Angelina is sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by magical photographs from her years at Hogwarts. She doesn't know why she had the urge to sort through her old photographs; it was just something she felt needed to be done.
There are four distinct piles at the moment, and counting. Here's one from her first Quidditch match; and here, one from a tip to Hogsmead when she was about fifteen. And here- she stops and reclaims the photo from the pile she just added it to. This one is from the Yule Ball in her sixth year. She's smiling, not at the camera, but at the person she's with, and he is smiling back at her. He is of course Fred Weasley, and as she looks at the two of them laughing and smiling and dancing, she can't help but think how happy they look together.
She lies back on her bed, looking at the picture in her hand and she can't help thinking about all the men in her life. Her father, her hero for so long. The man who taught her to fly, and shaped her into the woman she had become. Her brother... The less she thinks about him, the happier she is. Fred, the boy- man- she had fantasised about at school, the one she had always pictured herself being with. He was charming, cute, in goofy kind of way, and he could always make her laugh. In some ways he was perfect for her. Then of course, there was John Crichton, the first man to break her heart. They hadn't been together very long, but she'd fallen for him, hard. And now... now there was Harry. Harry. Handsome. Caring. considerate. And also nearly twice her age and living in a completely different world to her, and not just metaphorically. It never bothered her before, and she doesn't know why it does now. Maybe it has something to do with nearly being killed, but she feels a lot younger and more vulnerable than she did before. She tries to push the feeling aside. After all, she's still the same person as she was before, right? But the truth is, she has changed. Her perspective has changed. She's fooling herself if she thinks she can just go on as she was before. Just like she's fooling herself if she thinks she and Harry really have a future. She pinches the bridge of her nose, and she kows that she has to break it of with him. She's knows it's going to be painful because she does care about him, she really does, and the last thing she wants do to is hurt him.
She glances back at the happy couple in the photo. It seems so long ago, almost in a different life, that picture was taken. But she remembers how happy she was that night, and she remembers what she felt about Fred. And what hurts, what really hurts, is that she never really stopped feeling it, even when she was with John. Fred's always been there, in the back of her mind, and everytime she see's him she hates him, just a little, because she knew he liked her that way too, and yet he never did anything about it. Tim told her once that she should stop waiting to be swept off her feet and do the sweeping herself. Maybe if she had, then she and Fred would be together now and... and it's best not to think about what might have been.
She sighs and with a wave of her wand the photo's spread over her bed sheets fly back into thier box which itself is then levitated onto her dressing table. But the picture from the Yule Ball, she puts on her bedside table. Maybe I should get rid of it, she thinks as she turns out the lights and climbs into bed. Yeah... I'll get rid of it tomorrow.
And of course tomorrow comes, but she doesn't get rid of it. Instead she puts it in the back pocket of her jeans, thinking that maybe she'll show it to Fred before she does, just to see what he thinks...