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 1 - Day Drinking

The day that Alice Clark took to social media to advertise for a new flatmate was not her finest hour. Sat on her sofa in her pyjamas, unable to accurately gauge when she had showered last, surrounded by tissues, drinking wine at eleven AM and barely able to see through eyes that were swollen from crying, she tapped out a Facebook status she felt sure was so drenched in misery that it would garner not a single reply.

'Suddenly find myself alone in the flat that I previously shared with a man who I thought wanted to marry me when we went on holiday together a fortnight ago,' Alice spoke aloud, sniffling as she typed. 'Turns out that what he actually wanted to do was shag my sister. Therefore, have double room available to rent to someone I hope will be as absent as possible but will still raise the alarm if flies begin to gather outside my bedroom door. Deaf Mute Ninjas preferred.' Taking a gulp of wine, she read back over what she had actually written.

'Back from holiday and have newly available double bedroom in my flat if anyone knows anyone looking to rent near Charing Cross Road. Non-smoking professional desirable. Rates and utilities included.'

Her logic in appealing to Social Media for a flatmate was based wholly on her desire not to accidentally lease to a serial killer. Not of course, that she could guarantee that she wouldn't end up with a total lunatic by doing it this way. But at least if she had an acquaintance in common with them, it would be harder for them to do a runner in the middle of the night.

Sighing heavily, she hit "Post" and went back to shopping online for work clothes that would hide the fact that she had gained nearly a stone in the last fortnight by subsisting on whatever food she could have delivered. Her first faculty meeting of the year was in a week's time and apparently not content with simply wallowing in her misery, Alice had spent the previous afternoon standing in front of her bedroom mirror in her underwear with a dress that had fit her perfectly a month before stuck halfway up her legs.

The flat was offensively warm and completely silent. She had, in a fit of frustration and melodramatic grief slammed all of the windows shut on what had turned out to be the hottest day of the year so far. She couldn't bear to hear the sounds of people being happy outside. That and the fact the fact that she had banned any and all unnecessary auditory stimuli from the flat following an incident the week before when she had switched the radio on and immediately began drowning in the sensory overload caused by the noise.

When she was young, she had just assumed that everyone could see sounds like she could. It was only when she had observed in front of her mother that Pink Floyd looked like peeling wallpaper that she began to suspect that she was perhaps not like everyone else. After several doctors' appointments, a CAT scan and an MRI, the diagnosis was confirmed: Synesthesia.

Once she had established that her daughter was not dying of some terminal illness from which she might garner some attention, Evelyn Clark had encouraged Alice to draw as little attention to the misalignment of her senses as possible. Pete hadn't liked it much either.

'It makes you act like you're drugged up.' He had said reproachfully once when they had been to a gig. In hindsight, that should probably have been one of the warning signs. Pete had somehow managed to find a way to make her feel bad about enjoying her favourite thing. That, added to a six month affair with her younger sister culminating in a spectacular break-up on the final evening of their holiday, had conspired to make Alice feel like a complete fool.

A few hundred pounds and half a bottle of wine later, she glumly checked her messages. Quickly scrolling past the messages she knew were no good (anything starting with 'babes' or referring to Pete went straight into the trash), she was left with a depressingly small number. One message came from a guy that worked in her department, Mitchell. She hated Mitchell and suspected she would hate his pretentious friend even more. Before she had left for what she assumed would be her engagement holiday, she had attended departmental drinks where the conversation had somehow turned to marriage. Mitchell had held forth at length about how he didn't believe in matrimony because 'why would women want anyone to own them?'. Alice barely skimmed his message before clicking the delete button and turning her attention to the other message that had caught her eye.

"You have 1 unread message from Hermione Granger"

'Hermione?' Alice murmured to herself. That was a name she hadn't heard in years. They had been best friends in primary school before Hermione had been transferred to a swish private boarding school up in Scotland somewhere. About a year and a half ago, she had joined Facebook and added Alice as a friend. Alice had been pleased at the time and had made a mental note to get in touch with Hermione at some point, but in all honesty whenever she sat down to do it, she couldn't think of a single thing to say. Perhaps too much time had passed for them to be anything other than superficial acquaintances. She clicked to open the message:

"Hello Alice,

I know it's been a long time since we spoke properly - I wasn't particularly good at keeping in touch with people from Primary School. I hope you are well? I can see from your profile that you're a lecturer now - that must be so interesting.

I saw today that you're currently looking for a flatmate. If you haven't already found somebody, I was wondering if you would consider my fiancé's brother George? He's looking to move to the area and I think he would be a very considerate lodger.

Best Wishes

Hermione"

Alice considered her options. She could conceivably manage another month of the mortgage without funding becoming a serious problem. She did not need to make a snap decision. But there was something in Hermione's message that made her wonder. Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of a message from the little bushy-haired girl who used to help her catch frogspawn when they were small? Would it be sensible of her to trust someone she hadn't seen in nearly fifteen years?

Perhaps it was Hermione's use of the word 'considerate'. In her emotionally raw state, the idea that someone might be considerate of Alice was potentially too attractive to pass up.

A flurry of movement at the bottom of the screen caught her eye.

Hermione is typing...

Alice sipped her wine and waited patiently for Hermione's next message.

"Sorry, that was a bit cryptic wasn't it? I don't really like using Facebook. I only joined to be a bit nosy and see what people I knew years ago are doing now. Are you free for a coffee today?"

There was something in the unexpectedly conspiratorial way that Hermione had confessed this to her that made Alice warm to the childhood friend that she had in part considered long-lost. This, coupled with her wine buzz and the glowing embers of nostalgia gave her a sense of abandon.

"I'm free all day today,"she wrote back hurriedly before she could change her mind, "where do you want to meet?"