They were eleven when they met. Fred was walking down the transfiguration corridor, hexing Lee. Angelina was just around the corner, talking with Alicia, her newfound friend.

"I'm so glad we're both in Gryffindor." Angelina told Alicia.

"Me too," Alicia said.

***

"Fred!" Lee said, as his eyebrows grew to a point where he couldn't see. Fred grinned.

"Sorry. Um, incendio?" Lee's eyebrows caught on fire and he yelped in indignation. "Sorry! Um..."

Alicia and Angelina turned the corner to see Lee screaming and Fred trying random spells on him.

"Auguamenti!" Angelina yelled, dropping everything she was carrying. Lee's charred eyebrows were drenched in water. She turned around to face Fred.

"What were you thinking!"

"How was I supposed to know it created fire?" Fred defended himself.

Angelina sighed and turned to pick up her scales and her books. "Oh no!" She said, seeing her scales were broken.

"Don't worry." Fred said. "I can fix it."

And he did.

Two years later, they were in potions. Snape, deciding to "challenge" them because he was an evil git, had set them to work on Amortenia, the most powerful love potion in the world. Angelina feverishly stirred her cauldron. "Oh, gosh," she said quietly. Fred picked up in her murmur.

"What's the trouble, Angie?" He asked, running his hand through his hair and sending a smell of Apple shampoo through the room.

She wrinkled her nose slightly and George, who was working, of course, with his twin, grinned. "I messed something up. I don't know what."
Fred leaned over her cauldron and scanned the list of ingredients.

"Don't fret, Angie." He said. "I can fix it."

And he did.

It smelled like chocolate and apples.

In their sixth year, Fred asked Angelina to the dance.

She said yes.

As they approached the great hall, her smile shined brighter than anyone else's. Unfortunately, Neville Longbottom, a notoriously clumsy younger Gryffindor, stepped on her dress, tearing the hem.
"I'm so sorry Angelina!" Neville said. She easily forgave him. But she didn't want to go to the dance with a ruined dress.

"Aw, Angie," Fred said. "I can fix it."

And he did.

They danced harder than anyone else.

Six years after they had first met, Angelina sat in the common room, her hand in a bowl of essence of mutlap. She had just come from a detention from Umbridge. It was her last year, and she was grateful that she wouldn't have to put up with the hag much longer. As she soaked her hand, she saw the portrait hole open, and the Weasley twins climbed in.

"What happened to you, Angie?" Fred asked.

"Umbridge," Angelina grumbled. The twins exchanged dark looks. They had experienced their share of detentions. "I wish someone could teach her a lesson."
The twins' grins reappeared. Fred held up a firework, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Don't worry, Angie." He said. "We can fix it."

And they did.

Before the twins left for good, he kissed her. She promised to visit.

Two years later he was dead. Angelina sobbed, George doing the same next to her. She looked up, her face tearstained.

"George." She croaked.

Broken-hearted, George could manage to say only one thing: "I can't fix it."

And they both wept.