A/N: So… I know that last chapter was crap, but you can't have it all, right? Sorry this chapter took so long to get out, but work and my love life have been rather hectic as of late, preventing me from writing. I'm also packing up to leave for college, woot! Hope you enjoy this, even though I couldn't get the breaker bars to work! Remember, reviews make me write faster!

!Chapter 2: Lionel and the Seagraves!

"Are you really sure this is the best way to go, George?"

The twins were standing atop a hill overlooking Ottery St. Catchpole, the muggle village the Weasleys lived about three miles from. It had been a tedious walk so early in the day, Fred thought, yawning. He glared over at his twin, who was just too chipper for such an unholy hour.

"Yes, Fred, I do. See, there's the village right there." George pointed toward the town below, windows glittering in the mid-morning light.

Ottery St. Catchpole was roughly the size of Hogsmeade, but with more residential housing and fewer magical folk (Arthur said that only the Lovegoods and Mr. and Mrs. Diggory also inhabited the area). Each house, the twins came to notice, boasted marvelous rose gardens and vividly green climbing ivy. Had there not been cars parked in the driveways, the homes may have come straight out of centuries gone by. One even had a Ford Anglia, though it was a pale, rusty red, rather than the blue the Weasleys' had been before it had left them to live in the Forbidden Forest.

"No!" Fred muttered, pushing on his brother's shoulder. "I mean, do you really think we should be getting muggle jobs? We don't know a bloody thing about—"

"Relax!" He held up his hands to calm Fred. "I've done some studying on the subject. Did you really think we'd be going into this blindly?"

George reached into his knapsack, which Molly had insisted they take to keep their homemade lunches in, and produced a book titled, Muggles and How They Get Along Without Magic. He opened it and thumbed through the first few pages before he found what he was looking for. He scanned the page and then flipped to a page about halfway through the text.

"Muggles undertake work that most witches and wizards do not, such as ditch-digging and plumbing maintenance. In America, these are known as 'blue collar' jobs. However, quite a few muggles also have jobs that are fairly common in our world. These jobs include pharmacists (potion-makers and healers), inn owners, bookshop owners, bartenders, authors, post office employees (muggles do not use owls, however), and musicians, among other things." He snapped the book closed, satisfied, and smiled at Fred. "See? We can do this."

"I suppose…"

George put the book into his knapsack again and held out his hand. "Give me your wand, Fred. I'm putting them in my bag." He withdrew his own wand from his pocket and put it in to show Fred he wouldn't be cheating.

"What if I need it?"

He cocked a brow. "What could you need it for?"

Fred thought for a moment. "Might get attacked by a bi-trickle."

George rolled his eyes. "That happened when we were seven, Fred, it's time to let it go."

"Easy for you to say! You weren't almost killed by a two-wheeled maniac!"

"Easy for me to say? Hah! I pushed you out of the way and got clipped with the handly-bars! That's where I got this scar!" He pointed to the small scar in his hairline for emphasis.

Fred restrained himself from saying anything. Instead, he sighed, and George followed suit. This was their way of agreeing that the matter was dropped. Fred handed over his wand and George tucked it safely into a small pocket next to his. He zipped up the bag and the two exchanged a resolved look.

"Do you think we dressed right for this?"

"I think so. The book said that muggles dress up a bit when they go looking for jobs. It said that lads go in slacks, dress shirts, and ties. I think we ought to be safe in these."

The only dress clothes that either of them owned were the moth-eaten robes they had worn to the Yule Ball, and George's research had proved them to be inappropriate. He had cross-checked with a Muggle Studies book that Hermione had left during her last visit, just to be sure. So the twins had put on their school uniforms, minus cloaks and sweaters, and had called it good. They were dressed as well as they could be, in black slacks that were beginning to turn gray, white button-up shirts that they had spent half the morning vanishing stains off of, and their Gryffindor ties. Fred was yet to tuck his shirt in.

"Well, here we go, then."

The streets of Ottery St. Catchpole were cobbled and crooked. Fred and George spent a good chunk of time wandering past houses, which would have taken muggles about five minutes, as they were busy staring at mailboxes, sprinklers, garage doors that were opening and closing, children playing on Slip'n'Slides, and a man operating a weed-whacker. Needless to say, they got some odd looks from people that walked by, and some of the people in the yards. Yet, there were a couple of children who seemed to be just as interested in staring at them.

Fred winked at a little boy who waved at them.

By the time they reached the part of town with all the shops in it, it was about eleven o'clock and both were starving. They chose a bench beneath a shady tree in the town square and sat down to eat their sandwiches. George opened his bag and pulled them out, handing one to Fred before tearing into his own.

Aside from the red hair, the stubbornness, and the tendency to blush, one way to tell a Weasley from anyone else was their ability to make food vanish almost instantaneously. Draco Malfoy often said that this was because they had so little food that they devoured anything they came across just to ensure survival. Ron often called him some very foul names after this and had points docked by Snape.

The sandwiches (corned beef and cheddar, much to George's chagrin, as he disliked cheddar) were gone quickly, but the pumpkin juice lingered. The twins sat, taking in the sights of the town and watching muggles go about their business. Despite having lived in the area their entire lives, they had only been to Ottery St. Catchpole a handful of times. Those times had been quite adventurous, as they had always been on their father's birthday. Arthur Weasley adored going in to town to look at muggle devices, and it had been his fascination that had led him to neglect his twin sons for too long. Molly had nearly clanged him in the head with a frying pan when she saw that George was bleeding and Fred was scraped up from being pushed out of the way of a bit-rickle.

"Well, where do you suppose we should start?"

"I'm not quite sure… I've got to use the loo, first of all." Fred got to his feet and brushed off his trousers. He glanced around the square and spotted a small establishment that looked fairly promising as far as cleanliness went. "Be right back."

George shrugged and took another swig of his pumpkin juice.

!Inside Lione's Cafe!

When Fred swung open the door to Lionel's Café, his first thought was that the world was ending.

There were people everywhere. They were swarming the counter, asking for drinks that were terribly hard to pronounce, let alone remember. Others were crowding tables and complaining about the prices of petrol. Still others were racing around with empty mugs and glasses, pushing sweaty hair from their faces and wiping sticky fingers on their aprons. The clanging of dishes was very audible, even amongst the din of dozens of conversations.

"Oy, could you move please?"

Fred jumped out of the way of a man carrying a large tub of dishes and decided that perhaps he ought to look elsewhere for a restroom. He turned to open the door, dodging two other people before he could even reach for the handle. Someone bumped into him just as he extended his arm, the door handle turned, and the door swung forward. A searing sensation spread through his fingers when they collided with the wood of the door, and he yanked his hand back.

Next thing Fred knew, a sharp pain was undulating from his nose and a crowd of people was huddled over him, asking if he was alright. It felt as though his nose was in the back of his throat and it suddenly seemed that "How many fingers am I holding up?" was the hardest question he'd ever been asked.

"What happened?" he asked, struggling to regain his balance as someone struggled just as hard to get him to his feet.

"I'm so sorry! I was late for work and I didn't even think that somebody would be so close to the door when I—oh, you're bleeding!"

She was small, standing only high enough to reach his elbow. Her light brown hair was tied up in a messy ponytail and her golden wire-rimmed glasses were askew. Her sneakers were untied, which she only noticed when Fred accidentally stepped on one of the laces and they both nearly took another trip to the floor. Her green apron was crooked and, Fred thought, she had some of the most stunningly dark blue eyes in the world.

"Oy! Budge up!" she scolded, nudging a man who was sitting on a stool they had been slowly moving toward. "Can't you see he's injured?"

The man darted away with his cup of peppermint tea and the girl helped Fred to sit down. She took a tissue out of her pocket and handed it to him. He accepted it and applied pressure to his nose. She pulled up a seat beside him, still looking terribly worried at what she had done to him.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded. "Sure. Nothing that can't be healed by a simple po—" he stopped, remembering he was supposed to be a muggle. "Pop to the doctor."

"Are you sure? I feel simply awful!" She reached out and put a sympathetic hand on his upper arm.

"Laura! Shouldn't you be working?" A man with a thick mustache and a very horrible pair of orange shoes demanded, stalking over to them.

She whirled around on her seat to look at him. "Sorry, Lionel, but I just hit this lad in the face with the door and I about killed him."

"It's true," Fred interjected. He wasn't about to let this girl get in trouble with her boss over him. "I was turning to leave, and, well, I don't really remember anything until she helped me off the floor—"

"I think I knocked him out, actually. I was running a bit late because my car wouldn't start-- I, look, I'm terribly, horribly, awfully sorry, Lionel. I'll stay late every night for a week!"

This seemed to soften Lionel's expression. "Don't worry about it, Laura. You haven't been Employee of the Month four times for nothing. I can allow you a slip-up once in a while, right?" He smiled and clapped a hand on her shoulder. He turned his eyes on Fred. "As for you, young sir, can I get you anything? An ice pack? Lemonade? Coffee?"

Fred shook his head. "No thanks. I just came in to use the loo before heading off on a job search. Nothing to drink, believe me."

"Oh, well, the loo's right around the corner. And when you're finished, I'd like to have a word with you. Laura, off with you, then."

When Fred finished cleaning the blood off his face, he ventured back into the café, only to find that quite a few of the customers had disappeared to other tourist attractions. He glanced around for Lionel, wondering what on Earth he could possibly want. He did not suspect that he was somehow in trouble, as Lionel's tone had not indicated any wrath was to be hashed out. He caught sight of the café owner cleaning out some type of machine behind the counter, and sauntered over.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

Lionel swiveled his head to look at Fred. "Ah, yes. What's your name?"

"Fred Weasley."

Lionel extended his hand to shake Fred's. "Excellent to meet you, Fred. I'm Lionel Cartwright and this is my establishment."

"Lovely place," Fred replied, quite unsure as to where this conversation was going.

"Thank you. Anyway, I recall you saying that you were searching for a job today?"

His face split into a devilish, trademark Weasley-twin grin. "I am."

"Fantastic! I've been in need of an extra set of hands the last couple of weeks and I think we could work something out. Have you ever worked in a café before?" His voice was somewhat over-excited, and Fred had to bite back he urge to giggle.

"Well, no, but I'm very willing to learn." Then he remembered George. "Oh, and if you need a couple of sets of extra hands, my brother George is looking for a job as well."

Lionel looked crest-fallen. "Oh, well, as much as we need it, I can't fit any more on my payroll without schedules clashing. I have a couple of baristas and waiters who can only work certain shifts… otherwise I'd take your offer. Give your brother my sympathies."

An internal struggle was brewing inside of Fred. Could he take on his first job without George? Could he take on any job without George? Or was it time… that long-dreaded time that both twins had known would come? The time would they would have to begin doing things separately? Was this the first step down a road that would turn them into average siblings, rather than Gred and Forge?

"Well, I—"

"Your hours would be from one until closing, same as Laura's. We usually close around eight o'clock, but on busy nights we stay open until at least nine. Laura would train you and you could start as soon as you would like. Take a day to weigh out your options and talk to your brother, then come back and see me tomorrow."

Well, there wasn't much room for argument there.

"I was starting to think you'd died," George joked as he saw Fred approaching. He knit his brows and narrowed his eyes. "Are you bleeding?"

Fred shrugged nonchalantly and pulled the tissue away from his nose to see if the bleeding had ceased. "Not much."

He lifted a brow. "Why are you bleeding?"

He shrugged again. "Got hit with a door."

"Oh. Well, alright. Ready to head off on the hunt?" George got up and began to repack his bag.

Fred shuffled his feet uncomfortably. George chuckled. "I thought you just went to the loo."

"I did," Fred muttered. "Look, George… we need to talk."

!Later!

Dinner at the Burrow that evening was tense.

Fred and George were not sitting beside each other, nor were they speaking. Ginny, who was being used as the barrier sitting between them, was very edgy. She could not remember a single time in her life when the twins had been so defensive against each other. Molly had tried to coax them into telling her what was wrong, both separately and collectively, but neither had budged. Arthur had asked them if something had happened, and George had opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and shot a glare at Fred. Ron was too freaked out to say anything to anyone.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of the evening, however, was when Fred went upstairs to their bedroom…

And George slept on the couch.

!In Fred and George's Room!

It was ridiculous, Fred thought. It was ridiculous how George had reacted. Had it been absolutely necessary to throw his ice tea in his face? He rubbed at his nose a bit—it was still sore from when Laura had hit him with the door.

The fact of the matter was that they were seventeen now… it was time for them to do some things apart. It wasn't as if Fred wanted to move to New York and have George move to Tokyo or anything! It was just a stupid summer job. Just something to help pay for the up-and-coming Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Being apart of a summer would bring them closer than ever before, if you wanted to get technical about it.

It wasn't unreasonable.

Their entire lives, the only things they had done separately were shower, use the lavatory, and go on dates (well, sort of, as the other was always along with his date… okay—they kissed by themselves!) Why couldn't they branch out a bit? Why couldn't they—

The door creaked open and George slid into the room. Fred didn't expect much more than to have more liquids thrown in his face. He was stunned when George spoke without yelling or name-calling.

"Fred? You awake?" His voice as filled with dread.

Which it should have been, Fred thought, because he was very good at the Leg-Locker Curse. And he wouldn't lift it for a day, just to be spiteful.

"Yes," Fred snapped. "Come to throw something else at me?"

"No," he muttered shamefully. "I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have over-reacted…"

Fred sat up in bed, incredulous. "Over-reacted? You threw your drink in my face and would have strangled me with your bag handle if I hadn't tackled you!"

George sighed somewhere in the darkness. "I know… sorry, alright? I just… I've been thinking a lot lately about what it would be like if we were apart a bit. It's a scary thought, but that's all it was, then—a thought. And when you said that you'd been hired by yourself, I felt like… like I was losing you for a minute. And that made me so angry, Fred. I couldn't hold it in! When you said that you were thinking it was a good idea to be apart a little bit more, I thought… well, I don't know what I thought. I'm sorry, alright?"

Fred sat for a moment, contemplating his twin's words. "Alright… I didn't know, George. I'm sorry. I thought that you would be angry that I wanted to be away from you a bit, because we've always done everything together-- everything… I thought that was why you got so angry. Not because of… well, whatever it is you said. That you wanted the same thing and finally realized it, or whatever."

The air was thick with something neither could define. They were quiet for a moment.

"Do you think it's a good idea?" George asked.

"What?"

"Being apart for this? We don't really… function… away from each other." He struggled to find his next words. "Like… when we were eleven, and… we went to Hogwarts… and decided to try things out on our own because mum thought it would be good for us… and… it wasn't. We were both so upset by the end of the feast that you crept into my bed that night, and back out again before the sun came up. That was the only time we ever tried being apart… and it was so awful, Fred. I felt lost and incomplete and lonely… but lately I've been wondering if maybe we're better suited for it now. It's only a few hours a day, right?"

"Yeah…" Fred hated to admit that he had tears in his eyes. That first night at Hogwarts had been dreadful without George. How could he take a job without his twin?

"After I… after I stormed off, I stopped by this old couple's, the Seagraves', house in the village. They had up an ad about needing someone to do some general things around the house… I took the job, Fred."

Silence. Awkward, painful, heart-wrenching silence.

"Oh."

"I'll work the same hours as you… most of the time… dad says it'll be good for me to be around muggle tech-no-liggie… good on a resume. But I was thinking it'd come in handy for the joke shop." Even in the dark, Fred could hear George's smile.

"Excellent."

"So… everything's okay, then?"

"Right as rain."

And without knowing where the other was, they reached out, clasped hands, and did the secret handshake they had shared forever.

!Touching Moment!

The next morning, Molly creaked open the door to her sons' bedroom, and found that Fred had crept over to George's bed and slept on top of the covers, back to back with his brother.