Recently, I watched and fell in love with the world of Harry Potter. So what else was I to do but write a fic? Ha. Worry not, readers of Illogically Logical - it has not been abandoned! I'll do my best to get you and update by Monday.
Also, this one has a bit of an odd timeline. I haven't written like this before, so please be patient.
As always, feedback is most appreciated!
Chapter One
"Oi, Tasha! Got yourself another visitor."
The young brunette wiped her hands on her apron, glad for the reprieve from dish washing. "You been sampling from the tap again, Adam?" She asked. "You know my visitor isn't scheduled to arrive for another three days, at least."
"Watch it, smart ass. It's not your usual one."
She frowned at the round pub owner, brow twisted in confusion. "Not the usual? Who then?"
"Ginger fella in a suit. Looks a bit on edge. You done somethin' to this 'un?" Alan asked as his chef moved to peer through to the bar. She paled considerably. "Guess somethin' did happen."
"Keep your nose on your face, Adam." She responded, voice strained.
He wagged a fat finger at her. "You keep your domestics outta me pub then."
She shot him a glare. "I haven't seen or heard from him in a year. It's not as if I suddenly rang him up and invited him over for a pint."
"An' just how did he figure you're here then? He did ask for you specifically." He folded his arms over his barrel like chest and leveled his stare on her.
"Not sure," she lied. She had a very good idea how he'd found her – in fact, there was little doubt in her mind about the matter. Her usual visitor – Ariana - had most likely had a hand in this turn of events. After all, Ariana was her only connection to the wizarding world. All other ties had been cut off in her self-inflicted exile.
"You just had yer last break, so he's gonna hafta wait til yer shift's done." Adam grumbled.
"Which is in an hour and a half by my reckoning."
"One forty-five." He countered.
She sighed. "Fine, but the kitchen closes in fifty. You'd best remind them."
Adam clapped her on the shoulder. "Good girl."
It'd been a whole year since he'd last set eyes on her. A year since she'd vanished into the muggle world. According to Ariana, Tasha had travelled for a while before settling down to work in a village. By muggle transport, it was about an hour from the Burrow.
By broom, the time halved.
The pub owner slid a menu in front of him, yanking George from his musings. He stared up at the big man – beefy at one point but now nursing a beer gut, balding, older. The spark of light in his eyes told the young wizard that the large muggle was still able to think. A good stupefy would take him out though, should push come to shove.
"She gets off in aboot two hours. After that, it's up to her whether she wants to talk or not." He said gruffly, his stance stubborn.
"Nothing can be arranged?" George asked quietly.
The beefy man leaned over the bar. "I don't want your dramatics in my pub. Bad for business."
George nodded – it was highly probable to be a dramatic meeting. "Probably for the best."
The older man nodded slowly. "Give me a holler when you know what you want. If you're planning on waiting it out, that is."
When he moved to tend other customers, George let out a quiet breath. What had he been thinking, coming here? And just what had Ariana been thinking, telling him where Tasha was hiding?
He stared hard at the menu. She'd known exactly what she was doing. She must have been aware that as soon as there was the slightest hope of finding their mutual friend that he'd charge after it without thinking. Which was precisely what he had done – he could only be thankful that he'd managed to grab his coat before storming off into the cold night.
He'd just needed to see her – needed to know that she was alive and well, contrary to common gossip.
Fred would have had a laugh about that – especially if George had forgotten his coat. Surprisingly, the thought comforted rather than pained him. Holding onto that, he ordered something at random and settled down to wait.
"Yer shift's over, Tasha. Quit dawdling around – I'll not pay ye any extra!" Adam snapped as the clock read 11:35 PM.
"Come off it, I'm just finishing up." She shot back, scowling fiercely at the balding man as she put the last of the pans away.
"Well hurry up, yer fella's waiting on ye out in the cold!"
She refrained from slamming the cabinet door shut. Why now? Surely there was some hidden message from Ariana in the entire situation. Subliminal messages hidden in the details were a bit of a hobby for her friend. To be fair, this intrigue had often saved their lives in the past. It only made sense that there'd be one here too.
But what?
Time to move on was a likely one. Move on from the war. Return to the wizarding world. Move past the atrocities committed by her family.
She worried her lip contemplatively. Surely it wouldn't be so simple. Was she needed? It didn't seem likely – the news Ariana had delivered to her of the wizarding world had all been decent. Sure, there was lots to do to rebuild what had been destroyed in the war, but surely she'd have been summoned sooner if they needed her help.
She leaned against the stainless steel countertop and sighed. Maybe it was simply time. After the battle of Hogwarts, while everyone was recovering, she'd managed to slip away. No goodbyes, no clinging hugs.
She'd regretted it later, of course. But at the time she could only see the suffering caused by her mother and the other servants of the dark lord. She couldn't even start to think about the depth of their victory – the sight of all the suffering and grief overtook all other courses of thoughts.
All but one – George. She'd longed to say goodbye to him, and had almost let herself do so. Then she'd realized that his twin had been killed in battle. Not by her mother, but what was the difference between one death eater and another? They all served the same wretched master , all itched to make others suffer needlessly.
Blood status may not matter, but the blood of those monsters flowed through her viens. How could she possibly hope to overcome that?
So she'd vanished, nodding to Ariana as she passed. She said nothing to no one, slipping into the shadows before disapparating from the broken grounds.
Surely George wouldn't have forgotten that.
He'd expected her to look different; not drastically so, but just a bit.
She didn't look like she'd changed at all. She was the same build, still quite pale. Her hair was the same mess of unruly chesnut curls. Her eyes were a little more distant than last time, making the tawny coloring cold. Shadows left over from sleepless nights were smudged just below them.
Just as she had looked when he'd last seen her.
And just has he had then, he felt sorry for her. She'd been worn out and run down by life. He couldn't help feeling that she didn't deserve it.
He shook himself, remembering how she'd disappeared when he'd been counting on her to be there for him. After all, hadn't he been there for her all those many times before? Not that he'd been seeking some form of recompense, but hadn't he done enough to help her? He'd simply thought she'd be there for him, should he need her.
Over the past year, he'd gotten over most of the anger. The dull aching hurt hadn't left him, though. Seeing her now brought it to the front of his mind.
But there was a bit of relief there also. Relief that she seemed to be – for all outward appearances – alright. Relief that she hadn't actually died in battle or shortly thereafter, as had been rumored.
"You look well." She said as she reached him.
"I look bloody awful." He corrected. "Though you don't look too bad."
She shook her head. "You're too kind, as always."
He nodded, not quite capable of a smile. "Is there someplace we can go to get out of the cold?"
"There's a café a couple of streets over. They're open past midnight." She offered, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
He looked at her, realizing she was likely as nervous as he was. "The café it is."
He pulled the door of the small café open, the warmth and smell of coffee wafted over them. She stepped inside, and he followed. After they ordered their drinks, they nabbed a table in the very back of the café, to escape the coldness and have a bit of privacy. Silence settled between them.
George - whom was always equipped with a joke - couldn't even muster a smile at this point.
"How's your mum?" Natasha asked. The last time she'd seen that firework of a woman, Molly hadn't been in the best shape.
"She's a strong woman and is…coping. Only took her about a month till she was fussing at Ron about leaving his socks about." George said, gaze flitting about the room, unable to focus.
"Sounds like her." Natasha said slightly smiling. But a smile seemed out of place. And though the war happened over a year ago, the mental wounds were only just beginning to scab.
"Does, doesn't it. You know what I don't get though." George said, slight anger apparent in his voice.
Natasha didn't dare answer in fear of provoking him further. It wouldn't have mattered though, he'd stated the question and barreled on without a response.
"What I don't get is… a year Tasha.. A year - and no contact! No owl saying you're alright. No message in the floo. Nothing. You know, for a while there I started to believe the rumors." The last part came in a whisper as a barista brought them their respective drinks.
Natasha stirred her mocha, trying to find something to say - something to defend herself with. She didn't feel like she deserve the brunt of his anger, but he seemed to think she did. It was frustrating.
"I know you lost a lot in the war George, but so did I." She began. "Everyone needed time to get their minds right, time to recover. That's all I've been doing – I just needed to get away from everything."
George stared at her not knowing what to make of that. Of course she needed time, but she had lost someone she barely knew. At least she still had Arianna. He had lost someone who had been a part of him his entire life. The dark thoughts that he could usually get under control refused to stop this time. Normally, he could bring himself out of the dark place in which the memories, the laughs, the love, and the death resided.
But not this time.
"I don't think this was such a good idea." He said quietly and sipped some of his coffee.
"You're the one that came to see me." She drank some of her mocha. "I agree that a year is too long, but like I said - I needed time… time away from everyone, everything, especially magic." Tasha said, trying to avoid ending this on the note it seemed to be ending on.
George sighed. His mind was running a million miles an hour and yet the air was silent. "I understand grieving, Tasha, and the need to get away from it all. You don't think I do, but I've been grieving since the war.. not only for my brother… but also for you." He locked gazes with her, pinning her in place. "What was I supposed to think, you disappearing after all of that? That you just needed time? That was the last thought in my mind – I…I thought the worst Tasha."
"I know." She responded quietly.
"I don't think you do. I've had this ache in my gut since the whole thing ended. Wanting to talk to someone but no one being there. Hearing a joke or something he would like I turn to my right expecting to see him, a grin echoing mine. But I don't! He's gone.. and it's..its not your fault I know that, but… I just wish you were there."
She went to grasp his hand but as their skin touched, he jolted as if it were fire. She had no clue what to say to make this better. Anything she did try and say he seemed intent on not listening to. So she did what she could – she remained silent. He stared out the large windows, watching a few muggles passing by on the late Saturday night.
Finally he turned to her, and looked deep into her eyes. They were missing the light that used to be in them - the light that used to make them so playful and vibrant. He shook himself, knowing that – alas - he was only making the situation worse.
"I'm sorry. Obviously I need to sort out my priorities."
She went to laugh at the blatant truth in – for her own situation, and possibly his – but he continued so she kept quiet.
"I do have one question to ask you though."
"Yes?" She asked, tensing suddenly.
"Did it mean anything to you? Did we mean anything?" he asked, a note of desperation ringing in his voice.
She was silent, staring into the depths of her mocha as though it would offer her the answers of the universe. To be honest she knew the answer. She knew that if he hadn't have been there for her on multiple occasions, her life would be drastically changed. He was the only thing that kept her tethered to the good, and without him a bleak world stared back at her. A world that she gotten a taste of this past year.
He couldn't believe her silence. If she had posed the question him, he knew what he would say by heart. There would be no hesitation. But it was like he was talking to himself. His fist clenched around the paper cup, threatening to crush it. He couldn't do this. He shouldn't have come to see her. He'd just wanted to see if she was alright. He understood how much of an ass he was being but he couldn't do it right now. Maybe in a week or a month, or whenever the dull ache that sprang to life when he saw her was gone.
"I'm sorry." He said before he disapparated.
She stared at the paper cup he'd left behind, half full of thick black coffee and looking rather rumpled. Her eyes burned with a pain that she'd refused to recognize this past year. This past year, that had been wretched and lonely despite all the travelling, and despite all the ease of slipping into the muggle world. Nothing could sooth it, so she'd shoved it away.
And he'd brought it back.
She stared at his empty seat, fighting against her watery eyes in vain. When she spoke, she could only manage a wobbly whisper. "It meant the world to me."