George emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel. When the door opened and then closed, Rhia looked up as he passed in front of her line of sight. She lay on her stomach on George's bed, and tried to concentrate on the book in her hands, but her eyes kept drifting over to the kitchen. George knew that she was watching him as he strode behind the counter, looking for something to eat.

"Hungry?" he asked, tossing his towel on the counter top. She looked up, and her mouthed formed an "o" shape as she realized he was naked, in the kitchen, fixing breakfast. She shook her head with a smile.

"Did you already eat?" She nodded her head. "I think I'll have something. Are you sure I can't tempt you?" He nudged a plate of sausages in her direction. She shook her head again, and went back to her book. She was surprised to see him minutes later, standing in front of the bed fully dressed. "Were you sick this morning? I didn't hear any retching." When she shook her head again, he added, "That's a good morning then. Ready for work?"

She wrinkled her forehead. "It's Wednesday, George. I don't work on Wednesdays."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot. What're ya reading?"

She held the book up, so he could read the title A Healer in Love.

"That's a great one. Did you get to the part with the twins?"

"The twins?" She looked over the side of the bed as he sat next to her, bending to tie his trainers.

"Yes. Angelina gave that book to Fred. She gave them all to Fred, come to think of it. There's these two red-haired twins; get the connection?" He pointed to his wet hair, and continued, "They have a medical problem, and see the Healer on duty. What was her name? Oh yes, Anna. Anna the Healer. Anyway, one of them is dying, and she's dating him, but she accidentally sleeps with the other twin and gets pregnant. Funny how all of these trashy novels involve intentional sex and accidental pregnancy. She gets pregnant, has a miscarriage, gets pregnant by the twin she's in love with, he dies, and I think she marries the second one. Or does she just shag him senseless in the store room of St. Mungo's? She gets fired for the shagging, but then gets rehired when the second twin makes everything all better. The baby's a girl, I think."

"George," she said solemnly. "You didn't just ruin another book for me, did you?"

He laughed, rising from the bed. "Did I?" He quickly ran down the stairs to his shop as the book bounced down, step by step, landing at his feet and at the lower door. He called back up the stairs, "You missed me!"

"Bastard!" she yelled back down. "Stop doing that! I hate when you do that!" She rolled off the bed, tying her own trainers, pulled her anorak over her head, grabbed her bag and rushed down the stairs. She stepped into the shop for only a moment, and stepped through the front door without so much as a glance towards George, who was laughing behind the counter with Verity.

This day was just like every Wednesday as Rhia headed down the cobblestones towards the Leaky Cauldron. Usually, she had nowhere to go on her one day off in the week, so she pretended that she had friends whom she saw, or she pretended to go to the café for a cup. Usually, she just wandered around the Alley, window shopping or doing more of the same on the Muggle side of London, but today was one of her appointment days. It had been four weeks since her last one; a whole month living with George, and she still hadn't told him what she did on these Wednesdays. She would have to soon, though. She knew that, but she also knew that it would change everything, and right now she was pretty cheesed off at him for ruining another book.

That was really the only thing she did to relax. Reading was really all she could do. She worked in the shop most of the time, and even when she went to the pub with George and his friends, she couldn't drink because of the pregnancy. She always got one bitter – everyone laughed at her low tolerance for the stuff – and while she occasionally sipped it, George always finished it for her. Normally, she liked a decent pint, and she missed the cider as well, but it wasn't safe for the baby. Once everyone knew, at least she could save the money and just get something else that she could enjoy. She was tired all the time, and had even fallen asleep on George's shoulder at the pub the last time out. Despite the fatigue, she decided to walk today, and it was cutting it close on the time. She was almost late, but when she arrived at the doctor's office, this time at least, there were no forms to fill out.

Rhia spent her time reading the Muggle parenting magazines. "Bottle or breast?" "Crib, cradle, or co-sleeping?" "Should twins sleep in one crib or two?" "Terrible twos – are they real?" She should probably pick up one or two wizarding ones. At least, they would be of more use, giving her the spells for warming the bottle and swaddling the baby. She longed to see the tiny sweaters and booties in the Little Witches Shop, find out what the right age was for the first broomstick ride, and how early was too early for Quidditch. Maybe she could pop into the bookshop and pick one up, and then charm the covers to have something else so no one knew what she was actually reading. These seemed a bit baffling. What exactly was football? It sounded like a deformity.

She dropped the magazine in her hand when they suddenly called out her name. She felt nervous. Her stomach was a bit queasy. She had rushed through breakfast before George got out of the shower. She probably shouldn't have had seconds on the porridge, but she was so hungry, and she hadn't vomited her breakfast in a couple of days. Even George had noticed the change.

Again, there was a token knock, and then the door was pushed open. Doctor McFadden was placing her glasses in her jacket pocket as the door closed behind her with a click. Rhia smiled dazedly. "Are you ready to take a peek at your baby?" the doctor asked in a sickly cheerful tone. Rhia nodded wordlessly.

The doctor smiled and patted Rhia's knee. "Lie down, and lift your shirt up. Take your jeans down a bit, so we don't mess them up. This will be cold," she warned. She squeezed a tube and some cold gel spurted onto Rhia's stomach; the huge machine that remained adjacent to the bed was turned on. It whirred and lit up like a fireworks display just as Rhia remembered from her last time in this room. It began to hum and the doctor took a wand-like instrument out. This one was slightly different than the one she had used previously; it had a flat circular end on it and the doctor placed it on the gel that was on her stomach, pressing down. Rhia flinched at the awkward pressure, and watched in amazement. They had done something like this a few weeks ago, but Rhia still couldn't believe this kind of magic was possible in the Muggle world.

"Look here." The doctor directed Rhia's gaze to the screen and away from what she was staring at. Rhia was being distracted by the total Muggleness of the room and as she focused, she saw that there was a picture there on the monitor, all of a sudden. The doctor began to point to various places on the screen. "There's a hand," she said.

"A hand?" Rhia asked, not seeing it at first, but then she could see five distinct fingers. "Oh my," she gasped. "Look at it. Look at its tiny fingers," she said in a hoarse whisper.

The doctor smiled. "There's its head." She pointed to the large round object on the screen. The doctor pushed a button, and Rhia heard a tearing sound. She was still staring at her baby's fingers pressed onto its forehead. She had seen George sit like that just yesterday while he ate his breakfast; she had been pretending to read that study book, Newts and Nots. "Well, that is strange," the doctor said, bringing Rhia out of her baby daydream.

"What's that?" Rhia asked concerned.

"Well, I hate to bring it up. It's a bit too early to tell, really. I just can't be sure. We'll definitely be able to tell next month."

"Sure about what?" Rhia wiped her wet eyes.

"I can't be positive, but I think there might be two."

"Two hands?"

"No," the doctor smiled gently. "Two heads. You might be having two babies, Rhiannon. Twins."

"Twins?!" Rhia exclaimed. "Is that a joke?"

"No, Rhia, no joke. I mentioned it last time, I'm sure. Didn't I mention it last time? Perhaps not. Do twins run in your family?"

"No," she paused, and then added, "but the baby's dad was a twin."

"The father's a twin? There's a very good chance then. Don't worry about it. We'll check in four weeks."

"Easy for you to say," Rhia said, wondering how she would continue to conceal this from everyone. Two babies; no wonder her clothes didn't fit right. Soon, she would be the size of a small cottage. The doctor handed her another scrap of smooth paper, and Rhia cleaned herself up, dressing and leaving. She sat at the same bench in the same grassy space as the last time, and smiled as she now looked at this new picture of her baby that had appeared on the monitor. Her baby's head with its five fingers pressed against its forehead. She could also make out a nose, and behind this George-like pose, there did look as if there was a second head. Perhaps, it was simply a shadow. No, Rhia thought. Once Doctor McFadden had said twins, Rhia knew it to be true, and she knew it would be confirmed in four more weeks. She carefully concealed this still picture in her wallet behind the first one and proceeded back to George's flat. She thought she might like to cook for George tonight; maybe even pluck up the courage to tell him her secret.

"Hey Verity."

"Hello Rhia. Are you working today?"

"No. I usually have Wednesdays off. Why?"

"I'm supposed to leave in a few minutes and George went upstairs. He hasn't come back down yet. I thought I'd check on him, but would you mind doing it? That way I don't have to lock up."

"Sure. Is everything all right?"

Verity rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and then returned her look to Rhia. "Honestly, I don't know. It was quite noisy up there – a lot of banging around and he was shouting, and then it became unusually still. The noise really just ended a few moments ago."

Rhia shrugged her shoulders, but frowned. "Is he drunk again?"

Verity frowned as well. "I…I don't think so. He did go out for a bit, but he seemed all right when he returned. How many nights has he gone out?"

"Three of the last four," she said sadly. "No worries, Verity. I'll go up. If you need to leave, just lock up and put in the closed sign, I'll reopen if George needs me to; if he's busy with something else."

"Cheers, Rhia. I'm meeting my mum for tea."

"Enjoy. See you later." Rhia opened the door in the office quietly, stepping through and ascending two steps, softly calling up the stairs.

"George?" When there was no response, she called again, this time a little louder. "George. It's Rhia. Are you up here?" She heard a muffled whimper and a snort. As she reached the topmost step, she stopped in her tracks. She couldn't see George straight away. Surveying the flat, she was speechless as she inspected the disarray. She swallowed and took a deep breath, putting a steadying hand on the wall adjacent to the staircase. Looking to her right where the kitchen was, she saw broken glass and a few puddles near the shards where the stools used to sit. They were both turned over on their sides and one was missing a leg.

Her eyes travelled the room across the sitting area. One squashy chair was turned over, its cushion ripped and spilling its fluff. Nothing remained on the mantle except the fireplace poker piercing the tapestry that hung over it. George's bed was upside down, bed coverings underneath it. Her trunk, which had been beside the bed, still seemed to be closed, but it had been turned over onto its side. The bedside table was also overturned as was the lamp. Rhia was shocked by the scene, and if it were even possible, she was more stunned when her eyes fell onto Fred's bed. The piles of Fred's things that had been present there for the several weeks she had been here had been flung to the floor. Some of them had made their way in bits and pieces down the second staircase heading to the other door that led directly into the Alley.

A wand had landed on the top step, half on half off, teetering as though if one breathed too loudly, it would topple down the steps, crashing into the door at the bottom. She stood motionless, staring at the figure lying to one side on the bed, his body trembling as he sobbed, clutching a magenta work robe that Rhia knew must have been Fred's. George's head rested on Fred's pillow, and he was murmuring incoherently, holding the robes tightly, sniffing in his brother's scent from the robes.

Rhia dropped the rucksack still clutched in her hands onto the chaotic floor. She hesitantly approached the bed and put one hand on George's shoulder, and her other hand's fingers into his messy tangle of hair, brushing his head gently. He continued to shake and sob, not acknowledging either her touch or her presence. She kneeled on the bed behind his back, and leaned into him, placing her head on his, cheeks together, her arms encircling his body. Without saying a word, she turned her head down slightly, kissing him tenderly on his wet cheek. She put pressure on his back with her body, and his shuddering began to subside.

He was quiet except for an occasional sniffle or snort. Rhia didn't know how long they just lay there in silence. She thought he had finally fallen asleep, and made to get up to let him rest, but when she moved, his hands released Fred's robe and clutched at her hands, bringing them to his chest. She kissed his cheek sweetly, and rubbed his ear with her cheek and then brushed her lips across it. Finally, she whispered, "Is there anything I can do? Anyone I can get for you?"

He slowly shook his head. She saw his eyes close, and when they opened again, he spoke in a hoarse undertone, "Just stay with me."

"I will."

They lay like that for another hour or so. Rhia remained silent. George held Rhia's hands within his own, putting pressure against his chest with them. His eyes remained open, and he stared out at the opposite wall, next to the second staircase. He inhaled deeply, and breathed out despondently. His voice was still hoarse from crying and not speaking until he finally said, quietly, "I've got good news and bad news."

"Bad news first."

"This place is a bloody mess. Someone'll have to clean up all this rubbish."

"I'll help you."

"Cheers. I was counting on you."

"What's the good news then?"

"Fred's bed's cleaned off. You can have your own bed now. You can sleep here…in Fred's bed. I won't even charge you the extra rent," he laughed softly. "Although I should."

She smiled. "I don't want to sleep in Fred's bed. I like your bed."

"What's the difference?"
"You, cariad."

He stiffened a little. Before they had started speaking, he had been noticing how perfect she felt around him. One of her legs was wrapped over his, and the other was behind his other knee, moulding against it. Her whole body was moulding around his, and her fingers had been tracing circles on his hands. Every now and then, she kissed his cheek and his ear, making him warm all over. He could feel her breasts pressing against his back. For a moment, he pictured her again on that first night at Hogwarts. It was their only night, and in his mind's eye, he saw her lying naked against him with his arms comfortably around her.

He caught his breath, and returned to the present. Had he heard her right? Did she want to sleep with him? Or did she simply want to sleep with him so she wasn't alone in a strange place? He released her hands at the same time that he released a deep breath, sighing. She was surprised when he rolled himself onto his stomach, and then his other side, so that he was now facing her. He rested his arm over her waist, and inched closer until his face was almost touching hers. He looked into her dark eyes that he found so striking. He moved his hand from her waist and ran a finger delicately from the corner of her eye down her cheek until it was touching her lips.

She let out a soft sigh when he budged nearer, and they both moaned softly as his lips finally met hers, and his hand went around her again, supporting her back as he pulled her against his body. Slowly and knowingly, he slipped his hand inside her shirt, feeling the soft skin of her back. When he touched her bareness, his tongue moved against her lips, begging to be let in, and when she opened her mouth to let him, he nearly squealed, gently parting her legs with his, and rolling her underneath him. He began to unbutton her shirt, his desire for her taking over his thoughts and controlling his movements. Her hands were in his hair and she was curving her hips up, closer to his, but then suddenly she stopped. Her hands went against his chest, pushing him gently away. He stopped kissing her and moved off her, looking down at her face. His breathing was still deep, and he spoke slowly, trying to regain his self-control. "What happened? I thought…I mean…you want me, don't you?"

"I…I…I'm," she stammered, and then he released her, not sure what to think of her unexpected change of heart. When he let go of her arms, he fell onto his back, unsettling the bed, causing her to lose her balance, teetering and then falling off the bed with a crash and a cry.

She lay on the floor, her panting heavy, her back and arse in quite a bit of pain. George was leaning over the side of the bed, looking at her, trying not to laugh. "Merlin, Rhia, I'm sorry. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"Yes, I'm hurt. It's not funny," she cried at him, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

He crawled over the side of the bed, and was beside her on the floor in seconds. "I'm really sorry," he said seriously. "I truly am. Where does it hurt?"

"My back," she answered.

"Let me help you. Come back in the bed." He lifted her up and placed her on Fred's bed, turning her on her side, lying behind her and rubbing her back. "Does that feel a bit better?"

She nodded. "A bit. I'm so sorry, George. I do want you." Surprised by her candidness, he stopped rubbing, listening as she continued, "But I'm not having sex in your dead brother's bed; too much baggage there, and I'm not ready…for that. I know it's how we met, but I don't want…I can't be…I need to straighten out my life first; it's a right mess. I have so many things…to tell you, but I'm not…I'm not ready. I need more time."

He began to rub her back again. "I wish you could trust me enough to talk about your family, and what happened," and then suddenly, he asked, "Will you go out with me? On a date? Tomorrow night?"

She smiled. "A date? I'd like that…a lot, but I should warn you," she said with a surreptitious glance back at him, "I don't have sex on the first date." She painfully jumped from the bed, and carefully made her way into the kitchen to begin clearing up the broken glass, summoning her wand as George lay on his brother's bed, smiling at her, watching her begin to repair some of the damage he'd done. He hoped he wasn't beyond repairing as he rose from the bed to help, righting the chairs on his way to the kitchen. It was his mess after all. He didn't know what had made him suddenly go off so spectacularly. Sometimes, he just missed Fred so much, it was unbearable. He watched Rhia for a moment more and then began to repair what he could and throw away what he couldn't. Rhiannon certainly made things better. He smiled at her and he was pleased that she returned the same sweet look back at him.

Rhia had left George to take care of most of the mess, working in the shop for him instead, and at the end of the afternoon, she was quite exhausted. It had been a long afternoon in the shop – very busy with lots of customers – but George really did need to do most of the cleaning on his own in order to begin his own healing. She trudged up the staircase to the flat. She smelled the peppered beef in the frying pan before she reached the top step. She didn't even glance at the kitchen as she dropped herself into one of the squashy chairs now repaired beside the glowing fireplace.

The poker was no longer piercing the tapestry, and the fabric had been mended. There was no heat coming from the fireplace, but for some reason, even in the middle of July, George liked to stare into the dancing flames of the fire at night. After a few days, Rhia actually found it quite soothing. They reminded her of the days her dad took her to the old dragon colony not far from their home near Llyn Cowlyd. That was a long time ago, and there were never dragons there anymore, but her dad was full of stories of his childhood, watching the flames dance in a large bonfire, pretending the dragons had left their fire for them. Except for a story now and then, all of the Welsh Greens had been transported abroad. The only Welsh Greens now were their Quidditch team, and she wasn't sure she was welcome there either.

She was drawn from her shimmering ember daydream by someone calling her name in a sing-song voice. It sounded far away, yet close. It sounded familiar, yet not. A hand on her shoulder drew her attention there, and blinking several times, she become aware that she was crying. She looked into George's face. He had a concerned look on his face, and he was speaking. He must have been speaking. His lips were moving, but she could hear no sound. She swallowed and focused on his lips. They were dry and they were parted. As she looked beyond them, she could see his perfect teeth; straight and white with an almost imperceptible space in the middle. They stopped moving and smiled. His hand was putting gentle, but increasing pressure on her shoulder.

"Are you all right, Rhiannon?" she heard as her hearing returned. She nodded gradually. "I was asking if you were a good cook."

She smiled. "I'm an excellent cook. I can prepare anything."

"Excellent. Will you help me with these pasties?"

"Except pasties," she grinned bashfully, blushing. "I'm rubbish with pasties. I can roast a chicken and do a Yorkshire pudding with homemade gravy, but I can't put a pasty together."

He laughed, ruffling her hair and going back into the kitchen to add the already warmed veggies to the meat and put it in the pasty dough. "You can do a roast chicken with Yorkshire pudding tomorrow for tea then." He waved his wand over the pasties, turning them golden brown.

"I thought you were taking me out tomorrow. Are you trying to get out of our date?"

"No, no. You can cook on the weekend then. All right?"

She nodded with a laugh, taking the warm pasty from his hand, enjoying the first bite.

The next afternoon breezed by, and Rhia met George in the stock room where he kept his office. "Everything's all locked up, lights out. Should I change? Are we leaving soon?"

"Yes, I just want to finish today's totals. Do you mind?"

"No, of course not." She moved towards the half-hidden door to the flat, but George had stood up abruptly, and took her by the elbow.

"Hang on, I have something for you." He handed her a bunch of brightly coloured flowers tied with a yellow ribbon.

"Cheers. What's this for? It's not my birthday."

"To thank you, you know, for everything you did yesterday." He leaned closer and kissed her cheek, causing a shudder to run through both of them.

"I'm glad I could help you. Anything you need, George, just ask."

"Cheers." She turned to the door once more, pausing when he called after her once more. "Oi, when is your birthday, since you brought it up?"

"First August."

"Sorry?" Her lips curved up slightly and she shrugged, and ran up the stairs to change. He joined her in the flat, running a comb through his hair.

"So, where are you taking me?" she asked, thumbing through a new book choice.

"Which Witch?" he asked.

"Don't you dare," she threatened with no hint of a smile present.

"All right," he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Actually, I know this terrific pub in the Highlands. Oliver took us there once."

"Scotland? Are you taking the mickey out of me? We're having tea in Scotland?"

"No, really. We could apparate in. It'll be fun, and it won't be the Leaky for a change."

Rhia couldn't help but remember running into her brothers at the Leaky, almost every time they were there with George's friends. What were the chances they'd know someone in Scotland? She finally agreed.

The Carmichael Inn in Pitlochry was small and dark; very medieval with the dark hewn beams and low lamplight. There were a couple of stained glass windows that revealed the setting sun to the patrons. It was a brilliant place for a conversation, which gave them the chance to get to know one another a bit better. They sat at a corner table alongside each other, facing the bar that took up the centre of the room. Rhia looked around at the TV's and video game terminals, surprised that George would come to a Muggle pub so far from home. They each ordered a lasagne and salad and when Rhia asked for a glass of water with ice, George requested two bitters, pointing to Rhia and himself.

"George, you know, I won't drink that."

"It's two for one, Rhia. I'll finish yours if you can't."
"You are such a cheapskate."

"That's what happens when you grow up in a big family with lots of kids and no money. My kids will never wear hand-me-downs."

"There's nothing wrong with hand-me-downs."

"Did you ever have to wear them?"

"I had some."

"You only had one sister, though. Imagine being Ron. Even for Fred and me, it went through three brothers first, although Fred and I dressed alike so much of the time that some of our stuff was new, especially once we started school. It was probably hardest on Ron. We almost never had money for the food trolley on the Hogwarts Express or Hogsmeade weekends. That was when Fred and I started inventing and selling our stuff to the other students who had money. It really came together the summer before our seventh year. We never finished school; left in the middle and opened the shop."

"So you'll have a small family then?"

"Nah. A Quidditch team; maybe two, but I'll have more money. Your family must have had some money. What was it like having Cadwaladr Jones for a Dad? Good Quidditch seats I'd bet."

"I never paid for tickets; that's for certain." She smiled and George could see her whole demeanour lighten as she thought of her father. "When did you realise?" she asked shyly.

"After the Leaky, that first time we went, on your brother's birthday, when I met him again. If Celyn Jones is your brother, Cadwaladr must be your Dad. He was a great player; a beater like me. He died a hero." He chanced a glimpse at her, and then continued, "We heard about it the next day. We were especially lucky. We were all together at the Burrow. Bill and Fleur got married that day. My Dad could have been there as well. He worked at the Ministry; still does." George's eyes clouded over with what it might have been for him that day if things had been different.

"Bill got married on the 1st of August last year?"

"Yes."

"I turned eighteen," she said, staring out, remembering that day. "He and Mam gave me this watch at breakfast, replacing my original one from the year before. I had broken it when I fell off my brother's broomstick, and in the afternoon, we were supposed to have a picnic at the old Welsh dragon colony, but Dad got called in to work. He kissed me on my forehead and handed me a small package with a green ribbon, and I never saw him again."

"What was in the box?"

"Y ddraig werdd. The green dragon. The necklace you're wearing." His eyes widened as he realised the significance of his memento. "My mam gave it to Dad when he was named captain. He stopped playing and joined the Ministry after that boy died at Hogwarts."

"Cedric. I was there, but you didn't go to Hogwarts." He meant it as a question, but it came out as a statement. He took a long drink from her pint.

"No, but my brothers did. My parents were very protective of us. Cadi and I went to an all girls' school in Gwynedd. It was a day school, so we still lived at home. In seventh year, when they required it, I was sent to Hogwarts with the other pureblood students. I was sorted into Gryffindor."

"Were your brothers in Gryffindor?"

"Hufflepuffs. I think Celyn played against your brother Charlie. I remember the name Weasley followed by a lot of swearing. Cel is seriously competitive."

George chuckled. "Charlie has that effect on people." Rhia smiled, and bit her lip when George touched her hand delicately. "It sounds like the perfect childhood."

"It was."

"Why did your mum throw you out?" He stared intently into her eyes until Rhia looked away sadly.

"Two lasagnes and salads. Two more bitters?" The waitress came out of nowhere, carefully setting down their plates on the table.

"Cheers," George responded. "Two more."

"George –"

"It's fine. Two's my limit."

"But you're drinking mine; that's four."

"It's two for one; it doesn't count." He laughed, taking a long drink, finishing hers.

"George, you could charm cheese."

"Nah, my mum's the cheese charmer." They made short work of their meal. Neither realised how hungry they were until their food arrived.

"Mm," Rhia commented. "This is delicious. What an excellent place." She looked up at the dark beams across the bright white ceiling and the tiffany lamps that were just coming on as it grew darker with the approaching night. George glanced at her, and could not keep his grin contained. "What?" she asked, her cheeks turning pink.

"You have some…lasagne…sauce." He pointed a finger.

"Where?" Rhia was becoming embarrassed.

George budged closer, and rubbed the corner of her mouth with his thumb. He paused, looking at her lips, his own curving into a smile, looking at his thumb covered in the red sauce. The sauce disappeared from his thumb as he put it in his own mouth.

"Hey, that was mine."

"Come and get it then," he teased. He was surprised when he went back to his full fork to feel her hand on his cheek, and when he turned to face her, her lips were against his. He dropped his fork with a clatter, and cupped her face, deepening the kiss considerably. His breath quickened when he felt her tongue on his, both soft and rough, and he moved his hands around her back, pulling her against him. She smiled against his mouth and he pressed another sweet kiss to her lips before turning back to his plate. "I think you like me," he said smugly, taking more lasagne into his mouth with a grin.

"Just a bit, cariad." she said, resting her hand on his thigh for a moment before reaching for her own fork. He quivered at her touch, looking at her profile as she went back to her lasagne and ice water.

"George, what're ya doin' here?" They both looked up at the man standing next to their table.

"Oliver," George laughed. He stood to shake Oliver Wood's hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Tea, mate. My parents live near here. I'm gettin' some takeaway. You?"

"We wanted someplace where we didn't know anyone. Oh sorry, Oliver, this is Rhiannon Jones. Rhia, this is Oliver. We played Quidditch together at school. He plays for Puddlemere now."

"Lovely to meet you," they both said together. Rhia put out her hand and grasped Oliver's.

"So, you two dating now?"

"First one tonight."

He nodded at the bartender's call to pick up his food. "Enjoy. See ya next week, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Oliver shook Rhia's hand again, and Rhia knew it was time to go home. What are the chances that they would know someone here? What, indeed. As Rhia put the last forkful of pasta in her mouth, she felt George's eyes on her, and when she looked at him, he grinned.

"Before Ollie came over, you called me something, you had before then as well. What does it mean?"

She chewed faster, and he laughed, and finally she was able to speak. "Which?"

"Cari-something."
"Cariad?"

"Yes, cariad. What does that mean? I thought Sior was George."

"Sior is George. Cariad…it's –" Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "It's…it's like your English 'love', only a bit stronger. It's love, darling, sweetheart; something like that."

"Only stronger?"

"Yes," she said as she looked away.

"So I'm your sweetheart?" He was beginning to look smug again, and Rhia blushed deeper.

"If you want to be." She hesitated, taking a sip of her water, and then looked at George out of the corner of her eye, and added softly, "cariad." He smiled, not looking at her, finishing off his pint with a raised eyebrow.

They returned to Diagon Alley, apparating in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and walked through the Alley hand in hand. It was a cool night and as they walked, Rhia leaned her head on George's shoulder. They paused in front of Magical Menagerie, looking at the animals in the front window. Most of them were sleeping at this late hour, but a kitten was pawing at the glass, trying to find a way out. Rhia pressed her fingers into George's palm, drawing his attention to her. "How did you lose your ear?"

He pulled her closer to his chest; she could hear his heartbeat and noticed that it was beginning to beat faster. She heard him inhale a deep breath before speaking.

"I don't usually talk about it."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business."

"It's all right, Rhia. I don't normally talk about it, but I trust you." He kissed the top of her head, continuing in a quiet voice. "It happened two summers ago," he began.

"It was right after Professor Dumbledore was killed. Harry Potter needed to go into hiding, but the Death Eaters were after him, and of course, Voldemort, too." He cringed slightly at the name, but he was getting used to saying it now. "There were fourteen of us, including Harry, and six of us took Polyjuice Potion and we became decoys for Harry. We looked exactly like him. We had broomsticks, thestrals, and even a flying motorbike. I was on a broomstick with Remus Lupin, Teddy's dad. Do you remember Teddy?" As she nodded, he continued, "We were escaping Harry's Muggle house on a broomstick and we were surrounded by twenty, maybe thirty Death Eaters; I was hit from behind by a curse. Luckily, Remus kept me on the broom and got me back to my parents' house where my mum stopped the bleeding and saved me, but I left my ear in Surrey." He smiled.

They were still holding hands and she looked at him sadly. "That's appalling." She reached out and touched the empty space where his right ear should have been. He didn't ordinarily like people to touch him there, but when she ran her fingers across his skin under his hair, he felt soothed. He was about to lean down and kiss her when she spoke again. "Did everyone else make it back okay?"

He nodded. "Everyone, except Mad-Eye Moody. He died that night. Dung skipped out. He's fine, though – he always took care of himself first," he added bitterly. She remembered the man grabbing him in The Hog's Head a couple weeks ago. His name was Dung as she recalled. He continued, "Let's see, Fred, Remus and Tonks all died at the Battle of Hogwarts almost a year after that. Remus and Tonks were married. They had just had Teddy almost a month before they died. Everyone else is still alive and doing pretty well, I guess. Practically my whole family has some kind of scar. Losing an ear isn't so bad. I can actually hear on my right side, but sometimes I pretend that I can't." He smiled conspiratorially, and she laughed.

"I'll have to remember that. You're a devious sneak, you are."

He laughed, but stopped abruptly and kissed her, not wanting to part from her lips. He smiled again, and they continued until finally arriving at the doorstop of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where they both felt the awkwardness of the first date ending envelop them. Should he leave her at the door? Should he walk her up? Should he kiss her? Would there be…well…sex? He looked into her eyes, and his breath was gone from his lungs.

The moonlight reflected from them, and he could count the freckles across her cheeks. He smiled cautiously and then lightly shoved her up against the door, arms encircling her waist, and his lips were on hers yet again. So soft, he thought, so moist, so…mmm, tasty. When her arms went around his neck, he leaned his legs around hers and as their kiss finished, their foreheads touched as if in their own embrace. He whispered into her hair. "Do you remember yesterday when you said 'no sex on the first date'; you were taking the mickey, right? You didn't really mean it?" His hand caressed her back through the fabric of her shirt, sliding upwards until he was playing in her hair and tracing her ear with one finger. She grinned and kissed his lips again and then his chin.

"Actually, George, I was serious. I know it's ironic and maybe even a bit odd. I want to know you…a little better." Her brows furrowed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He kissed her forehead. "You go up, I'm just…I'm going to take a walk…burn off some of this…energy." He laughed. "I'll be home soon. All right?"

She nodded, and after he unlocked the door for her, he turned to leave, but she wouldn't let go of his hand. He turned back, and she jumped into his arms, hugging him, nestling her face in his neck as he stooped down to rest his chin on her shoulder. "I really…like you, George. I had a lovely time tonight." She kissed his neck and his cheek, and as she pulled back, she said, "Will you take me out again?"

He grinned broadly, knowing that there would be another cold shower in his future. "I'd like that. A lot. Now, I have to go before I can't control myself." She laughed as he pushed her into the doorway and the stairs leading up to the flat. "I won't be long," he said, striding back down the Alley, back towards the Leaky. She closed the door, leaning her back against it, thinking about their special evening.

Chapter End Notes:

Glossary Guide

Y ddraig werdd – the green dragon (literally: the dragon green)

Cariad – love, sweetheart, darling, dear

Llyn Cowlyd – this is a lake (llyn) in N. Wales

Gwynedd – a region in N. Wales (in modern Wales, it is a county)

Author's Note: Since there has been much conversation recently about Brit-picking, I thought I should add this note in regards to the food that George and Rhia ate on their first date. I know that lasagne is not typical British pub fare, however I actually have been to The unnamed Inn in Pitlochry, Scotland, and my friend and I both had the lasagne (although when I checked online, it is no longer on the menu) for lunch after our hike up and down Craigower Hill. It was a dark, old-fashioned pub, and the lasagne was not very good (I actually made note about it in my journal at the time), which may explain why it is no longer on the menu. George and Rhia enjoyed theirs much more; could have been the company, though. I have decided to change the name of the Inn, so as not to offend anyone.