deal with that. You wouldn't even be here to deal with it, meaning I would get to listen to Mum talk herself voiceless about how she always knew this would happen. If you tell her Saturday, then at least I get dinner and a show." She giggled a little as Harry nudged her, telling her to be nice to her poor brother.

"Thanks Gin. Always such a peach. Why not just put it off then?"

"Well, first I want my show with my dinner. Second, you know the longer you go without telling Mum, the angrier she'll be that you didn't tell her right away."

George nodded, said that he'd have to think on it, and thanked his sister for her advice, however self-serving it might be. He ignored Harry's hand that held his sister's hip and left them before he lost the battle with his protective older brother instincts. He flopped onto his bed moments later and stared at his ceiling. Since Fred's death, he couldn't stand the empty feel of the room. There were still two beds, two desks, and the one large wardrobe with two separate sides. This was a room meant to house two, but now it was only occupied by one. He curled onto his side and stared at his brother's empty bed, made up by his mother as part of her usual cleaning routine as though any day now someone would sleep there again.

He wished he had his brother to talk to now, but he knew it was a moot point. If Fred had survived the war, he would have taken Angelina out on that date. He would have stopped hiding behind the war as an excuse not to become seriously involved with her. He'd have seen that she wouldn't wait around forever and would've swept her off her feet. It would have been the two of them that he interrupted during personal moments and the two of them that his mother fawned over.

It was difficult for George to wonder which he would prefer. Now that he and Angelina had been dating for a few weeks and were clearly falling in love with each other, he was feeling the first echoes of real happiness within his soul again. He had hope for the first time in two years—hope for a happy ending of sorts. If Fred were alive today, he wouldn't be facing this future with Angelina because she'd still be Fred's girl, and he'd have had to find himself another path to happiness. It was an emotional catch-22 of the worst kind. He could not say which would be better to him because both were the happiness he longed for and both involved the loss of something extremely dear to him. George was grateful that he would never have to actually choose and put it out of his mind.