George walked into the coffee shop, the bell tinkling as he pushed the door open. He looked around for Angelina. He found her at the back, sitting at a table for two. She was idly flipping through a Muggle newspaper.
“Hey,” she said brightly, acknowledging his presence. He offered her a weak smile in return, and sank wearily down into the seat in front of her.
“How was the day at work?” Angelina asked, once they had both ordered their coffee.
George shrugged. “Oh, you know. I’m getting by.” He knew this wasn’t the reason she had called him for coffee. It was the same reason everyone else was pestering him these days.
To talk about Fred.
It had been one month since the death of his twin, and although he was getting by, life wasn’t getting any easier for George.
He sighed. “Angelina, I know the real reason you called me out today wasn’t to talk about my work. I also know what your next question is going to be. In response, the answer is fine. I’m fine.”
He brushed a stray crum off the hard wooden table, tentatively looking up.
Angelina fixed her gaze on him, brown eyes meeting blue eyes. “No, you’re not.”
George’s eyes widened in surprise. Whenever he gave out the answer, people would usually offer him a pat on the shoulder or sympathy eyes and say “Yes, I’m sure you’re managing.”
“You’re not fine, George, your twin brother just died, It’s only been a bloody month! But I’ll tell you one thing. It helps to talk about it. That’s why I’m here.”
Slightly taken aback, George’s blood began to boil, although he felt a certain admiration for the vivacious black girl across from him.
“I don’t want to talk about it! Talking is pointless! Just because I vocalize my thoughts doesn’t mean anything will get any better. Talking about it won’t bring him back to life,” exclaimed George, tired already of the conversation.
Angelina’s eyes narrowed. “Of course it’ll help. If you tell me how you’re feeling, I’ll share your load. I’ll feel your pain too, and your bearings won’t feel so heavy.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing she would go away, that everything would go away. He never wanted to come, and he still didn’t want to be here. He cursed Tom Riddle to hell, and he wished for Fred Weasley back. He didn’t like being just George.
It hurt.
“Angelina, we might as well forget this whole day. I’ve got some work I could be doing at the shop, and I really don’t need to be here.”
Unlike most girls, Angelina didn’t back down. “No, George. It’s been a month, and I’m not going to have you swallowed in grief your entire life! There’s people put there who care about you! Don’t you understand?”
A surprising thought took over his mind. How could talking about it make it hurt more? He had already come to the full realization Fred wasn’t ever coming back.
Giving someone a little piece of his thoughts wasn’t going to change anything.
George ran a hand through his red hair, making his decision. “I feel like I’ve stopped.”
Angelina revealed a hint of a smile. After a few moments, she spoke. She leaned her elbows on the table, careful not to spill the coffee.
“The funny thing about stop signs, George, is that they’re also start signs.*”
George cocked his head, confused. “No, they’re not. They’re big and red, and they have white letters that say stop. Are you sure you’re okay, Angie?” He smiled alittle.
“I’m glad you’ve done your research on Muggles,” laughed Angelina. “I told you three years in Muggle Studies would one day come to your aid.” She sipped her coffee carefully.
She pushed her dark hair behind her shoulders. “Okay, think of it this way. When a Muggle car comes to a stop sign, they stop. Right?”
“Well, that’s the general idea,” said George, his humor coming back. The tiny coffee shop all of a sudden seemed brighter, and the warm liquid spilling down his throat was pleasant.
“Muggles will stop and wait for cars and obstacles to move out of their way. When they’re sure they won’t get hurt, they tentatively move forward. But they’re never certain. Accidents happen, right? They have to take a leap,” said Angelina softly.
George nodded slowly. “So you’re saying that I’ve stopped, and now I’m too scared to start, in fear of getting hurt?”
“Exactly. There will always be things that tell us to stop, or slow down. But when we get up and start again “ well, that’s our choice isn’t it?”
George sat quietly for a few minutes, draining the last of his coffee. Angelina was right, now that she had heard him out, she was carrying some of his feelings. His burden didn’t seem so heavy anymore.
Angelina pushed her chair back. “Fancy a walk?”
They threw their cups in the trash, and headed for the joke shop. Calmness ensued, and George was enjoying the cool air, and was grateful for the quiet. He reached over and carefully took Angelina’s hand.
To his delight, she didn’t pull away. They walked awhile longer, until George found his voice again.
“Sort of like a Quidditch player before the match, right? They’ll fly out onto the pitch, and go to their positions. Then they’ll stop, and wait to start again.”
Angelina laughed at his Quidditch analogy. “Before you can start, you have to have previously stopped, or slowed down.”
George mulled things over in his head. What she was saying made sense. It wasn’t always easy to go forward. There was still a fear of getting hurt, but you had to make that leap to move on.
The death of Fred had made him stop. But the obstacles were gone. He had a loving family, and plenty of friends. He had a well-paying job. His only obstacle was fear of starting up again.
He knew that the fear of starting would only progress as time went on.
“Another thing, George. When the driver has a backseat full of family and friends who love him, starting the car back up is always easier.” She gave him a full smile, which he returned.
So, on June 3rd, 1998, George decided to make his stop sign, a start sign.
Stop Signs by leftrightmiddle
Story Notes:
Very short one-shot, so I promise it won't take up alot of your time!
Chapter Notes: I am not JKR! (duh). Thank you to Jenna for her support!
Chapter Endnotes: Read and review! Have an amazing day!
*from The Key to the Golden Firebird by Maureen Johnson