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 3 - Drenched

Alice stared mournfully out of the window as the rain bucketed down. It felt like the sky had been overcast for a hundred years and the streets were waterlogged. Despite having finally found a lodger, her mood had yet to improve. She had, at least for now, stopped crying and was limiting herself to alcohol only in the evenings, more to try and shift her post break-up weight gain than anything else. She had attended her first faculty meeting of the year four days previously and, as she had correctly predicted, her inability to wear any of her old clothes had garnered the wrong kind of attention from Mitchell, the arsehole who (it now transpired) had been promoted to Award Leader. He had looked at her with overly sincere concern as she hovered self consciously at the back of the room, her all-black attire completely conspicuous among flip-flop and harem pant wearing colleagues, refreshed and renewed from their summer holidays.

"Alice, I was so sorry to hear about you and Pete," he jutted out his bottom lip in a childlike pout "I want you to know that if you need anything, my door is always open. I like to make sure my staff is well looked after. Such a shame you found a lodger before you could meet Tarquin. I think you two would have really hit it off."

Alice told herself later that she had deliberately stuffed her mouth with sausage roll the minute she had seen him make a beeline for her in order to stop herself from biting him, but in her heart she had to admit that it had only been a fortunate accident. Nevertheless she had arrived home and slept in her gym clothes, resolving to wake up the next morning and pull herself together. Teddy and the rest of the band had been texting and emailing, imploring her to make a date with them to rehearse as they had a few gigs lined up in September. She had to get it together.

And then there had been Hermione. Alice had forgotten how sweet her childhood friend had been. A couple of days after they had met for coffee, Hermione had sent another Facebook message asking Alice if she would like to meet her, along with George and her fiancé Ron for a coffee 'unless you've already found someone amongst the people you were meeting this week?'

Alice had stared at the screen for a moment before remembering her fib. She had had a few more messages about friends of friends but thus far had yet to come across anyone remotely suitable. Was she the only person in her circle of friends who didn't own a bong? Somehow if he was associated with Hermione, Alice suspected that this at the very least, would not be a problem with George.

'Haven't been successful so far,' she admitted in her reply 'would be delighted to meet you all. When and where?'

They had met in the same cafe in Leicester square. Hermione's fiancé Ron was a sweet looking man who obviously doted on his betrothed. He and his older brother George had the reddest hair she had ever seen on anyone outside of a cartoon. Alice shook hands with both of them and the four of them sat in awkward silence whilst waiting for a barista to take their order. Alice had taken the opportunity to covertly study her potential lodger.

Tall, very tall. Lean, verging on slightly gangly. Handsome, if you like the shy, haunted look. His missing ear was not nearly as much of a distraction as she had anticipated that it would be. Alice wondered why he hadn't opted for reconstructive surgery. He stared mostly at the table or at the menu. Not glued to a smartphone, she noticed, choosing to see that as refreshing. Was he still suffering very much with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? He didn't really act like an ex-soldier. His hands and fingers were nimble but calloused, tapping out a nervous rhythm on the tablecloth. His eyes met hers briefly and he flashed an apologetic but ultimately empty smile at her. Alice felt sad for him.

"So George, remind me what it is you do? Hermione mentioned it but I've forgotten..." She'd inquired as the Barista set their coffees down on the table.

George's eyes flashed up to hers once more and he cleared his throat awkwardly, as though he hadn't been expecting to have to talk "I'm... I own a joke shop."

"The best joke shop in London." Ron had contributed proudly, smiling encouragingly at his older brother before wincing slightly and turning wounded eyes on Hermione. George had glared over the rim of his coffee cup at Ron momentarily before turning back to Alice "I've... decided to take some time away from the business. Someone else will handle the shop for a while."

Alice nodded, wondering why this admission had been cause for Hermione to stop Ron from talking about the joke shop "Do you have any plans for your time away from the business?" A thought struck her. Perhaps George was planning to travel – wasn't that what 'taking time out' meant these days? Maybe he just wanted to use the flat as a base while he island-hopped in Thailand or something. Her spirits lifted slightly; maybe this wouldn't be the disaster she had thought.

Hermione had jumped in then, asking Alice how things were going at the university. The rest of coffee had passed with a marginal undercurrent of awkwardness, much like a blind date. Alice had arrived home and messaged Hermione to ask when George wanted to move in.

And so, here she was, watching the rain batter the streets and waiting in for her new lodger to arrive so she could furnish him with his keys and hopefully not see him for at least three weeks. He was only a little late, but Alice had promised the band she would be there to rehearse that night and didn't want to have to catch the tube in the rush hour. George didn't have a car, so Alice had assumed that she was watching for a cab to pull up. When the downstairs doorbell rang and there was still no sign of a taxi, Alice hadn't expected to open the door to find a soaking wet George stood on the step, flaming hair plastered to his forehead and his coat collar and shoulders up around his ears (or, ear) to keep the rain from running down his neck. Next to him stood a gothic looking trunk on its end and nothing else.

Alice stared at him for moment dumbfounded, opening and closing her mouth but unable to make words. The sounds of rain filled the air around them as they stood frozen in one another's presence, the cold autumn air filling the hallway. Eventually, Alice found her voice "I... you... I didn't see a cab."

George stared at her. His eyes were brown and looked as though a smile hadn't reached them in a very long time "I didn't take a cab."

Alice motioned to the trunk "Then how did you...?"

George glanced down at his luggage before turning his gaze back to her "It's uh- it's not as heavy as it looks."

"Oh." They stared at one another for a moment longer before George cleared his throat uncomfortably "Do you think I could... come in?"

Alice realised she was essentially barring him from entering the building and blushed heavily "Oh god! I'm so sorry, please come in..."

Getting George's trunk up to the first floor proved the logistical nightmare Alice had envisaged it would be. By the time they reached her landing, George had shed his overcoat and sweater and was leaning against the trunk breathing heavily, beads of perspiration replacing the raindrops on his forehead. Alice lay with her head on the landing, her legs hanging down the staircase "What was that you said about it not being heavy?" she panted, her field of vision littered with stars. George huffed a small laugh and Alice assumed that was the best she was likely to get from him.

It took another twenty minutes of solid struggling and heaving and pushing before the trunk was finally in the room Alice was letting out to George. She watched as he stood in the middle of the space, acclimatising himself to his new surroundings. He seemed to be in a daze and despite this being her flat, her spare bedroom, she felt as though she were intruding on a private moment. Her eyes drifted to her watch and she gasped as she realised that she was going to be late for her rehearsal. Looking up, she noticed George looking at her with a question in his eyes and she smiled apologetically "Listen, I'm sorry to dash but I have a rehearsal with my band tonight..." She delved into her back pocket for the keys she'd had cut that morning and held them out for him to take "These are for you. Welcome." Their hands touched briefly as George reached for the keys and Alice thought how warm his fingers were "Thank you." He said quietly. Alice bobbed her head and smiled awkwardly. For a moment they stood and stared at one another again.

"Don't you have to...?" George gestured and Alice's eyes widened as she realised that she was supposed to be leaving "Of course! Sorry! I'll... see you." She garbled as she backed out of the room and closing the door behind her, pausing in the hallway for a moment to mentally slap herself on the forehead. Idiot.

X

George watched out of the window as Alice left the building and put her umbrella up as she hurried along the street in the direction of the tube station. He waited until she was out of sight before venturing out into the flat.

It was... homey. The surfaces weren't as cluttered as The Burrow, but it felt lived in and comfortable. George spotted several spaces on the walls where photographs had probably been up until recently. The living room was tidy but cramped, with an entire wall devoted to books and another to a piano and guitar. He noticed an expensive looking set of machines set up near the sofa along with some electronic earmuffs and made a mental to note to ask Hermione or his father about them at some point. Stepping into the kitchen, he nearly blanched at the sight of several more complicated machines with spouts and spokes. Did muggles really need all of these contraptions to function every day?

It was getting dark outside, and George instinctively reached for his wand before remembering that he was supposed to be living without magic for the foreseeable. Technically he didn't have to give up magic until he had applied to the Ministry and been approved for relocation, but Hermione had made the (as usual) sensible point that if he was really proposing give up magic altogether, then now was as good a time as any to start. His mother had been thoroughly displeased when she had learned of George's plans, but had been placated when she realised that her son would be attempting to live without the magic that had been part of his every waking moment since birth. Convinced that he wouldn't last long, she had supplied him with a parcel containing several of the everyday magical items he would need when he eventually admitted to himself that he was unable to manage. Among these was Floo powder which Molly Weasley had tearfully handed over 'just in case you need us, dear.' George had hugged his mother tighter than he had been able to in a long time.

Returning to his room, George sat on the edge of the bed and stared around him. Spying his trunk in the corner, his mind drifted back to his and Alice's attempts to get it into the flat and silently berated himself for not considering that when he had apparated from Ottery St Catchpole into the alley next to Alice's building. George allowed himself a small smile as he remembered Alice's face, reddened by exertion as she had helped him to heave the massive item up the stairs. She seemed like a nice woman, if a little sad. George wondered if it had anything to do with the empty spaces where photographs used to be all over the flat.

"At least neither of us will torment each other with our blissful happiness..." George murmured to himself. Outside, the rain still poured. George hadn't yet figured out how to turn on the lights in the flat without using magic and the late afternoon bleakness had now given way to fully fledged dark. Suddenly, he was deathly tired and his damp clothes seemed to weigh a ton. He hadn't slept properly since before Fred... George shook his head to clear it of thoughts that could make his mood any darker than it already was. He slept when he could - odd snatches here and there. He mostly avoided sleep because that was when he dreamed, replaying that night over and over again. Shedding his shirt where he sat, he reclined on the bed to rest his eyes for a few moments and felt the pull of slumber luring him. He knew it wouldn't be worth it. But the bed was soft and the flat was mesmerisingly quiet. It was nothing like home, where he knew every sound, every creak. Where he could tell who was home by the sound of their footfalls. It was a comfort, knowing that nothing here would remind him of Fred.