Harry sat with his feet dangling over the edge of his bed. It was early enough Wednesday morning that a morning fog crept across his windowpanes, yet no light shone threw them yet.

It is a strange thing to have thoughts but not to feel any of them. Harry felt as if he were looking at his emotions through glass; he could see them, and he knew they were there, but he couldn't touch or feel them. It was as if his mind was putting up the barrier in attempt to protect Harry from himself. The former night on the staircase, his emotions flooded out of him like water flows out of a broken dam, strong, powerful, and uncontrollable.

But now he felt empty, as if the dam had dried up. He felt hollow, like something could stir inside him, and the noise would bounce off the walls of his body. The floodgates of his mind had opened last night, causing him to be honest and raw, but now they are closed, sealed with iron bars, locked tight. He allowed himself vulnerability last night, he allowed his mind to consume him, but now his guard was back up, his armor back on. Harry wondered if Draco felt the same way.

Harry shuttered involuntarily. The events of the former night slowly replayed themselves across Harry's eyelids.

He remembered the confusion he felt when Draco gave him his trust, but tore it away just as quickly. He remembered Draco's desperateness and loneliness when he kissed him. You don't know what it is like, to be in constant fear of the people you are supposed to love!

He remembered how Draco talked about his father with pure hatred and fear. He remembered how he clutched his hands to his ears when Harry read the letter from the Ministry aloud, how his knuckles turned snow white from grabbing his bed sheets. He remembered the way Draco grasped his neck, as if Harry was the only thing that could ground him.

What is happening to me? He remembered Draco losing his control, like fire over a dry field. He remembered their foreheads touching; he remembered nuzzling his nose with Draco to reassure him, as if he were trying to say I am here. Please do not be afraid. I want to help you. I hate seeing you break.

Harry sat on his bed for a while longer before he got up to dress himself. He was out of his room and walking down the corridor that led to The Great Hall a few moments after that.

Harry felt the warm morning chatter bounce of the hall's walls and seep into his skin. It was odd to be in such a cheerful environment when Harry did not feel cheerful himself.

He stared at the plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. The steam the rose off of hot food had died down ages ago, his food now turning cold. All around him students were chatting and exchanging notes, eating and copying each others homework. Next to him, Professor Sprout was engaged in what appeared to be a conversation about Mandrakes with McGonagall. On his other side, the chair that was supposed to be filled with Draco was empty. Harry continued to stare at his food.

Professor McGonagall's gaze slid from Professor Sprout's face to Harry's. His back was curved, his head hung low. She could see his hands folded neatly on his lap. He had the look of someone who was very lost in thought.

"Excuse me, Poppy. Harry?"

His posture did not change. His glassy expression remained plastered to his face.

"Harry?" When he did not respond a second time, Professor McGonagall stood herself up and walked over to the empty chair next to Harry. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry, you have been staring at your food as if it has tried to kill you."

Harry's head shot up immediately. His troubled expression was quickly masked, but not gone. He met McGonagall's gaze with a forced smile on his face.

"I am sorry, Professor. I got lost in my own head."

Although his tone was normal, McGonagall sensed that it was only a ploy. She stared at him for a few moments before carefully saying, "Harry, is everything alright?"

His expression quickly became guarded, his eyes became hard. "Yes Professor, I apologize. I was up late grading papers last night." Although his tone was normal, his guarded expression remained. She could tell he was being untruthful.

"Harry, I want you to take today off-"

"Professor, I insist-"

"No, Harry. I insist that you head back to your room to rest at once." Her voice was firm. She had been around Harry far to long not to know when Harry was hiding something. She also knew that his temperament, though it had cooled down with age, was still fiery and quick to ignite. She knew that sending him back to his room would prevent something he may regret doing later.

Harry stood up abruptly and started his trail out of The Great Hall. His cold food remained untouched on the plate that was once right in front of him. He had nothing planned for that day besides teaching, so headed up to his room, preparing to do nothing.

Everything seemed to be bothering him. At first the sun was too bright, then it was too cold, then it was too warm. He tapped his quill angrily on the small desk in his room, only to be annoyed that it was giving him a headache. He felt stir crazy.

When he couldn't take it any longer, Harry hopped out of his chair with such force that it knocked over, and stormed over to the small fireplace he had in his room. He grabbed a fist full of floo powder and threw it into the fire. It took him a moment to remember George's address, but once he did, he stepped into the flames, letting the dizzy feeling engulf him.

He landed in the middle of George's small flat with a large thud. No matter how many times he had traveled by magical means, he would never fully get used to it. He stood himself up onto his feet, and waited expectantly.

As Harry thought he would, George came running into his living room with his wand pointed high.

"Easy George! It's Harry James Potter. In my third year at Hogwarts, you gave me The Marauder's Map so I could sneak off to Hogsmeade."

Even though the war was over, it was still commonplace to properly present oneself. Tensions were still quite high strung in the aftermath of it all.

It was another moment before George put his wand down and a goofy smile climbed its way onto his face. Although it was genuine, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes as it used to.

"Blimey, Harry. I thought I was about to get attacked. What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting up later."

Guilt briefly ran through Harry. He had honestly forgotten that he was supposed to meet George this evening; he just came to his flat because he was the only friend he could think of at the moment.

"Erm… yeah. I just- erm- McGonagall gave me the day off, so I decided to come early."

A mischievous look crept across George's face. "Oh what did you do? Did you set off any dung bombs? Try to save the school again? Find another hidden chamber miles beneath the school with one of the world's deadliest creatures camping out in it?"

"George, I am a teacher."

His grin slightly faltered. "Well if Fred and I were teachers-"

He stopped midsentence. His eyes suddenly seemed glued to the floor, and he started to tangle his fingers together. Was that something he had always done when he was uncomfortable, or had Harry just never noticed?

George chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry mate, old habits die-hard. I am so used to saying Fred and I that-"

I haven't really stopped. Harry completed George's sentence in his head. Harry could very easily relate to George, and by the looks of it, he didn't want to talk about it further.

"Don't worry about it. But now that I am here, what do you think about getting lunch?"

Relief flushed onto George's face immediately. He straightened up his posture and said, "An excellent choice. Some of the restaurants are finally opening back up in Diagon Alley. There is one that makes great hamburgers. Give me a second and we can head out." All of the awkwardness from a moment ago was gone, skillfully masked with a distraction.

George exited the room and returned with a gold and scarlet Gryffindor hat that clashed with his hair horribly. "Alright, I am ready whenever you are."

George led Harry down a flight of stairs that led onto the street. Harry almost forgot that Fred and George's flat was directly above their joke shop, which is why there were stairs in the first place. Harry couldn't help but notice that when they walked past the joke shop, George's pace quickened significantly, and his sight remained glued directly in front of him.

The air outside was crisp and windy. The air around them was finally starting to feel like autumn. Harry tugged his robes tight around him instinctively; he wished he had brought a cloak with him. George, seeing him shiver, said, "Don't worry, the restaurant is just a couple of store fronts down."

It turned out that George was telling the truth. After just a couple more minutes, both boys stood in front of a sign that read, "Patty's Pattys." George chuckled, appreciating the play on words, and walked inside.

The restaurant was somewhere between a lounge and a bar. The metal tables and gray gave the space a rustic feel, but the plush chairs gave the place a comfortable feel about it, as if you could spend hours here just talking. The restaurant was reasonably crowed. Harry could see a swarm of different colored pointed hats and cloaks. The noise was loud but bearable.

George led him towards the back of the restaurant to a table that was slightly closed off from the others. It looked the same as the area by the front of the restaurant, but it was reasonably quieter.

Once both boys sat down, a slim waitress with long shiny black hair walked over and handed them their menus. Harry matted down the hair on his forehead reflexively, not wanting to be noticed. George, on the other hand, looked at her directly in the eyes and thanked her. Harry noticed that his stare was different. When they were in school, George would be cocky almost to the point of arrogance when it came to flirting with pretty girls. In fact, both of the twins were. However, all of his former self was gone in his stare. Harry could tell he appreciated the girl's appearance, but that was all. There were no ulterior motives in his eye contact with their waitress.

"So why did you want to meet up?" Harry questioned after the waitress had left. George leaned back on his chair as if he were trying to remember the reason for asking him here in the first place. When George leaned back up he spoke, "Well we didn't get to talk very much the last time, didn't we? I was also curious why you were defending Malfoy." He added hastily with a smirk.

Harry froze. He had already shoved what had happened the night before as far back in his mind as possible, and once he met George, it had been temporarily forgotten. As soon as George mentioned Draco, it had been like a slap to the face. It must have been showing on his face, because George quickly followed, "Not that I was implying anything!"

It wasn't that Harry didn't trust George; it was just that he didn't want to relive what he had already been over. Last night was the first time that harry had taken of his defensive armor, and look where that got him. He wasn't ready to take it back off, and risk being hurt again.

"Don't worry about it. I honestly don't know why I was defending him." Harry casually deflected.

One look at George told Harry that that answer wouldn't be enough. He stared at Harry with wide, curious eyes, as if Harry were dangling a sweet right in front of him, but he was refusing to hand it over.

Harry sighed dramatically before he continued. "It's just- we are both teachers now, and we have reached a, erm, peace with one another. We both went through the same story, just on two completely different sides of it. He leaves me alone, and I leave him alone."

George seemed to be processing everything Harry had said word by word. He took a gulp of water, which the waitress had brought with the menus. George looked like he was thinking every carefully about what he was going to say next. "Well, the way you were defending him, it almost sounded as if you liked him."

Harry's face immediately hardened. George was getting too close. Harry's mind quickly flooded with memories of Draco's lips on his, the way he felt beneath his hands. Harry gave an involuntary pained shutter; that was over. That was something that would never happen again.

"I do not like him, George. I just understand someone who was involved with Voldemort just as much as I am!" Harry snapped. A couple of heads turned to look at Harry at the sound of Voldemort's name. The name still invoked fear upon many people. When they realized there was no near danger, they slowly turned back around and continued their former conversations.

George looked taken aback. Harry was still staring at him with a completely closed off face. Although nothing had changed, George thought Harry looked like a different person entirely.

"Listen mate, I am sorry-"

"I don't want to talk about it any more." Harry concluded with a tone of harsh finality. Harry leaned back in his chair, his gaze suddenly fixed on a patch of blank wall. Both boys sat in silence until their waitress came over to take their orders.

George didn't know what to say. He thought that saying something would cause Harry to snap at him again, and he didn't want that to happen. He quickly grew bored. He drew out his wand and started to send tiny red and blue sparks across the palm of his hand.

"How has the joke shop been doing? I haven't seen any Weasley products at Hogwarts yet." Harry said suddenly, distracting George from his magic..

It was George's turn to flinch. "I actually haven't opened it since last year."

Before Harry could respond, both of their burgers came. They were ginormous. George immediately picked his up and bit into his excitedly.

Between bites of his burger, Harry asked, "How come?" George swallowed his burger before responding. "Because it reminds me of Fred. Every product in that store we invented together. And I know that where ever he is right now, he is screaming at me to stop being a prick and to reopen the shop, but I just can't." Harry looked at him thoughtfully, but not kindly.

"Have you even gone back into the shop?" George shook his head. "Well, it's settled. Let's go to the shop right now."

Harry knew he was being harsh, but he couldn't seem to stop. Talking about Draco when he wasn't expecting it was like sticking his head in a bucket of ice water; he was left cold and unhappy once it was over. Even though George didn't know what had happened between him and Draco, it had still caused him to bring his guard back up. Harry was being harsh as a way of defending himself.

George nearly choked on the piece of burger in his mouth. "Harry I-" "Well you're going to have to do it at some point, it might as well be now." Harry interrupted.

Harry expected George to be defiant and angry, but from the looks of it, he was neither. George swallowed his food and rested his head in his hands; his eyes were closed. Harry had almost lost concentration by the time George lifted his head. "Fine. Let's go right now."

Both boys stood up, leaving their unfinished food behind. Harry threw a couple of coins on the table, and then followed George outside.

They were both standing in front of the joke shop. Harry looked into the dark windows, while George fixed his eyes on the ground, as if just looking at the shop would be too much for him.

Over their school years, George and Harry were friends, but they were never extremely close. Most of the time, all Harry saw was loud and mischievous George. He was the type of person who could fill up an entire room with his presence. Watching George now, he looked extremely uncomfortable and small. It was almost off-putting to Harry. It was a reminder that not everyone is completely who they are on the outside.

"George, you have to look at it."

If Harry hadn't been paying attention, he would have said that George wasn't moving at all. But sure enough, George slowly lifted his head, and at last his eyes to the joke shop in front of him. He inhaled sharply, as if he wasn't expecting to see the shop there at all.

Harry followed George's expression as his gaze slow slid over the shop. His face was unreadable, but his eyes gave away just how uncomfortable he felt.

"I suppose we should go in, shouldn't we? I am starting to freeze out here." George said after a long moment. George slowly walked up to the door of the shop. He dug his hands into his pockets and pulled out a small silver key with a large "W" on encrusted on the top of it. Once the door was unlocked, they stepped inside.

Everything was as it had been left; the only difference was that now everything had a thin layer of dust on it. For a moment George froze mid-step, as if he were contemplating whether this was still a good idea. Finally he stepped fully through the door. Although Harry waited where George was just standing, George slowly walked down the shelves of the store. He let his fingers drag along the items on the shelves, creating patterns in the settled dust.

Suddenly, George stopped walking and picked up a round object off of a nearby shelf. A Fanged Frisbee. George chuckled lightly to himself. "When Fred and I first developed this, we nearly took off Errol's head. Harry smirked, remembering the Weasley's old barn owl.

Next George picked up a handful of Peruvian Dark Powder. "When the Ministry first asked for a mass order of this, Fred and I thought they were joking. We told them, 'yeah right.' Then, we got a letter threatening us!" George laughed louder. He ran quickly over to the small supply of love potions.

"Remember this, Harry? Remember when Ramilda Vane tried to get you to love her?" George started laughing hysterically.

They spent the rest of the afternoon like that. George running around the shop with the energy and excitement of a five year old, telling crazy stories of how the product came to be, then laughing wildly about it. His laughter was uncontrolled, free. It was almost as it was when Fred was right by his side.

After all the shelves of the store had been messed up by George, and all the dust had finger streaks in them, both boys headed outside, and back up to George's flat.

"Is it alright if I use your floo network?" Harry asked.

"Of course! And by the way, do you want another dung bomb before you go? Whatever you do with them, just make sure that you set one off right in front of Filch's office."

George had taken a bag full of his own products back up to his apartment with him. He handed Harry two more dung bombs than he already had.

Harry threw his floo powder into George's fireplace. He was about to step in side when George interrupted him. "Thanks for meeting up with me today, mate! And thanks for-" He nodded to his bag full of Weasly products.

Harry smiled to himself. "No problem. I'll come and visit the next time I can!"

"Mum said that she'll have your head if you don't come around for Christmas!" George shouted just as Harry let the emerald green flames engulf him.

Harry landed in the fireplace of the staff common room. Since the beginning of the day, Harry's mood had increased significantly. George had distracted him from the numb feeling that raced through his fingertips every time he thought of Draco. Although the mental defenses that Harry had put up to protect himself were strong, the distraction that George provided was even stronger. Harry secretly admitted to himself that he was glad McGonagall made him take the day off.

Harry fully stepped out of the fireplace and made his way across the empty common room. On a table to his left sat a small plate of food, as if someone was in here before he was.

His fingertips had just grazed the doorknob when it was pulled away from him.

Standing in front of him was Draco Malfoy.

Hey everyone! I have not forgotten about you guys!

So I have read so many fanfictions that developed the platonic relationship between George and Harry after the war, and they have always fascinated, yet pissed me off at the same time. I feel like none of them capture George's true essence. We obviously don't know much about George's personality after the war, (so I understand that is open to interpretation) but we do know about George pre-war. Please let me know (kindly, if you can) if you guys think my interpretation of George is some-what realistic. That would make my day.

I also know that this chapter doesn't have much Drarry in it. I did this on purpose. In a real story, the major plot points don't happen in every single chapter; they are spread out. So, along with my whole Drarry story line, I am going to write some other sub-story lines, (like George's) to really enhance the slow build I am trying to achieve.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't be afraid to let me know what you think of my story! Constructive criticism is welcome, I only ask that you refrain from delivering it in a rude or hurtful manner.