Written for a song prompt - Blink 182's song "I Miss You"

Word count: 1212

George sat on his bed, refusing to admit he was jealous of his best friend and brother. He refused to admit he had feelings for a certain pretty girl. He refused to admit anything he had done was wrong. Because, he groaned, he was being a stubborn arse and he knew it.

Rolling over onto his side, George closed his eyes. Immediately, pictures of Angelina flooded his brain. He bit his lip, half of him wanting to hold onto his memories, the other half trying to discard them. He felt awed by the mere memory of Angelina flying. She was a brilliant witch, even if she didn't get top grades. She had a wicked humour and sharp reflexes. She could pull a prank like a Weasley, hit a Bludger like a Slytherin, and laugh like an ethereal goddess.

All in all, Angelina Johnson was definitely the sexiest girl in his year, George thought, sighing in content bliss.

"Hey," a voice suspiciously like Angelina's said in his ear. "Earth to Georgie!" In his dream-like vision, mind-Angelina giggled, poking him and shaking him.

"Not now, Angelina," he mumbled, trying to push her away. "Five more minutes." He yawned and turned over, trying to stop feeling annoyed by her prodding.

"That's no way to act, Georgie," she pouted.

"I'm sorry, Angelina. I'm just so tired," he complained. Why did it hurt him when he saw her pouting? he wondered for the billionth time. How unfair!

"Georgie!" she yelled in a sing-song voice. "Time to wake up!"

George groaned and sat up.

"Don't waste your time on me," he said, waving a hand in front of his face. "You're already the voice inside my head. No need to yell, I'm right here."

Opening his eyes, George found himself face to face with the real Angelina.

"Uh, hi, Angelina," he murmured, suddenly feeling very foolish. Blushing, George asked, "Er, exactly how long have you been standing there?"

Angelina grinned. A triumphant evil grin. George felt like his insides had turned out and were being devoured by angry, hungry, man-eating giant spiders. He imagined creatures like the Acromantulas Ron had described feasting on him.

"Long enough to hear you spouting nonsense again, Georgie-Porgie," Angelina teased, eyes glinting with amusement at his frozen expression.

George glared suspiciously at her for a minute before realizing he didn't have a shirt on. Quickly grabbing his blankets and pulling them around his neck, he asked, "Uh, how'd you get into the boys' dorm? And why am I not wearing clothes?"

"Well, George, I simply walked in," Angelina said, honeyed voice dripping sarcasm. It was the most obvious and simple answer.

If possible, Angelina would've sworn George's face turned an even darker shade of red.

"Oh, right, 'course. Silly me," George said, embarrassed.

"As for your clothes," Angelina continued as though George hadn't spoken, "I haven't the faintest. I just walked in when you were mumbling in your sleep. Something about," she eyed him suspiciously, "voices in your head. You haven't picked up Harry's bad luck, have you?"

"What?" George stared at her. Angelina responded with a shrug.

"I was just wondering. So, if it's not bad luck, what were you dreaming about?" Indicating the edge of the bed she added, "Do you mind?"

George shook his head, so Angelina sat on the edge, long legs dangling over the side of the bed. He considered what to tell her and decided it wouldn't be so bad if he told her a half-truth, or, at the very least, an obscured truth.

"It was a dream about something," he said, trying to find the right words.

Angelina giggled, "That's obvious."

"This is difficult!" he protested. Angelina held up her hands, showing she would listen to him.

"I think it's a dream I've had several times. It's about this - well, you're going to laugh at me," he said, hanging his head. It was a personal dream. He shouldn't even be telling her. She didn't care about him. He was just a friend and best mate. Nothing more.

Angelina shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She realized this was a very serious moment for George and did her best to match his somber mood. George sighed and rubbed his head.

"It's the same thing over and over. I'm sitting or lying somewhere, and all of a sudden, this girl appears. She's like, well," he hedged, trying to find the right words. "The Angel of my nightmare. She's always annoying me, asking me to do impossible things. Trying to get me to laugh. And for some reason, I don't feel like doing anything. And then, all of a sudden, she smiles and I do whatever she wants." He sighed, looking away from her. "You won't understand."

Angelina lowered herself slowly onto his bed, her back lying across the blanket covering George's legs. A giddy feeling shot through George's body. He hoped she didn't notice.

"I think I do understand, George," Angelina said softly, voice hardly louder than a whisper. "It's clear you like this girl very much. Or at least, you care for her." George's eyes widened, the only clue he registered surprise.

"You can really tell all that?" he inquired, awed by her power of perception.

"I'm not your best mate for nothing," she teased, mouth quirking into a smile. In an instant, the smile was gone and she was fingering her hair. "Who's the girl, George?" she asked, curious.

George grimaced, "None of your business."

"Aww!" Angelina pouted, looking much like the Angelina in his dreams. George swallowed, trying to will himself not to react to her.

"Come on, Georgie," Angelina pleaded, doing her best to imitate a puppy-eyed look. She was staring up at him with such an innocent expression. In that moment, George mused, she was truly angelic. George burned the image into his memory. He would always remember her face and how warm her body felt for eternity.

"Well that's no fun!" Angelina abruptly sat up and stuck her tongue out at George. "Alright, Mr. Weasley, keep your secrets. I'll see you later for Quidditch practice?"

"Yeah, yeah," George replied, waving his hand. He was used to her changing subjects rapidly. If Angelina Johnson lost interest, the conversation was over. Or, she just stopped listening.

"Good," she retorted, walking out of the dorm. As soon as she left, George felt cold and hollow.

"Oh, Angelina," he whispered to no one. "If only, for just one night, you could understand. If you can, will you come home and stop this pain tonight?" He looked out the window and saw the moon was rising. "Why does it hurt so much?" he asked the growing darkness. This time, he didn't wait for an answer before the dream waves of sleep reclaimed his body.

In the morning, George woke up and found a white and pink-striped rose lying across his legs. Smiling, he wondered what it meant. For some inexplicable reason, the rose made him happy.