All was not well.

Voldemort was defeated. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister for Magic, vowed to forge a harmonious relationship between magical creatures and wizard kind. Diagon Alley shops had reopened. The economy was booming. None of it mattered to George Weasley. He didn't care how many Wizarding World Saved stories were printed by the Daily Prophet. His world had shattered the night he lost his twin, and nothing could put it right.

If he used work and Firewhisky to cope, it was no one's business but his own. It never stopped him from doing his family duty–until today. He didn't feel up to seeing Ginny onto the Hogwarts Express; he felt like something a Kneazle dragged in. When the alarm rang earlier, he had knocked it onto the floor and pulled a pillow over his head. Forget solidarity and all that rot. He had a hangover.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“We don’t want any. Go away,” muttered George. Pain sliced through his heart the way a spell had once sliced off his ear. There was no “we” anymore.

Sure there is, he could almost hear his brother say. Nothing separates twins. It’s just that death has sadly limited my wit and charm to an audience of one.

In his mind, Fred grinned. Tears pricked George’s eyes. “Shut the hell up,” he said thickly.

“If you’re talking to yourself, you’re awake, so roll out of bed and drag your arse into the shower,” said a voice from the doorway.

George stayed where he was. “How did you get in?”

Bill said, “Forgot giving me the counter ward that time I brought you home from the pub? Maybe you should stop drinking.”

“I’ll change the ward instead, thanks.” George scrunched his eyes shut tighter. “I feel like shite. I’m not going. Tell the family I have dragon pox for all I care.” He sat up when the pillow was yanked away. “Hey!”

Bill said, “I’m not taking 'no' for an answer.”

“That line might work when Fleur isn’t in the mood, but I'm not impressed, brother.” George mentally ran through his repertoire of nonverbal jinxes.

“Protego!” said Bill, an instant before George cast a Jelly Legs. “Aquamenti!”

A string of curses left George’s lips upon being drenched with icy water.

Bill sighed. “Call me anything you like, but get up.”

George stubbornly laid back and closed his eyes.

“Fine. Be that way. Mobilicorpus!”

The sensation of floating toward the bathroom was nauseating. “Let me down, you bastard!” If only Bill was in range. George would vomit on him. Dumped onto the tiles beneath the showerhead, he groaned. His entire body ached. Cold spray propelled him to his feet. “Ahhh!”

“I’ll lay out some clothes and fix breakfast.” Bill took a vial out of a pocket. “Drink this,” he said.

“W–what is it?” George’s teeth were chattering.

“Hair of the Dog. It’ll sober you up.”

George pulled the stopper from the vial and chugged down vile-tasting glop. “Sadist,” he growled, throwing the cork at his brother’s head.

Bill caught the projectile. “Be out in five minutes.”

“Yes, Dad.”

A smile pulled at the scars on Bill’s face. “Who told you? Mum?”

Water plastered long strands of hair against his face as George stared. “Told me what?”

“Fleur’s pregnant. It's a boy.”

“Congratulations.” George reached blindly for the soap.

“Really?” Bill’s smile widened and then faded. “I’ve felt guilty for being so happy after…you know.”

Fred’s death hung like a dark cloud between them. George didn’t want to talk about it. He said, “Look, unless you want to watch me wash something that’ll give you an inferiority complex–”

Bill snorted. "I don't,” he said. “Not that I’d have a complex, little brother."

“I know.” George’s mouth barely turned up at the corners. Months ago, he would have laughed his head off and dared Bill to compare.

“Okay, I’ll go search for clean clothes in that pigsty you call a bedroom.”

When Bill left, George let the water pound over him, wishing it would numb his emotions the way it did his skin. How nice it was for the family to have a new Weasley to replace the one they had lost: how bloody wonderful.

Bitterness welled. Everyone else seemed eager to forget the war and go on with life. He barely made it through each day. Sometimes, on sleepless nights, he wondered why he even bothered to make the effort.

Don’t be a gobshite. You’d never hurt the family that way—much less leave them the shop! They’ve got no imagination, no business sense. The lot would ruin our reputation and go bankrupt within a year! Fred’s imagined words brought a fleeting smile to George’s face. It was the truth.

All humour drained away when he saw the green suit on the bed. He and Fred had thought they were cool wearing dragon hide. A flick of his wand made the outfit float back into the wardrobe before he searched through a mound of clothes beside the bed. There was a plain black tee and trousers that smelled reasonably clean. He put them on, thinking they matched his mood.

At the station, he greeted everyone while pretending not to notice the looks of concern. He checked the time.

“You bought a new watch?” his mother asked sharply. “Did you lose the one we gave you on your seventeenth birthday?”

“No.” I put it in a box next to the one you gave Fred, because I every time I look at it I want to drown in a bottle of Firewhisky, he thought, but you don’t want to know that, do you, Mum? You want to believe we're one, big, happy family. George’s eyes went to Ginny. “Shouldn’t you be boarding the train?” He made an effort to smile. “You don’t have to hold Harry’s hand so tight. You’ll see him at Christmas.”

An uneasy silence fell. Ron said, “What are you talking about? She’ll see him every day.”

George blinked. “What?”

“We’re all going back to complete seventh year,” said Harry. “Don’t you remember? We made the announcement weeks ago.”

Everyone was staring. It was one of the most awkward moments of George’s life. Now they all knew that he had fallen into the habit of tuning out during family dinners. He glanced at his mother. Her lips were trembling as if she would burst into tears. Beside her, Percy frowned.

George decided to brazen it out. “Better you three than me,” he said heartily. “The only books I want to open are account books.” He checked his watch again. “Hate to run, but I’m expecting an early delivery, so…see you!”

“Wait up!” called Percy. “I’ll walk with you.” He said the moment they strolled out of earshot, “How are things going these days?”

“Business is good, but I’ve noticed that the Ministry’s temporary improvement has eroded since you’ve accepted another post.” George lifted a brow. “Coincidence? I think not.”

Percy didn’t splutter defensively the way he would have in the past. Instead, he said quietly, “You still haven’t forgiven me, have you?”

A muscle jumped in George’s jaw. “Forgiven you for what?”

“For living.”

“You’re mental.” George shook his head and made to walk on.

Percy caught his arm. “No. I’m not.” His voice wavered. “Admit it. You wish I had died instead of Fred.”

George looked back to see his family and friends gathered in a tight circle. Their expressions were tense. Hoping he and Percy would hug, were they, or afraid that he’d knock the wank's teeth out? He pulled his arm away. “You’re damn right I do.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alicia Spinnet was waving goodbye to her cousin Stacie when she saw George Weasley. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. He looked so angry and miserable. She left her family to follow him through the barrier.

Gods I’m out of shape, she thought, panting as she sprinted across the platform. "George!"

He glanced over his shoulder and then stopped to let her catch up. Brown eyes flickered over Alicia in a way that deepened the flush on her cheeks and made her even more aware that curvy women should not run in a sundress and heels.

“Hello, George,” she said.

“Hello, Alicia.”

The boy she had gone to school with would have made a joke about her odd running gear and put her at ease. This man waited for her to speak. She smiled hesitantly. “I've been meaning to ask for months. Would–would you like to meet for a drink sometime? I know managing the shop doesn’t leave you with time to have lunch anymore, but I miss talking Quidditch.” I miss you.

After a moment, he nodded. “I’m at the Bat and Bludger most nights.”

“How about tonight?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Great!” Alicia wanted to hug him, but his closed expression kept her at a distance. She wondered if he kept the world at a distance now, if that was his way of coping with pain. Her heart went out to him.

George’s eyes looked past her shoulder. He said, “I have to get back to the shop. Early delivery. See you later.”

She watched him walk away before turning to see what had made George’s eyes darken. It was his family.

Hours later, her own family–her mother–made Alicia's dark eyes gleam with amusement. Mum wanted to know the name of the "friend" her daughter was meeting, but she didn't want to ask and break their unspoken agreement of non-interference. The two of them got along so well because each respected the other's privacy.

If her mother hadn't found a piece of parchment with "Mrs. George Weasley" written on it during Christmas break fifth year, Alicia might have told her. As it was, she didn't want to deal with the questions that would follow.

George Weasley? The one you had a crush on? The one who lost his twin during the war? Is it wise to be in his company right now?

Her mother thought she had too soft a heart. She would worry that George would take advantage of it. Alicia smiled wistfully. As if he had ever looked at her with anything except friendship.

She glanced down at her halter top and took the statement back. It wasn't quite true. There were times at school when she'd caught him giving her an up-and-down look. Earlier, he had definitely stared at her chest. She pulled her shoulders back and down. If George enjoyed the view, she'd give him plenty to see!

Inside the Bat and Bludger, however, she nervously realised that the place was filled with rowdy Quidditch fans, a large number of them male, who seemed to appreciate a short skirt and an eyeful of cleavage as much as she hoped George would. Spying a redhead sitting alone at the far corner of the pub, she stopped by the bar for a glass of wine and hurried over. Her pulse leapt when he saw her and rose to his feet. It was an effort to breathe slowly. She didn't have running to blame anymore.

"Hello," he said. "You look...nice..."

His tone turned "nice" into "sexy." Alicia smiled. "You look...nice...too."

One corner of his lips turned up. "Thanks."

She took a seat. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered madly when he slid onto the bench beside her. He leaned close. "I hate shouting over noise, don't you?"

There was a hint of boyish mischief in his eyes. Alicia was glad to see it. She swayed toward him. "Yes."

His gaze fell to her mouth.

Her lips parted.

The server chose that moment to drop by and enquire, "Another round?"

George said, "A bottle of Ogden's Best and another glass."

"And here I thought you drank alone," said the woman, sashaying off to the bar.

Alicia lifted her wineglass. "I'm not much of a drinker."

George's smile was brief and wry. "Neither was I before the war."

Alicia put her hand on his arm. "When my father was murdered, I felt so low, and yet, I can't begin to imagine what you're going through. I'm so sorry about Fred–"

"–thanks, here's our drinks," George’s smile was tight.

She watched him pay the server and pour two shots. He obviously wasn’t ready to talk about Fred. Alicia understood. She still got teary when she thought of her father.

George offered her a drink. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe I should stick to wine."

"But liquor is quicker."

What was he trying to say? "Quicker, how?"

"Heard it in Muggle Studies. Some bloke wrote it about ice-breaking."

"Oh." She lifted her glass. "Here's to breaking the ice."

By the time the bar closed, Alicia was thankful that she had touched glasses but not drained the contents after the third round. George wasn't staggering drunk the way she would've been, but he leaned against her with his arm wrapped around her shoulders for stability.

"Don't even think of trying to Disapparate," she said. "I'll do a Side-Along Apparation or we'll walk. It's up to you."

The ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "Never done it sideways before."

Once they Apparated to the shop, he led her around to the back entrance and up the stairs to his flat. "Don' want you to see how messy this place is," George said, pulling her though the lounge in the dark. There was an orb glowing softly in his bedroom. "Made the bed, though." He began sifting his fingers through her hair. "Got my priorities right."

The timbre of his voice made her shiver. "What are your priorities?"

"I want to feel something." His fingers trailed across her face. "I'm tired of being alone." Slowly, he bent to kiss her.

It was like a fantasy come to life. She slid her arms around his neck and opened her mouth and heart, kissing him the way she had longed to for years. When he deepened the embrace, she responded passionately.

"Stay," he whispered against her lips.

There were reasons why she should leave. He was drunk and grieving, and she wasn't into casual relationships or taking a contraceptive potion. If she was smart, she would go before things went too far.

He moaned. "Nothing's ever felt this good."

She stayed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the morning, when deep sleep gave way to less restful slumber, George began to dream.

He was at The Burrow. The rest of the family had gone inside after a game of Quidditch, but George was enjoying the sun and the breeze too much. He stretched out on the tall grass and let his eyes close, prepared to nap until someone yelled out the back door that it was time for dinner.

He awoke when a clump of dirt hit him in the face. George tried to sit up. He couldn't. He was tied down with numerous lines of copper wire from his father's workshop. He cut his eyes to the side and gaped in disbelief. An army of garden gnomes stared back at him. Two gnomes stood at the front. One had a four-leaf clover stuck into his grimy hat. George guessed that he was the leader. The other gnome was distinguishable from his brethren only by the gold sheen of his skin.

When the leader nodded solemnly, the shiny gnome ran toward George. Tiny fists tugged red hair in order to use it like a rope. Once the gnome climbed up to stand on George's brow, he jumped in place. As one, the other gnomes clapped their hands.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

George's head began to pound. He said, "Is this about last Christmas? You should have been honoured! How many gnomes get to be a Christmas Angel? Besides, the gold paint's an improvement!"

The gnome kept jumping up and down. George yelled, "Get off me you vengeful little squit! It was a joke!" He drew in a deep breath to call at the top of his lungs, "MUM!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"George! Wake up!"

His eyes snapped open. Alicia was bending over him, shaking his shoulder. George placed his hand over hers. "Don't."

Alicia's tone softened. "Oh, I'm sorry. Does your head hurt? I'll go get you a potion."

He kept his grip on her hand. "Remember what I told you? There are two kinds of Morning After potions. One's for you."

Even with a pounding headache, he appreciated the effect a fervent nod had on her torso. He enjoyed the view as she hurried out of the room, as well. When she returned with two flagons, George stretched out a hand for the black container. He pulled out the cork and drank the contents with a sigh of relief.

Alicia held up the red flagon. "How long has this been sitting in your bathroom cupboard? Are you sure–"

"–it's still good. Bill said he looked for a brand with a long shelf life, since it would probably be ages before either Fred or I got...." He looked away.

"Lucky?"

Alicia's smiling voice triggered another inside George's head.

Tell her there used to be two red flagons, but you were too chivalrous to turn the attack at Bill's wedding into a romantic opportunity! He could "see" Fred wink. Girls love chivalry!

George shook his head.

Alicia misread his action. "I'm glad you didn't use it. Intimacy means more than getting lucky to me too."

He watched her drink the potion, thinking a good girl with a great body spelled trouble. She would want to date, to introduce him to her mum, and meet his family. He couldn't handle commitment or deal with any kind of relationship.

"Tasted like sour cherries," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Why aren't there contraceptive potions for men to take?"

George shrugged. "Society expects men to have self control. Unfortunately, willpower as a contraceptive is ninety-nine point nine percent ineffective."

Her smile brought out the dimples in her cheeks. He almost groaned. Why did Alicia have to be so damned pretty? Despite having a Morning After potion on hand, he would have sent her home the minute she'd confessed that she wasn't on birth control if he wasn't so attracted to her. As for saying goodbye now, it would be a lot easier to do if he didn't want to drag her back into bed. His eyes flickered over shapely curves. Maybe he didn't have to let her go just yet. "I have to shower and get ready for work." He slid off the bed, feeling smug that her gaze was fixed on his body. "Join me?"

When he brushed his lips across hers, she returned his kiss eagerly. George smiled. He liked the taste of sour cherries.

Two hours later, he was finishing the inventory and muttering curses beneath his breath. The sales of U-No-Poo had steadily gone down the toilet after its first, brief success. While George appreciated the irony of a constipation product that didn't move, the shop couldn't afford to keep non-selling items prominently displayed. He would have to move Fred's brainchild to a low shelf in the back.

No sentiment in business, we always said. If 'U-No-Poo' stinks, flush it!

George rolled his eyes. If his brother's voice was going to make itself heard, the least it could do was spare him the corny jokes.

Ha! You thought that was corny? What do you call a bear that loses an ear? A bee! Get it? A "B"?

George threw down his quill and rubbed his eyes. He was paying the price for lack of sleep–not that he regretted it. He was only sorry that Alicia wasn't a no-strings type of girl. If she was, oh the things he would do to her.

"Mast–sir, there has been an incident with a Canary Cream that requires your attention."

Free house-elves occasionally slipped back into old habits of formally addressing those in a position of authority. George pretended not to notice. "Young boy, hysteric mother? Thanks, Caper. I'll deal with it." He strode past his assistant and into the shop.

A canary the size of a human boy stood in the centre of the room, head lifted in song. The screeching of a frizzy-haired witch was a shrill counterpoint. "Help! Help! Call St. Mungo's, call Magical Law Enforcement, help!" She saw George approach and cried, "You! Are you the owner? Do something to help my Andrew at once or there will be charges!"

Andrew was a brainless wonder for stuffing a joke shop cream into his greedy maw. George was tempted to say that if there were charges filed, it would be against the little git for theft. That wouldn't earn him a sale, however, so he said calmly, "He'll change back in another minute or two." George held up a hand to his undamaged ear as if listening intently. "You must be very proud."

"Wh–what?"

"Your son has a sweet voice, not shrill like others I've heard." Yours, for instance.

"Oh. Well, I suppose..."

"And to be a Yellow Yorkshire Canary! Smart lines, bold expression and song. Not every customer ends up a favourite of fanciers around the world."

"They don't?"

George leaned closer, as if imparting a secret. "One bloke wanted to surprise his wife on her birthday. He turned into a Frosted Pink Chopper."

The woman's mouth dropped open. "Really?"

"The wife was quite surprised." The fact that the name was misleading, pink colouration was slight, and had nothing to do with masculinity or sexual orientation he kept to himself.

"Mum, Mum, buy a box of Canary Creams! That was the coolest thing ever! I want to be a canary again. I want it more than anything!" The boy had resumed his true form.

George thought the kid sounded better as a canary.

"Your grandmother is fond of birds," said the witch, "and her one hundredth birthday is coming up soon..."

George recognised parental caving when he heard it. He signalled his assistant. Caper materialised beside the woman with an ornately wrapped, exorbitantly expensive "Limited Collector's Edition" box of Canary Creams in hand.

The boy took one look at the shiny paper and pulled at his mother's arm. "Buy it, Mum! Buy it!"

After the doting mother and her spoiled "Andykins" left the shop, George walked to the entrance. The mornings were always slow. Most of his customers flocked into the shop on lunch hours or after work. He could take a break; take a walk down the alley to stretch his legs.

Stop by Alicia's shop to say hello, maybe lure her into the back for a kiss and cuddle? Go, man, go!

"Fred's" voice brought George crashing back to reality. He had decided that seeing her again was a bad idea. No matter how much he wanted her body, Alicia was a complication he didn't need. He had to forget last night. Scowling, he returned to his office to try and do the work of two men.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been three days since Alicia kissed George goodbye, feeling so happy she had practically floated on air.

She had snuck into her room through the window, but her mother hadn't been fooled. The look on her face when Alicia went downstairs to the shop said that she knew her daughter had been out all night.

Alicia had given herself away by humming. She had hummed love songs while getting dressed, hummed while descending the stairs, and continued to hum all that first morning. It was only when she closed The Light Fantastic and straightened illumination orbs on the shelves that she realised that George hadn't owled or dropped by to say hello.

Thinking that he was busy and she would be patient, Alicia dropped by the Apothecary to pick up a long-lasting contraceptive potion. The one she chose tasted like sweet cherries and promised to be effective for an entire month.

She should have saved her Galleons. He hadn't owled that night or the next day, either. During lunch on the second day, she and a friend who worked at Flourish and Blott's had taken a "power walk." As she passed George's shop, Alicia paused when she saw him rearranging a display in the front window. He had stared back at her until Vicky pulled her away, exclaiming that she didn't have time to gawk at old crushes when there were calories to burn!

Whatever calories she had burned walking were nullified by the chocolate truffles Alicia ate later to comfort herself. She couldn't get his face out of her head, the way his long fringe fell into eyes that attracted yet pushed her away at the same time. She had cried herself to sleep thinking about it.

On the third morning after the night she had spent with George, Alicia sadly forced herself to acknowledge that he didn't want to see her again. Unlike her, he hadn't been looking for a relationship, and she had to accept that.

By lunchtime, she had resolved that the next time Vicky Frobisher offered to set her up with her cousin David, she would finally agree. Just because his job colour-coding owls at the post office sounded dull didn't mean he was. Maybe he had an interesting hobby, or liked to dance. It would be nice to go dancing, even if she had to dance with a different partner than she had hoped for.

At the end of the day, after wrapping a lava orb for a wizard whose wife thought they were "groovy," Alicia almost dropped the gift bag when she glanced at the window and caught sight of a man standing on the pavement outside, looking in.

It was George. He looked so dark and brooding–almost angry. She handed the customer his orb and walked toward the door.

"I must say, your service to customers is unparalleled," said the customer, apparently believing she'd opened the door for him. "I shall recommend this shop to my colleagues at the Ministry."

"Thank you," she said distractedly, her eyes searching for George.

He was gone.

Tears pricked her eyelids.

"Darling? Why aren't you closing the shop? Are you feeling all right?" Alicia's mother asked from the back where she was restocking shelves.

"I'm fine, Mum," said Alicia, as much to herself as to her mother.

"You sound congested. I'll stay home tonight and conjure up some soup."

"No! I'll pick up some chicken sweet corn soup from a takeaway. You go play mah-jongg. Mrs. Tonks would be disappointed if you didn't. She always says you're her only real competition."

"I do have an excellent memory, and my powers of observation have always been keen." Alicia's mum strolled over to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "Remember that, dear–and that I'm here whenever you need to talk."

"Thanks, Mum."

After a solitary dinner, Alicia ran a bath to relax, but it was no use. She kept thinking about George.

Tap, tap, tap!

She scrambled out of the bathtub and into a robe. Someone was tapping on her window! She ran into the bedroom and snatched her wand off the bedside table, pointing it at the would-be intruder.

It was George.

He was levitating outside her first floor window. She kept her distance. "What do you want?"

A charm made his voice sound as if it was whispering in her ear. "Tell me you missed me."

His voice was more compelling than any vampire she'd learned about in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Her fingers trembled. "I missed you."

"Tell me you want me."

Alicia stubbornly shook her head.

He floated nearer. "I tried to stay away, but I couldn't. Let me in."

She had planned to tell him "no" and let down the shade, but when she was close enough to look into deep brown eyes, Alicia found herself opening the window. George climbed into the bedroom and stood on the rug, watching her in a way that made her heart pound. She set aside her wand. "What do you want?"

"To be with you."

The raw need in his voice melted her defences. When he took a step forward, she met him with open arms.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A/N: Ogden Nash is the Muggle who reflected about ice-breaking, Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker. As for me, I once wrote a pre-DH George/Alicia fic called Christmas Sweet. This story isn't as fluffy, but I hope readers will enjoy this story too and find it cathartic as well as entertaining. Special Thanks to vnfan for picking my story out of the queue and being a fantastic beta!

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