Those enviable hands caressed the keys of a black grand piano, barely pushing them down and not eliciting a single tone. Still, Draco Malfoy looked perfectly right sitting there, his silhouette black against the bright light of the sun shining through the high windows of the music room in Malfoy Manor. The light rain falling against the windows drew hypnotising shadow-patterns on the carpet, the walls and Draco's white-blond hair.

George stood in the frame of the door for what felt like hours, the eyes of Narcissa Malfoy boring into his neck all the time. Draco's mother had shown him the way to her son and was now lingering behind the corner at the end of the hallway, making sure that George did not try to hurt Draco. But the last thing he carried around in a long box lined in black satin was a bomb.

He had Draco's wand, the first and last thing he would ever gift him. Well… He would give it to him if he finally found the ability to speak again. He might have gulped a little too loud because Draco suddenly turned around, staring at him wide-eyed but not saying a word. It was like he could not elicit a sound with his mouth, much like with his fingers on the piano.

"I didn't know you played piano," George said hoarsely.

Draco turned his head away again, looking down at the keys. "I don't… Not anymore." He shrugged. "What do you want, Weasley?"

"Your…" George gazed down the corridor to Narcissa, whose long-sleeved robe was visible behind the corner. "Your mother let me in. I have something that belongs to you." He approached Draco and escaped the stare of Narcissa, feeling relieved and so comfortable that he sat down next to Draco, instead of just giving him the wand and leaving quickly as he had planned.

Draco moved away from George, increasing the distance until their thighs were no longer touching. But he did not shove George away, and curiously examined the box held by freckled hands.

"Why are you doing this?" Draco asked, shifting his eyes up to look directly at George, who rolled his eyes and used this to avoid Draco's wary expression.

"Why are you always asking for my reasons instead of just taking it?" George shoved the box in Draco's hands and kept his eyes focused on a bookshelf on the wall. With all those notes waiting there to be played, George wondered why Draco did not play the piano anymore. With those hands he could probably make music by hitting a rock against wood. George rolled his eyes at these thoughts. A voice told him that they were quite embarrassing and this voice sounded pretty much like Fred's. It gave George the strength his legs needed to lift his body up again.

"Thank you…"

The words were so soft, barely more than a whisper. But they still had the power to turn George's legs into pudding, leaving him unable to rise from his chair. Making Malfoy as good as speechless was something special and George felt the corners of his mouth twitch because of that. If he smiled, George doubted that Draco noticed, because he appeared completely focused on the hawthorn wood in his hands – the box lay discarded between them.

"How much?" Draco asked, the same whirlwind of distrust and hope blustering in the grey of his eyes.

George frowned. "Don't want your money, Malfoy." Now it was Draco's turn to frown. "Otherwise I would've taken that bag, wouldn't I?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, and George waited for insults, or sarcasm at the very least. But when he looked at George, Draco slowly closed his mouth again. He nodded in acceptance and started running his fingers over his wand, stroking it almost lovingly.

George regretted that he ever took the slightest look at the pale fingers moving over the blackened wood. His mouth and lips dry, George thought about some joke he could make about the shortness of Malfoy's wand, anything to make Draco stop touching it and throw him out. It was more than a little wrong to sit in Malfoy Manor, next to Draco Malfoy, and ogle him like George had sometimes done when he was nothing more than a horny teenager. But now Fred was no longer there to remind him what an awful person Malfoy was, and Draco was apparently not throwing him out anytime soon.

It seemed that Fred had even taken George's willpower with him.

"You're not scared?" Draco asked suddenly, pulling George from his clouding mind into reality. "Giving a Death Eater his wand back is remarkably stupid."

"There are no such things as Death Eaters anymore," George replied.

He noticed dark circles underneath Draco's eyes as he gazed longer into the grey depths, seeming almost black with the bright light coming from behind and creating unfavourable shadows on the pale but pretty face. Although Draco's cheeks were hollow and his skin had an unhealthy ashen tone he was still a very handsome young man. Even Fred had been forced to admit that Malfoy was handsome, because it was a simple fact, and nothing that depended on opinion or perspective.

"Thinking so is also remarkably stupid," Draco said with a sneer. "But thank you, Weasley. I promise that I won't use this for Dark Magic. At least not on you…"

"Will that be your only way to say thank you?" George was unsure what to think as Draco let out a high-pitched laugh. Putting his wand into the inner pocket of his robe, he held out the box to George, who made no attempts to touch it.

"I knew there was something else. What do you want, Weasley?" Draco narrowed his eyes slightly as soon as George opened his mouth to speak. "Don't think I've suddenly become an easy victim."

The truth was that George had not really thought about anything he wanted from Draco. Well, there was one thing he wanted – to stay. He wanted to stay just a little longer, to watch Draco, talk to him, and maybe listen as he played the piano.

"The shop… It's not working as well as I'm used to." George scratched the back of his head and thought hard about how Draco could help him, while also making Draco think that it was hard for him to ask for help. "Maybe… I thought that maybe you could…" Run around in Diagon Alley in a pygmy puff costume to advertise? Malfoy would definitely throw him out for that offer. Fred would have patted his shoulder for that idea.

"You don't want me to write you an advertising jingle, do you?" Draco asked disbelievingly.

"A jingle?" George ruffled his hair while thinking about this, making Draco grimace at the sight of his hair becoming a complete mess. He had spent quite some time combing it that morning so that the Malfoys would not throw him out immediately.

"No?" Draco raised his right eyebrow. "Because you were ogling my piano. I'm not giving you lessons if that's what you want. But if you want help with the shop then I might help you, because you helped me. I would rather not owe you something."

"And you could do that?" George eyed Draco incredulously.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've written some quite catchy songs in the past."

"Yeah…" George nodded and once again felt the urge to grin, but the grimace that defaced his expression was probably not even close to a grin. "How could I forget that Weasley is your king?"

"It's apparently preying on your mind that the lyrics are about the wrong Weasley," Draco said with a smirk that was almost too familiar to George. He was so captured by Draco's full lips that he almost did not notice the smile tugging on his own.

"So, you think I'd be the right Weasley?" He was smiling. For the first time in months he was smiling whole-heartedly, and only realised it when Draco's elbow met his ribs.

"Stop grinning, Weasley. That song was molested by your friends by making it compliment the Weasel." Draco let out a dramatic sigh, while George was rubbing his jaw, full of confusion.

Draco Malfoy had brought his smile back. George wondered where Draco had found that almost forgotten ability, and why he had given it back to him. He did not want his smile. Sometimes, he missed it, but it was linked to an unthinkable amount of guilt, and the certainty that he would never again see that smile on his twin's face.

"And how do I know that you can still play this thing?" George placed his fingers on the piano keys and pressed one down, checking if it still worked.

"It won't make any sounds if you're that careful." Draco moved his hand over George's and pushed his fingers down onto the keys, hard and fast. The created sound was not pretty, but it was only secondary for George anyway. He was so distracted by the tickling caused by the cold fingers, that he almost did not notice Draco saying: "See, it's working."

"Doesn't mean that you still know how to use it," George added.

"More than you, obviously." Draco's eyes shifted to George's hand on the keys. "Do you play, Weasley?" He unsuccessfully tried to cover his curiosity with sounding overly disbelieving.

George shook his head. "Chopsticks, maybe. My brother Percy wanted to learn, but my parents couldn't afford the lessons." He waited for Draco to make a comment about how poor they had to be if they could not even pay for piano lessons, but Draco remained silent. George just sighed and continued: "The only time Percy ever broke any rules was when he used to sneak into Ottery St. Catchpole and play in the music store there. It turned out that he completely lacked any talent. Fred and I laughed so hard when we followed him and…" George paused, eventually shaking his head and the thought of his brother off. "Well, whatever…"

"Most people who cling too tightly to rules lack creativity," Draco said with a shrug. "But don't take that as a compliment, Weasley. Allowing oneself not to think, to make mistakes and take risks is needed to be creative, but that can be dangerous. Very dangerous." His mind seemed to be somewhere else. "Yeah, whatever…"

Silence increased the distance between them. Draco was rubbing the fingers of his right hand while staring down onto the piano keys. George was trying to remember the reasons why he should hate Malfoy.

Eventually, Draco opened his mouth again. "Why are you so nice to me, Weasley?"

George had hoped for an easier question. "I don't know… I shouldn't think that you knew it was wrong what you did, right? But I do… You helped Harry…"

"My mother did. I only tried to save my arse." Draco pressed a hand against his forehead. "I always did. And I always failed. Even if I'd tried, I could've never become a person like Potter… or you." He looked at George. "So, please excuse that I don't understand how you can sit here without ulterior motives."

"Maybe…" George bit his lip.

"Yes?" Draco almost seemed hopeful. "Just say it, Weasley. Don't make me start playing this thing just so you have something to laugh about."

"You don't know how to play, eh?" George let out a heavy sigh. "Should've known that you've still only got a big mouth, Malfoy."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco was spurred on by George's dismissive wave. "I can play. It's just that – I didn't do it for quite a while. I'm a little rusty."

"Excuses." George crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Percy's probably better. Don't even want to know where you got the melody and lyrics of 'Weasley Is Our King' from…"

"I didn't steal them. I –" Draco pressed his lips into a thin line, focusing on the piano. He reached out his hand and then stopped only inches away from the keys. His fingers started shaking and his face went even paler, but before George could ask what was wrong, Draco jumped off the chair and moved hastily over to the window.

Shocked and confused, George watched Draco breathing heavily. He thought quite some time about joining Draco before he finally rose from the chair and moved to the other side of the window, leaning against the frame. Draco was looking into the garden, watching white peacocks drinking from a marble fountain.

"I lied," he said finally. "I can't play. Not good, at least. I'm not good at anything, so there's nothing I can do to thank you. Just… maybe money?" Almost hopefully he turned to look at George, who stopped in his attempt to place a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Why do I think that you want to solve all your problems with money?" George balled his hand into a fist as the urge to touch Draco did not vanish. "You lied now, didn't you? You can play, but you just don't want to. Why?"

"Is that important? After everything that happened, do you honestly care about my problems?" Draco frowned when he looked at George's tightly balled fists. "Do you want to hit me?" He stretched out his arms, almost inviting. "Do it."

George gulped hard.

"If it makes you feel better, then just get over with it. Hit me, insult me, curse me, whatever pleases you." Draco slowly lowered his arms when George did not move. "Do I need to remind you what I did to your family? You haven't forgotten that, have you, Weasley? It's all my fault. I almost killed one, got one scarred, and if it wasn't for me then your twin –"

"No," George interrupted, shaking his head desperately. "Don't… You don't know what I'm feeling right now."

"Then show me," Draco said, provocatively.

George hesitated before he stepped closer. Draco shut his eyes and turned his head in expectation of George's fist away, but instead of punching him, George pulled Draco close against him. With his arms wrapped tightly around the other body, George could feel every muscle tensing up.

"What – What are you doing?" Draco tried to turn his head, but George placed a hand on his neck to stop him. It was hard enough to resist the desire to bury his hand in the silky blond hair, but big, uncertain eyes would make George do something even stupider.

"You should rather ask why I'm doing this," George said before Draco shoved him away, roughly enough to make him bump against the frame of the window.

"You think I need comfort?" Draco pointed at the piano. "You think I don't want to touch this because of some insignificant trauma? Well, you're right. The last time I annoyed someone with my music, this someone broke all my fingers separately, and kept anyone from magically healing them all holidays. And that wasn't even the worst thing that happened to me in this house – the house I'm forced to live in because not all the money in the world can return my reputation."

A single tear rolled over Draco's cheek and he wiped it away with a look of self-loathing.

"Don't act like you'd care about my problems. People think it's the least I deserve, and I think they're right. For once in my life I won't complain about that." Again, Draco wiped the back of his hand over his cheek, but George had not noticed any new tears. "I'll accept that I'm scum."

"You're not." George reached out a hand and used the next tear as an excuse to brush his fingers over Draco's cheek. "We've all gone through a lot. You maybe even more than others. I think you've suffered enough for what you did."

"You do?" Draco frowned at him disbelievingly. "You of all people?"

George shrugged. "I think it's because I can't forget the boy you've always tried to hide." He let his fingers move over the high cheekbones up to Draco's temple, stroking a loose strand of blond hair out of the pale face. "The one I once held in my arms."

Draco seemed even more confused. "What are you talking about?" Grey eyes looked at George like he had lost his mind, and maybe he had, because he bent over to Draco's mouth and captured it with his lips.

He did not get a chance to make a real kiss out of it because Draco shoved him away almost immediately, confronting George with the big eyes he had so desperately avoided shortly before. Draco moved backwards, pressing his back against the window frame.

"You're completely insane," he breathed and nodded to the door. "Get out." George opened his mouth. "Get out!" Draco turned his head away, not looking at George while his cheeks slowly reddened. George saw him licking his lips, before he turned to leave.

Maybe he was completely insane, but his sanity seemed to be the smallest loss lately…