A/N - Written for Emily [Future Madam Pomfrey]. I'm so sorry this is late, but I hope you had a great birthday!

The lyrics are from the song Let It Be Me by Ray LaMontagne.

There comes a time
A time in everyone's life
Where nothing seems to go your way
Where nothing seems to turn out right

.oOo.

"George?" Angelina called warily, knocking once again on the door to his flat. "George? Open up," she said, trying the handle. It turned easily, the door swinging open slowly. The apartment was dark, the curtains drawn and the lights off, and smelled of stale curry. "I'm coming in," she announced, flicking the light switch and closing the door softly behind her.

The bulb flickered to life, brightening slowly - it would probably need changing soon - and casting large shadows across the room. A half-eaten take-out container of curry was left on the coffee table with three empty bottles of beer.

"George? Where are you?" she called again, feeling her worry begin to increase. "Are you alright?" she called into the flat, wincing at her own words. Of course he wasn't alright; she wouldn't be here like this if he was. "George, please. You're scaring me." She couldn't help the way her voice broke slightly, or her heart rate picked up.

She could hear movement from one of the other rooms, and her hand went instantly to her wand; she couldn't help the reaction, despite nearly a year having passed. Sometimes, she wondered if they would ever stop looking for danger at the slightest of noises.

"Angie?" he croaked, and she finally felt herself relax, releasing the tension in a deep exhale. He looked terrible, worse than he sounded, worse even than the last time she'd visited. His hair hung in greasy strands, longer than he usually kept it, and the bags under his eyes were obvious even from this distance. He didn't look like he'd left the apartment in the last few days, and probably hadn't even showered in longer.

"Hey, George," she said, smiling despite the circumstances. "I got you some food." She held up the old Tesco carrier bag. "I'll go heat it up." He didn't reply verbally, but he did begin moving the things off the sofa and coffee table so she took that as answer enough.

The microwave clock wasn't working, and after pressing the buttons and checking the socket, she figured the entire thing was probably broken. She plated to food and heated it up with her wand, only burning the potatoes a little, and brought it through into the other room.

"You don't have to do this," he said as she sat down. "I can take care of myself." She didn't bother mentioning how clearly untrue that statement was; didn't tell him how worried all his friends and family were. Instead, she went with a simpler truth.

"I wanted to."

"Why?" he asked, and maybe it hadn't been the simpler option after all.

"Because… because you're one of my best friends. You were the first person I ever met at Hogwarts." He didn't reply for a while, and she began to think he wouldn't.

"I wasn't."

"What?"

"I wasn't the first person you met. You were already talking to Lee when I met you, and you came over acting like you knew me." He smiled slightly, and she wondered if the topic they were skirting would be okay to talk about this time. Well… she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

"That's right. I thought you two were the same person up until Christmas." His eyes were pained, and she thought she'd probably overstepped her boundaries and that he would tell her to leave any moment.

"Yeah, I remember," he said instead. 'That was pretty difficult to keep up. We thought you'd figure out straight away."

"Hey! I was just excited to have been Sorted. I didn't pay attention to anyone after me," she said, her tone falsely indignant. "And you guys must have had help."

"Oh, yeah, our entire dorm was in on it," he said, mirth clear in his tone. She speared a potato, shoving it into her mouth and speaking with her mouth open.

"I should have known, really," she said. "There's no way you'd have been able to pull that off on your own."

"Hey! We're-" He stopped abruptly, swallowing, and made an attempt to blink back the moisture in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, knowing that the apology wouldn't do any good. This wasn't her fault, as much as this wasn't George's fault, but it was something they would all have to deal with.

"No, I'm- I-" He sighed, staring down at his half-eaten plate of food. "I think I'm gonna go take a shower," he said.

"What about your food?" she asked, eyeing his too-thin frame.

"I'll eat it when I get out," he said, already pushing himself to his feet.

"Okay." It was near impossible to get George to do something he didn't want to. "I'll stop by tomorrow sometime," she said, standing up herself.

"You don't have to," he called from the bathroom. She would be offended that he was so eager to cut her visit short, but this was a definite improvement.

"I'll stop by tomorrow," she repeated. She heard the shower turn on, and decided to take the time to straighten up quickly - or, at least, take out the bins - and made sure to put a warming charm on his dinner, though she doubted he'd finish it.

"I'll give you a haircut, too," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the running water, right before she left the small flat.

Baby steps, she'd decided when they first began these visits, were definitely the way to go.

.oOo.

That's when you need someone
Someone you can call
And when your faith is gone
It feels like you can't go on
Let it be me