"George, we'd better get going before the sun comes up," a young woman said as she slung a large basket on her shoulder.

It had been almost two years since George Weasley left the wizarding world. He spent the first two months traveling Europe, sending postcards to his family saying he's in a somewhat alright condition. What they didn't know is that he had been living as a Muggle for most of the time.

"Yeah, I'll still deliver these to the distillers."

"I think I'll go with you today."

George rolled his eyes. He had met Olivia at the last leg of his tour. She owned a small flower farm and fruit orchard in the south of France and he managed to end up working with her there. Apart from company, she had been teaching him the finer points of Muggle living such as driving a car and using electrical gadgets and equipment. George was not surprised at his father's curiosity at Muggles after he experienced it firsthand.

"Miscommunication my foot. It wasn't my fault he couldn't understand my French!"

Olivia guffawed at George's rantings as they supervised the workers loading the truck with many more baskets of flowers.

"Maybe it was your pronounciation…. You don't roll your R!"

"Enough lecture, Miss Know-It-All," George opened the door for her, "I'm driving."

Olivia pouted, "It's unfair! I'm driving."

"I drive, you translate. Got it?" George climbed up to the driver's seat.

"Fine."

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"Now that harvest is over, it's time to celebrate!" Olivia said happily as she opened a bottle of wine.

"Nah, you go ahead. I'd better get some sleep…"

"Listen here, Mr. I'm-So-Boring Weasley, we will celebrate whether you like it or not!" Olivia gave him a glass full of wine.

"So what's the story with you?" George asked Olivia when they were already on their second glass.

"What story? There's nothing to talk about!"

"The story of your life before we met."

"Oh that….. erm…. I had a somewhat alright childhood. My father was a perfume distiller. My mother worked at the farm. One day, they were back home in England when they met an accident. I was in boarding school here then. An orphan of age seventeen…. My parents were the only family I ever had."

Olivia took another sip and peered at George, "What about you? What's your story?"

"A very long story…" George looked at his watch, "It's very late. I think we both should go to bed…"

He slowly got up and walked towards the staircase.

Olivia threw the cork at him and slurred, "You're bloody unfair!"

George chuckled, "Get some sleep!"

While he sat on his bed, he pulled the drawer knob and pulled out a picture.

The picture was not like any other picture. The people there were waving at him. When he looked at the red-haired boy who threw his arm around him, a single tear fell down his face.

"Good night, Fred."