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Chapter 7: The Necessities of Life

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Kira stood in Fred's room, just looking around for several minutes. The bed wasn't even made, and a thick coating of dust covered everything.

"All right then," she said to nobody. "First thing, clean the bloody room."

She hurriedly changed out of the golden wedding robes and pulled a fresh pair of jeans and t-shirt from her backpack, hastily getting dressed. Needing to find something she could use to clean with, she stepped out to the hall. She stopped dead when she saw a broom sweeping the hall floor, directing all the dust and rubbish into one large pile, all by itself. A light bulb went on in her head as she realized exactly how Fred had cleared the ice from the sidewalk in front of the butcher shop so quickly. He'd asked to be paid with a kiss.

"Um...George?" she called out.

George came around the wall at the end of the hall, wiping his hands on a stained towel.

"Oh, hi. Is something wrong?"

"I need to clean the bedroom. There's dust and grime everywhere."

"I'll do it." George stood in the doorway, took out his wand, and moved it in a bit of an "S" shape, saying, "Scourgify."

Kira's jaw dropped as she watched all the dust and debris suddenly lift off every surface and sort of compact in on itself and vanish. "Wow! That's even better than a Dyson," she said.

She opened the top drawer of the dresser and saw...jumpers, all neatly folded and arranged by size, from left to right. They all had a large letter F front and center on them. She took one out and looked at George quizzically.

"Mum. She knits all of us a new jumper for Christmas each year. Fred would seldom wear his. Then he'd fold it and pack it away with the rest. It looks like he has every nearly single one she ever gave him."

"Do you still have all of yours?"

"No. I put mine to everyday use. They got worn, stained, torn, and tossed. Fred had a bit of the packrat in him. He always said he didn't want them to get ruined."

"I don't want to throw them out. It's obvious they meant a lot to him. Do you think your mother would mind if I cut them up and pieced them together to make a quilt for the baby?"

"I don't think she'd mind at all. I think it's bloody brilliant."

Kira went to the wardrobe and opened the lid of the trunk. There was a bunch of stuff, some clothes, and several odd objects inside. She reached down and pulled out a hand-held telescope.

"Oh, I wonder how far distant I can see with this!" she said, walking toward the window.

"No!" George yelled. "You can't use this. It will give you a black eye!" He reached out and grabbed it from her hand. "It's something Fred and I came up with back when we were in school."

"Lovely. Is there anything else in here I need to be warned about?"

"I'd better sort through the trunk myself. He knelt on the floor and began to empty it of it's contents, putting rubbish in one pile and anything remotely dangerous in another. Then he vanished the pile of rubbish and levitated the other items, saying, "I'm getting these out of the flat now. I'll put them down in my workshop in the store. Maybe some of this stuff holds promise of a new line of products for the store. Then I'll come back up and do my best to Muggle-proof the flat so you don't accidentally get hurt."

While George was gone, Kira began removing the rest of Fred's clothes from the drawers and wardrobe. Tears began to flow as she realized that this would be the first and last time she would ever handle his things. She lifted a shirt to her face to see if his scent still lingered on it, but it must have been laundered since he'd last worn it, or too much time must have passed. She carefully refolded it and placed it back on the pile she was making on the bed when George once again appeared in the doorway.

"What are you going to do with all his things?" she asked.

"I was thinking, maybe donating them? Harry has this house he was left by his godfather. He's donating it to Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies to be used as a Remus Lupin Center, a place for werewolves to go stay during that time of the month were they can be given Wolfsbane Potion and locked down and humanely cared for."

"Werewolves? You're kidding me, right? I suppose next you're going to tell me that vampires exist too."

George tried to think how to answer. He screwed up his face in the effort. "Um...yes?" he finally replied.

"I'm beginning to think I've accidentally strolled onto the set of some bizarre, badly written horror movie," Kira muttered.

"I guess I can understand that," he replied. "But I was wondering if you're getting hungry. We could go out to get something to eat at the Leaky Cauldron."

"I'm rather tired," she said. "And I'd like to have a bath. Is there anything we could just have here?"

"I suppose I could pop over there and bring back something. There's really nothing here. Fred and I, we sort of lived the bachelor lifestyle, and ate out nearly all the time or popped back home and let Mum feed us. Or, maybe you would like something from a Muggle place? Charing Cross has a lot of places I could go."

"I have a craving for something a bit spicy."

"Do you like Chinese? There's a spot called Mr. Mengs nearby. They have great spicy beef noodle soup."

"That sounds great. Can you get me a couple spring rolls too? And some soy sauce."

"I'll get some milk too. You need to have some milk in the flat. There are towels in the cabinet across from the toilet. And the rest of your things just got here. They're in the parlor. I'll bring them into your room for you before I go."

"Thanks."

Kira hurriedly filled the bath and sank into the warm water. Luckily, her mother had made sure to throw a few bars of soap and Kira's favorite shampoo into her bag. She bathed quickly, wishing that she had more time to just soak, but she wanted to be presentable before George got back with the food.

She doubted that they'd be going out anywhere the rest of the day, so she got into her pajamas and began to explore the kitchen, growing dismayed when she saw that there was only some odd contraption that looked like it was made in the last century to cook with, and a rusty old-fashioned ice box that was empty.

The cabinets held two of everything: Two chipped and crazed plates, two dinner knives, two forks and two spoons, one of which was bent. There were no pots or pans. Even all the windows were bare. There wasn't a curtain or drape in the place. She couldn't even find the broom and dust bin that she'd seen earlier. The kitchen table was scarred and had only two chairs, and both wobbled alarmingly.

How am I supposed to live here, she wondered. It's not fair to expect George to do everything. I should at least be able to cook and clean while he's downstairs working. He told me that they even have their own money. How is he even paying for the food he's getting? Maybe I could pawn my grandmother's engagement ring and get enough cash to at least buy some things, the necessities of life. I could get some material and sew curtains. It will take longer having to hand sew them, but that's all right. I need to buy cleaning supplies, maybe a new set of dishes, some cookware. Maybe I can learn to figure out how that stove works and make meals.

Soon, George came back carrying the sack of take-away food. He saw her sitting on the couch, obviously stewing about something.

"What's wrong?"

"How am I going to be able to do anything here? We don't even have the basic necessities of life. I was thinking that tomorrow, I could pawn my grandmother's engagement ring and we could go shopping to buy a few things, like a set of dishes and flatware, pots and pans. It's not right that you should be down in that store working all day while I sit here, completely useless. You should be able to come up here after work and not have to worry about cooking and cleaning."

"All right, I can take you out shopping in the Muggle stores tomorrow. But you're not useless, and you're not pawning that ring. I can exchange galleons for Muggle money at Gringotts bank. Fred and me, well, we've done rather well for ourselves with the store. Money is the least of our worries. Let's have our dinner here at the tea table. I'll fix those chairs in the kitchen tomorrow. It's only for a little while. I'll start looking for a different place to live as soon as possible. In fact, I bought this Muggle paper. We can look through the house listings while we eat. Stop worrying so much."

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Kira was running madly through the woods outside Ottery St. Catchpole, thick white fog clouding her way. She was calling for Fred. He was there, just ahead. She could just see him in the mist, but he kept moving away from her. Finally, she saw him stop, he stood still, his back to her, just ahead. She ran to him, relieved, but when he turned, it was her father. He raised his meaty fist to strike her and she ran, back the way she came, not looking back to see if he gave chase, but knowing he did.

Fred stepped out from behind a thick tree in front of her and she ran right into him. His arms went around her, holding her close. Clinging to him, she closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. When she opened them again, she was lying on the forest floor, Fred was kissing her, hungrily, greedily.

"Please, Kira, I need you," he said, his one hand was buried in her hair at the back of her head, the other moving ever downward, grasping her skirt, slowly pulling it up, his fingers lightly trailing on her thighs.

She so wanted to please him, make him happy. She didn't have to say anything. Fred saw her acquiescence in her eyes. Triumph lit his eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers. The taste of him was heavenly. She was suffused with the glorious feeling that she was where she belonged, that she was safe. When he broke the kiss she opened her eyes. But it was George staring down at her, his hands upon her body.

Kira sat bolt upright in bed, screaming his name.

A second later, George came bursting into the room, wand in hand. "What?" he said. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, God," she said. "I'm sorry. I had...I had a nightmare."

George lowered his wand and sat on the bed in relief. "It must've been terrifying. You screamed my name like someone was killing you."

"Sorry," she said again.

He looked at her worriedly. "Why don't you tell me about it? Sometimes it helps."

Right, Kira thought, like I can tell him this one. "It...it was about my father. He was chasing me to beat me."

"I'm sorry," said George. He reached out and smoothed her hair, slipping his hand around the back of her neck. "Are you all right? You feel terribly warm."

Her senses were heightened by the dream. The touch of his hand on her skin felt so good, she wanted... She half turned her face toward his arm to run her lips along it, to taste him, but she stopped herself just in time, horrified.

She jumped out of bed. "I need a glass of water," she said. At the moment, she couldn't even look at him. The memory of the dream, Fred's lips on hers, his hands...was it Fred's? Or was it George's? At the moment, it didn't matter. She knew what it was to be loved and, as she had sat on the bed, with George so close, touching her, his voice, his scent...young, male...she had wanted him.

She ran to the kitchen and filled one of the mugs with water and drank deeply. She set the mug down with a clink and raked her fingers through her hair.

She looked at her reflection in the tiny window over the sink. What kind of person was she? She loved Fred; she was having his baby. How could she even think of anyone else in that way? Was she no better than that? Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones. That had to be it. There was a perfectly rational explanation for her behavior. She turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on her face. She sensed him behind her, in the doorway, watching her.

"I feel better now," she said, not letting her eyes meet his. "I'll just go back to bed. I'm really sorry for waking you."

"Sure you're all right, then?" he asked, trying to keep his eyes on her face so she would not catch him staring at her thin pajama top, which was nearly transparent in spots where it had gotten wet.

She planted a bright, fake smile on her face. "Oh yes, just fine. I'm perfectly spiffy," she said as she passed him in the doorway, keeping as much distance between them as possible. "Absolutely spiffy." She turned and ran back to her bedroom, slamming the door and jumping back into the bed, hugging her pillow to her.

George watched her run down the hall as if a troll were after her. "Spiffy?" he said to himself, "Spiffy?" He shook his head. "Absolutely mad. Must be a Muggle thing. Or a girl thing. Or it could even be a pregnant thing." Then he went back into his own room and fell back to sleep.

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Kira lay awake for a long time. Finally, she got up and ran to the wardrobe, where she grabbed hold of one of Fred's jumpers. She ran back to the bed and held it close to her as she cried herself to sleep. But her sleep was restless, as she finally returned to the land of disturbing dreams.