Everybody Party Till the Gasman Comes

"Hey, Hermione, can I-"

"No, Sam. I'm not letting you "look" at my notes," Hermione replied, not even looking up from the parchment on the table. "You should have some of your own."

"But, Hermione!" I whined. "We have that big exam in Ancient Runes after Christmas and you should know that I wasn't paying any attention in class for the last week."

She looked up at me, incredulous. "That isn't my problem, Sam," she said, then went back to working.

I huffed, leaning back in my chair and setting my quill down on top of my parchment. My eyes scanned the common room. Besides a couple of first years who were excited at the idea that they could finally stay up late, Hermione and I were the only ones in the common room. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had all gone up to bed two hours previously and the twins were God knows where.

Stretching, I stood up. I shot a glance at my Ancient Runes book and other school supplies, contemplating whether or not to at least tidy them up before I left. I shrugged and began walking toward the portrait hole. I looked back at Hermione when I heard her quill stop scratching across her parchment.

"What are you doing?"

I pointed at the portrait hole. "I'm going for a walk."

She stared at me. "It's two in the morning."

"Your point is?"

"What if you get caught?"

I smiled. "Then I guess I get caught. Seeya, Hermione!"

***

After wandering the corridors for almost an hour, I started getting incredibly tired. I'm sure I looked like a drunkard, wobbling from side to side as I tried to make my way back to the common room. A few times I even ran into the walls. I thought about just sitting against one and sleeping there for the night, but I thought that might not be a very good idea.

I was half-way back to the common room when I spotted someone ahead of me in the corridor. At first I wasn't too worried, but then I realized that they were walking towards me. Bloody hell, I thought to myself. I assumed it was probably Filch, or worse, Snape, and I was, indeed, going to get caught. I thought about turning the other way and running, but I knew that if I did so I would get in even more trouble when I did get caught. It was just my luck. Spend nights out in the corridors with the twins and I was fine. Alone, though, I was in deep.

The person and I kept getting closer and closer. When we were about ten feet from one another, I realized who it was. I picked up my pace, walking faster and faster before launching myself at the person.

"Hi, Sam," George laughed.

I glared up at him in the little light we had. "You scared the crap out of me, George! I thought you were Filch."

"I was under the impression I was handsomer than that."

I smacked him in the stomach. "Shut up."

He grinned at me, grabbing my hand in his and leading back the way he came. "C'mon, Sammy. It's late. You need to go to bed."

***

I frowned down at Weasel, who was laying on top of my bedcovers. Or, rather, I frowned at the huge rip that was causing his arm to flop lazily at his side. Over the ten years that I'd had the small brown teddy bear, he'd had many of these battlewounds. However, Mrs. Weasley had always been there to fix him. I silently wished, now, that I had taken her up on her offer to learn how to fix him by magic, or even her offer to teach me to sew.

I picked the bear up gently, cradling him to my torso as if he were a newborn baby, and walked from the dormitory. Once I arrived at the common room, I glanced around. Not many people were in the room, but I opened my mouth anyways.

"Does anyone know how to fix my teddy bear?"

Everyone looked up at me. The older kids who were in the room gave me odd looks, while the younger ones looked relieved at the site of a fourth year having a teddy bear, too. No one said anything for awhile. After a few seconds I repeated my question and then a familiar voice said, "I do."

I stared pointedly at George. He was sat on the sofa between Lee and Fred. "You?"

George stood up and walked over to me, taking Weasel from my hands. "Yes, me," he said. He began walking towards the boys' dormitories, only stopping when he noticed I wasn't following him. He turned to look back at me. "Are you coming?"

I quickly chased after him as he took the stairs two-by-two. I found him in his dorm, sitting on his four-poster. A box of thread and needles was sitting beside him, and Weasel was laying on the bed in front of him. I sat down at the foot of his bed, pulling my knees to my chest and watching him thread the needle.

"How many times has he had to be fixed up like this now, Sam?" he asked, not looking up from the needle.

I ignored his question. "I didn't know you could sew."

"Mum taught me. She thought it might come in handy someday."

I smiled. "Well, look at that. She was right. But couldn't you just do this with magic?"

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" he smiled. It was silent for awhile, and I sat with my chin on my knees while George sewed Weasel's arm back to his body. "He was my idea, you know."

"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely confused but having also only been paying attention to his fingers as they deftly worked the thread and needle.

"When you turned four. Fred didn't know what we should get you. He thought maybe sweets or something, but I told him that wouldn't be a good idea because sweets make you sick."

I laughed. "I think you're the only one in your family besides your mum who knows that about me."

He looked away from Weasel and smiled at me, then continued his work. "Yeah, well, anyways. I knew that your old teddy bear, that one you'd had since you were a baby, was falling apart, so I suggested we get you a new one. Fred was still sold on sweets."

"Of course he was," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Give him a break. He was six. His rationale was that if you couldn't eat them, he could."

"Why am I friends with you guys again?"

"Because without us, or me, actually, Weasel's arm would have had to have been amputated. And then what would his life be like? He'd never be the same. His psyche would have been shot." He handed Weasel, whose arm was now perfectly normal, if not held on to his shoulder even more tightly, back to me.

I smiled at him. "Thank you, Georgie." I stared down at Weasel, the smile still plastered on my face.

George mumbled something that I didn't quite hear and I looked back at him.

"What did you say?"

"You really love that thing, don't you?"

I nodded, looking back down at Weasel for a second, then glancing back to George. "Of course I do."