Look After You

I was alone at the joke shop on March first, checking inventory and figuring my pay for the month (a paltry sum, but Fred and George didn't make me pay rent, so it hardly mattered), when a shining, silver mist appeared on the floor in front of me. I recognized it as a rapidly-forming Patronus and sat silently, waiting to see whose it would be.

It was Fred's. The fox sat back on its haunches and opened its mouth.

"It doesn't look like George and I are coming home as early as we'd hoped. Ron's in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, and we're visiting with him and the rest of the family. Don't wait up."

The Patronus dissipated and I sat quite still. A thousand different thoughts flew through my head. I wanted to know what had happened to Ron. It was his birthday, I remembered. Had his celebrations been taken a little too far? No, I discounted the idea, McGonagall would never allow it. I wondered if the "Annual Hogwarts Disaster" – as the Twins and I had come to call the seemingly regular pattern of horrible things that happen there – was the cause of Ron's hospital stay. This worried me quite a lot, actually. I feared for everyone I knew that was still at Hogwarts. Harry, Ginny, even Hermione. Were they all okay?

The Twins had been in Hogsmeade, after learning that their old haunt, Zonko's, was on its way out (something about students not being allowed out on weekends anymore?). While the reasoning put a damper on their interest – if Zonko's hadn't been able to stay afloat, they most likely wouldn't be able to, either – they couldn't pass up the opportunity to inquire.

They'd invited me to come along, but I didn't really want to go back to Hogwarts knowing I couldn’t stay. I was beginning to miss it dreadfully in comparison to the first few months after leaving.

I didn’t know how to make my Patronus speak, but I desperately wanted answers and sending Herold with a hand-written note would take too long. I conjured the mish-mash of memories I had from my last summer at the Burrow, all of which centered around games of Quidditch in the orchard and, more specifically (I'm incredibly ashamed to admit it), the particular game where I ended up accidentally sort-of, kind-of kissing George.

"Expecto Patronum," I whispered firmly. Silver mist poured from the tip of my wand and took the form of my not-so-familiar Cattle Egret (which really looks nothing like a cow. It's actually quite a pretty bird. My granddad showed me one when I was about seven). I thought for a moment, then pointed my wand at my throat. The bird seemed to watch me patiently.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure if I'm doing this right," I began uncertainly, "But I want to know what's going on. What happened? Are Harry and Ginny okay? What about Hermione? Is there going to be a battle of epic proportions? Tell Ron I hope he feels better."

I lowered my wand, unsure of what to do next. I decided to say "Fred and George Weasley" then added "Hogwarts Hospital Wing" for good measure. The Patronus faded and disappeared entirely, which did little to boost my confidence in the matter.

I remained tense on my stool, unable to return to the paperwork I was supposed to be doing. It was dark outside on Diagon Alley. The lanterns did little by way of cutting through the gloom. I felt a bit uneasy sitting by myself with only Alphonse, the shockingly-pink Pygmy Puff, for company. He was certainly a cute little thing (Rodent? Whatever?), but he didn’t do much. Not to mention, Herold kept trying to eat him.

Out of nowhere, Fred's Patronus was back again.

"Shut up, Lacey, you almost woke the whole hospital wing. What do you think you're doing, replying to my Patronuses at this ungodly hour? (Congratulations on learning how, by the way). Stop your worrying. Everyone's fine. George and I will explain everything. Mum misses you. See you around midnight."

I heaved a sigh of relief when the silver monkey disappeared. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly eleven-thirty, now. There really wasn't a point in trying to finish my clerical work before Fred and George's return, so I rolled my parchment neatly and locked both the front door and the till. Using the light from the tip of my wand, I navigated up the spiral staircase with Alphonse on my shoulder.

I dropped, cross-legged, onto my couch to wait for the Twins to get back. Glancing around the room, I was surprised to see that it wasn’t as messy as it usually was. Some of the black smudges had already been scoured off (which I was quite pleased about, because I had been intending to do it myself soon, anyway). In fact, the messiest part of the entire room was the span of floor-space where I kept my trunk. Various articles of clothing spilled out, wrinkled and unfolded. Pieces of parchment were scattered here and there and, half-hidden beneath an old Potions assignment, was a photograph of George and I from the Yule Ball in our sixth year.

I remembered that night quite well, actually. Attempting to waltz with George had been an interesting experience, given the fact that he had no idea what he was doing and I kept trying to lead. We quit after two sets, retiring to a table in the corner. We’d been sitting there for only a few minutes when some nameless girl who I didn’t even recognize asked if we wanted our photograph taken. We'd agreed, and she'd whipped out an enormous Wizard's version of a Polaroid camera.

It was a decent picture, actually. The moving kind, no less. George had his arm around my shoulders and we were sort of leaning toward each other in our seats. His pale gold vest and tie had matched my dress quite nicely, and the flash set our hair to shining some otherworldly shade of orange. We were laughing.

I took the photograph up between my fingers and studied it closely. George and I could pass for brother and sister, in all honesty. Since I'd known him and Fred, that's all I assumed we could ever be: siblings by principle, if not by blood. Nothing more, nothing less.

But Mrs. Weasley had said that George (especially George, that is) "loved me dearly". What it meant, I wasn’t entirely sure, but I was pretty certain it wasn't along the lines of sibling affection. But, I supposed, the million-galleon-question had to be 'Would it ever amount to anything?' Or, more specifically, 'Would I ever let it amount to anything?'.

I did love George, I decided. But it was in an 'I-love-you-because -you're-my-best-friend-and-kissing-you-in-the-orchard-was-sort-of-fun-and-I-kind-of-want-to-do-it-again' sort of way.

There was a loud pop and the Twins were suddenly in front of me, looking very tired. I let out a squeal of surprise, then tried to get my heart-rate back to normal. When I had succeeded, I beckoned for them to sit down because they had some serious explaining to do.

"I remember that." George said, pointing at me. I still had the photograph in my hands. He snatched it and held it closer to the light to see it better, "Yule Ball. Gold is a good color for us." He handed it back to me and grinned.

"Sucks to the Yule Ball. What happened at Hogwarts?" I asked, grabbing the picture and dropping it onto the couch beside me.

Fred sat on the floor, his gangly legs splayed out in front of him. George mirrored him exactly, and they both looked very old. I was suddenly very worried.

"Ron was poisoned." Fred said. I must've gasped or something because he held up his hand and said, "But it was an accident and he's going to be fine. He's in the hospital wing now. He's knocked out and doesn't know what the bloody hell is going on, anyway."

"How do you accidentally get poisoned?" I asked.

"Well," George said, "He drank some wine, or something. It had the poison in it. Everyone reckons that he wasn't the real target, though. He wasn't the first mistake, either."

"Katie Bell was cursed something awful back in September. She's been in St. Mungo's ever since," Fred shook his head sadly, "And she was Imperiused when it happened. Someone gave her a cursed necklace in Hogsmeade. It barely touched her and she almost died. That's why no one's allowed out on weekends anymore."

"Blimey." I muttered, my eyes going wide.

"Yeah. Well, at least Harry was there," Fred said, "He really does have a knack for saving the day, doesn’t he?" He looked pensive.

"What?" I backtracked over the conversation to make sure I hadn't missed anything. Where had Harry come in, again?

"Harry shoved a bezoar down Ron's throat at the last second." George clarified, looking as thoughtful as his brother.

"Ah, smart." I commended, imagining the scene. Harry, of course, was battling dragons and You-Know-Who – simultaneously – whileridingabroomstickinarainstorm and I really need some sleep, "Do they know who did it?"

Both twins shook their heads. I sighed, suddenly more glad that I was no longer at Hogwarts than I had been that morning. I missed the school itself, sure, but the disasters got old after the first time. It was true that Harry Potter did have a knack for saving the day, but he wouldn't have to if he didn’t attract so much damn trouble in the first place. Not that it was his fault, of course. I didn't blame him at all. I actually quite liked Harry.

"Ron has a girlfriend, now." George said, grinning.

"Some girl from Gryffindor, no less. Lavender something?" Fred added.

My head shot up in excitement, "Really?" I asked. The Twins looked at me curiously and I bounced a bit in my seat, grinning madly.

"I think that's what her name was," George muttered, frowning, "Why are you so jazzed about it?"

"Because it's bloody well exciting!" I clapped my hands once, still grinning.

"Don't think it'll last much longer, though," Fred snickered.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Ickle Ronniekins said Hermione's name in his sleep in front of everyone." George grinned.

"That's even more exciting, then!" I said. "Imagine, Ron and Hermione together?" I sighed, imagining the brilliant, red-headed children they would produce with a dreamy look at the ceiling.

"Well, anyway. Get out of my bedroom now." I shooed them away with a flutter of my fingers, "I'm exhausted."

"Your bedroom? Our living room, more like." Fred said, raising his eyebrows. Nonetheless, he stood and crossed the space between us so that he could cuff my shoulder affectionately. "Goodnight, Lace." He grinned and left the room, extinguishing most of the lamps as he went.

George lingered for a moment, only standing after Fred had disappeared. He came and sat beside me on the couch, gingerly taking the Yule Ball photograph up in his hands again. He studied it closely, his brow furrowed.

"Did you have fun?" He asked, flashing the picture in my direction, "At Yule Ball, I mean."

"Sure. I looked dandy, in case you didn’t notice. And we managed to gain a not-so-lasting reputation as the worst dancers in Hogwarts. Quite the feat, don't you think?" I sunk back into the couch, cuddling Alphonse against my nose sleepily. George nodded, still looking pensive.

"I had a good time." he said decisively, leaning back against the couch cushions the same way I was and not looking at the picture anymore. He reached over to touch Alphonse with the tip of his finger.

"Don't touch my Alphonse." I said warningly, hugging the rodent (I'm still not entirely sure what he actually is) to my chest.

"Or what?" George grinned devilishly.

"I'll hex you." I said automatically, though I knew perfectly well that my wand was sitting in the pocket of my employee robes, which were in a heap beside my trunk.

"You don't have your wand," He said, "And even if you did, you wouldn't really hex me, you git."

"Who says?" I glared at him.

"I say. You'd feel horrible afterward."

"Who says?" I repeated.

"I do." He grinned again. His red hair was dim without all the lights on. I wanted it to be brighter in the room because he was more familiar looking like his head was on fire. George in the dark was new and sort of terrifying in a thrilling way. I felt a thrill of adrenaline in my veins just looking at him.

Why is my heart beating so bloody fast?

George reached over to tug on a few locks of my hair like he and Fred had always done at school. I snuggled my nose into Alphonse again so that George wouldn’t notice my heavy sigh.

"I wish you wouldn’t do that." He said, putting his hand on my wrist and pressing my hands away from my face. Alphonse squirmed. I think I squeezed him a bit too tight, but I wasn’t entirely sure. I sort of felt like my head was going to implode.

"Do what?" I murmured, looking up at George through my eyelashes.

"Hide your face."

Then it happened.

I wasn't really even sure why, but it did and it was indescribable, but not in a good way. Not in a bad way either, but it was sort of like I was waiting for Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs to go off, or something. Maybe because I was anticipating immense kissing-skill on both our parts which was silly because I knew for a fact that I couldn’t kiss worth anything, and George… Well, I don’t really know about George. I was too busy screaming inside my head to really pay attention. I just know that his lips were on mine and he smelled so warm, I wanted huddle into his itchy wool sweater and forget that I had ever thought he was like a brother to me.

Because, honestly, you shouldn’t want to kiss your brothers anywhere near as badly as I had wanted to kiss George.

When it was over, I wasn’t sure what was happening. I just kept feeling like my-lips-are-fucking-cold-all-by-themselves-and-I-wonder-how-he-still-manages-to-smell-like-summertime-apples.

He suddenly stood and walked in a tight circle, making guttural sounds almost like he wanted to talk but forgot how. He raked his hands through his hair, stared at me with eyes the size of galleons, then opened his mouth.

"'S late. 'M sort of tired, 'n it's late now, you know? It's been a long day." He paused, staring at the floor, his face colored a shade of red I hadn’t even known existed, "'M gonna go to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." I said with a small nod.

He dashed from the room and left me sitting there in the dark with my fingers on my lips and Alphonse still clutched in the fist of my free hand. I stared blankly ahead of me for a while, still trying to comprehend the situation. I dissected the kiss, analyzing every sigh and the way he had gripped my wrist sort of like the way you grip someone when you're apparating together. Like he was afraid I'd try to go somewhere without him.

I finally lay down on the couch without my blankets or pillow, staring up at the ceiling I couldn’t see in the darkness.

A first kiss, I guess.