Title: A Lid For Every Pot, George Weasley
Author: BooksVCigarettes
Summary: Set a couple of years post-war. Still struggling with the absence of his twin, George Weasley needs some time away from the world he grew up in to heal. Alice Clark wants a flat mate who doesn't want to kill and eat her. It was perfect... Except not really. George/OC Ron/Hermione Harry/Ginny
Chapter Ten – Discovery
Alice sighed and rolled onto her stomach to see if that was any more comfortable. She had exhausted every trick she could think of to try and lull herself to sleep, but slumber was proving itself elusive. She shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee after George had retired to his room for the night, but the syrup Daniel had given her was so delicious that she suspected she was already forming an addiction to it. She had sat curled up on the sofa with a mug, inhaling deeply between sips as she tried to work out what the familiar scent was mingling with the aroma of peppermint and rose. She knew she had smelt it somewhere, but where?
It would help if her thoughts didn't keep drifting to the night before. Alice felt a grin creeping onto her face as she remembered his slow, lingering kisses. He had taken his time with her, his hands and mouth moving over her body in the same way he did everything – almost lazily, as though he had all the time in the world at his disposal to spend on her. Alice had never favoured that style of lovemaking in the past, but with Daniel it was as though she couldn't resist. She found his silence almost intoxicating, and the way he stared at her in an almost calculated, appraising way sent shivers down her spine.
Alice scrambled onto her back and huffed before kicking the covers off her legs and padding back through to the living room, leaving the door near closed so as not to disturb George if he was sleeping. Her gaze settling on the piano in the corner, she was briefly reminded of Fred and his appearance in her life that afternoon. Funny, it seemed longer ago than that. Alice eased herself down onto the piano bench and rested her hands on the keys, feeling their smooth surface beneath her fingers. She closed her eyes and thought about the fedora-wearing apparition and his words to her. Thoughts of Daniel and his ministrations continued to surface here and there but Alice tried to put them aside in order to ruminate on Fred's desire to keep the very fact of his existence (or would it be un-existence?) from his twin. George's sad eyes and shy smile that evening when he had told her that she was special appeared behind her eyelids and Alice allowed her heart to be warmed by it. Was Fred right? Would knowing about Fred hurt George more than help him? The thoughts whirled around her wired brain as she tried to unpick the bizarre mess she had found herself in.
Almost unconsciously, as if her body were working independently of her mind, she began to play a gentle waltzing melody, feeling the tension drain a little from her shoulders as the colours and shapes invaded her senses. This song always came to her in lavender and blue hues, like a summer twilight, washing over her like gentle ocean waves. She started by humming the tune, then singing along softly.
'You know I've always been a dreamer
Spent my life runnin' round
And it's so hard to change
Can't seem to settle down
But the dreams I've seen lately
Keep on turnin' out
And burnin' out
And turnin' out the same…'
X
George crept along the hallway toward the living room, drawn by the lilting melody. Despite being exhausted from the day's activities, he had been drifting in and out of a mostly restless sleep, his mind still dwelling on the feeling of unease he had experienced when he had set eyes on that arrogant git of a bassist in Alice's band the night before. For some reason, it had made him think of Seventh Year, before he and Fred had decided to check out of full-time education prematurely. After shoving Montague into that Vanishing Cabinet, they had been thrown into the detention that the twins thereafter referred to as the 'straw that had broken the Hippgriff's back'. Umbridge had made other members of the Inquisitorial Squad stand over them while they wrote I must learn to respect authority with that foul quill. Both twins were naturally predisposed to openly flout rules and regulations, but George his blood boil when faced with the level of authoritarianism being shown by Malfoy and his goons and knew that Fred had felt the same. Following the detention, they had barely needed to discuss their next move. George had never forgotten the fire that had been lit within them that day – the unquenchable desire to stare fascism in the face and laugh at it. To depose self-appointed superiors. To level the playing field by any and all means possible.
No, he had never forgotten that desire. But since Fred had died it had seemed so far from his grasp that he wondered if, like so many other parts of him, it would remain forever a memory. Before retreating into the muggle world, he had worked day and night to keep their dream alive, brainstorming new products for the shop and owling the designs to Lee. For the most part they were successful, but George knew they lacked something – some spark of originality. Everything he did without Fred felt half-finished.
Just like himself.
George paused at the living toom door, tilting his good ear toward the music. He could still hear out of his destroyed one, but struggled a little with sounds that weren't nearby. Alice's voice, soulful and melodious, floated toward him.
'You can spend all your time makin' money
You can spend all your love makin' time
If it all fell to pieces tomorrow
Would you still be mine?'
A purplish light was leaking through the crack in the door. George wondered if Alice had one of those muggle devices filled with warm undulating wax his father had been fascinated with a few years before – a lava lamp, was it?
'And when you're looking for your freedom
Nobody seems to care
And you can't find the door
Can't find it anywhere
When there's nothing to believe in
Still you're coming back
You're running back
You're coming back for more…'
George gave the door a gentle push, staying quiet so as not to startle Alice. Her voice hypnotised him. Rich and complex, there was wisdom and hope mingling with the pain. As the door swung further open to reveal his landlady at the piano, George had to bite back an exclamation of surprise.
Alice was lost in the music, swaying gently as she played. The light that he had assumed came from a lamp was emanating from her very being, swirling around her in streaks of purple and hazy blue. They looked like a halo of waves crashing about her head. George could only stare as the song built and the colours began to spread from their immediate vicinity around Alice and make their way across the room toward him.
'So put me on a highway
And show me a sign
And take it to the limit on more time…'
George reached out a hand to touch the streaks of colour staining the air – it was soft and cool against his palm, somehow oddly reminiscent of the music being played. This was some powerful magic. Powerful, uncontrolled magic. George felt his stomach turn to ice as he realised that Alice had no clue that she was producing such an incredible spectacle – she thought it was all in her head. She was no muggle, but had absolutely zero idea of her magical abilities. He started into action as Alice began to wind the song down, slipping quickly from the living room and back along the corridor to his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him and leaning against it heavily.
The Ministry of Magic was very clear about the reporting of Obscurials – any witch or wizard who failed to do so faced a sentence in Azkaban. Obscurial sightings were rare these days and George had only seen grainy pictures from one in the USA in the 1920s. He knew the bare minimum about Obscurials, only really that they were formed by repressed magic inside a human being that had the potential to leak out and cause havoc. He had not been expecting the sheer beauty of what had met him in the living room. Were they always like this? George ran a hand over his face and tried to ignore the growing sense of frustration in his chest that had begun to take root when he had realised that despite all his best efforts, the world he had been trying to escape from had somehow pulled him back in.
What else could he do? He was bound by law to report Alice to the Ministry and even as the hardened rulebreaker that he was, George had never broken the law, and the prospect of a long stay in Azkaban didn't fill him with glee. But then, neither did the idea of what would happen if he reported it. He would be required to fill out long forms and attend hearings as a witness. Several people he'd gone to school with worked at the Ministry now, he would have to face them and see the pitying looks in their eyes, endure the sympathetic shoulder squeezes and the claims that they visited the store all the time. George felt his eyes sting and pressed the heels of his palms into them hard enough that he saw stars behind his eyelids.
And what about Alice? She would be dragged through investigation after investigation, tribunal after tribunal, prodded and interrogated about her family tree (which George already knew was sketchy at best) in order to decipher whether she had any magical lineage. That wasn't fair to her, George reasoned. She wasn't harming anybody. She wasn't exuding any destructive dark power. As far as he could tell, Alice was unwittingly channelling her power into the music she played. If he reported her to the Ministry, she would be dragged into the public eye of a world she had never even heard of. She would undoubtedly be traipsed through the department of Magical Sciences, experimented on and generally treated like a freak. A freak he knew she already felt she was. He couldn't do that to her, could he?
George collapsed heavily onto his bed and lay back staring at the ceiling, the song Alice had been playing ringing in his head. It had been so melancholy, so full of longing for escape. It was as close as he had seen anyone come to giving emotion tangible form. It sparked something deep within his subconscious, and he drifted off to sleep accompanied by visions of purple-blue waves crashing in a bottle.
X
George still hadn't come to a decision by the time he awoke the next morning. There was a mechanised bleating sound coming from somewhere in the flat. Glancing at his watch he was astonished to see he had slept for almost nine hours. Sitting up slowly and shaking his head groggily he heard the bleating stop, replaced by Alice's voice which was far too cheerful for that hour of the morning. At least it started out cheerful. George frowned as he heard his landlady's voice drop away to almost nothing.
He dressed slowly, waiting until he thought there was no chance of him running into Alice before leaving his room. Reaching the kitchen, he berated himself for his error in judgement as he rounded the corner and found Alice slumped at the table looking as though she might cry. In front of her on the table sat a plastic device with what looked like buttons on it. George guessed this was another version of the machine Hermione had given him. Alice was staring at it as though it had just bitten her.
George stalled in the doorway, unsure how to proceed. He regarded her closely for a moment "Are you… alright?"
Alice's eyes darted up to meet his and in them, George saw vulnerability and unshed tears "They're engaged."
"Who is?"
Alice sniffed "My sister and… Pete."
George's eyes widened "The one who…" He trailed off as Alice nodded, her eyes threatening to overspill "Who left me after shagging her behind my back for months, yes."
"I'm so sorry." George sat down heavily across from her at the table before jumping up once more "Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?" He paused "Something stronger?"
Alice frowned "It's not even midday."
George offered her a small smile "It's five o' clock somewhere." the urge to make her feel better, to focus on something instead of his own pain, was strong.
Alice returned his smile with a wobbly one of her own "Tea would be fine, thank you."
George set about boiling the kettle (something he hadn't done wrong for weeks now) and preparing the cups "Who… broke the news to you?"
"Mother. Who else?" Alice grimaced "She wanted to make sure I didn't cause a scene at the next family gathering when they announced it."
"Maybe she wanted you to be forewarned…?" George attempted, setting the mug of tea down in front of her. Alice rolled her eyes "I think if she cared about how I felt at all she would have had something to say when he left me, don't you?"
"Touché." They sat in silence for a moment, steam rising from the mugs in front of them. Finally, George spoke "Does she… treat you very badly?"
Alice sighed, curling her hands around her mug. Her fingers were long and slender, George noticed "Not badly. Just with… great indifference. I suppose I'm a reminder of the man who left her. I should feel sorry for her, really."
George shook his head "You shouldn't feel obliged to have sympathy for someone who makes you feel small."
"Good. Because mostly I'm just angry. Angry at her, angry at my sister, angry at Pete." Alice stood suddenly, her chair toppling over backwards. She began to pace around the kitchen "Who do they think they are?" She spat, her arms flailing dramatically "Telling me I can't cause a scene? Stealing my boyfriend? Shagging my sister behind my back and then having the nerve to marry into my family?" George was afraid now. Not just because this was a side of Alice he had not yet seen, but because out of the corner of his eye, he had noticed several glasses sitting on the draining board that had begun, inexplicably, to vibrate. As Alice paced and ranted, he could see them shaking harder and harder. There was no doubt in his mind what was causing it.
He had to get this under control, but how? Alice was on a roll. George felt as though he finally understood what it had been like for his family to witness how he had fallen apart in the early days following Fred's death. Alice seemed oblivious to the glassware teetering ever closer to the edge of the worktop and continued to rave, all her hurt and rage spilling from her like acid. George didn't know what to do. In the end, he stood and moved toward her, hoping that if he somehow managed to get her to sit down once more, some of the magical energy might dissipate. He caught her by the shoulders and pulled her close to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She resisted at first, shaking her head "I don't want a hug, George…"
"It'll work better if you stop struggling."
"Boys always say that, though." But finally she relented, collapsing against his chest and allowing him to sway gently with her in his arms. They stood like that for a long moment. Alice could hear George's heart beating, strong and rhythmic in his chest. George resisted the urge to rest his chin on her head. It was only now that he was holding her that he realised how petite she really was. What could he possibly tell her? That she had every right to be angry, furious even, but that it would only lead to a dark place within her. A place in which he himself existed, with no real idea how to get out.
The sound of the doorbell saved either of them from having to break the silence. Alice stepped away, seemingly calmer now. She gave him a small smile "Um… I should get that."
George cleared his throat awkwardly "Of course. I... I hope you feel better." Alice gave him a small smile before hurrying from the kitchen. George leant against the counter and sighed, running a hand over his face. That had been too close for comfort. George inwardly cursed himself for not paying more attention in History of Magic. Obscurials were dangerous because they possessed unregulated magic, that was why the Ministry were so strict about any sightings being reported. George had never heard of an instance where an Obscurial's magic had been diverted into something constructive. He sighed again, noting with no small sense of irony that this was probably the first time he had ever actively wished to have his copy of A History of Magic close to hand.
His train of thought was interrupted when Alice re-entered the kitchen, followed closely by that arrogant prat from her band. George immediately tensed, the sense of discomfort returning. Upon spotting him, the cocky git smirked at him. Alice said brightly "George, this is Daniel – he's the bassist for our band." She turned to Daniel, who surveyed her in a way that George felt was near predatory "George is my flatmate."
"Nice to meet you." George managed to make his voice sound genial, despite the tension in his jaw. Daniel raised his eyebrows fractionally by way of response "And you, man."
"I didn't know you were planning on dropping by today." Alice turned her smile toward Daniel and George tried to ignore the feeling this gave him. Daniel levelled another smouldering look at her "I wanted to see you." His tone was that of slight weariness, as though this should be obvious to her. George could see how women found such matter-of-factness attractive he supposed, but couldn't help but think that to an impartial observer, a lack of enthusiasm for the company of someone you had feelings for just looked like bad manners.
Alice however, did not seem to agree "Oh." she blushed prettily, all traces of her earlier unhappiness apparently forgotten.
"I thought we could go for a drink." George waited for her to rebuff him with the same excuse she had given him earlier, but was dismayed to see her nod enthusiastically "That sounds like fun." She turned back to George "Will you join us?"
George revelled in the glare Daniel sent him over the top of Alice's head before shaking his head "No thanks," He lied "I have somewhere I have to be today."
X
He barely had time to search his trunk on the off-chance that his copy of A History of Magic had made its way in amongst his possessions before a familiar crackling sound reached his ears from the living room. Leaving his things in a haphazard pile on the bedroom floor, George hurried in the direction of the sound, assuming it would be his mother, father or one of his siblings' faces in the fireplace waiting to talk to him. A cold bundle of nerves settled in his stomach. What had happened? They knew it wasn't safe to be floo-ing into a muggle grate. This could only be an emergency.
The last person he expected to see was the Minister for Magic. Kingsley Shacklebolt's serious gaze stared out at him from the grate "George," He said, his tone as calm yet commanding as it had always been "We need to talk."