A/N: So, I don't know where this came from. I hope you like it, though.(:

Disclaimers are stupid.~

denial

Growing up, Angelina was no stranger to the five stages of grief.

As she stares at Fred's mangled corpse, tears stinging at her brown eyes and her chocolate hair sticking to her forehead, one word is flashing through her head.

deny, deny, deny.

This ginger boy lying in front of her with blood in his hair and laughter on his face, this boy isn't Fred. It's someone else, she knows it. It's some other misfortune boy, she can just tell.

Fred isn't dead. Fred is alive.

There's tears rolling down her cheeks.

She's screaming breathlessly, pounding her clenched fists against the muddy ground beneath them.

Fred is dead. Fred isn't alive.

You can't deny what's right in front of you.

anger

Anger is the next stage.

Irrational, unexplainable rage.

"It should have been you!" Angelina snarls, "He didn't deserve to die, dammit!"

The words are so harsh and if Angelina was in her right mind, she wouldn't have said them.

"You don't think I know that?" George bellows, "You don't think I wish that I was dead and Fred was alive every fucking day?"

Angelina remembers when they were all friends, the twins and her. Back when everything was laughter and no one had time to be serious.

Back when she thought tears were for weaklings and that Voldemort was gone.

She doesn't care about the stupid taboo anymore. She hasn'tin so long. Sometimes she just wants to scream his name at the top of her lungs so one of his Death Eaters will come and slit her throat open.

Angelina's tiny fists are pounding against George's chest, she's screaming.

Her shouts turn into sobs, his fists pull him closer towards her.

She's crying into his sweater, he's crying in her hair.

The anger comes back soon, though. It always does.

barganing

Angelina finds George outside one night when she's on a walk, he's talking to the stars and the moon and the sky.

"I don't know who's up there," He's whispering, "but sometimes I wonder why you took Fred instead of me."

Angelina's heart is breaking inside her chest as she watches the moonbeams catch on the tears rolling down his cheeks.

He's so broken, she's so broken.

Why can't they just come together and form a whole?

"I know he's funnier than me. I know that he's more attractive. I know... I know that Angelina would rather have him here with her than me."

Angelina's shaking her head, hair slapping against her burning cheeks.

"So, God or whoever you are, could we make a trade or something? Take me and bring back Fred. Him and Angelina, they need each other. I just want them to be happy."

Angelina wants to comfort him, she wants to go and hug him and cry with him and tell him that everything is going to be okay.

Everything's not going to be okay. She just can't bring herself to lie to him.

depression

Arm extended, rusty razor blade clutched between two fingers, Angelina is the picture of extreme depression.

The tip of the blade presses into the flesh of her arm, it goes no deeper.

It should be so easy, to slide the blade down her wrist and slowly bleed to death.

She'd be with Fred.

She'd be happy.

It takes Angelina days to figure out what stopped her.

When the impact of it all crashes down on her shoulders, she falls to the ground in a heap of tears and sorrow.

Dammit, she loves him.

acceptance

Their married, Angelina and George.

Their happy, in their own special way.

Angelina still cries herself to sleeps every night.

George still can't conjure a proper patronus.

All is well, or at least as well as it's ever going to get for them.