A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews! Here goes chapter two...
Hermione Granger, soon to be Weasley, lived in a pleasant flat just outside of London. It was out of sight of the majority of Muggles, and a few other witches and wizards were known to inhabit the area as well. Over all though, it was in Muggle England, a fact that worried George's mother and delighted his father. In name it was the home of Hermione Granger, but George knew, as did nearly everyone but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, that Ron lived there more often than not, and referred to it fondly as "our place" to everyone but his parents. If they knew, Mrs. Weasley in particular, that the young couple was cohabiting, it would be a rather unpleasant experience for all. This was why, though they had only been an official couple for half a year, Hermione and Ron were now engaged.
George smiled to himself. He had just apparated a bit outside of the town and was taking the short, pleasant walk up the road to his destination. It never failed to amuse him that it had taken 7 years for the two to get together, but 6 months to decide that they wanted to spend their lives together. During their school years, it seemed everyone but Hermione and Ron knew that they were destined to be together; the Weasleys (Ron excluded of course) had made a habit of talking about them and coming up with rather amusing plots to get them together. Fred would have been delighted by the turn of events.
But Fred wasn't here now to see them. He hadn't even known they had gotten together before the explosion. George swallowed thickly. Now was not the time to dwell on that. The house was in sight just ahead. It was a modest home, sandwiched between several others like it and built up rather than out. It looked a little like the Burrow, which George suspected was part of its appeal when Ron and Hermione first looked at it. He raised his hand to knock on the handsome oak door but was beat to the punch. Ron Weasley, his younger brother, was grinning brightly at him, skin flushed as red as his hair and clutching what looked like a large glass of fire whiskey.
"George!" he greeted a bit too loudly for the hour, "It's great to see you! Come on in and get a look at the house." Ron stepped aside to admit his elder brother inside. The house was decorated tastefully, most likely Hermione's doing. Like so many wizard dwellings, it had been magically expanded. As a result, the drawing room was roughly the size of a small banquet hall and was packed wall to wall with tables burdened with Mrs. Weasley's cooking and an assortment of Hogwart's friends and family. Immediately, they all closed in on George.
He supposed that this was partly his fault. He hadn't been round to see many of them since Christmas, and it was nearly February now. The hodge-podge of wizards and witches, (and Muggles, since Hermione's parents were present) and joined up to form a sort of makeshift family in the months following the war. They had all been through the sort of experiences one cannot go through without becoming extremely close; and they all relied heavily on one another and kept in close contact.
George had been absent for quite some time and they were now hastening to chastise him for it.
"George!" a normally bushy-haired witch threw herself into George's arm and planted a kiss on his cheek. He looked down to see Hermione Granger beaming at him, looking just as pleased as Ron. Her hair was slicked back in a sleek chiffon bun, and she had donned a cocktail dress in black. Being together suited them well. "We're so glad you could make it. It's been far too long really. We've all begun to miss you..." she trailed off as Ron beckoned her to the other side of the room for something. George couldn't hear her as Lee Jordan surged forward and grasped his shoulders.
"Weasley! Nice of you to turn up!" Lee had cut his dreadlocks and his hair was now cropped low to his head, thick as wool and dark. He too was beaming, revealing two rows of large white teeth. George hugged him.
"I know. It's been busy down at the shop."
"Not turning into a workaholic, eh? The George I knew would have despised that." How George had missed the approach of Rubeus Hagrid, he would never know. Hagrid was wild-haired as ever, towering easily over the guests and clutching a tankard of ale. He patted George on the shoulder, nearly smashing him down into the carpeting. It was a miracle the man had managed to fit through the front door, George thought. But he smiled warmly at him. Hagrid had always let Fred and himself get away with far more than others at Hogwarts.
"How are you Hagrid?"
"Good, good," he boomed, arms swinging. Lee Jordan nearly took a grapefruit sized elbow to the face and just managed to duck away. He mouthed something that looked an awful lot like "he's too damn big" at George before ducking off with Alicia Spinnet, a former classmate, and by the look of their expressions, his new girlfriend.
George made small talk with Hagrid for a while before his mother noticed his presence and smothered him in a hug. He also greeted his father, (a tall, thin, balding man with more patience than his mother) Percy, Charlie, Bill and Fleur and then Ginny and Harry.
"All right there, George?" Harry had asked while Hermione and Ginny giggled over Ron, who was now doing some sort of elaborate dance accompanied by a drunken Lee and Hagrid.
"As fine as can be expected, yeah," It was an honest enough reply. Harry, however, seemed to understand.
"I suppose that makes sense. It does stop hurting so much, after a while. But it never truly goes away." George remained silent, but nodded in agreement. The two men were pointedly avoiding each other's' gaze. If either were to start tearing up, it would put a damper on the festivities. George knew that Harry felt somewhat responsible for Fred's death, and everyone who had died in the war. It was rubbish of course; no one but Voldemort was to blame. But George understood why he felt this way, and offered him a pat on the back.
"Buck up, Potter!" he said in an overly-joyful tone. "Your best friends have finally pulled their heads out of their nether regions and decided to get married. So smile. I think I'm off to indulge in some of the food and fire whisky. I might hit the dance floor. Can't have everyone in here thinking all Weasleys dance like Ron. He looks like he's having a seizure, doesn't he?"
Harry chuckled. "He does look as though he's in pain." Indeed, it was a possibility that Ron was in pain. Hagrid had just trod on his foot.
After a shared laugh, George made his escape to the kitchen where he rejoiced in piling his mother's excellent cooking high on his plate. He could cook well enough, but there was something about his mother's dishes that were unparalleled. He settled in the corner to eat with Lee and Neville, sharing small talk and amusing antidotes for upwards of an hour and indulging in what was probably more butterbeer and firewhisky than was necessary. He was just beginning to think that he had gotten off and tonight would be a thoroughly enjoyable evening when a knock on the door sounded around 11.
Ginny tugged the door open to reveal Angelina Johnson. She looked the same as she had that night, though perhaps a little bit older. Her braids were gone, replaced by a multitude of springy curls all over her head. She was still tall of course, though not as tall as George, and had maintained her athletic build. Her arms, well defined but still thin, glistened coffee-brown under the low lamp light, exposed in her dress. She was apologizing to Hermione and Ron for being late when George lost sight of her under the crowd that had gathered to greet her. He contemplated disapparating, or perhaps sneaking out of the back door, when he heard Lee.
"George? Yeah, he's right over there against the back wall. We've been drinking and talking, you should join us!" He slung his arm over Alicia. It was clear by the slight swagger of his step that they had not been drinking pumpkin juice. While the rest of the crowd hovered around, laughing, chatting and dancing, Angelina raised her eyes and looked straight at George.
He felt a funny kind of lurch in his stomach, as though his intestines were fighting to get free. He hadn't seen Angelina since New Year's, and what he recalled of that occasion sent a wave of shame through him. It was too late to flee though; she was making her way toward him.
"Hello there, George," it was apparent that she was nervous as well. Normally so confident, she fidgeted slightly under his gaze.
"Hello, Angelina. How have you been?" he was determined to keep his voice level. He took a sip out of his cup for some added courage, delighting in the warm feeling running through him.
"Pretty good. I haven't seen you since New Year's. I've been 'round to your shop to see you, but you're always gone." She gave him a mildly accusatory look.
"Sorry, been busy." It was a thin excuse and they both knew it. Fortunately, she did not call him on it.
"Oh, well...I'd been hoping that we could talk-" a feeling of dread seared through him.
"There's nothing to talk about." George spat it out far too quickly. Angelina looked hurt; her wide brown eyes were downcast for a moment.
"I just thought, since, you know...Well, perhaps we had better talk about what happened..." she trailed off again. Her eyes were now imploring and George found himself caving. He quickly responded, before she could get the better of him.
"It never should have happened. I'm sorry that it did, but maybe… could we just not talk about it?" The hurt in Angelina's eyes was now evident. George could have sworn a few tears glistened there for a second before she forced them down.
"Well, if you really feel that way, then I guess...I'm sorry too. We don't have to talk about it."
"Good," the moment it left his mouth, he knew this was the wrong thing to say.
"Well," her tone had hardened. George had seen her do this before; the rigid posture, the dangerous gleam to her eye, she wasn't happy with him. He had never been on the receiving end of her fighting stance before and he didn't much fancy it. "I'll talk to you later then. Enjoy the party, George." she dragged his name out in an almost derogatory manner and spun on her heal.
And so, for the rest of the party, he faked a smile while he watched Angelina Johnson, former teammate, classmate and one of his oldest friends, pointedly ignore him. He surveyed her closely for any sign that she had told anyone, but no: Katie and Alicia seemed ignorant, as did Ginny and Hermione. George breathed a sigh of relief. He focused on enjoying the rest of the party.
The engagement party raged on into the night. Had it not been for Harry's muffliato charm, they surely would have been shut down. Under the influence of alcohol and good food the friends and family of the Weasleys talked and carried on, generally making a fool of themselves. It wasn't until near three in the morning that the last of the guests left. Ron made a big show of disapparating out of the apartment, but most knew he would be back before the hour was out. George wasn't there to watch; he had passed out in the spare room.
And that was how he woke up, still fully clothed, several hours later. He wandered groggily out of the bedroom and back into the drawing room. It was a mess. Deciding to cut his brother and future sister-in-law some slack, he cleared it all away with one almost lazy wave of his wand. He and Fred had learned how to clean ages ago. If they hadn't, Mrs. Weasley and the rest of the family would have been subjected to some nasty messes when the twins had been experimenting before their shop opened.
A yawning Ron stumbled out of the other bedroom. "Morning," he greeted. "Did you clean all this up?"
"Yeah," George flopped down on the couch and began to pull his shoes on.
"Thanks mate." Ron began picking at some leftover food from the night before. "Great party, eh?" George voiced his agreement. "Hermione reckons the only hiccup was Angelina."
George's mouth went suddenly dry. "What about Angelina?"
"Oh, I don't know," Ron talked around a mouthful of leftover pudding, "She just wasn't her normal self, you know?"
George did know, all too well in fact.
"Hermione thinks you ought to go talk to her. You're her oldest friend and she seems down. Especially since the holidays. Do you think it was because of, you know… Fred?" Ron lowered his voice considerably.
"We all miss Fred." Ron was regarding him like a bomb that was ready to blow. "But yeah, I reckon that might be it." He finished pulling on his shoes. "I've got to go. Take care mum doesn't find out you're here." he shook his brother's hand.
"Don't worry. She won't. I've got a charm set to alert me if she or dad turns up." Ron looked rather pleased with himself. "Or Hermione does, at least." George waved.
"Tell Hermione thanks and goodbye."
"I will. We'll be around the shop later this week." George nodded, and with a pop, he was gone.
Seconds later, he reappeared in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He trudged up the stairs and into the shower, thoughts of Ron's words floating through his head. Had he really hurt Angelina's feelings that bad? Unbearable guilt filled him, and before he could change his mind, he threw on some clothes, tidied his hair and got ready to apparate to her apartment. He owed her an apology.
