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 Nine – Disinfect

Alice glared at redhead, shaking her hand to try and rid it of the chill "Were you by any chance a complete knobhead when you were alive, Fred The Ghost?"

Fred The Ghost shrugged "I preferred to think of George and I as handsome court jesters, but it very much depends who you ask. Also, do you think you could find it in you to just call me Fred? Fred The Ghost doesn't have an especially attractive ring to it."

"That's what's concerning you? That your label doesn't have the right cadence?"

Fred winked at her "Names are important, Miss Clark."

Out of habit, Alice drew herself up imperiously "Actually, it's Dr Clark."

"See? Important. I'll be seeing you soon." Alice had expected him to disappear in a manner befitting a ghost (although in fairness most of her reference points for knowing how a ghost exits a room came from Scooby-Doo), but instead he simply strolled out of the living room, seemingly heading for the front door. After a moment or two, curiosity got the better of her and she crept over to stick her head out into the hallway. It was empty.

What the hell just happened?

Fighting her desire to march to the nearest hospital and demand a CAT scan, she made another coffee to replace her cold one and wandered about the flat restlessly, unable to settle. Eventually, frustrated and still in minor shock, she hurled several cushions from the sofa onto the floor and reclined onto them, staring at the ceiling.

She could write this off as part of her disorder. Just put it to the back of her mind and hope Fred never made an appearance again. It would be a hell of a leap seeing as the music had long stopped playing by the time Fred had even spoken to her, added to the fact that although she had been known to see people before, they had never actually engaged in a full blown conversation with her. However, Alice found herself unnerved enough by the previous half hour's events that she was willing to stretch her rationalisations into new territories. What was it Fred had said? Kid herself that she was having a breakdown?

Alice sipped her coffee and smiled as a memory of the night before with Daniel surfaced unbidden and interrupted her ruminations. The thought proved near intoxicating and Alice felt her train of thought slipping away from her current predicament to when she might see him again. He didn't own a mobile phone, which for an adult male in the twenty-first century seemed rebellious and aloof. He didn't want to be part of the system, Alice thought with a shiver. Boy, was she going off the deep end on this one.

X

George trudged up the stairs, his muscles aching. He was exhausted, filthy and his arms were covered in tiny cuts, but he felt strangely elated - more so than he had for a while. The work had been heavy, but the space had been less difficult to clear than the gnome-infested hell adjacent to the Burrow. At least he knew that he was unlikely to come across a particularly toothy Jarvey in Arlene's garden. The older lady had been grateful, plying him with more tea and cake than he had eaten for months insisting that he was far too thin for her liking.

Eventually, he had managed to excuse himself by promising to visit again soon, ruffled Driscoll's fur and left Arlene's flat loaded with the cake that she had insisted he take with him. Pausing in the hallway, he frowned. He had expected to hear music coming from the flat he shared with Alice and was vaguely perturbed (and strangely disappointed) to hear only silence as he broached the landing. He had been shifting branches outside when the faint sounds of a piano and a clear, soulful voice floating from the upstairs flat had reached him, carried on the chilly October air. Arlene had cocked her head, hearing it as well "What a beautiful sound. Is your landlady a professional musician?" George had made some vague response about her working at a university, his attention almost fully diverted by the music. Alice was singing a muggle song that he didn't know, something about finding a busy, happy place where you couldn't be lonely or sad anymore. No prizes for guessing why that had spoken to him.

George let himself into the flat and made his way to the kitchen to find room for the cake. He almost didn't see Alice lying on her back on the living room floor, propped up by cushions and a languid, dreamy smile playing on her lips. George raised his free hand and gave her an awkward wave "Hi."

Alice looked up with a smile before frowning at the state of him "Wow. You look like you've been busy." She pulled herself up and sat facing him, her legs crossed as she stared up at him from the floor. For some reason, George found the pose oddly endearing "I met the new neighbour today," He explained "Her dog was trapped in the garden so after I got him out, I offered to clear it for her."

"That was kind of you. Is she nice?" Alice hopped to her feet and came over to inspect the cake. As she got closer, she caught sight of the multiple cuts littering George's arms and hands "Ouch. Are you sure one cake was enough? I'd have asked for at least two based on injuries alone."

"They're not too bad…" George tried, realising with a sinking feeling even as he said it that a healing charm was probably out of the question in his new magic-free existence. Alice reached out to prod a particularly sore cut and he flinched. She offered a sympathetic grimace "Sorry. These cuts are filthy. There's some TCP in the kitchen if you need it."

"Thanks." George tried to look as though he understood what TCP was. Alice followed him into the kitchen and began to hunt the cupboards "Thanks for coming to the gig last night, by the way."

"Thanks for inviting me. Your band is very good." George lied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Alice smiled at him playfully "Abigail told me you didn't stay." She opened a cupboard and stood on her tiptoes, stretching up to retrieve a small glass bottle from a high shelf. She handed it to him and George stammered as he tried to explain "I'm sorry, I just – I didn't-"

"George, it's fine. It's not everyone's scene. Plus, Abigail's great but if you've never met her before it's a bit like being run over by the Death Star." Alice brushed his arm briefly and with a touch that was feather light.

George gave her an embarrassed smile "It wasn't that," He said quietly, unsure why he felt it was important to be truthful with Alice – at least as truthful as he could be. He unscrewed the bottle, grimacing at the chemical scent as he brought it to his lips "It was the first time I'd been anywhere so busy and public since-" Alice's eyes widened and she grabbed for his wrist before he could drink "What are you doing?"

George froze with the bottle next to his mouth "Am I not supposed to drink this?"

"Well that depends, are you planning on visiting casualty anytime soon?" Alice rolled her eyes and took the bottle from him "Boys are ridiculous." She grabbed a bowl and poured some of the liquid into it "What were you saying?"

George dipped his head, trying to control the furious blush that made his face burn "It's nothing."

X

"Were you singing earlier?" They were sat at the kitchen table and George, once again, had been forced to relinquish his shirt. Alice glanced up from where she was tending to George's cuts. Was it his imagination, or did she look a little bit nervous? "You heard that?"

George nodded "You're very good."

Alice smiled bashfully "Thank you." She went back to dabbing the stuff that George had nearly drunk on his cuts. It stung and the smell was unpleasant, but she was gentle in her ministrations.

"Have you always liked music?" Alice nodded "Ever since before I could remember. I think I sang before I talked."

"But you didn't want to play or sing professionally?"

Alice gave a shrug "My mother didn't want me to learn so I didn't start to play properly until I could afford my own lessons. I sang a little bit in groups and choirs when I was younger but she didn't really like that either. By the time I realised it wasn't about what made her happy I had found other ways to pay the bills and music has turned out to be this amazing hobby that never lets me down and never makes me feel wrong or unhappy."

"Your mother didn't like you singing?" George remembered how puzzled he had been when Hermione had said something similar when they had spoken the night before. He winced as Alice dabbed at a particularly deep cut and she sent him an apologetic glance "Sorry. It wasn't that she didn't like the singing. She didn't like that I wasn't normal. She didn't like that I didn't react normally to music and sound." Seeing George's confused expression, she raised an eyebrow "Hermione didn't tell you?" George shook his head wordlessly and Alice frowned, trying to think of a way to explain.

"I have a condition called synaesthesia. It's a sort of… wiring issue, neurologically. My senses are misaligned. Put simply, I can see sounds."

George stared at her for a moment and Alice felt strangely exposed under his gaze. She avoided meeting his eyes, instead turning back to applying the TCP to his cuts. She didn't often tell people she didn't know that well about her condition and with the exception of Hermione, the people she had told had reacted as though it was a burdensome disease or a symptom of some deeper underlying unnaturalness. She took a deep breath and hurried on "It's not an illness or anything, I'm not sick. I just… see things differently sometimes."

"That… is incredible." Alice looked up in surprise to see George looking at her with open fascination "What's it like? To be able to see music?"

Alice sat back in her chair and thought for a moment "It's… a bit like losing control. But in a good way. I feel like I'm wrapped up in the sound and so I'm stronger. I feel like nothing can touch me and that I'm way above everything else, like I'm-"

"-Flying." George finished for her softly. She had described exactly how had always felt whenever he had been on his broomstick on the Quidditch pitch. Alice nodded and they grinned at one another shyly before Alice went back to dabbing at George's cuts. They were silent for a moment before George spoke again "Did you always know you were special?" he asked quietly.

Alice's gaze flitted up to meet George's once more and she gave a surprised grin in which he couldn't help but notice a trace of bitterness. He frowned "Did I say something wrong?"

She shook her head "Not at all, it's just… that's not a word that's been used to describe it before." She smiled at him and for the briefest of moments, George felt something spark inside of him, affording his cold soul the tiniest bit of warmth "No; I always thought I was just like everyone else until I made some offhand comment about Pink Floyd to my mother, who immediately marched me to several different doctors to be told that I wasn't dying but I also wasn't normal." Alice sniffed "You can imagine her horror."

"What about your father? What does he think?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Alice shrugged "He left before I was born."

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to pry..."

"Honestly, it's fine..." Alice stood up and went to the sink to pour away the leftover TCP and George could sense that she wasn't comfortable continuing the conversation. He stood, feeling nervous again suddenly, unsure of what to do with his hands and feeling vulnerable without his shirt on "Thank you… for doing this. And for not letting me drink that stuff." Alice turned back from the sink and gave him a bright smile that he didn't quite believe "You're welcome, George."

They stood looking at one another awkwardly for a moment. George wanted nothing more than to retreat to the safety of his room but a small, stubborn part of his brain was unwilling to leave matters as they were with Alice. If Fred were here, he would know the exact joke to make to ease the tension, something jovial, inappropriate and probably vaguely flirty. George had stopped counting how many times he had wished Fred were there in the early days when the instances had already numbered in their thousands.

But Fred wasn't here. And standing in front of him was a girl who had spent her entire life being made to feel wrong simply for existing. A girl who in spite of that, had decided that she would be herself anyway. A girl who was trying her best to be happy regardless of whether she felt she belonged or not.

"I meant what I said," He said quietly, staring at his feet "It is special, the way you see the world. And you're brave for not pretending that you're like everyone else. I was lucky; I grew up around people who saw being different as something to be embraced. But I know it's not like that for everyone."

Alice's features softened. The bright, false smile was replaced with something altogether warmer and more genuine "Thank you, George." She whispered. George returned her smile with a shy one of his own "You're welcome."