A/N: This will be a drabble collection composed of my writings for the 2013 HP May Madness on LiveJournal. I gave up about eleven days in because it was taking too much time away from FSWC, which I was writing at the time (a fast writer, I am not). I'll only include the prompts I used.

Prompts: apologies, art/ "come on ... nobody has to know"

Summary: George loses himself in the bottle in the aftermath of Fred's death.

Nobody has to know.

That's what Angelina had said last night. Nobody has to know. She had magicked her way into the flat above the shop, and when George had drunkenly apologized for the state of his sitting room and his growing collection of liquor bottles, she had simply said, "Nobody has to know." As if she knew he didn't want his brothers (or his sister) to know how much he was drinking. As if she knew he didn't want his parents to know he wasn't coping.

As if she accepted he was doing the best he could.

And he was. He drank in the mornings to face the day without Fred. He drank in the evenings to forget Fred wasn't here. He drank at night to fall asleep. The only time he didn't drink was when the shop was open, so George tried to drink enough before work to ensure he maintained a buzz well into the afternoon.

Fred's portrait had been delivered today. They'd had them commissioned two years ago, when they joined the Order. An attempt, along with writing their wills, to show their mother they were serious, that they understood the risks. George tipped the bottle to his mouth and drained it.

They had understood nothing.

The sofa was crowded with dirty dishes, take away boxes, food wrappers, and some empty potion bottles. He shoved this detrius aside, sat down in the newly cleared space, and cracked open another bottle.

Nobody had to know.