Author's Note: Hopefully the wait has been worth it, as this is my longest chapter yet. I could have waited longer and proofread it even more, and made more minute changes... but I figured you guys really just wanted to get on with the story. It probably isn't as good as it could be, but I hope it's swell, and everything you were hoping for in a dinner with the Weasley's! Enjoy! And please review!

Wandless Magic

Chapter Seven


Dinner at the Weasley household commenced with all the customary warmth and spectacle George remembered from his childhood. He and Fred were right; their mother truly had outdone herself in lieu of their new guest. Not to say in the least that her cooking was ever drab with only family members present; it was simply even more magnificent than usual. His mother was used to cooking for crowds, and had prepared a dazzling array of food. Curling steam rose from every dish in the center of the table and carried pleasant aromas to his nostrils. He was starving. He licked his lips and started heaping food onto his plate.

He glanced to his side to evaluate their guest's expression, though he wouldn't admit that that's what he was doing. The small young woman was sandwiched tightly between him and Fred, hands demurely in her lap. She seemed to be taking it all in. The warmth of the kitchen had put a rosy tint to her cheeks, and for the first time George noticed the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose. He focused on his food again before his eyes lingered too long. She looked somewhat nervous still, though George couldn't fathom her shyness. Timidity was something he had never experienced for himself. She was perfectly gracious with everyone, and they all clearly approved of her, so he was particularly confused. The hardest part, meeting the family initially, was surely over.

There was, of course, the possibility that her tension had to do with his complete and total idiocy in the kitchen earlier. He was usually more eloquent and charming when with women. When he and Fred had introduced her to their present family members in the sitting room minutes before, George felt a growing twinge of guilt for bringing up her past so inelegantly, and he definitely wasn't feeling any better yet. It had been the wrong time to suddenly inquire about it. After two months working with Ayla, even beginning to consider her a friend, he had had no idea about her mother. To bring it up so blatantly with his own wonderful mum in the next room seemed increasingly callous. She hadn't seemed terribly upset, but he was still mentally kicking himself; over and over into a bloody pulp. Despite this, he had to admit that his curiosity was peaked. She was like a particularly stubborn nut he had to crack, and yet he had to be careful not to push her.

George had noticed the way the light in her eyes had changed when she made that veiled comment about magic doing terrible things. What's more, Fred and he had obviously taken advantage of her discomfort with magic in their shop over the past weeks for laughs. They had ascertained that it was simply because she had been away from it for a number of years, but it clearly went deeper than that. He would ask his brother to hold back on the pranking for a bit until he could find out more. The way her mother had died would take a toll on anyone. Could it also be that she, herself, had been hurt? Perhaps she was also hit with a wayward spell. He wondered if it had anything to do with that piece of shit Quincy Downing. His fists involuntarily clenched around his fork and knife at the thought.

The twins had managed to keep the Death Eater at bay for the week, and George had only seen the smarmy bastard once; lurking as usual in the shadows across the street. He clearly had nothing better to do if still he had time to waste on drunken loitering. Fred had suggested that Downing could be tailing them because of their known association with Harry Potter, which was highly plausible. Of course Voldemort wouldn't waste a high-ranking Death Eater for that job. Even if Downing was nothing but a low-rank minion, it still made the twins incredibly uncomfortable to have him around. They were getting especially anxious given that Harry's birthday, and the Order's plan to move him, was fast approaching. George knew that their involvement would very likely guarantee the ransacking of the shop. As such, they were both a bit more on edge than usual; and also discreetly trying to convert more and more business to owl order.

Downing's offhand comments about Ayla still made George's stomach crawl just as much as they had before. It was another reason he had to talk with her, and soon. It was one thing that he and Fred were being watched, but when it came to their employees' safety, the issue was harder to swallow. They would have to seriously consider the possibility of letting Ayla and Verity go before too long, as depressing a thought as it was to entertain.

His brother's voice stirred him from his reverie.

"Aren't you going to eat, love?" Fred had asked Ayla loudly, clearly relishing in the fact that she was plainly not in her comfort zone. She jumped slightly and flushed. She really did that entirely too often. George could see the delight in his twin's eyes. He felt his lips rising into an identical smirk, his previous worries dissolving.

"Yeah, you have to hurry in this family," said Ginny from across the table, "Especially with this lump being here." She nudged Ron heavily in the ribs, and potatoes gushed from his overstuffed mouth. He grunted at her before shoveling more in.

"Ron, that's disgusting." George stated, watching his brother eat and feeling sickened. He was certain Ron had gotten worse over the years. He was hopeless. George sincerely hoped his brother never had to go an extended period without food, or else everyone in his immediate vicinity would be in danger of his biting moodiness and eventually cannibalism. He voiced this to the amusement of the table, receiving a death glare from his brother that he returned with a condescending wink. When George could finally tear his eyes away from the massacre, he saw that Fred had snatched Ayla's plate and was making selections for her; giving her nearly more than the dish could hold. She protested lightly.

"I was getting to it, Fred!" she chided, pulling feebly at his sleeve. "I was just overwhelmed by how fantastic it all looks."

"There's no time for dilly-dallying in life." He responded.

"Of course there is…"

He ignored her weak protest. "Do you like cinnamon carrots? Of course you do! What was I thinking? That's a silly question. Mum's carrots are the best. And you probably should try the peas and the roasted pota-"

"Give ze' girl a break, Vred." Sang Fleur from next to Bill. She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a motion that looked practiced. "She's zo tiny; she'll never be able to eet zat much."

"Since when was being tiny a valid reason not to stuff yourself?" Fred asked incredulously, finally satisfied that Ayla's plate now held a substantial sampling of everything on the table. He plopped it before her, carrots and peas spilling off the side and into her lap, much to her consternation.

"Men." Fleur muttered into her wine glass. "Zey never understand 'ow easily women gain veight." She was leaning up against Bill in a way most unbecoming of the family dinner table. Fred cocked an eyebrow at them.

"Careful, Fleur." he warned. "You might awaken some primal instincts there if you aren't too careful. Wouldn't want to spoil the wedding night."

"Going to be on the full moon, is it?" added George, smirking.

Bill flicked a pea in George's direction, missing by several feet.

"Wow. You should have gone out for Chaser, Bill."

"Probably could have gone pro with a little work." Fred alleged.

"Shut it, you two. Just because you don't have my rugged good looks, you feel it necessary to pick on me."

"They feel it necessary to pick on everyone," mumbled Ron moodily through a mouthful of yams.

"Ah, if I needed your rugged werewolf looks to get birds, Bill, I wouldn't have had so many already. There must be something they can't get enough of," said Fred, turning and winking at Ayla. He gave her a smile which he clearly believed to be debonair.

"Hmph." She focused her attention on the plate, eating a bite of the carrots. She said noncommittally, "You're right. These are exceptional carrots." She smiled cheekily at Fred's look of mock outrage.

Ginny chuckled.

"Not as attractive as you think, I suppose." She teased.

"Oi! I take offense to that," said George. His sister made a face at him, which he returned. Fred hadn't seemed to notice the exchange. He continued, pensively.

"I've been trying for years to figure it out, what it is they like, yeah. I think maybe I finally have. It's got to be the big, long, throbbing-"

BAM. George's mum slammed down her goblet, sloshing pumpkin juice onto the roast ham before her.

Ayla's fork clattered to the table, and she choked on her carrots.

"Frederick Fabian Weasley!" Molly screeched from her seat. "You will stop this nonsense at once. We have a guest, and it would be so lovely to have a normal family dinner without inappropriate innuendos."

"This seems like a normal family dinner to me…" Ginny muttered, making a visible effort not to laugh. Her mum shot her a venomous look. Ayla continued to cough, getting a drink of water. Fred and Bill were already practically dissolving into fits of laughter, their faces going red. Fleur rolled her eyes, untangling herself from her fiancé as though disgusted.

"Still happy to have us home, Mum? Nothing short of a welcome respite from a hum-drum everyday life, isn't it?" George asked, grinning at her as she fumed. He turned to Ayla and gave her a firm pat on the back. "Alright there?"

She had a hand at her throat. "Yeah, thanks."

"I'm so sorry, dear," apologized Molly profusely, "I don't know where they get it from. Certainly not my side of the family. Wait 'til your father gets home, boys! He won't be in a mood for this kind of juvenile behavior tonight."

The two erupted into another peal of laughter, tears forming in their eyes.

"Oh this is ridiculous." Molly said, throwing up her hands. "You're going into hysterics. See if either of you get any treacle pudding for dessert!"

It was comical how quickly they both calmed down at the threat. They turned incredulously to their mother, who was stabbing at her plate with pursed lips.

"But what did I do?" asked Bill petulantly.

"Ah, but Mum! It was just a little joke. I wasn't actually going to say pen-"

"Heavens!" she shouted, drowning out Fred's last word. "I've had it. I've really had it! If you were younger, I'd send you to your room without dinner!"

"Sorry, Mum." Fred ceded with his head down, though still snorting and hiccoughing with mirth along with the majority of the table. "I couldn't resist it. Once a joke pops into my head it's hard to stop it coming out."

"I'll vouch for that one." George nodded seriously.

Molly shook her head, muttering furiously, and plunged her fork into her pie.

At that moment, very suddenly, the front door burst open with a bang, causing Mrs. Weasley and her sons, sans Ron, to leap to their feet and draw their wands reflexively, all laughter immediately coming to a halt.

An expelliarmus charm was on the tip of George's tongue before he realized that it was only his dad coming home from a long day at the Ministry. His father's eyes widened and his hands rose in surrender at the unorthodox greeting.

"It's only me!"

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief and slowly lowered their wands. Molly shuffled quickly over to her husband. His briefcase thumped onto the floor. The exhaustion was plain on his face. The Ministry was a veritable battleground at the present time, George knew.

"Poppet," his father sighed.

"Oh, Arthur," she coddled, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Sorry. The conversation got a bit loud, and we didn't hear you come up the way. Do try not to bang the door like that; you scared me half to death."

"Yeah, scared more than just you, Mum" Bill added. "Good to see you, Dad."

George pocketed his wand and slowly lowered himself along with his brothers. Ayla had a look of open shock on her face, mouth slightly open, and gripped her napkin in front of her. Her knuckles had turned white. The dinner party was turning into something much less than a success, George realized.

"Well… Someone correct me if this isn't as awkward as I'm sensing it is." Fred said under his breath.

"Yeah, sorry about that." George whispered to Ayla, knowing she must be thinking his family was fit for the loony wing at St. Mungo's.

"'S alright." She replied. She was clearly too polite or embarrassed to comment further, but her fingers loosened. Her eyebrows had furrowed. Everyone began to converse normally again. George conceded that there would need to be some explaining even sooner than he thought, lest he and his family completely scare her away.

"Ah!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, after a brief conversation with his eldest son, moving around the table to squeeze Ayla's hand. He shook it vigorously from side to side. Her face immediately perked up at the sight of him. "Miss Sower. Wonderful to see you again. So glad to have you for dinner. How're you shaping up at the shop? Oven and everything working smoothly?"

"Hello, Mr. Weasley-"

"-Oh, call me Arthur, please."

"Arthur. Everything's spectacular, thank you. I couldn't have done anything without your help, and I still really appreciate it all. But now that you mention it, the oven does have a slight problem with the preheating mechanism, though, that I can't figure out. You see, it's almost as though it gets too hot during that process. And the whole thing starts to smoke until it reaches the correct ambient temperature."

"Really, when do you start to notice the problem?"

"Wait, smoke?" Fred asked, inserting himself into the conversation. "Is the shop in danger of exploding into flames?"

"No! I don't think it's that serious. I would have mentioned it sooner."

"I would hope so…" Fred said, looking a bit worried despite himself.

She launched into a description of the preheating issue that George didn't understand. His father listened as he moved around the table to his seat. Fred's eyes glazed over once he was certain the shop was in no risk of immediate harm. George had to mentally applaud him for making the effort to pay attention, however.

"Aha!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly, interrupting her spiel. He raised a finger matter-of-factly. "That would be a result of a feature I added myself to decrease preheating time. Is it burning anything, you say? Smoking? That certainly isn't supposed to happen."

A dawning expression appeared on Ayla's face. "You know, I thought it was heating extremely quickly! That's ingenious. But it only started smoking just this week. Nothing's been burned yet. I try to wait until the smoke stops to throw anything in. How'd you make it capable of that? It's so fast! Faster than any at my old bakery."

Arthur got a sly look on his face, and made sure his wife was busy in conversation with Ginny and Fleur. He leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Enchantment." His eyes twinkled excitedly. Ayla looked intrigued.

"Dad takes apart muggle objects and puts them back together with magic." George explained lowly. "It's not exactly legal."

"It's perfectly legal, son; I write the laws." He looked a bit incensed as he loaded his plate.

"Of course." George smirked. "And when the rouge eyelash curlers are released back into the Muggle world, they put out people's eyes and eat off their toenails. I remember that article from a few months ago in the Prophet. A real sprucing up of page nine, I thought."

"Oh, hush up, George. That wasn't my department's fault. All this bloody paperwork they've got me buried under…Those eyelash curlers, though…" He got a quizzical, unfocused look in his eye, "interesting looking contraptions, wouldn't you agree?"

"Dunno. Never seen them." George ceded.

"I, uhm… I have one." Ayla peeped, raising a hand.

That caught his father's undivided attention almost immediately. He leaned forward again excitedly. His eyes twinkled brightly. Christmas had come early, George was certain. "Really? Let's see it then!"

She slowly reached for her leather bag, looking puzzled but amused. She seemed to have the attention of everyone at the table. George had to admit that he was also curious. Muggle objects were a strange breed. He couldn't believe some of the things they dreamed up to get by without magic, and he was nowhere closer to comprehending electricity than before.

"I normally wouldn't carry around something so frivolous." Ayla insisted, flustered. George found it somewhat endearing. She kept digging through her bag. "But my eyelashes are wild sometimes. And this was a special occasion. Hold on a tick…"

At last she removed a small, gleaming silver object, holding it over the table for everyone to see. "Here it is."

She held it through one of its loops on her pinky, and everyone edged forward a bit in their seats to get a good look. It looked like a pair of curved scissors with some kind of tiny iron at the end instead of a blade. George's mouth fell open a little.

"That thing." Fred balked after a stunned silence, "is supposed to go near your eye?"

"Muggles are idiots." Ron said, losing interest and returning to his third helping of shepherd's pie.

"Zat is nothing." Said Fleur, nonchalantly flipping her hair over her shoulder again. "In France ve are prepared to suffer vor our beauty, too."

"How does it work?" asked Ginny.

"Yes. Yes, please tell us!" urged Mr. Weasley.

"Well," Ayla began, rotating it in her hand. "You just kind of, bring it up close to your eye, like this…"

Fred actually cringed away. "Careful. Those things will eat your toenails."

"I used it this afternoon. My toenails are still intact, and my eyes are just fine." She promised, moving it up to her eye again.

"She's right." George's father said seriously, looking like he was about to shit his pants from the sheer thrill. "They found all of the cursed ones. This couldn't possibly be one of those. Carry on, dear."

"Alright." She grabbed a spoon to use as an impromptu mirror. "Then you just… make sure all of your eyelashes are in the curler, being careful not to get any of the skin, and then you… squeeze."

"Merlin!" Fred shuddered.

"That's horrifying." Said George, wincing.

"Fascinating!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. "Mind if I have a look?"

"Of course." Ayla held it over the table towards him, her thigh momentarily pressing more firmly into George's. It seemed exceedingly warm through her skirt.

"I'll never understand why women feel they have to do things like that for us," said Bill with a shake of his head; his long, scraggly hair moving with the motion.

"Who says ve do it vor you?" Fleur teased. George quickly averted his eyes as she pulled Bill in for a lingering kiss. His brother's tongue was not something he wanted to witness at the dinner table. He couldn't wait until they were married and out of the Burrow for at least a little while. He loved his brother, but something about the presence of Fleur brought about the parts of him that George had no interest in knowing about.

"I don't think I would notice whether or not a girl's eyelashes were curled," Fred insisted.

"As long as she's got a gigantic pair of bazongers, right? And who really cares with the lights off anyway?" Ginny teased, her nose scrunching up the way it always did when she found something particularly silly and amusing.

"Ginny!" George's Mum had almost had enough for one night.

"As a matter of fact," Fred replied, sticking his nose up in the air in a way that made him look dangerously similar to Percy. George would have to warn him about it later. "I do have higher standards than that, Ginevra. I am a gentleman. Right, Georgie?"

"What? Oh, yeah. That's what the ladies like."

George shook himself slightly as his sister chuckled and brother cocked an eyebrow at him. He was quickly tiring of the family banter. His father was now turning the eyelash curler in his hands with a look of complete absorption. He repeatedly lifted it up to his eye and then took it down, muttering things like "ingenious!" and "fascinating!" Ayla watched him bemusedly, arms crossed in front of her on the table. Most of them were finished eating now.

"Your dad is brilliant." She whispered to George, a nice smile gracing her smooth face. The candlelight made the sheen of a long day seem to glisten on her forehead.

"Yeah, thanks for bringing that thing out, as excruciating as it looks." He replied quietly, half-grinning. He fingered the rim of his goblet thoughtfully, vaguely contemplating the heat he could still feel from their touching thighs. He saw no reason to move his leg away, though there was room for him to if he so chose. She could have shifted anytime, also. It made him inwardly smug. This kind of quiet flirting, and he wasn't so sure he intended it to be flirting, wasn't his usual style. He was rather enjoying it. Surely she noticed too. He continued softly, "That's probably the only time he's been genuinely happy all day."

Ayla's smile faltered a bit as she watched Mr. Weasley almost pityingly. George was beginning to realize exactly how often her emotion showed plainly on her face. He pondered ways of distracting her, though he doubted his father would have noticed her furrowed brows and concerned eyes.

"My father told me they were having a rough time at the Ministry these days." She mused.

"It's pretty horrid. Dad's working incredibly long hours and having a mad time trying to tiptoe around some of the new management. You-Know-Who's almost certainly infiltrated."

"How does everyone manage to stay without getting hurt?" she seemed surprised.

George gave a humorless laugh. "They are getting hurt. They're about to start inquiries into people's blood status. It's despicable. Most people are half-bloods or less nowadays anyway, you know? You wonder if there will actually be anyone left."

She nodded pensively. "What is your family?"

"Pureblood. Whatever that really means… The only true Purebloods have obviously inbreeded. Just look at the Malfoys," He seethed. "I guess we're safe in that respect. Not going to last for long though. We're blood traitors, if you haven't heard."

"If by 'blood traitor' you mean Muggle sympathizer, I think that's very admirable." She said with conviction. "Muggles are some of the most interesting and genuine people I've ever met. They've accomplished great feats without magic; ones that would have Voldemort stupefied into next year if he had to figure them out."

It was the most sincere and self-assured thing George had ever heard her utter. Her voice didn't tremble even once. He smiled genuinely. After she said it, however, she tucked her head in the slightest bit, pushing her golden hair behind her ears with a dainty finger.

"Watch out." He warned, partly teasing. "You're getting dangerously close to Weasley levels of blood traitor there. Pretty soon you'll be being sucked into the inquiries too."

"Well, I'm not entirely Pureblood, so I'm not sure it's possible for me to be a blood traitor, is it? I doubt they'll be thinking too highly of Squibs anyway, if the past is any indication. Particularly one who is so assimilated into the Muggle world. I would be idiotic to choose his side even if it were something I believed in."

"I'm exceedingly happy it isn't something you believe in." He raised his goblet to her. "To, great, dirty blood traitors."

"To the great, dirty blood traitors." She murmured after a moment, acquiescing to his silliness. She clinked her cup against his, and he could see her grin.


Later, after dinner, the responsibility fell to George to see Ayla home for the evening. No one was comfortable with her Flooing from somewhere so late at night, and Ayla, who would still have preferred it, was about as comfortable with Apparition as she had been before.

"Oh, I'm going to vomit." She said when they stood alone outside of the Burrow's protective enchantments and he offered up his arm.

"You did so well the last time." He assured. "It's really nothing."

Still, she seemed eager to stall, ignoring his arm. He could tell she was getting chilled in the night air, however, the way she rubbed her hands against her upper arms to create friction.

"Listen," she said, meeting his eyes. "Thank you for inviting me tonight. It was truly brilliant. The best meal I've had in ages. Your family is unbelievably wonderful. All so kind and generous."

It was a sincere compliment, and he responded with his trademark good-natured smile. He lowered his arm, allowing her a few more moments of relative safety.

"Of course." He replied. "I hope you realize that my Mum is going to expect you every week now. You can join in the crowd. There will be more soon. They're expecting some late summer visitors for Bill and Fleur's wedding. I think she enjoys having a large group to cook for."

"That would be brilliant."

Ayla probably blushed as she awkwardly looked at the knobby ground underneath her. Her shivering was obvious.

"Glad you think so. Now, come on, you're freezing; stop trying to hide it, I can tell." He admonished, wrenching her hand with some difficulty from her crossed arms. "It will be over in a couple of seconds, and you'll be warm. It's outside of the Underground closest to Diagon Alley, yes?"

She eventually nodded, clenching her fingers around his. This ignited a curious flame in him again that he didn't understand. He almost laughed when he saw how tightly her eyes were shut and how tense she became as she anticipated the Apparating. He counted off for her benefit before feeling the familiar sensation.

Crack.

Ayla didn't fall. They appeared before a door in a tight parlor with a small dangling chandelier overhead. He had to pride himself on his superb Apparating ability. It was a wonder he had made it there safely with Ayla in tow, being as the room was so small. Under no circumstance would he ever mention this to her, of course. The hall smelled musty, but not at all unpleasant.

"Is this it?" he inquired.

Ayla nodded, still holding onto his hand and swaying. He decided to let her until she felt comfortable again. She looked frazzled, but he couldn't help but notice how much of an improvement it was from her first trip.

"I'll wait until you get in." he assured, nodding toward the door.

"Thanks."

She released his hand, leaving it strangely cold, as she searched her bag for a key. Finding it, she shuffled around him in the cramped space and inserted it into the lock.

"Hmm… that's odd." She mused, cocking her head to the side.

"What?"

"It's unlocked." She whispered, beginning to seem scared. "It's never unlocked. Father can't get to the door himself, and I'm positive I locked it on my way out."

George inhaled slowly, gritting his teeth, the seed of fear planted in his chest. "Let me." He drew his wand, and moved in front of her. Her hand clutched the fabric of his jacket sleeve as she peered around him. He slowly reached out and pushed open the front door to Ayla's underground home, a sense of dread pulsating through his veins.