This occurs five years after the Battle of Hogwarts so it is set in 2003.
Hope you enjoy
Mending Broken Souls: Wicked Amy
The coffee burned his mouth and down his throat, clutching his chest as he chugged it down, numb to the heat. The early morning sun was barely peeking above the buildings, but glowing enough to cast a shadow on the slumbering brunette. The blanket hugged her slight curves and revealed her bare back, glistening with the remaining sweat from only hours ago. With heavy feet, George Weasley grunted and shuffled out of his room, clad only in a thin t-shirt and trousers, and made his way down to his shop.
It was far too early for the owls to post the newspapers, so George settled for draining his coffee at his workbench and pulled out his blueprints for new inventions despite his gnawing headache. From the corner of his eye he could see the bright bottle of hangover potion his brother no doubt left for him. With a deep sigh George grabbed it and walked through the door separating the backroom from the main floor. He unlocked the front door and shuffled to an alley off to the side, ignoring the cold air nipping at his exposed skin and the stones beneath his bare feet.
Knocked over bins and littered rubbish greeted him, and the resident stray pack of cats hissed and stretched in the shadows, some slowly stalking his way. With numb fingers George unscrewed the cap and spilled the contents onto the ground, relishing in the splashing on the concrete. He never drank the hangover potion left for him. His headache, although painful, was always welcome. It distracted him. And George Weasley treasured distractions.
The cats ran forward and sipped at the spilled potion, purring and humming in contentment. A small cat rubbed itself against George's leg and sat down on his feet, spreading warmth through him. The cat was grey with black stripes and had dull green eyes. He recognised it immediately. There were three other cats which looked almost identical, with only small differences in the patterns on their paws, faces and tails. This cat had one significant difference that could not be missed: it had three legs.
George only ever saw the cat from a distance. Regardless of its disability he did not feel in any way responsible for caring for it, never bothering to take a few minutes out of his day to feed it a little, rather, allowing the damn thing to scuffle for scraps in an act of survival of the fittest. He did not even like cats, his first real experience with one when his Aunt Muriel's fat snowy feline hissed and bit him when he took the last sausage at only three years old. His more memorable experience was when Crookshanks clawed him and left him a bloody mess in his fifth year. But he could not deny the sympathy that he felt for the cat. He could relate to it on some level; him missing an ear and it missing a leg, no doubt a casualty from the war.
The small cat purred and nuzzled his foot. George sniffed and shook his leg, ridding the cat. It squeaked meow and looked up at him with its big eyes, its head tilted to one side and its ear twitching. Its right ear.
George scowled. "What?" he snapped, conscious of the mangled skin on the right side of his head. Merlin, he really hated cats.
The relatively new clock suspended in Diagon Alley chimed six times. George turned away and made his way back to the shop, cursing under his breath about stupid animals.
The Ministry owls soared high in the awakening pink glow of the sky. One swooped down before George and dropped a Daily Prophet by his feet before flying away. He picked it up and went straight to the backroom, pulling his magenta robe off the hook and wrapping it around himself. He placed the newspaper down on a tray, replacing it with the old paper that had generated a rather distinct smell of piss and dust, and set the pygmy puffs on it before returning to his blueprints covered in drawings and scribbles.
Ron pushed open the door to the backroom but halted it before it slammed into the wall behind it a while later. He sent a sheepish smile George's way before closing it gently.
"Mornin'," the youngest male Weasley greeted. His eyes fleetingly looked over to the hangover potion and saw it empty. "Got you some breakfast," he said, putting a bag on the workbench beside his brother and taking out smaller bags and boxes. "Didn't know what you felt like so I got a bit of…well everything."
George's eyes never left his parchment as his quill hurried over it. "'Kay," he muttered absentmindedly, vaguely taking in the smell of fresh pastries and coffee.
"What's that?" Ron asked, indicating to the parchment George was drawing on.
George scribbled once more and then threw the quill down, heaving out a breath and pushing it away to make room for the food. "New idea I got from Charlie over the weekend. This lemon?"
"Yup," Ron answered through a mouthful of pecan and maple syrup plait. "What's the idea?"
"Lava Lollies. Just started on it," George nodded, drinking the coffee out of the foam cup. "Melts when you lick your way to the middle and burns your mouth. Smokes as well, even comes out the orifices in your face. Thinking of other versions, too."
Ron nodded and the brothers ate their breakfast in silence. George checked the time on his watch, the new one from Percy just over four years ago, and saw that it was now ten forty-eight. The watch was far too large and expensive – something he and Fred would have spent hours talking about owning once upon a time. The only thing missing was the dancing veela inscribed in the middle.
"Verity's opened up shop already. Slow start," Ron informed him. He noticed the glance his older brother sent to the stairs that led to his flat. "Another one?" He asked, to which George winced and nodded curtly. "I've got this." He rubbed his hands free of crumbs and strode up the stairs purposefully, taking them two at a time. He returned moments later.
"Done already? That was quick," George commented, surprised. He had been expecting some sort of a scuffle; there was always one with Ron involved.
Ron gave a wry grin and shook his head, taking the seat opposite his brother. "No. She's singing in the shower. That new Weird Sisters song about Kneazles, and soul mates, and eternal love…or was it dancing pixies?" The desk thumped from the force of George's head and Ron licked the jam off his fingers and thumb. "Ginny should be here soon; she'll sort it out."
"Oh, thank Merlin," George breathed out, his head still resting on the table top.
A pop resonated in the room just then, and, sure enough, Ginny Weasley appeared.
"Another one?" she asked in greeting, removing her cloak and hanging it up.
Ron muffled his laughter. Ginny rolled her eyes and strode up the stairs much the way Ron had done. The boys sat still and waited. A voice shrieked; glass shattered, and a loud splash sounded from the flat above. And then silence.
The young female Weasley smiled widely to her brothers as she skipped off the last few steps, pecked George on the cheek and stole the chocolate muffin from his hand, taking a large bite. The boys shared a glance, Ron's face quivering in amusement.
"Well?" he asked.
"Well, what?"
"She gone for good?"
Ginny giggled – always a sinister sound. "Oh yeah, definitely. Stupid bint dropped her towel the second she saw me. Must've thought I was you, George." George grimaced. "But she won't bother you again."
The occupants in the room knew exactly what that meant. Ginny's famous Bat Bogey hex was not to be contested, and you wouldn't want to be on the opposing end of her wand when she was in a temper – something all of her brothers had experienced at least once and wouldn't dare seduce again.
The three siblings sat in companionable silence eating brunch. Ron and Ginny would take a moment to engage in pleasantries to ask about their in-laws; the famous Boy Who Lived Twice, Harry Potter, (or dubbed by George as The Boy Who Just Won't Bloody Die), and the brightest witch of her age, Hermione Granger-Weasley, while George scribbled away on his Wheezes forms. The laughter and mini-explosions from the storefront occasionally entered when Verity opened the door to collect stock (the door was charmed against the noises so as not to disturb George when he was working).
Ginny didn't stay long, only leaving when she was sure her brother was alright. He was under no illusions – George knew the only reason one of his siblings visited everyday was to check up on him. But he was fine; had been fine for five years. Sure, the first few months after the…incident, were a nightmare – he was a dead man walking. When he was out of his room at The Burrow that was. He then moved to his flat; carefully avoiding Fred's room when he could help it.
But that was then. He was fine now. Fine.
"You coming over for dinner on Saturday?" Ron asked. The two had moved out to the storefront, George manning the counter while Ron restocked.
"Busy," George replied, handing over change to a customer and sending her off with a wink.
"What about Sunday? You look like you could do with some of mum's roast."
"No can do, large order to sort out for Halloween."
Ron scoffed. "You've been busy for the last few weeks, mate. And Halloween is ages away!"
"I want to get a start on it now – you know how much I hate late deadlines."
"Imagine you saying that back at school," Ron murmured, organising the last of the Whiz-bangs and then joining his brother behind the counter. "Look, everyone misses you. Just one dinner! It won't kill you."
George sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair –long enough to cover the mesh of mangled flesh on the side of his head but shorter than it had been when he had been in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Not that he needed to conceal it anymore; there was only one Weasley twin now. No more confusion.
"Come on, mate. Vicky misses her funny uncle."
George winced, the pang in his heart evident for not having seen his niece in weeks – months even! He could never deny her anything, always spoiling her rotten whenever he could despite his mother's (and her mother's) protests. The little bouncing bundle of joy had kept George on his toes the minute he saw her in St Mungos Maternity Ward, when she gripped his thumb with swollen, tiny fingers and hugged it close as she slept. He was taken with her instantly, and from that moment a magical connection was born.
"Ok, fine. I'll go," Ron grinned. "But no guarantees I'll stay long!" George knew that wasn't true; he would stay as long as little Victoire would ask him to – unless he was driven insanely mad beforehand. Well, he had four days to dwell on anything and everything that could, and most probably would, go wrong.
The conversation moved on swiftly after that, then stopped altogether in the afternoon rush as the brothers and Verity were swamped with overexcited kids and fretting parents. The shop was so busy that George worked through his lunch break, but forced Ron and Verity to get their energy up.
By the end of the day George was ready to crawl up to his flat and lay about with a bottle of his finest, opting for a night in away from the pub to empty the buzz from his ears. Maybe, if he was lucky, Percy would pop over with some food.
Just as he settled onto the sofa in sweats, waiting patiently for his brother, a knock came from the back door leading out to the alley behind Wheezes.
"Oh, bloody hell, who is that," George grumbled. "Ron, I swear if you forgot your wand again…" He ambled across the living room/kitchenette, checking the time on his watch as he went. "What?" he demanded, opening the door wide enough for his head to peak through.
He was shocked to see a blushing brunette as opposed to his lanky brother.
"Oh, hi. Sorry to disturb you but I left my purse here earlier."
She shuffled in the cool night air, her loose cardigan, although thick, didn't seem to be doing much in keeping her warm. In all honesty, George was surprised he recognised her straight away.
"Yeah, sure. Come in. You, uh…remember where you left it?" he asked, opening the door wider to allow her in.
"Yeah. Last I saw…it was by…the…" she bent over and retrieved a silver purse from the floor beside the sofa nearest to the fireplace. "Floo," she finished.
An awkward silence surrounded them both, George observing his guest, drinking in everything his inebriated self glazed over while she stood rigidly, unsure of why she wasn't leaving now that she had her purse. He had never been in this position before – usually his guests had made sure to retrieve all their belongings before leaving.
The silence dragged on. It was George who broke it.
"Amy."
She quirked an eyebrow. "You remember my name."
"Of course I do," George frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Well, I just assumed that you wouldn't have. Not after this morning."
It was true that George never before cared or bothered with remembering pesky details pertaining to girls, including their names, at first. But that was years ago, when he was off at the deep end.
It was at a family dinner at the Burrow when he had received a particularly nasty howler from a woman's brother yelling and cursing about how much of a disgrace he was; how awful his treatment to women was; and why he shouldn't pound George into oblivion for hurting his sister. The Burrow was left with a crackling electricity as all eyes turned to George's vacated seat, for he had apparated away as soon as the violent red letter shredded itself. Harry and Hermione went to diffuse the situation with the brother, Hermione vouching for George's usually impeccable conduct to women, but that he was stressed and clearly not in a good place.
His family had found him bawling on the dirt of Fred's grave cursing himself and pleading for forgiveness, when they finally agreed to an intervention. It was his father's sympathetic gaze and disappointed voice that brought him out of his depressed stupor. Not that his 'normal self' lasted long: after two months of being clean and sober – no distractions – he was back at it again, only this time he made sure to be more respectful.
But really, how respectful can one be when knowingly engaging in a one-night stand?
"How bad did my sister hex you?"
Amy scowled and turned her head away. "It took two hours for me to stop it."
Instinctively, George winced, knowing how bad a few minutes with the hex was. "I'm sorry about that." And he was. His stomach turned at the thought of having been so relieved earlier upon hearing the news of Ginny's success in removing her.
"It's fine, I guess I deserved it," she said, her eyes absorbing the surprising neatness of his living room, refusing to meet his gaze. The only pieces of clutter were parchment strewn on surfaces, a mug here and there and a stray sock.
"No. You didn't deserve it. That's stupid."
Something in his voice, perhaps the tone – stern and adamant – or the rough edge to his assurance caught her attention.
"Oh? Then why would she do it? I pursued you. It was me that overstayed my welcome. If you had wanted to see me you wouldn't have rushed off so fast, and it's my fault for ignoring that. Of course I deserved it."
She did not look apologetic in the least.
"And I'm still here!" she threw her arms up. "All I wanted to do was to retrieve my purse and what do I do? Keep on embarrassing myself. To none other than George bloody Weasley himself."
Amy made to leave but George caught her slim arm easily; it was surprisingly firm.
"Oi, don't be daft. I went along with it so it's just as much my fault as it is yours." George sighed. He really needed a drink. And his empty stomach was doing nothing for his mood. It was taking every ounce of energy for him to not clamp his hand over her mouth and chuck her out before he was finished. He had been lucky in getting weepers and walkers over the years, the girls who went through with it, cried a bit and then never bothered him again. Why did this one have to be different?
"But you were shit faced."
"Regardless of how with it I was I should not have acted so brashly. What my sister did was out of order."
Over the years at Hogwarts George liked to think that he and Fred had gathered an understanding of girls, what made them tick and what pissed them off. He had used this knowledge to make them swoon, and instead of having them follow him like mindless lovesick puppies until he broke them off, acted so that the girls pushed him away. No hard feelings left behind for either party, although some girls did eventually regret their decision to part with him – it was natural to be attracted to the physical regardless of the personality.
George let his hand trail down her arm and linked a long finger with hers.
"How 'bout I make it up to you?"
Amy lifted an eyebrow. "How?"
George could not believe he was doing this. "Dinner. Tomorrow?" Please say no, please say you have plans, he chanted over and over again.
"Dinner? Tomorrow?" she looked dubious. "Why? You're not doing this because you pity me, are you? Because nor do I want, or need your pity."
Yes. "Hey," he tugged her finger. "I left the Leaky with you last night. Now, even though I was shitfaced, I still know when I see a pretty girl. And might I say, I have wonderful taste in women."
The words spilled from his mouth before he could filter them. Normally he would have made some sort of joke about whether she felt he was pitying her the previous night when they shared his bed, both times when she gasped beneath him and danced above him. But he wanted her to go. His headache was worse than ever, demanding his remedy of a drink to soothe the throbbing. And he could not deny that she was a pretty witch. No – gorgeous. What harm would another night do?
Amy was calculating his words and let slip a small smile. "Ok then. Dinner tomorrow."
"Great," George smiled.
"I should go now," she said, and walked over to the back door before turning around and addressing George again. "Where will we be going? I kind of need to know what to wear."
George fumbled around with his pockets; lifting up a finger to Amy (bear with, love), he ran back into the living room before returning with a quill in hand.
"Here," he handed it over to her and pushed his fist out, "Write down your address. I'll owl you the details."
Her gaze shifted between his hand and face, then neatly scripted her address onto the back of his hand. "I put down my work address as well – just in case I'm not home."
"Great," he said. George opened the door, "I'll see you tomorrow."
Amy nodded farewell with a smile matching George's, his wink broadening her upturned lips. He waited by the door minutes after her departure before slamming the door. He stretched out a loud groan, kicked a stray shoe across the room – CRASH – and pulled on his hair. Curses flew around his head as he scolded himself; he had always been a sucker for a pretty face.
"Why didn't she say no?"
"That is the last thing I would have ever imagined you saying."
George whipped around and was met with sky blue eyes.
"When did you get here?"
"In the middle of your imitation of a troll. Rather good, although I would not have expected anything less than perfect after hearing it my whole life," Percy shrugged. "Who is she?"
"Is that food?" George asked, eyeing the bag in his brother's hand. He could almost see the steam wafting around him, teasing his senses.
"Just some beef stew," Percy answered, making his way into the kitchen and grabbing the necessary utensils.
"It's a God send, that's what." George opened the boxes and inhaled the savoury aroma like a starved man.
"Skip out on lunch again?"
"Busy."
"Always is," Percy said.
"How's the missus and the little one?"
Ever since the birth of little Princess Victoire, George was mesmerised by children. Of course, owning a joke shop for children meant that he always held a soft spot for the little buggers, but the newest addition to the Weasley family stirred his heart in a way completely alien to anything he had felt before. Percy's first, Molly Weasley II, was the exact opposite to him. She was an incredibly behaved young toddler with a mischievous streak that could rival her uncles George and Fred.
He always loved hearing about the latest exploits of his nieces, but guilt always swept through him and hit him in the chest after realising he had missed them, every new development regardless how small or big. Whether it was a loose tooth, first use of accidental magic or a new chocolate frog card, he wanted to know.
An image surfaced of a little figure on his lap, giggling insanely as fingers played with his unkempt hair, legs swaying and a high voice struggling to formulate the correct words to regale the tale of turning her dad's hair to the exact same colour and shade of her mum's glittery new dress robes at Teddy's birthday party. In his other arm was a tiny baby, so small and fragile in his strong arm, listening to her cousin's story.
"Molly's great. Was thinking of bringing her down to the shop sometime soon – she starts giggling like mad at any noise; she cannot stand being in a quiet room anymore."
"Bring her around then! I can look after her for the day, so you don't have to worry about missing work and Audrey can have a relaxing day," George suggested. The forced smile on Percy's face, however, showed him it was a lost cause.
"I would, George, honestly. You know I would love nothing more than for Molly to see her uncle George again but –"
"Audrey doesn't trust me, I know," George finished, frowning into his butterbeer.
"No, George, of course she trust –"
"Leave it out, Perce. I can smell bullshit even if it is puffed over by that Seductive Siren perfume," George said, cleaning his bowl of beef stew and levitating it over to the sink where it dropped with a thunk.
"She does not use Seductive Siren…I think it's Mystique," Percy murmured, loud enough for George to hear. His spoon stopped halfway to his open mouth as he looked to George. "How do you know about Seductive Siren?"
"Katie was nagging me for weeks about it and then one day I found a bottle under the sofa." George laughed. "Got her to shut up for a day or two before she came around and hinted for a new broom, the greedy bint."
As he thought about it, he realised that encounter with his Hogwarts friend occurred months ago. What had stopped Katie from seeing him again? He had gotten used to her random weekly visits. And then there was guilt; his ghostly actions clouding over time without a second thought.
"So who were you talking to earlier? Other than yourself. By the way, you may want to that that is a sign of madness. Best to keep your one man conversations in your head to avoid someone informing St. Mungos."
"Just a girl," George replied absentmindedly, his thoughts busy constructing a letter to invite Katie, Lee and Oliver out for drinks some time.
"This late? They are usually gone by now. Or in there with you," he gestured to the bedroom with a tilt of his head.
George huffed. "She came back to get her purse." Percy sat still, unsatisfied with the vague response and stared until further information was relayed. George sighed, not even bothering to hide his aggravation. "And we're going out for dinner. Tomorrow."
"That is great." Percy frowned. "So…why were you yelling?"
Percy was never the brother to go to when a Weasley wanted advice or to unload on someone – he never had been. After all, he was pompous Percy, perfect prefect Percy. Even after returning with his family he never knew how to respond most times, shrugging off one sibling onto another despite his efforts. He was still learning. And for once, George knew he would understand exactly what he was feeling.
"I don't know if I'm ready, Perce. I felt horrible when she came back and started saying things, and looking at me all guarded. What if I screw up?"
The elder Weasley snorted. "You mean letting Ginny on her wasn't? Look, she agreed even after meeting the lunatic that we call a sister – do not tell her I said that. What more can go wrong? And it is not like you love her or anything, so should it matter so much? I was a mess when I first got together with Aud; I felt like I was betraying Fred and you. But you told me – what was it again? To get over it, grow some balls and stop looking for an excuse to sulk alone. Sulking with a warm body to hold is better than an empty pillow."
George spent much of the night pondering over his older brother's advice (and his own, in essence), glad he had decided to open up to him. Time in bed was spent tossing and turning and huffing and groaning as he thought of the millions of different scenarios that could take place, starting positively but then drowning into the deep where someone ends up dead or severely mutated. The last one George could not help but scoff at, the irony fulfilling his humour. He traced the skin of his missing ear lightly and wondered what could be worse. Not death. Death was a blissful sanctuary, a release of worldly pain and suffering.
