AN: Oi. I'm trying to write three fics at the same time. Hint: not working out so well. I'll try and get back on schedule. Of course, part of the problem was how long this took to write. I have no idea what happened, but I got a full-on block after the first couple paragraphs. However, it was Bethany Joy and Alexz Johnson to the rescue! Which is why this chapter is named after one of BJ's songs, and Alexz will soon get one of her own. I mean, I love my rock as much as the next girl (and deplore hip-hop, rap, and R&B unless under extreme circumstances, as is right), but every once in a while you just need some nice acoustic, you know? Well, I do, anyway. After listening to them for a while, this just came to me, the last bit especially from "Then Slowly Grows" by Bethany Joy.

Thanks for all the reviews, by the way. Five is a nice, fully acceptable number, and as long as we don't back to two reviews per chapter (blech), we will all be fine.

Anons:

selbia – Thanks! I think this chapter will more satisfactory in terms of length. Over four pages on my computer (barely, but still).

Disclaimer: Bah!

The flat was hardly what could be called spacious. It only had three rooms, one of which was a compacted kitchen and sitting room, each encroaching on the other, the chair at the end of the table knocking legs with the plush couch. There was barely enough room for someone to pick their way through the mismatched furniture the few feet that separated the front door from the bedroom.

Yet life erupted from every inch. Solids and patterned designs of every color imaginable where on the fabric of the chairs, the wood of the tables, and the flaking paint on the walls. An old piano leaned on the wall in the corner, its faded wood contrasted by the bright picture frames and pencil holders scattered haphazardly on its surface. Everything had the deep aroma of rose and mint floating about it, although it was anyone's guess how the scent had gotten there in the first place. Lamps were arranged on odd surfaces, like the kitchen table or the window ledge, and were of varying size and audacity; they had obviously been picked up for a dollar a pop at some old lady's garage sale or a small flea market. Books were tossed aside at various points, and a few plates teetered on inappropriate edges, clinging to bread crusts and orange rinds.

Leaning against one of the only clear spaces of wall, George surveyed the place contentedly, a sweet smile on his face and a large yellow mug filled to the brim with tea nestled in his hands. He had to be gone in just a few minutes, but he wanted to savor the time spent here.

Even the tea that burned his tongue as he sipped tasted different. Could tea taste carefree? Maybe it was nutmeg or something.

He hadn't had a chance to look around much the night before. The jacket and shoes lying in the middle of the room were testament to that. He hadn't been able to imagine a place that would fit Mia perfectly until now, but this had to be it. He even realized that the smell of the place was the lingering odor on her clothes, though he hadn't really noticed it before.

As if eager to prove this, Mia stumbled blearily out of the bedroom. She tripped over one of her shoes, gave a great, if slightly drunken, shout of laughter, and weaved her way more carefully over to George. The corners of her mouth turned up sleepily. She wrapped her arms around his torso and thrust her head under his arm. "Too early," she informed him, muffled by magenta robes.

George put down his mug so he could hug her closer. "Very true. Of course, complaining to the boss is out."

"I can complain to him." An eye peeked up and outwards. "Too early."

"Duly noted, angel of the apartment. I still have to leave."

Her head pulled out of its spot and her hand pulled at his neck at the same time. The next few minutes were spent very pleasantly, and without a lot talking.

George was the first to pull away. "Now, Amelia, I've got places to go and young impressionables to overcharge."

Her nose wrinkled. "That's what my dad calls me."

"That will serve my purposes quite well right now, but I'll remember that." George kissed her blue hair lightly, then let go of her. She didn't return the favor.

"Ten minutes, most heroic of men?"

"Of course, my sweet." George smirked. "But you have to tell Brenda where I've got to."

Instantly, he was released.

His smirk widened. "I'll remember this."

Mia shrugged, unfazed. "Brenda is more terrifying than my mother ever was."

"Speak for yourself."

Chuckling, Mia wandered over to the counter, where a giant loaf of French bread lay uncovered by a large knife. She reached into a cupboard with two hands and pulled them both out laden with jars. One's contents were a rich purple-red, which George could only assume was some sort of homemade jam; the other, a light tan with a nutty odor. She stuck the end of the bread in the tan substance and bit it off.

George motioned at the sticky tan nuttiness. "What is that?"

The bread dropped to the counter.

"You've never had peanut butter?"

"If that's what that is," George said, eyeing the container dubiously, "then no, my lamb, I have not."

Without further ado, Mia scooped a large hunk of peanut butter with fingers onto the bread, marched back over to George, and stuck the entire loaf into his mouth.

After a few minutes of spluttering, chewing, and frantic swallowing, George had a pretty good idea of what peanut butter tasted like. He was fairly sure he hated it, but wasn't about to tell Mia, for fear this would mean he'd have to eat more to prove it.

GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

"She made you walk here?"

"All the way through London in my uniform, and she was in a bathrobe."

The potion on the desk was slowly forming puffs of green smoke that billowed and evaporated. A few shriveled beans lay beside discarded knives. The high-pitched whining the potion had begun to make was being entirely ignored.

Lee shook his head in awe. "You're right, mate. She's mental."

"Yeah." George grinned. "She absolutely is. How's Katie?"

Blinking rapidly at the change is subject, Lee smiled dreamily. "Great."

Briefly, George though about taking the mickey out of him, but felt that it would be somehow unsporting. "How long until the wedding, then?"

"Three months. Her mother's been in contact." Lee's face indicated exactly how pleased this made him.

George smirked widely. "I bet she adores you. Owns a prank shop, old war vet, hob-knobbing with us Weasleys ..."

"Not to mention marrying her daughter at twenty-three." Lee definitely looked disgruntled now. "She hates my hair."

"So do I, mate, it's horrible."

Lee scowled. "Thanks."

George nodded sagely. "Always helpful, that's me. So, anything I need to know ahead of time? Best man, and all."

"Not much." Lee was lost in thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers sharply. "Right! Katie's decided to ask Mia to be maid of honor. No sisters to ask, so ..."

"Brilliant. Don't look for either of us after the toasts." Lecherous thoughts were practically radiating off George. Lee's eyes widened.

"You're mental as well, you know that? See what happens to you if Katie catches you sneaking off with Mia again."

"Why? She's my proper girlfriend now, can't see how Katie can be much fussed about it." Remembering the beans on the table, George took up a knife and began to apply the flat end of the blade to the top of one. Thick yellow juice squirted out the end and ran into a waiting flask.

Lee shrugged. "Tell her that. She's quite overprotective of Mia, if you ask me, but ... well, you tell her that. Though I don't pretend to know all about it, anyway."

The knife fell back down to the desk, unheeded. "All about what?"

"You know. The boyfriend. And she hasn't talked to her parents in nearly a year." Lee picked up his discarded knife as well and began pressing on his own bean.

George nodded. "Yeah. He's been trying to get her to go back to being an Auror in America, and she's not having any of it."

A second knife clattered against the wood. Lee's eyes were now nearly out of his head. "She really is your proper girlfriend now, eh?"

George smiled as he had that morning, standing in Mia's flat. "Yeah, she is."

GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

The first thing that registered in George's brain was cold. His entire front felt a chill, causing him to curl up in protest. He tugged blankets over his head and pressed them to his body, grumbling about warmth and summer.

Slowly, he became aware of something else. A light melody, soft and flowing, muted slightly by the bedroom wall.

He stood and walked to the door, trailing a single sheet behind him.

She didn't look quite the same, sitting at the piano. She looked peaceful, calm, content. Her eyes were closed gently, but her fingers flew, sure of themselves without the need for sight. The music flowing from the keys sounded beautiful, but a little sad and a little lost.

Feeling as though he were intruding, like catching a unicorn unawares, George backed up silently, and collapsed into her bed.

He was colder than he had ever remembered in his own flat, and that night, for the first time in years, his dreams were troubled with pictures of war, of death, and of a boy that looked exactly like him, only with two ears. All through waking and sleeping, he could hear the sad, lost, beautiful melody playing in his head.

AN: Yeah, ok, that last bit was a little emo. Whatever. If wizards had the term "emo," those two would be it. These two still have a ways to go, but not too much longer, if you catch my drift. In other words, I wouldn't count on too many more chapters. My guess? Four or five, at the most. It all depends on how things are spaced out. Love? Hate? Review!