I finished reading over my report before tapping it with my wand, charming it to appear on my higher-ups' desk. I was just reaching for my next assignment when someone's head peaked into my cubical.

"Ripley, the boss wants to speak with you." the man snapped before disappearing. He was one of the many coworkers I don't even know the name of.

I sighed, standing up and crossing the room to the door labeled Head of Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I knocked on the door and entered when I heard his voice call me in.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" I asked, closing the door behind me.

"Ah, Ms. Ripley. Come in, have a seat." Mr. Fisher glanced up at me, before pushing his papers into a pile and laying them aside. He was a relatively fit man with graying hair and a slight receding hairline. I did as he asked, sitting in the chair in front of his desk. When his papers were neatly out of the way, he leaned his elbows on his desktop, his hands clasped together as he looked at me.

"Ms. Ripley, there really isn't an easy way for me to say this. We've been in need of cutbacks for a few weeks now, and I'm afraid we have to let you go."

I stared at him, feeling as if I was underwater, my whole body numb and his words reaching me in a muffled tone.

Finally, I managed to force words out. "Why?" it came out as a whisper.

He sighed heavily, reaching for a portfolio. "There are more reasons than I can list, to be frank with you. For one, there have been multiple occasions where you let silly grammar mistakes slip through in your memos and reports, which sometimes go public for several higher-ups to see, my own boss included. Then there's the fact that you're a slow worker. Several of your coworkers get nearly twice as much done in a day as you do. If there weren't laws stating that you have to get a break each day I'd have made you work through your lunch break months ago."

I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat, the realization that I was getting sacked slowly creeping up on me.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Ripley. But it's the way things have to be." his tone held no remorse, and I got the sneaking suspicion he simply wanted me out of his office as quickly as possible.

"Is-Is there any way you'd reconsider?" I asked quietly, a note of desperation in my voice. "I-I could work harder, and-"

"No, it's already been said and done." he held up a hand to stop me from continuing. "You may now go pack up your things and leave."

Feeling sort of in shock, I didn't realize I'd obeyed him until I found myself at my cubicle. I pulled my wand from my skirt pocket and gave it a wave, silently packing all my things up into the box that someone had left on my desk.

"Misty?" I looked up to see Hermione watching me with confusion. As her eyes swept over my cubicle, watching my things fly into a box, her eyes widened in realization before she turned to stare back at me.

I wanted to give her a reassuring smile, but I couldn't manage to force one. So I simply turned back to find that all my things were shrunken and packed into the box. I picked it up and made to leave.

"Misty-" Hermione made to follow me, her hand reaching out.

"Get back to work, Granger!" someone snapped. I was grateful, as the voice allowed me to leave in peace, without Hermione questioning me.

I made my way rather blankly down the many floors until I found myself at a Floo entrance. I quietly called out 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes', tossing the dust into the fireplace. I stepped into the green flames and was whisked away until I stepped into the living room of the twins' flat.

I placed the box on the coffee table and just stood there, my eyes staring off into space. I'm not sure how long I stood there, but I could feel the shock slowly wearing off, the realization crashing down on me like a relentless wave.

I was sacked. I didn't have a job anymore, no income to support myself.

I drew in a shaky breath, my boss' words from before echoing in my head.

"-we have to let you go-"

"-more reasons than I can list-"

"-you let silly grammar mistakes slip through-"

"-you're a slow worker-"

"-I'd have made you work through your lunch break months ago-"

I gasped in a breath, my shoulders shaking with the effort. 'I'm not good enough.'

The pain at that realization lashed at my chest, making me stumble and catch myself with my hand on the back of the armchair.

I stumbled my way into the kitchen, needing something to make the pain stop. My brain switched off my better judgment, and I opened the fridge to grab one of the twins' firewhiskey's. I frantically tore the cork off and took a long swig, ignoring the burn as it slid down my throat.

I paused to take in deep breaths, hoping the drink would make my pain go away. I took another gulp and swallowed before I backed into the corner of the kitchen counter, sliding down to sit on the cold floor. My legs were bent up and I cradled the bottle in both my hands in my lap. Warmth was flooding my veins and the pain in my chest lessened.

I'm not sure how long I sat there. Everything started getting slow and blurry when I'm about halfway done with my bottle. I don't pay any attention to the door opening, or footsteps approaching the room.

Soon a pair of shoes enters my blurry sight and I look up to see George in his magenta work robes with a small box under one arm looking down at me. I stared blankly up at him for a moment before I dropped my eyes to look down at his shoes instead.

It's silent for a while before he sighs and approaches me.

"Hey," his says in quiet greeting, crouching down in front of me. I don't respond, not even a smile or a look. "I thought you didn't drink."

I lift the bottle a bit to look down at it. "It's supposed to make the pain go away." I answered softly, my words a bit slurred.

"And did it?"

I thought for a moment. "Kinda. The pain's still there, and the…reason for the pain is still there…but it's kinda in the background right now."

George sighed tiredly. "Misty, you're smart. You know why you never wanted to drink. You know what it did to your Mum. It'll make the pain go away for a few hours, and then once you're sober the pain'll come back, along with the guilt, and the need to do it again. Don't put yourself through that, Misty. You've come so far in the past couple months. Don't undo all of that."

My bottom lip trembled and my eyes burned with tears. "I'm so-rry." I sobbed softly, my voice catching in my throat.

"What are you sorry for?" he asked gently, moving to sit next to me against the counter.

"I got sacked." I whispered.

George nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I already know. Granger got a message to us down in the shop as soon as she took her lunch break. She was pretty worried about you." I looked down, ashamed that I'd worried one of the first friends I'd ever had. "But, why would you be sorry?"

"Because now I don't have a job. I'll have to look for another one." I whispered weakly, running my thumb over the logo on the bottle.

I could see George tilt his head in the corner of my eye, trying to get a better look at my face. "Misty?" he reached forward and brushed some of my hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear, "There's something else bothering you, isn't there?"

I bit my lip and looked away, feeling the warm numbness from the alcohol gradually drifting out of my system.

"Misty, please." George pleaded, scooting closer to me and resting a hand on my knee.

"I wasn't good enough." I whispered brokenly, "He fired me because I wasn't good enough. I made too many grammar mistakes and I was too slow. I'll be just the same with any other job I get."

"That's what he told you?" George asked tightly, and I could tell he was barely keeping himself from raising his voice.

"He didn't say word for word that I wasn't good enough. Just that there were too many reasons to fire me for him to list them all, but he mentioned those two." I explained with a shrug, taking another drink.

"Misty, despite what it sounds like, you getting sacked wasn't personal. At least not completely. Hermione mentioned that at least two other people from your department were sacked this morning, not just you." George explained calmly. "Besides, that doesn't mean you'll be bad at any other job you get."

"How would you know?" I asked tiredly, leaning my head back against the cupboards.

"Because everyone's got their strengths and weaknesses. So you don't like writing memos and whatever else you did at work, you're great with animals. I was bad at Astronomy in school, Fred's awful at the paperwork for the shop, Granger was never all that good in social situations, but she's getting better, Ron's horrible with girls, and very few people are good at Divination."

I managed a small smile at the end of his speech. He moved his hand from my knee and took one of my hands off the bottle, holding it tightly.

"McGonagall will get back to you probably within the week about the job, and then you'll be set."

I had written to Headmistress McGonagall over a week ago, a few days after my date with George in the flat.

"But that doesn't start until September 1st, maybe late July or August for Hagrid to show me the ropes and everything. That leaves…at least seven months between then and now. I'll have to get a job for the time between that."

"No you don't." George shook his head. "First of all, there's no need. I make enough money to take care of everything for seven months. And second of all, do you really think anyone would want to hire you for seven months? When employers look for someone to hire, they usually want them to stick around." I grimaced, unable to argue that point. "Misty, it's fine. You can worry about other things instead. You can…work on wedding stuff, visit my Mum at the Burrow,…sometimes Harry needs help babysitting his godson Teddy,…you could help me make products for the shop in the backroom, anything…as long as you don't go out alone." he finished sternly.

I nodded. Apparently a couple Aurors had spotted a dark-cloaked figure watching Hermione and Ginny in Diagon Alley last week, but whoever it was Apparated away before they could catch him.

"You're sure that would be fine?" I asked hesitantly.

"Absolutely." George nodded firmly.

I bit my lip. "But…what if I don't get the job? Or it doesn't work out?"

George glanced up thoughtfully. "Well, I personally think you'll get the job…but if it doesn't work out…okay, if something happens so that you can't get that job, then you can look for another job, but it has to be a job you'll enjoy." he finished in a stern voice, pointing a finger at my nose.

I couldn't help but giggle, reaching up to wipe the remaining tears from my cheeks and eyes, leaving the bottle to rest in my lap.

George watched me silently, a small quirk in his lips as his eyes traced over my features.

"You okay now?" he asked gently. I smiled sheepishly, nodding a bit.

"Yeah, thank you. I'm sorry-"

"No. Don't apologize. Everything's fine, okay." he insisted quietly.

I nodded.

"And no more of this, right?" he checked, plucking the nearly empty bottle from my lap. When I didn't protest, he reached up and placed it on the counter behind him, farther from my reach.

"Nope. No more of that. It tastes like crap anyway." I answered with a grimace.

George laughed. "Fair enough, I suppose." he released my hand that he'd still been holding, reaching around my shoulders to pull me into his side. I snuggled into him and he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Oh, I almost forgot." he pulled away and moved onto his knees so he could reach the box he'd placed on the kitchen table. Once it was in his hands he rolled back onto his bum next to me. "This is for you." he handed it to me with a large grin.

I took it hesitantly, eyeing him as I placed the box in my lap. He stared me right in eye, not wavering under my gaze. I looked down at the box.

It was a light tan color, about one square foot in size, just a plain cardboard box really, but it had small holes on two sides. When I lifted it, it felt like whatever was inside was rather small compared to the box, and there was a scrabbling sound of something moving inside.

"Is this a prank? Are you finally pranking me?" I asked nervously.

George chuckled at the look on my face. "No, I promise it's not a prank. It's an early Christmas gift." when I continued to eye him dubiously, he raised one hand and said, "I solemnly swear that I am not pranking you, Misty Carling Ripley. Just open the box."

I sighed before slowly opening the first flap.

My mouth fell open when I looked inside the box.

Inside was a tiny kitten with a pink nose and bright green eyes staring up at me. It was a Calico kitten, and mostly white with a light ginger patch over one eye and ear and a black patch over the other eye and ear, leaving a white blaze down its nose. Most of it's back was covered in a large ginger patch that covered her tail completely, a few smaller black patches on her back, side, and tail.

A tiny meow came from the kitten as it stood on its back legs, resting its tiny, white paws on the edge of the box. I reached my hand out and gently stroked its head, earning a surprisingly loud purr from the little animal.

Smiling, I gently lifted the kitten from the box, cradling it to my chest. It was small enough that I could cover most of it's body with both my hands. It stretched up its neck to sniff my nose before its tiny, pink tongue kissed my nose.

"Granger got me a book a while ago, you know, about depression," George started, reaching over to scratch the tiny kitten on the head. "It mentioned a lot of stuff that helps, stuff like thinking positive, and cuddling helps with something that makes you happier or something, which explains why you cuddle with me so much," he grinned at me, "and it also mentioned that pets help a lot. A mixture of having someone to cuddle all the time and having the added responsibility. And I figured you like animals, soooo…"

"You didn't have to do that, George." I said, though it was easy to tell there wasn't any conviction in my voice as I rubbed my cheek against the kitten's head.

"I wanted to. Besides, this little lady was half price. Apparently, witches and wizards like the more uniform look when picking cats; like ginger, black, and tabby. I say to hell with uniform. This kitten's got more personality in one of her little toes than all those other fuzz balls." he grinned, poking her nose. She lifted a paw to swat at his finger.

"She's so adorable!" I cooed, running my fingers down her spine.

"What are you going to name her?" he asked curiously.

I debated for a moment, gazing down at the tiny animal. "Calypso?"

George nodded, looking at the kitten thoughtfully. "Alright, I think that's a good name. I got the morning off tomorrow, we can go pick up anything she'll need. I already got food and two dishes, but I figured you'd want to pick out her bed, toys, collar, and stuff."

I nodded, smiling at Calypso and leaning my head against George's shoulder.

"Thank you, George, this is really sweet of you."

He kissed my head, burying his nose into my hair. "I know."

I laughed at his response, accidentally shaking Calypso. She meowed and climbed down to explore the kitchen. The kitchen light caught my eye and I winced as a sharp pain erupted in my head.

George stood up and offered a hand to me. "How about I make us some tea, and pour a little sobering potion in yours?" he offered with a smile.

I grinned gratefully, letting him pull me to my feet. "Yes please."