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 6 – Dial

George sat on the end of the bed, staring at the floo powder in his hands. He couldn't explain why, when he had been stood in the bar watching Alice's band setting up their instruments he had suddenly and desperately wanted to speak with someone, anyone from home. Alice's friend from work had tried to keep a friendly conversation going but he had been completely distracted as he had watched his landlady move about the stage.

One of the blokes in the band had been a bit… off. There had been something familiar about him, something George hadn't been able to put his finger on. Not something good, though. George knew that there had been rumours within the ministry that some of Voldemort's followers had escaped following the second war and were living as muggles instead of answering for their crimes. So far, nothing had been proven but despite the war being over for years, it was still early days when it came to exposing how deep the Dark Lord's network ran. He had watched furtively as the bloke strolled arrogantly around the stage, occasionally stopping to talk to Alice and the rest of the band. When Alice wasn't looking he would glance over at George and smirk. Something about the way he kept finding ways to touch her made him desperately uncomfortable. In the end he had made his excuses to Alice's friend and left.

And now he sat, wanting to speak with someone but unsure what to say, part of him wanting simply to hear a voice from home. Whose voice, though? When the one voice he would give anything to hear wasn't there anymore.

Part of him wanted to resist using any magic. He had done well so far; barely missing it. Everyday tasks were becoming simpler and he had begun to convince himself that living without magic for the rest of his life wouldn't be so hard. Harry and Hermione and the other muggleborns at Hogwarts had lived for years without it.

Hermione.

George looked towards his trunk. Hadn't she given him something he could use to contact her the muggle way? What had she called it? A mobile or something? He moved to kneel in front of the trunk and began to rummage through it, eventually finding the little black box his soon to be sister-in-law had gifted him when Alice had agreed to him lodging with her "You can use this to contact me at any time," she had said, giving him a brief lesson on the device's use "I mean it George; if you ever need me then you only need to call."

George fumbled with the machine, which felt heavy and alien in his hands. He wondered if Alice had one of these – he couldn't see what good it would be. he fiddled around with it and eventually, the screen said 'Calling Hermione Granger' and from it he could hear a faint chirruping follow by a miniscule voice "Hello?"

"Hermione?" George stared at the phone in his hand "Are you there?"

"George, I can barely hear you – hold the mobile closer to your ear!"

George held the machine tenderly to his good ear "Like this?"

"That's better," Hermione's voice sounded closer now "Are you alright?"

"Aside from feeling completely ridiculous using this contraption, yes." George could almost hear his friend's wry smile "You get used to it. I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"Sorry. This is all still quite new for me. How is everyone?"

Hermione sighed "About as well as usual," she paused, and her voice became gentler "Your mother came through on the floo tonight because your hand moved."

George's stomach clenched as he thought of the clock above the kitchen hearth in the Burrow's kitchen. Ever since Fred died, George's hand had stayed without fail on 'Lost' "Where did it move to?"

"Apparently it didn't actually go anywhere, but it shook and creaked a bit. I'm not sure where she thought it was going to go." Hermione didn't need to say where his mother had been worried his hand would go. They were both silent for a moment; George could hear the phone fizzing in his ear. Finally Hermione spoke "How are you finding living with Alice?"

"It's... fine, I suppose. We don't see much of each other. She invited to me go and see her singing tonight." George didn't mention that he had left after before they had even started their set because Alice's bandmate had kept staring at him from across the room and in the end George had been so disquieted by it that he couldn't stay. He had seemed so familiar... where had George seen him before? There was something niggling at the back of his mind that he couldn't place.

"That's wonderful! Did you have a good time?" Hermione sounded pleased for him "Is her band any good?"

"Quite good I think." George lied "Alice has a nice voice."

"She always did, even when we were very young. I'm glad she didn't stop just because her mother didn't like it and her sister used to tease her terribly. You wouldn't think a six year old could be so spiteful."

George tried to piece together in his mind what could possibly make someone want their child to stop singing (unless of course they were really bloody awful). Jealousy, maybe? "I don't think her sister is much nicer now, although she seems to have moved on from teasing and decided just to go straight to taking her boyfriend."

"From what I remember of Sarah, that doesn't surprise me." Hermione said grimly "Poor Alice; no wonder she looked so wrung out when I went to meet her about your room."

They chatted idly for a little longer before George heard a voice in the background "Is that Ron?"

"Yes, do you want to speak with him? Ron, George is on the phone… Because he's living in muggle London, that's why... I think the phone probably is as good as the floo network, Ronald... Because at least with a phone you don't have to rely on finding a bloody great fireplace just so you can speak with-" an impatient sigh "Look, do you want to speak to your brother or not?"

Eventually, after some shuffling and cursing – mainly from Hermione, surprisingly – George felt his heart ache at the sound of his youngest brother's voice "George?"

"Ron?"

"This is bloody weird."

"Too right."

"How are you?" George winced; how was he supposed to answer that? 'I know you're being kind, but I dream nightly about standing over my twin's dead body and when I am awake I can't look in a mirror without being reminded of how there's only half of me left. Oh, and if you stand to my left I can't hear you, thanks for asking.'

George didn't say that. Instead he said "I'm fine. How are the wedding plans?"

Ron's voice lowered "I heard mum and Ginny talking about Doves yesterday."

George raised an eyebrow "That sounds... reserved."

"George, you have to help me." Ron's voice was low and urgent "They're unstoppable!"

"What does Hermione think of all of this?"

"She thinks it's funny! She keeps telling me not to worry; that all ideas start big and crazy and eventually they boil away to something more manageable."

"Well, on the one hand Hermione is never wrong." George rested his back against the end of his bed and ran his free hand over the carpet, feeling the rough fibres beneath his fingers. There was something comforting about having your nearest and dearest's voice right next to your ear. It was almost more intimate that looking right into their face as they stared up at you from the fire.

"And on the other hand?"

"There's mum and Ginny."

Ron groaned.