Angels Brought Me Here (George Weasley)

To Make You Feel My Love

Ninety-Three Diagon Alley

Once again, George Weasley was unable to remove the sheets from the mirrors within his flat. He was still unable to look at his own reflection, knowing he would see his dead brother looking back at him.

He walked around his flat, wearing the same t-shirt and shorts he had been wearing for god only knows how many days, the stubble on his face growing into what could almost be described as a small beard, the bags under his eyes growing by the minute. He couldn't remember the last time he turned on the light, the last time he opened his blinds, the last time he opened a window to let in the air. What was the point?

He sat himself down on his sofa, glancing at the clock on the wall to see that it was already almost six in the afternoon, and he had, again, slept away the entire day, after drinking all night.

He knew it was a habit he needed to stop, before he became heavily reliant. Truth be told, he could stop any time, but what else was he going to do to pass all those hours? If he didn't occupy himself, his mind would wander back to him.

Him, being his twin brother. His best friend. His reason for living. Some would have called them unhealthily close. For George, it only became unhealthy when his brother died. Fred was so much more to George than he had ever realised, and without him his life was completely empty.

He knew how many people he had in his life, who loved him, cared for him, wanted to help him. His mother and father, his siblings, his friends, his former teachers. They had all reached out. Hell, even some of their regular customers had left cards of condolence.

But he didn't care. He wanted to care, he wanted to feel appreciation, and he wanted their help to actually help. But it didn't. He didn't see it ever helping, if he was being honest with the world.

The only person he could think of to possibly make him feel better, was the one person he was never getting back. Fred.

As six o'clock ticked over and became seven, George felt it socially acceptable to venture to the nearest bar, The Leaky Cauldron. He knew the risks he ran going there, it was a popular spot and he was risking seeing someone he knew, someone he didn't want to see. But he usually sat himself in a dark corner, where he could see everyone, but few could see him.

That night, he decided it was a good night to wear jeans. He hadn't worn jeans in weeks, the last time he had gone home early, because he had noticed he was wearing Fred's jeans by accident, rather than his own.

He made sure that these jeans belonged to him, before stepping out of the door, surprised to find the September night so bitter on his skin.

The walk to the pub was short, it always was. He pulled the hood of his jacket up, partially to keep out the breeze, partially so he knew even if someone he knew was lurking on the street, they'd never know it was him.

The warmth of the pub was welcomed as George opened the door, the familiar jangle of the bell above the door comforting. The experience was second nature to him, the process always the same.

That was, until a completely new voice sounded from the bar in front of him, which made him stop in his tracks and drop his hood. In four months, it had always, always, every single day, been Tom behind the bar.

"What can I get you, love?" A girl. A female voice. A woman. His anxiety was heightened every day, this change was likely to send him home. But something about her drew him in, kept him in the bar against all of his instincts.

George Weasley was about to meet the girl to change his world for better or for worse.