Life was beginning to return to normal for most people. For the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and those directly involved in the battles, it was taking a little longer. The Ministry continued to be swamped, sorting out loyal employees from misguided ones, Death Eaters from those truly Imperiused. Death Eaters went into hiding once again, but many were hiding in plain sight, both at the Ministry and in the private sector. For those people who lost someone close, moving on had not been easy. For George Weasley, the only reason he was managing to function in this new world was because his family expected it of him as would his dead twin.
Each morning, when he looked at his reflection in the café windows, it was becoming less recognizable. He ran his palm over his stubbly beard, growing thicker each day. He only shaved it now when he saw his mum, and that was only because he knew that if he didn't, she would. He looked ghastly, so unlike his brother, who was now ghostly. He grimaced at the play on words happening inside his head. He didn't find anything funny anymore, but he had to keep the joke shop running. It was less fun and more work and his pathetic silent attempt at humour was also ghastly.
Fred was dead, and he would have expected no less than for George to move on. George knew that Fred would have done this living thing much better. George also knew that if the shop floundered, it would obviously be all his fault. He could never let that happen. The shop needed to continue. He could not disappoint his brother. He might be dead, but he would not be disappointed. The shop would continue to succeed, and he would honour Fred's memory by continuing on, however reluctantly. He just had to pull himself together like everyone else was doing.
He looked around at some of those people. Ollivander's remained closed, but Diagon Alley was slowly returning to its usual splendour. The ice cream shop adjacent to his shop had recently reopened with Mr. Fortescue's nephew as the new owner. Quinn Fortescue was a decent bloke, and George thought he might have his eye on Verity, George's skilled assistant. A new coffee shop had also opened only a few spaces away from both of their shops. It was here that George sat every morning drinking one cup of coffee while he looked at his second cup cooling. The decor was quite offensive to the eye – brightly coloured tables with matching chairs and umbrellas – orange, lime green, fuchsia, yellow, turquoise.
What was wrong with ordinary blue? George wondered, but they had really great coffee. Each of George's mornings began the same way – shower, check the till, check the inventory, pop to the café for a cup of strong black coffee, usually two or more.
Today, he sat at the table he usually did – the most offensively coloured table – fuchsia. This was the colour that most clashed with his bright red hair and his magenta work robes, and he loved the odd stare or two he would get as people saw the colours blend into each other, causing their eyes to water from the assault of repulsive colours all in one place. One elderly woman was looking at him, mouth agape, and nearly collided with a trolley filled with parcels for the animal shop. George smiled at her and nodded his head in greeting, and soon returned to sipping his coffee. He waved at a few of the other merchants he knew from the alley, many of them new here, replacing the dead or maimed.
He was, as usual, slightly hung-over. He could barely remember the night before. He woke up half in his bed, half on the floor, fully clothed and smelling hideously of his late day meal mixed in with firewhisky and bitter. He seemed to recall a woman's involvement, but he was sure Lee got him home in one piece, his wand still intact.
His head throbbed as he started on his second cup of coffee. Taking a sip, he became distracted by a loud argument two tables over. The raised voices drew his attention away from his daily sightseeing and people watching. He turned towards the voices coming from the yellow table, hearing the argument but not understanding the language. The man had a beard and wild hair that was a deep shade of red, almost matching the woman's and his face was contorted in rage. Their voices were becoming increasingly louder.
George squinted, focusing on the woman, recognising her straight away from the battle at Hogwarts. He sat up straight in his seat, now paying closer attention, but still not understanding their language. She appeared slightly different, shorter hair, more tired-looking, but he was positive that she was the one. He didn't remember her having an unusual accent, although to be fair they hadn't talked that much. What was that language?
She was sitting very still compared to the man, who was moving his hands about in a very energetic way. What was her name? George wondered, racking his memory. He still couldn't understand them, but the man was yelling at her and she appeared to be crying. George reached under his shirt collar, running a finger over the outline of his dragon pendant, and the name on the tip of his tongue was now whispering in his head: Rhiannon Jones.
Yes, he remembered now, Rhiannon Jones. He smiled fondly at his recollection and watched them with interest. George was actually staring at them, but they were too engrossed in their row to notice him. George lifted his coffee cup to take another drink, but faltered; flinching as the large bearded man suddenly drew back his arm and slapped her powerfully across the face. George saw her head all but bounce from the hard impact.
He saw her put her palm up to her injured cheek, and at the same time, the man grabbed her other arm, yanking her halfway out of the chair, causing her to cry out, in fear or pain, he did not know. George leapt to his feet, dropping the cup, coffee spilling onto the cobblestones. He hastened over to the yellow table, grabbing the man from behind, startling them both. Turning him around, George shoved the man away from her.
"Don't touch her again!" he snarled
Rhia was still holding her cheek and the bearded man looked from George to Rhia, and spoke now in English. "Is this him? Is this the man?"
Rhia looked him in the eye, not looking at George at all, and answered, "I don't know what you mean. I've never seen him before."
Looking at her again, the man said something else in their other language, and then he stalked away. Rhia began to tremble as she burst into silent tears, sobbing quietly. George wasn't sure what to do, so he simply put an arm around her and led her to his table, helping her into a chair. He left her there, but was back in a flash with two new cups of coffee.
"How do you like your coffee – black or white?"
She stopped sobbing, and reached for the white one.
"Is there sugar?" she asked, so softly it was almost a whisper.
He borrowed the bowl of cubes from the adjacent table, and he watched as she put in six. He smiled. He began to speak to her, looking deeply into her eyes.
"I'm George Weasley," he introduced himself. "You may not remember me, but we have met."
She got a stricken look on her face, paling and tearing up again. "I remember you, George Weasley. I could never forget you." She smiled shyly at him, then looked down.
"I'm sorry I said that. I just didn't want my brother to know who you were. I wasn't sure actually that you'd remember me. I've cut my hair and gained a bit of weight since Hogwarts."
"You look beautiful."
She felt her other cheek warm as she blushed and continued to look at her hands that had settled in her lap once more.
"I should go," she sniffled. "I need to…find a place to stay. Perhaps they have room at the Leaky."
"To stay?"
"Yes." She began to cry again as she spoke. "I've been chucked out of my house."
"Why?"
"I'm –" She gave George a desperate look. She wanted to tell him, and when he appeared so concerned and then took her hand so tenderly, she couldn't help but to burst into hysterical sobs again.
"I'm not ready to talk about it. Not yet. I have to go," she repeated, rising from the fuchsia chair. She fumbled in a small pouch and pulled out a few coins, placing them on the table with shaking hands, refusing to allow George to pay for her coffee. Before he could protest, Rhia was struggling to right her trunk and pull it awkwardly down the cobbled stones of the Alley. The trunk was just like the ones everyone brought to Hogwarts, but she had a wheeled contraption strapped to it, presumably to make it easier to move along.
She hadn't gotten more than a few metres when she felt a hand on her shoulder, gentle but firmly stopping her departure. She turned and looked once again into George Weasley's intense gaze. She bit her lip.
"I…I have a spare bed in my flat. It's above my shop, right here in the Alley. You could stay there for a few days, and use it until you come up with another solution. How does that sound?" he asked gently, his hand moving down her arm, holding her elbow. When she didn't answer, he continued, "I've been really lonely without my brother there. I promise I won't try to get you into my bed."
She grinned at him and taking hold of his extended hand, she followed him down the lane. He knew he was late in opening, but he still paused, looking at Rhia, and added, "Unless you want to get back into my bed." She blushed again as he arched his eyebrow until it was hidden under the fringe covering his forehead. They arrived at his doorstep only moments later, and as he noticed a crowd gathering in front of his shop, he used his wand to open the door to the swarm of potential pranksters. While they browsed, he settled Rhia in the back room where he kept his office.
"I'll show you upstairs in a while; just let me settle the crowd down until my assistant gets here." She nodded, and put her head on his desk. Just for a moment, she thought, but before she knew it, she was asleep.
When George eventually returned to his office, he found Rhia, still asleep with her head on his desk, the papers under her mouth moist. He touched her shoulder causing her to tremble and he grinned. Her hair covered her face, and when he easily scooped her up, the shoulder length strands slapped his face as her head bounced against his shoulder while he carried her up the staircase to his flat. He laid her carefully on his dishevelled bedcovers and covered her with a tattered patchwork quilt. He watched her sleep peacefully for a few moments, brushing the hair back from her face once more, stopping short though of actually touching her skin, which he remembered being warm and smooth. When she let out a quiet moan, and kicked the blanket off, he let his eyes stray along her still clothed body, grinning at his memories, pulling the blanket back up over her before turning to leave.
He glanced sadly at Fred's bed, now a huge pile of clothes and the odds and ends of Fred's gear; Fred's life, completely covering it, obscuring the bed itself, a tiny bit of wood sticking out; Fred's wand left behind; much like his brother. He looked at Rhia again before hurrying down the stairs to the sales floor.
"You look tired," Verity commented when he joined her behind the counter. "Rough night?"
"Honestly?" He shrugged. "I don't remember much except waking up half on the floor upstairs."
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Were you naked again?"
He smirked. "Sorry you missed it?"
She shook her head with a laugh. "Cheers, but no."
He laughed. "I was dressed, actually."
"You should stop."
"Stop what?" He paused his Galleon counting to look at her sideways.
"Drinking, George. You're going to kill yourself."
"Will you keep the shop open if I do?"
"It's not funny."
"Everything's funny."
"Not that." Verity glared at him, opening the box of trick wands on the counter in front of her and carrying them over to their place across the shop, away from George. They worked in silence for the rest of the afternoon, and they were both glad when time came for closing and George locked Verity out. He waved as she turned into the ice cream shop next door. She had a sudden sweet tooth as of late.
George ran up the stairs noisily, forgetting about his lovely houseguest until he reached the top most step, and saw her sitting on the bed, cross-legged, staring down at her hands in her lap.
"Sorry," he muttered, and not waiting for a response, stepped into his kitchen and fumbled around the cupboards getting something prepared to eat.
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" he asked, as he tossed some bits of leftover chicken into the hot fry pan and pushed them around with a long wooden spoon. He raised his wand, pointing at various lanterns and candles, quietly saying the incantation to light them. He glanced over at Rhia who hadn't moved.
"Hungry?" he asked. She still hadn't responded to him, staring at her hands as she twisted them in her lap. He used his wand to set the spoon stirring on its own and the proper temperature in the pan and walked over to his bed. Kneeling beside it, he touched Rhia's knee.
"Are you hungry?"
She shook her head, still staring at her lap, and now biting her lip. "You really should eat something," he said, looking up into her face, trying to make eye contact.
She shook her head. "I'll eat tomorrow," she said, quietly, rubbing her thumbs together, not looking at him.
He rose, but instead of leaving, he sat on the bed, and touching her hand first, wrapped his fingers around her palm.
"Do you want to talk; about anything?" She shook her head again, and began to cry again. He placed an arm around her shoulders as she sobbed. He started to rub her shoulders and she drooped over, letting her head fall into his lap. She was shaking from her sobs, and George could feel her tears dampening his jeans as he tried to comfort her, rubbing her back and her head. When her breathing changed, he realised that she had fallen asleep. He sat a moment longer and then slid out from under her, covering her with the quilt again and returned to the frying pan and his meal. While he ate, George absentmindedly fingered the dragon around his neck and glanced at Rhia, wondering what she could possibly have done that was so horrible to be thrown out of her house.
Rhia opened her eyes slowly, becoming mildly distressed when she realised she didn't know where she was. She was lying in a bed, underneath a slanted ceiling she hadn't noticed until she sat up suddenly, crying out in pain when she thumped her head. Falling back down onto the bed, her eyes stung with new tears. She lay on her back, hand over her queasy stomach, panting slightly and begins to weep. George's head popped up from the underside of the bed.
"Are you all right?"
"Fine," she said curtly. "Are you sleeping on the floor?" she added, as she quickly remembered who he was and now where she was.
He grinned in the moonlight and asked again if she were all right.
"I just forgot where I was." She lay her head down once more on the soft pillow, which smelled of citrus. "Why are you on the floor? I thought you had a spare bed." He lay down again, so she could not see him anymore, not answering. "George?"
"I do have a spare bed, but…it's Fred's, and right now it's covered with his stuff, so no one can sleep there."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me as well."
They lay in their respective 'beds' letting the silence overtake them, but neither could get back to sleep. Rhia stared around his flat. It was dark, even with the bits of moonlight peeking in through the two small windows. She could make out the second bed just across the floor from where she was, as well as two bedside tables divided by a bookshelf between them. There was a chair that looked out of place, but then she could see George's legs propped up on it, and realized that he was sleeping in that awkward position.
"George."
"Yes, Rhiannon."
"Call me Rhia."
"Yes, Rhia."
"Where's your loo?"
"Oh, sorry." She could hear the blush creep up his neck and in his voice. "It's that door right there." He fumbled around and he cursed as he bashed his head, shaking her bed. He pointed his wand, mumbling something and the next thing she knew, the light in the toilet turned itself on. "It's a bit of a mess, but I'll clean it in the morning."
"I can help," she said, getting up from the bed, making her way carefully to the toilet. George could hear her crying through the door as she used the toilet, but said nothing about it when she returned to the bed. She slid her jeans off, dropping them to the floor and slipped under the covers. "How did I get up here? I was sitting in your office."
"You fell asleep. I carried you up. You must have been exhausted. You don't remember tea?"
"I ate something?"
"No, but you were awake, and…" George drifted off.
"And what?"
"You were upset and you…um…cried until you fell asleep. You barely stirred when I first put you in the bed."
"You can't sleep on the floor, George," Rhia said suddenly. "I won't allow it –"
"You won't allow it? It's my flat and I'll sleep where I like. Thank you very much. Anyway, the chair's not comfortable for me to sleep on. I'm too tall."
"There's room up here. You can sleep in the bed, George. Please."
He lifted his head so he could see her. She was lying on her back, eyes closed, fingers entwined over her stomach, most of her body under the covers. "With you?" he asked, voice teasing, eyebrows rising.
She turned, looking at him with puffy eyes, red and moist, smiling thinly. She reached one hand out and patted the empty space on his bed. "Please don't sleep on the floor. I feel guilty enough."
He finally nodded as he joined her in his bed after only a moment's hesitation, laying as close to the edge as he could without falling off. It was odd. He had this beautiful woman in his bed, he was actually sober, and yet he was slightly unnerved. He knew that she would not take kindly to any serious snogging right now. Still, he was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. He tried to ignore the sensations he was beginning to feel inside them, but he quickly threw the covers over his waist and bare legs despite the near stifling condition of the flat. He reached across, moving some hair off her face and smiled.
"Better now?"
She returned his smile. "Yes. I really do appreciate you letting me stay here. I don't want to be an inconvenience for you."
"Well, I did tell you we'd end up in bed together," he smirked. They both laughed, and the sound was nice in both of their ears. For George, there hadn't been much laughter in this flat, and it felt good.
"Good night."
After a time, they both got used to the other one being in the bed and finally, George could hear Rhia's soft breathing and a light snore that he found particularly endearing. He hadn't seen her in nearly two months, but he still felt a tremendous connection to this woman. She was beautiful, and he was unbelievably attracted to her, but the disagreement with her brother was weighing heavily on his mind. He fumed when he thought of her being struck by that man. He didn't know why, but his protective feelings were rising for her, as well as other feelings. He simply couldn't understand why a brother would treat his sister that way, nor could he imagine what she did to be thrown out of her family's house. He touched her cheek one more time before he fell asleep, hearing her breathe out a sigh at his touch.
When he awoke next, there was sunlight spilling onto his face. Somewhere in the night, they had become wrapped around each other, limbs entangled together. He could feel her soft legs, smooth and warm against his own. Her head rested against his chest and he could feel his hairs stand up with each exhalation. Her hair was in his face and it smelled of flowers. He remembered the last time her hair was in his face and warm thoughts spread through him. He heard her breathing change and knew she was waking as well. He looked down at her face as her eyes fluttered open.
"Good morning," he said, quietly, smiling charmingly at her.
She smiled wanly at him, and then suddenly was pushing him aside roughly, kicking the covers off and leaping from the bed as though it were afire. She crashed into the toilet door, letting it slam behind her. George sat up perplexed, and feeling slightly letdown. Then, he heard her retching and the splashing sound of solids forcefully hitting water. She was moaning and crying and cursing in another language as the splashing continued. When it finally ceased, he heard the toilet flush and the shower running. He lay down, keeping the covers off and when he heard the running water finish, he rose from the bed.
He was fumbling around the kitchen when she emerged from her bath, wrapped snugly in a towel, hair wet with water dripping down her silky skin, puddling at first and then dissolving into the top of the towel. Her curves distracted him and he dropped an egg on the floor, gaping. He bent over to clean it up, muttering something to himself that she couldn't quite hear.
"Can I help?" she called over the counter.
"No. Cheers. Do you want eggs?"
"No. I don't think my stomach can take eggs. Do you have toast?"
"Sure. I can make some."
She remained in the towel, drip drying as they shared a quiet breakfast, and when George went into the shower, Rhia opened her trunk, trying to find something suitable to wear. She put on yesterday's clothes under the bed covers as she made the bed. She neatly folded the afghan that George had left on the floor where he slept half the night, and placed it at the edge of the bed. She finished fastening the buttons of her favourite sage shirt and pulled up her jeans, having a bit of trouble getting the waist closed.
"Shite," she muttered. "Just please last me a bit longer," she hissed.
"Talking to yourself?"
She frowned. She hadn't heard the bathroom door open or George as he stepped out into the flat until he spoke from behind her.
"You should get used to it. I do that a lot. After all, no one else really matches my wit and intellect."
"Except me," he replied.
"Arrogant."
"Confident. There's a difference."
She returned to the kitchen, giving him a tad more privacy so he could take a turn at getting dressed. George didn't seem to mind walking around naked in front of her, but when their eyes met, hers having presently completed their wanderings over his fit legs and his firm muscled torso, he suddenly turned his back to her. This didn't exactly help the warmness she was beginning to feel as her heart beat a trace faster and she tightened her knees closed. He had been standing, holding his pants and jeans in one hand; shirt in the other and then their eyes locked and they both swiftly turned away.
She sipped her tea, still warm from their breakfast, trying not to choke on it.
"Thank you," she began in a quiet tone, "for letting me spend the night. I should be out of your hair by tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Yeah. I thought I'd go to the Leaky and get a room. They're usually pretty flexible on timetable and I'll need to find a job today as well."
"You don't have to go, you know."
"I need to find a new home. I can't impose on you forever."
"Who said anything about forever? Anyway, it's not imposing if I insist. I already told you I'm lonely without Fred. I'm not used to being alone for such long periods of time."
She looked away. "I'll think about it, all right?"
"That's all I'm asking." He tossed her a cardboard square as they descended the stairs from his flat to the shop. "Can you put this in the window on your way out?" He left Rhia at the stock room curtain to join the blonde woman behind the counter. The shop was already open. George's assistant had opened it upon her arrival, and there were a few customers milling over by the counter.
"Sure," she called back, placing it in the window and then exiting the joke shop. George watched her walk down the alley wondering if she would be back. He laughed softly. Of course, she'll be back – her trunk was still upstairs.
Rhia put her bag on her back and rushed down the cobblestones towards the Leaky Cauldron. She paused to glance at her watch.
"Bloody hell," she cursed. She was going to be late. She ran through the Leaky and out the door to the Muggle world. Running up the street she grabbed a black cab, handing him an address: 42 Appleby Lane. They arrived minutes later and she paid him with a £10 note. She took the stairs two at a time, and met the receptionist with a wary smile. She filled out the forms and when they called her name, she hesitated, looking around. Surely, no one knew her here, but she was still anxious.
She followed the woman carrying a clipboard, and when she was alone in the seemingly sanitary room, she took her clothes off and put on the dressing gown. She had been directed to urinate into a tiny plastic cup, which she deposited into a small compartment in the wall, and then returned to the sterility of the first room. She had never felt so lonely; the way she did right now, sitting on the crisp white paper of the exam table, naked save for her paper gown. There were machines and equipment all around the small room that Rhia did not recognise. There were watercolour pictures on the walls and on the ceiling. They were still, stationary, like most things in the Muggle world. There was a chair and a desk covered in papers. Even the telephone was covered in papers. There was also a keyboard on the desk, but Rhia didn't understand why. It looked like a musical instrument. She didn't understand as much about the Muggle world as she thought she did.
There was a perfunctory knock, and then the door was pushed open before Rhia could respond. A short plump woman with a round face and glasses entered. She was reading a folder of even more papers and she stuffed her glasses into one of the pockets of her crisp white jacket. Everything here was crisp and white. Well, except for the watercolours. The woman stuck out her hand, shaking Rhia's.
"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Jones. I'm Doctor McFadden. Lay down please."
Rhia obeyed as the doctor washed her hands and then began the exam. Rhia shivered as her breasts were bared by the doctor for the examination, pushing, prodding, rubbing circles, squeezing her nipples. She said something about possible leaking and that it was to be expected. She was covered abruptly and was startled as the doctor moved down, inserting two fingers into her vagina and pressing down on her abdomen. Rhia shuddered, almost crying out as her thighs tightened and her feet were pained from pushing them so hard against the stirrups. Soon, the doctor was done and washing her hands again. Rhia had never had a medical exam like this at St. Mungo's.
Rhia just lay there flat on her back, too dazed to move or speak.
"Everything seems fine. Your urinalysis came back positive. Judging by the answers you gave on your intake form, you're about eight weeks pregnant, so you're still due around the sixth of February. I'd like to see you again in four or five weeks unless you encounter any problems." Rhia nodded numbly. "Would you like to take a peek at your baby; perhaps a listen?"
Rhia sat up on her elbows to look at the doctor. She was so surprised by the doctor's offer that she had forgotten that she was practically naked, clutching at the paper gown as it fell open. "Really? You can do that?"
The doctor had a funny look on her face. "Of course. Lie down again. This will feel a bit odd." The doctor took what looked like a large wand that was attached to the very large machine adjacent to the bed. Rhia gazed open-mouthed in amazement. The doctor gently helped Rhia lay down again, and pushed the wand-like instrument into her vagina, and began to move it about inside of her. Rhia squirmed some. It was wet and cold. It was very uncomfortable.
"Look here at the monitor." Doctor McFadden directed Rhia's attention to the screen. There was a picture there all of a sudden. The doctor began to point to various places on the screen. "There's your uterus, and this round sac is the placenta," she said. "Do you see this round egg shaped thing; the one that's moving?" Rhia nodded. "That's your baby. That's your baby's heart beating. Do you want to hear it?"
Rhia looked from the screen to the doctor's face, and then returned her eyes to the screen as she nodded her head. The doctor pushed a few buttons, and then Rhia heard it. It sounded like a drum she heard once at a street fair her father had taken her to. Rum-bum-bum. Rum-bum-bum. Rhia smiled. She didn't think she had ever heard anything so beautiful in her whole life. A tear or two slipped past her eyelashes and she realised that she was holding her breath. She released the sigh, and licked her lips. They were so dry.
The doctor smiled at Rhia's reaction. She loved first time mums. The doctor pushed another button, and Rhia heard a tearing sound. She was still staring at her baby's heartbeat, and listened, but then the machine was turned off and the moment was over.
"Well, that's odd," the doctor said, bringing Rhia out of her baby daydream.
"What's that?" Rhia asked concerned.
"Well, I can't be sure. We'll be able to tell next month."
"Sure about what?" Rhia wiped her wet eyes.
"No worries," she said, patting Rhia's knee. "It could be anything, even a shadow on the monitor. It's nothing to worry about," the doctor smiled gently. "That happens sometimes. We'll check it next time as the baby gets bigger." She pulled the wand out from Rhia's body and Rhia heard the slurping sound of a plunger being released.
The doctor handed her a scrap of smooth paper, and Rhia dressed and left. She strolled aimlessly down the avenue, deciding to walk back to the Leaky Cauldron. It can't have been that far. She stopped at a grassy area with a bench, sitting, staring at the passing traffic, focusing on nothing in particular. She was still clutching the paper, and it was only now that she looked at it. Her eyes widened and she was finally able to smile. It was the same picture that had appeared on the monitor. Her baby's heartbeat. This was a stationary picture, but she could still hear the heartbeat in her head. Rum-bum-bum. She carefully concealed the still picture in her purse and proceeded back to Diagon Alley and her temporary home.
Stopping by Gringott's, she discovered that her account was nearly empty, so she took it all – five galleons, two sickles, three knuts. Well, that was enough to offer George some kind of compensation for his room and board – perhaps worth a week. As she entered the joke shop, the square of cardboard caught her eye, but before she could look at it properly, George was speaking to her, so she closed the front door and directed her attention fully on him and his words.
"Any luck?" he was asking.
She shook her head.
"Too bad. Maybe you'll find something tomorrow." She nodded.
"I'm going up for a lie down."
As he nodded, she walked towards the stock room, but stopped, standing like an idiot in the middle of the doorway, halfway between shop and stock room, the magenta curtain resting on her hand and draping over her shoulder. She whirled, looking at George, who was now ignoring her, and looked at the front window. She rushed to it, grabbing the cardboard sign she had placed there this morning and turning it over in her hand, reading the large orange letters: HELP WANTED – ENQUIRE WITHIN. She smirked and slapped the sign on the countertop in front of George, letting her hands rest across her chest.
"Is that the sign I put there this morning?"
He nodded, but didn't look at her. He was obviously trying to suppress a laugh.
"Is the position still available, Mr. Weasley?"
He nodded again. "You can start tomorrow. Ten galleons a week."
"Bastard!" she laughed.
She walked through the curtain and heard him call after her, "That's no way to speak to your new superior."
"Superior, my arse," she muttered, climbing the stairs with a laugh. When she kicked the shoes off of her tired feet, she found a set of magenta robes laid out on her bed. She ran her fingers over her embroidered name and smiled. Maybe she was home after all. She lay down on the bed, wrapping her arms around her new work robes, almost hugging them, resting one hand on her stomach; on her little one.