Even though permanently sharing a bed with George did wonders to calm my mind, I still had nights where sleep eluded me. Memories of Sirius Black's last moments flashed in front of my eyes, my nerves screamed as if I was once again hit by Bellatrix Lestrange's Cruciatus curse, and now visions of Death Eaters marching through Diagon Alley invaded my dreams as well. My new home, the one I worked so hard to find a place in, was ruined in a matter of minutes. Even 93 Diagon Alley no longer felt safe.

On one such night, when the screams of Florean Fortesque were too much to bear in the darkness of the bedroom, I wandered down into the shop, dragged out my cauldron, and did the only thing that ever really calmed my nerves. I began brewing a potion. I had no idea what to brew, of course, but that never stopped me. Besides, one more explosion would hardly hurt the place; Merlin knew the boys blew the place up enough. Hence why the counter was so far away from the products. Perfect for experimenting.

There was something very calming about chopping and crushing ingredients. The rhythmic churning of my mortar and pestle helped to steady my breathing, but my hands still shook more than I wanted. The cuts of my asphodel were uneven and therefore essentially useless, but I dumped them in anyway. I could not seem to muster the strength to squeeze a lemon into the cauldron, but instead fumbled the fruit and dropped the whole thing. I stared at the brew dumbly, wondering what exactly would happen with a whole lemon inside the potion. This was new. I had never done that before. Carefully, I picked up my quill to record the change of events, but accidentally scratched right through the parchment. My second attempt fared much better.

To focus my mind better, I decided to try a little wandless spell casting. With all the practice I had put in lately, I was getting much better at getting the spell to go from my mind to my fingertips without the terrible headaches and exhaustion and need for complete focus. It was just something else to think about instead of my dreams. So, I gestured at a second lemon to slice it and used my mind to levitate it over the cauldron to actually squeeze the juice in (because, really, how much harm could a little more lemon juice do at this point?).

"Mellie?"

I screamed at George's voice and flung my hands out to protect myself, which sent a spell at him and knocked him straight to the ground. As soon as I realized what happened, my hands flew to my mouth and I leapt from my stool, but George slowly pushed himself up so he was sitting on the steps.

"Owwwwww," he moaned.

"I'm so sorry, George!" I gasped. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he grunted, which was not at all reassuring. He winced as he rubbed the back of his head, then tenderly checked his ribs. "Ow." He studied his palms. "I'm bleeding."

"From where?" I was at his side in an instant, although healing with wands was a horrifying notion. Gilderoy Lockhart permanently ruined my trust in the process.

"Dunno. My hand?" I checked, pressing my thumb to the heel of his hand. He hissed and yanked his hand away. "Yeah, yeah that's it. Ow! Why'd you do that?"

"You said you didn't know, so I was checking!" I insisted, noticing vaguely that my voice had gone up in pitch. "You were either bleeding from your hand or your head, so-"

"Not that!" His voice had gone up, too. A shock thing, maybe. "Why'd you knock me down?"

"You scared me! You know not to scare me!"

"I thought you'd know it was me! Who else calls you Mellie?"

"Anyone is capable of calling me Mellie, George! In the event of a sneak attack, the enemy may think to use a pet name to lull me into a false sense of security!"

George made a face that was half wince, half exasperation. "That's absolutely ridiculous."

Probably true, but at the time it felt very logical. "It couldn't have been you! I was making a potion, and someone said my name, but everyone was asleep –"

"I wasn't asleep, because you weren't asleep, because you never sleep, and it bothers me that you can never sleep, so I came down to see what was wrong, but I'll never make that mistake again, don't worry." He chuckled mostly out of disbelief, waved me off, and straightened himself into a more comfortable sitting position.

"Oh, honestly!" I huffed. "I don't know why you're being so dramatic. I just couldn't sleep. I'm fine."

"You are not," he insisted off-handedly, his attention focused on his scratched palm. "If it was one night, sure, fine, no problem. But I've developed this annoying habit of reaching out in my sleep to pull you closer to me only to find that you're not even in the same room, and it wakes me up. I'd really like to just reach out, find you, and keep on sleeping. That would be nice."

Even though this was supposed to be serious, I couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh at the way he put it. Of course he cared about my well-being, which was admittedly much worse off than I let on, but George knew better than to push me on it. Making it seem like he cared more about his own sleep made his concern sit better with me for some reason.

"Here, I think there's a cloth around here somewhere…" I smiled and looked around until I realized we actually did not have any clothes handy in the shop. Of course we wouldn't; cloths were good for cleaning spills and dusting up, rending them useless in a shop run with magic. Rolling my eyes at how unprepared magic sometimes made us, I summoned one of the cloths used to wrap potion ingredients, made sure there were no stray rosemary flowers on it, and pressed it to his hand. He hissed at the pressure but kept his hand out for me. Of course, any other witch or wizard could have fixed this with a simple spell, but George knew how nervous healing spells made me. "Sorry if it hurts."

"No, 's fine," he told me, voice tight with pain. "Would be even better if you hadn't sent me on my arse." He offered a half smile to assure me he was joking. "What was it tonight?" I frowned at him. "That woke you up. Did you Feel something?"

"Oh." Duh. "No, nothing like that. I don't get stuff in my sleep." George really tried, bless him, but my irregular version of the Sight could be more than he could wrap his head around sometimes. I didn't get visions in my dreams or images of the future. I just got Feelings. Sometimes, I would touch something or look at someone or hear the right phrase and would just Know. "It was nothing, really. I just woke up." It was lame and pointless, but I still tried the lie. George exaggerated his eyes roll so much that he rolled his whole head and ended by staring at me with wide, expectant eyes. "Bad dream."

"I know. That's what it normally is."

"No, it's not." Dammit. George's eyebrows shot up at this revelation. "Normally, I just can't sleep at all. My mind's just racing with…well, with all kinds of things. Something I Know or something that happened that day or Sirius or…"

"Siri- Mel, you can't keep blaming yourself for that. It wasn't your fault."

"I know," I insisted quickly. Automatically. I did know that, really. I did. "I know it's not my fault. It doesn't mean I don't think about it." And how I could have stopped it. As would anyone else in my position. Yes, my mind probably did dwell on things for longer than was healthy, but I maintain that I was within my rights to still be thinking about Sirius's death. "That's not the point. The point is that I don't normally wake up. I normally don't fall asleep."

"You sleep. I've seen you sleep," George frowned.

"I do," I confirmed, pulling the cloth back to check his hand. I don't know why I bothered; I had no idea what I was looking for, so I just recovered it and applied more pressure that caused pain on my lover's face. "Fitfully. And I've been getting better. Most nights, I'm fine. I've slept so much better since moving in here." Something lit up in his eyes at my words, and my heart swelled knowing that I could make his face do that. To make us both happy, I quickly pecked his lips before going back to talking. "I just still have…moments."

"Well," he yawned, "I don't want you to have moments. I want you to be able to sleep."

"I don't how anyone can sleep. Not with everything that's happened. How Fred can snore away…"

"He sounds like a bear with a sinus block," George grumbled. I laughed out loud because it was so true. Not that I had ever heard a bear with a sinus block, but it had to sound fairly similar. "I don't snore like that, do I?"

"You don't," I assured him with another kiss. This time, as I pulled away, he leaned his face forward to catch my lips again.

"But you had a bad dream tonight, yeah?"

My face fell, our joke ruined by that simple question. "Yeah. The attack."

George nodded knowingly. "We don't have to live afraid, Mel. I know it doesn't feel as safe here as it used to, but living in fear of the next Death Eater attack just gives them another victory."

"I know," I murmured.

George frowned at me, studying my face intently to the point that I shifted uncomfortably and let out a nervous laugh. "Have I ever taken you on a proper date?"

I thought about this. "No. You haven't. That's never happened." Which felt odd, really, considering all we had done together. But George and I fell in love and became a couple without all the wining and dining. Since when was I so low-maintenance? This seemed wrong…

"We should fix that. Tomorrow. Let's have a date day. Let's do that." He nodded definitively, the matter decided as far as he was concerned. But, I was the practical one, and I shook my head.

"Georgie," I laughed, beaming at how sweet he could be, "the kids just got their book lists. Diagon Alley'll be swarming tomorrow. We can't leave."

"Yes, we can. Angie can help. And Fred can get Verity in. She's good with shop things." I frowned at the unfamiliar name. "The girl that helped stock the shelves." Oh, right, her. She spent two weeks or so helping us put product out before Angie came. She was the daughter of some shopkeeper who wanted her to learn the trade at a store other than the family business, cross-training or whatever. Nice girl. Organized. "So, we'll go out! Dress nice."

"Can't I just wear what I always do?"

George considered this. "Yeah, actually, do that. Sounds better."

"Your hand is really bleeding," I informed him, although my smile probably undermined my worry. George shrugged and took his hand back.

"I'll get Fred to patch me up."

"Get Angie, please. She's better with healing."

George rolled his eyes and stood up. "Fine. I'll get Angie. Come to bed?"

I cast a look at my cauldron, but it did not seem all that important. "Yeah," I nodded. "Bed sounds wonderful."

FGFGFGFGFGFGFGFGFG

When light broke, I work up with George's arms wrapped protectively around my waist. I found that I liked that. I liked it very much. I liked how he squirmed when I wanted to get up, struggling to keep me in the bed. I liked the way he pulled me to him to plant kisses on my neck as I got dressed for our day out.

"Should we…Oh, stop that!" I giggled as George, still in bed, pulled me down again. "George, I have to get dressed!"

"You have a skirt and bra. What else do you need?"

"A shirt," I insisted. I swatted at his hand as he reached for me. "They won't let me into the respectable world without one."

"Well, then, we won't go anywhere respectable. Problem solved. Just go naked under your robes. No one will know."

"I'll know," I reminded him. "You have to get dressed, too. C'mon."

He stuck his bottom lip out. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Now, get dressed."

Eventually, George did allow me to get dressed and did the same himself, and we headed down into the shop. I yawned lazily as I climbed onto my stool at the counter, where my potion from last night (or early that morning, more accurately) was now a fluorescent yellow color. Odd. Too much lemon, clearly. As I wrapped up my ingredients to store in the cupboard for the day, Fred rushed in. He took one look at us, and his eyes widened.

"What are you doing? What are you wearing? Why aren't you in uniform? Mel, you have to be in uniform! We decided on the uniform for a reason! Even Angie's in uniform!" He gestured wildly to a very sad sack of former joy, Angelina Johnson in a magenta robe. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly and her head hung as low as it could, but when her eyes flicked up in my direction, I saw the flash of anger in them. Clearly, she and I were of the same mind about the shop uniform color choice. "And you have no idea how much complaining she did about that!"

"No, I think Mel has a very good idea about that," Angie grumbled. "Would it have killed you to pick blue or something?"

Fred growled and looked heavenward for strength. "Yes. It would. Would you hush up about it?" Angie wrinkled her nose and dramatically mimicked "Would you hush up about it?" but refrained from actually saying anything. "Why aren't you two ready? They'll be beating down the doors any minute now!"

"I told you last night to get Verity in," George reminded his twin patiently. "Mel and I aren't going to be here."

"You did not say you weren't going to be here!" Fred's eyes grew huge. "You said to get Verity, yeah, but not because you wouldn't be here."

George rolled his eyes. "Why else would you call her in?"

"Because it's going to be busier than the library the week before O.W.L.s, that's why!"

"Like you even know what that looks like. I don't even know what that looks like. Mel, what does that look like?"

Three sets of eyes turned to me, although Angie quickly lost interest and turned back to picking sorrowfully at her robes. "Busy."

"See!" Fred threw his hands up. "It's going to be busy. That cinches it! You're a co-founder of this shop; you can't just leave."

"That's not what Mel said. Look, I'm taking her out for the day. You'll do just fine without us. You have Angie, and you'll have Verity. That's three people, which is what we always have."

"Yeah, it's three people, but it's not the three people. It's not you and me, mate!"

Angie whipped her head up dangerously. "What does that make me, Fred?"

"Not now, Angie," he tossed over his shoulder. Bad plan. Angie was off her stool in a second, drawn up to full height, glowering at him. Fred shrank back and offered a weak smile. "Angie! Did I say 'not now'? I meant…you're…a…erm…"

"Cow?" I supplied. Fred shot me a look.

"You know, mate, Mum's coming today," he told George suddenly. We all froze. Why hadn't he mentioned this sooner? Why did none of us know this? Angie looked at me since this was the sort of information I normally dispensed when the boys got a hair-brained scheme. I shook my head dumbly and turned to George, who stared blankly at his brother. Excellent. Count on Fred to just sit on vital information.

"Your mother is coming today?" Angie blurted finally. Fred nodded. "Your mother?"

"Yes, my mother, Angie, thank you for keeping up," he rattled off quickly. "Look, George, you know if she's coming –"

"-that she's bringing Gin, Ron, Harry, and Hermione-" George continued.

"-and if you're not here for Gin, Ron, and his friends-"

"-she'll murder me-"

"-without hesitation."

"Damn," George hissed. Fred confirmed with a not-so-disappointed, "Damn," and summoned George's robe. With some muttering, George took off the robes he was wearing, dumped them on the floor, and put on his uniform. I picked up his discarded clothes and carefully folded them, and Angie put them in the cupboard with my potion ingredients.

"What about you?" Fred asked.

"No, you go out," George insisted quickly. "Have your day. Go buy yourself clothes or shoes or something. With the two of us and Verity, we'll have this. It is you and me, right, mate?" Fred considered this for a moment and nodded.

"Yeah, I s'pose so."

Angie's eyes sparked hopefully. "What about me?"

"Yeah!" I blurted. "What about her?"

George shrugged as he fished through a drawer on the counter. "I don't care. Fred?" He found what he searched for and tossed me a small leather purse. I yelped as it came at my face and threw my hands up to block it; it hit off of my wrist, and ricocheted to the left, landing with a thump on the ground. Angie snorted, but the boys were used to my terrible hand-eye coordination by now. George glanced to make sure he hadn't killed me, which he hadn't, and Fred did not even look.

"Yeah, go," Fred nodded. "We'll be fine."

"Wait, so you only fussed so I wouldn't leave?" George made a face. "Puss."

As the boys bantered, I retrieved the pouch and opened it to see what exactly George threw at me. Angie peered in, too, and Ooo'd at the contents. "George, what is this for?" I asked. As far as I could tell, there was absolutely no reason for me to have a bag of galleons.

"Spending money," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"This is more than spending money," Angie breathed, fingering through the galleons to get a count. "Way more."

"How much is in there?" Fred asked George rather than us.

"Twelve…fifteen…twenty-four galleons."

"Oh," Fred snorted, "yeah, take it. We'll make that back today."

"You do realize that, if you give us this money, we will spend it? Every knut?" I cautiously informed them.

George shrugged. "One request."

"It's your money," Angie shrugged. "Go for it."

Fred and George shared a look, doing that thing they do where they communicated without any words. I hated when they did that because, no matter how well I knew them, I never could understand them when they did that. Finally, George spoke, "Buy yourselves something fancy."

"By fancy," Fred cut in, "he means sexy."

"I mean fancy."

"He means hot."

Next chapter: Going Out and Going Back