Not Quite Paradise

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Not Quite Paradise

"It is easier to be a lover than a husband for the simple reason that it is more difficult to be witty every day than to say pretty things from time to time." -Honoré de Balzac (The Physiology of Marriage)

Chapter Three

The Trouble With Men

Over the next week, Angelina's health improved drastically and both the Weasley and Johnson families let out a resounding relieved sigh. The doctors were impressed by her rapid recovery and the increasing strength of her unborn child's heartbeat. Fred still hadn't come back to work yet, and George still kept the matter concerning Parker Jackalope Practice Joke Enterprises under wraps. He insisted that putting more worry on his twin's mind would probably not be for the best and enlisted my help.

We were poring over old WWW records the following Friday morning. Before taking any legal action, I wanted George to make sure all his copyright listings for Canary Creams were in order in case we had to take the issue to court. Between Mr. Disorganized and myself, it took over an hour to find the filing cabinets in the back room before we could even think about searching for a particular file. George lifted up an old folder and blew the dust off the top. Unfortunately, I inhaled a mouthful of the wretched stuff and started a coughing fit.

"Are you all right?" George asked, the smile fading from his face. Had I not been clutching my throat and gasping for air, I would have shot back a sarcastic remark. He laid a gentle hand on my shoulder and, with the other hand, tapped his wand on my opposite shoulder. "Antiasthmatico," he said. Instead of the instant relief I was used to, it took about a minute before the coughing even stopped and my throat remained raw afterwards.

"Better?" he asked, rubbing my shoulder. I nodded and massaged my sore neck. He watched me carefully for a few more minutes, as though I'd sprouted feathers, and then relented. He turned and picked up a pile of folders.

"Enough dust for you," George decided as he handed me a stack of files that were more or less clean. "Why don't you go out front with these? I'll be out in a minute." I nodded, took the stack from him, and left the room to seat myself at the front counter. I began to page through the old files and came to the copyright claim on Canary Creams.

Wizard Product Patent Claim Form

The following product, Canary Creams, has been listed in the Wizard Product Copyright Patent Offices as an original product manufactured and sold under and only under the company name of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes unless further notice is provided by proprietors Frederick Weasley and George Weasley.

We understand that in event of error, omission or falsified information on the part of Messrs. Frederick and George Weasley, this document is thereby null and void.

Signed: Frederick Weasley

George Weasley

Witnesses: Angelina Johnson

Anya Parker

Supervising WPPO Official: Hunter Jackalope

Bingo.

"George!" I called in a loud croak, the final rawness from my throat disappearing. He emerged from the back room with his fiery hair and black robes streaked with dust. I held back snickers as he distractedly swiped at his clothing, making the smudges worse.

"Find something good?" he asked as he brushed his hair and a small cloud of dust formed above his head. Annoyed, he swatted his hands around in the air until the dust scattered, giggling madly. He gave a scowl and pulled a stool up beside mine. I waited a few moments for him to carefully scan the sheet, but he gave no response.

"I don't get it. I'm sure the patent office has a copy--"

"No, look," I interrupted, showing him the claim form, pointing to the final name on the list, the WPPO official. "I'll bet you all the Galleons in Gringotts that he's related to Parker Jackalope," I said proudly, jabbing at the parchment.

"Right," George picked up, without missing a beat; "Jackalope would then be able to have all sorts of things tampered with down there through his son. That is, if the man is indeed Jackalope's son."

"It might be worth looking into," I shrugged, handing him the form. He grinned broadly and picked me up out of my stool, spun me around and set me back down. After giggling through a few moments of dizziness, I looked up at him dazedly, leaning heavily on my stool.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he grinned, tucking the parchment into his robes. He picked his wand up from the counter and rolled up the sleeves of his robes up to his elbows, looking as though he was preparing to Apparate. "I'll be back soon."

"Where are you going?" I asked as I closed the now empty file.

"Parker Jackalope Headquarters," he answered. "If I show him this, I bet he'll realize we've caught him before this thing even gets to court."

"Right. We wouldn't want it to get married," I said absently.

"What?" George paused in the middle of fixing his robes and gave me a confused glance.

"You know... court, married." He still looked as though he hadn't made the connection. "Get it?" He shook his head.

"Erm... nevermind then. Don't worry about it." George rolled his eyes and Apparated away, muttering something about my status on the list of 100 Weirdest People in The Wizarding World Today.

Snickering, I returned the file back into the backroom, careful not to stir up any more dust. I took another pile of files carefully off the top of the cabinet, blew the dust away from me, and brought the whole stack out to the front counter.

Business was slow (rather odd for a Friday) and the files were boring. As record-keeper, I could understand what the legal gibberish meant and where everything more or less belonged, but everything should be in moderation.

Tired with the files and legalities, I put them aside after twenty minutes without finding anything interesting, save a love letter from Fred to Angelina that the latter apparently never received. How it got into the WWW files was beyond me, but I couldn't keep myself from reading it. Curiosity killed the Anya.

30 December 1999

My Dearest Chocolate Frog,

You know I'm not a poet that can simply think of lovely words to say, words that would make you swoon and cry. Those skills are wasted on romantics. All I wanted to say is that I love you more than anything in the entire world and I don't know what I'd do if you were taken from me. You've listened to me when I was upset, you've calmed me when I was angry and you refuse to let me give up on my dreams. I'm quite sure I'll never get up the Gobstones to send you this letter, but I needed to write it. Tomorrow, we will be together to welcome the New Year (but, as you've argued frequently, not the new millennium) and I will ask you to be mine forever. I can only hope that you will say yes.

Your Sherbet Lemon,

Fred

After I finished reading, I felt awfully jealous of Angelina. In twenty-six years, I had never gotten a letter like that in my entire life. I looked at the date again and saw that it was the day before Fred had proposed, like the letter had said. I'd never thought Fred Weasley could be so... poetic without intention. And I thought had him all figured out. Almost as an afterthought, I felt horrible, having intruded on Fred's personal thoughts that he'd intended for his eyes only.

I put the letter away shamefully, reminding myself to tell Fred to look in there without making it obvious that I had already seen it.

Hoping to distract myself, I took out a copy of Witch Weekly and began slowly paging through it. I had never been too drawn into the latest fashions of the wizard world, preferring to stick to simple black robes and only two dress robes for formal occasions. The emerald green and fiery red garments were busy collecting dust at the back of my closet.

According to Witch Weekly, sky blue was the color that everyone was wearing, but I reckoned I could survive another day without spending over forty Galleons on dress robes that I would never wear. The moving photo of an artificially grinning anorexic-looking young witch did highlight the item, but it still looked far too pastel for my dark wardrobe tastes.

I continued flipping through the magazine, pausing here or there when a picture or headlines caught my eye. I was so engrossed in my reading material that I didn't notice someone enter the store and come up to the counter until she spoke.

"Anya?" I looked up sharply, embarrassed, into the smiling eyes of Dr. Hermione Granger-Weasley.

"Hello, Hermione," I said brightly as I subtly slid the magazine off the counter and into my lap. "What brings you by here today?" I planted my elbows on the counter and put my chin in my hands. "George just left on an errand, but he'll be back soon. Fred is... well, I'm not sure, but he's probably at the hospital with Angelina."

"Actually, he's at home. Ron made him go home to get at least one decent night's sleep instead of kipping on that awful cot in Angelina's room. I actually came here with a few extra tickets to Ron's game tonight. Would you and George be interested in going?" By the oversized (albeit genuine) smile on her face and the enthusiasm with which she spoke of her husband, I could tell they were stuck in the "shag-constantly-ignore-world" step of the cycle of their relationship. Even an unskilled observer could spot the sequence of their marriage and it was dead obvious that they were so involved in each other that the outside world probably didn't matter much. Hermione's ever so slightly disheveled hair and very small lipstick smudge confirmed my suspicions.

"I can't speak for George, but I've got a lunch date today and I'm not sure how long it will last," I replied apologetically. It was a legitimate excuse, but I had never been much for Quidditch. Aside from the sporadic game of Ron's I was tricked into going to, I hadn't been to a formal Quidditch match since George's old games. "I actually should be going pretty soon," I said idly, glancing at my watch.

"Oh, that's too bad. Maybe George--" At the mention of his name, the wizard in question popped suddenly in between two aisles of prank sweets. I put on a smile to ask how his visit to PJPJE had gone, but I snapped it shut when I saw the anger on his face.

"Lousy... smarmy... GIT!" he shouted, furiously. I stepped back in surprise as he stormed behind the counter and began to pace rapidly, using over exaggerated hand gestures. "That Parker Jackalope has absolutely no sense of right and wrong." He paused to slam his fist on the counter in front of me. I jumped, startled, but he went on shouting. "I get there, he pretends he doesn't know who I am, and denies the fact that he even sent me the letter!"

"Did he look at the form from the WPPO?" I asked gently, apologizing for George's behavior to Hermione with my eyes.

"Look at it?" He laughed bitterly. "Oh, yes, he looked at it." With this, he dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the shredded remains of the parchment. I watched as the scraps slowly drifted down to the counter, forming a ragged pile. George dropped his elbows to the counter and folded his hands behind his head. "This is a total nightmare. I cannot deal with this man!" his muffled voice insisted.

"Erm... excuse me for intruding, but what's going on?" Hermione asked politely. I explained the situation to Hermione as George did a Reverse Shredding Charm on the WPPO form. "Well," she said huffily, "I most certainly would not take that kind of behavior. George, you should Apparate right back to that horrible man's office and tell him you won't take that kind of conduct. I'm sure I've read somewhere about copyright matters and how there are certain statutes of limitations."

"Thanks, Hermione," George said quietly. "I think I just need to stew over a few mugs of butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, clear my head and think about this whole ruddy... thing." He picked his head up and looked sideways at me. "Don't you have to meet with that obnoxious Shelly woman this afternoon?"

"She's not obnoxious and yes, I do have a lunch date with her. You seemed to find nothing obnoxious about her when you were flirting with her the other day." I saw Hermione raise her eyebrows in interest.

"Flirting with a witch? Indeed, George, you simply must make up your mind," Hermione teased. Ron's teasing disposition from his Hogwarts days had partially rubbed off on her and she'd lightened up some.

"Why make up my mind when I can have twice the selection?" George said with a grin. I let out a relieved sigh, glad he didn't hold onto his anger like his immediate older and younger brothers.

"Well, though I'd love to sit here and tease George about his sexuality and make his ears turn red, I've got a lunch date with Shelly and her friend."

"Friend?" George said with suspicion.

"Sean Ludlam," I answered. "I have a sneaking suspicion that she's trying to set me up with another guy." George winced at these words.

"I hope it doesn't turn out like it did with Daniel. Oy, that was a disaster," George said. I put my hands on my hips and snorted indignantly.

"Shall we stop analyzing my failed love life and allow me to leave?" I asked. Hermione laughed.

"You two are quite amusing to watch. You're like an old married couple," she observed. "Always teasing each other."

"Married? To George? He's the most disorganized, impatient, easily-annoyed wizard I have ever in my life met." George looked genuinely offended at these words, so I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "I'd never marry him." I said, pulling out of his arms and getting my cloak from the coat rack. "But I wouldn't say no to the occasional shag." I winked at the two of them, rather pleased with my regularly lurking wit.

"She can't keep her thoughts clean about me," he said smugly to Hermione. I rolled my eyes, laughing in spite of the comment, and put my cloak on. Stabilizing my giggles, I bent to pick up my purse from the floor.

"Allow me to add 'arrogant' and 'severely misled' to that list," I said, shouldering my purse. Before he could put in another comment, I stuck out my tongue at him, waved to Hermione and Apparated away.

***

Dark and smelling of day-old butterbeer, the Leaky Cauldron was certainly a less than exceptional place to meet someone for the first time. I weaved in and out of the tables, ignoring leers from the shadier looking characters.

The small pub had changed a bit since I first wandered in to get to Diagon Alley. Whereas I would have found many children in there when I was younger, there were mainly adults there now. Tom, the friendly bartender who rarely charged kids for a small butterbeer, was gone. He had been yet another MIA soldier of VWII.

"Anya, over here!" a female voice called. I turned and saw Shelly sitting in a booth across from a nice-looking blonde man in simple black robes. She waved me over as he looked up to reveal his face. Mmm, so perhaps Shelly hadn't picked so badly this time. I strode over and the two of them stood.

"Anya, this is Sean Ludlam. Sean, this is my very good and very available friend, Anya." I grew red with embarrassment as I shook his hand, but he laughed good-naturedly. "Oh, you'll have to excuse Anya. She's remarkably shy with new people."

"It's nice to meet you then, Anya," Sean smiled. Ooh, his smile was nice, too. Shelly sat and deliberately placed her purse in the spot beside her. She gave a meaningful look at me as Sean sat and I scowled at her as I slid in the booth beside him. Anything more and she may as well have set up a candlelight dinner for just the two of us.

The talk was a bit stilted at first, as I had never had much in the department of conversational skills. Give me a hippogriff and I'll be able to earn its trust in minutes, but I couldn't do the same with people, unfortunately. After a while, I grew more into the conversation and found myself laughing easily at Sean's jokes and brushing off the smug look Shelly had on her face. It was confidence like I had never known it before. Our food arrived and conversing came to a stop for several minutes.

"So where do you work?" Sean asked, as he wiped a bit of ketchup from the corner of his lips.

"I work for my best friend; he owns his own business: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. I'm a record-keeper there, but hopefully it's only a temporary job," I answered.

"Yes," Shelly cut in, "Anya and George are good friends. Friends." I sent another scowl in her direction and she retreated to her peanut butter and jelly sandwich (an odd fetish of hers that her American aunt had instilled in her at a young age). Sean attempted to hide his smirk as he looked down at his plate. I reckoned he'd caught on to Shelly's dark ulterior motives right around the time she began to complain that my house was far too big for a single witch. Her skills at being subtle were about equal to my own with, say, Potions.

"How about you? What is it you do to fill your time?" I asked Sean as I looked over at him. He set his fork down for a moment as he swallowed. He opened his mouth to answer, but Shelly cut him off.

"Sean is studying Quidditch under Viktor Krum," Shelly said excitedly. "He's going to be a reserve player on an international Quidditch team in the fall, isn't that right?" Sean started to reply, but Shelly went right on talking. "Oh, look at the time!" She threw her hands up in the air dramatically. "I've got an appointment with... erm... well, that's not important, is it? Why don't you two finish your food; you're getting on quite well! I'll pay the bill, as it was I who invited you two to lunch. Really, this is horrible of me to leave so suddenly, but I do have that dastardly appointment." She began to get up and collect her things. "Now you two finish eating and keep talking; you really are quite compatible. I'll be going now. Don't forget to owl, Anya." With a cheery wave, she scooped up her purse and left the table.

Sean and I watched in silence as she paid for the food, turned back to wave again and then left.

"That woman is a trip and a half," Sean said slowly, still looking at the door she had just exited through. He turned his light blue eyes on me. Those were very pretty, too. "I don't know how you could have been her friend for so long. She's not a bad person, but... does she always talk that much?" I snickered into my napkin before looking back at him, and then shrugged.

"I guess," I answered. Why was it that I felt so uncomfortable under his crystal gaze? "She was a bit shy at Hogwarts."

"Shy? Her?" He laughed out loud and I couldn't help but giggle along with him. He shook his head as he pushed his empty plate away. The edge of the plate hit the vase of flowers on the table and almost knocked it over. Instantly, both our hands darted out and stopped the glass from falling. My hand got there first and his covered mine a moment later.

I waited a few moments for him to move his hand, but he didn't. And somehow, I didn't mind it. I drew my eyes away from our clasped hands and locked them with his. They seemed to be just about as shy as mine had to be. No more shyness, I decided. I leaned close to him, closing my eyes slowly.

"Hey kiddies, hate ter innerup' yer romantic momint, but yer buddy was two Sickles short on yer bill," a gruff voice said from behind me. I spun quickly, color rising to my face. Jim, the not-so-friendly bartender, stood slouching in front of me with a sheet of parchment, our bill, and a grouchy look.

"Oh... sorry," I said, reaching into my purse. I felt a flush at the back of my neck as I pulled out two Sickles and stuffed them into Jim's hand. With a leer and a nod, he shuffled off, favoring his left leg considerably.

"Sorry about that," I said, avoiding Sean's eyes. He was probably glad to have gotten out of the kiss, I thought, disappointed. "Um... we'd probably better get going then," I went on quietly, still looking down at my folded hands and wanting to shrink into a little puddle.

"I'd like to see you again," Sean said softly. I looked up abruptly with raised eyebrows. Apparently, he mistook my reaction and looked away quickly.

"I mean... if you don't want to, that's okay. I understand--" He fiddled with his fork against the table, not looking at me.

"I'd like that," I said quietly. He looked over at me and smiled hopefully, dropping the fork.

"Really?"

I nodded with a smile of my own. "Really." I let out a short laugh. "But we may be making the horrible mistake of proving Shelly absolutely right about setting us up."

"Oh, no!" he moaned, dropping his face into his hands. He looked up and smiled at me. I couldn't help but giggle back in return. Why was it that I felt like I was twelve years old again when he smiled at me like that? "I won't tell her if you don't," he said.

"Lips are zipped," I agreed. We shook on it.

"So, if you don't have any plans..." Sean began, "The company that I work for is having a Fifty-Years-In-Business Party at the Golden Snitch at eight o'clock on Saturday. It's a huge, formal gathering; they have an anniversary party every year. I was wondering if you'd go with me." His hand moved to go tinker with his fork again, but I answered him before he could engage in his nervous activity.

"I'd love to," I answered softly. He broke into a large grin.

"Wonderful," he smiled. "I'll pick you up at seven-thirty then?" I nodded and gave him my address and my word that I wouldn't back out. We parted (reluctantly at that), with me wondering why I hadn't met Sean Ludlam earlier.

***

"Did I mention that he has the greatest smile?" I said dreamily as I folded my arms over the books in front of me and rested my chin on my wrist. I looked sideways at George, who was sitting beside me, flipping through a book absently.

"Only about a dozen times, Anya," he answered patiently as he closed the book. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, leaning back in the wooden and severely uncomfortable chair. "I bet Snape ordered these kinds of chairs so he could even torture people after he died," he muttered darkly.

We were in the Severus Snape Memorial Library, looking up even more information about copyrights and trying to get a bit of a handle on the Parker Jackalope business, which wasn't listed in any of the directories we'd looked in yet. George swore up and down that Snape had put spells on the bookshelves and directories, preventing the searcher from coming up with anything useful. I patiently informed him that Snape's son, Silvanus, didn't build the library until after the former Potions master had been killed in VWII. It still didn't stop George from accusing the teacher.

All prejudices aside, the library was very elegant and classy. There were over a score of rows of long bookshelves and no less than one million spell books and reference directories. Dark mahogany tables with hard backed chairs decorated the center of the establishment and it was always lit with dozens of ornate candelabras.

It was too bad that Silvanus Snape, the (rumored to be illegitimately conceived) son of my torturous professor, was just as slimy and cruel as his father. He slunk around the library, turning up in the most inconvenient of places and hit on anything female with a pulse. I didn't know exactly what he did for an occupation, but he must have had a lot of free time, as he was constantly around the library.

"Maybe this company doesn't even exist, George," I said, as I gathered five books into a pile. "Maybe Fred is behind it. Or Bill; he's been known to play practical jokes on occasion."

"No way. I went down to JPJPE headquarters and it is most certainly a real company. Why can't we find a listing for it, though? Oy, this is frustrating." He stood with me and took the five books out of my arms, adding them to his pile of six.

"Maybe if you did a little bit of research, you would know that companies that sell to Muggles and wizards don't need to register with the Department of Wizarding Commerce. There's a separate directory for them," a greasy voice hissed from between a pair of bookshelves. I gasped and stepped backwards as Silvanus Snape slid slowly out of the shadows.

"Slinking around the library again, Snape?" George asked, annoyed as he shifted the books in his arms. "Or do you just give free advice to anyone who is unfortunate enough to stray across your path?" Snape raised a black eyebrow in amusement.

"Simply trying to help the dear lady," he said, locking eyes with me. "I'm sorry if it inadvertently helps you." He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I flinched away violently at his touch. "Fiery little creature, aren't you?" Without replying, I scowled at him. I wasn't flattered in any way by his attentions, as I had seen him do the same to other unsuspecting library patrons.

"Thanks for your advice," I said, struggling to be polite, a virtue my mother had instilled in me ever since I was old enough to remember. I shrank away from him a little bit; he always had the ominous dominance of his father should have patented; the same trait that I had been terrified of a mere decade ago. He took this as an inviting gesture and smirked. Before he could take another step towards me, I said automatically, "Leave me alone." He chuckled softly and I could see George step up beside me out of the corner of my eye.

"Aw, you don't mean that, do you, love?" he asked silkily. In a split second, his back was pinned against the bookshelves and George's arm was pressed against his neck, causing him to gasp for breath. George leaned in very close to Snape's face and spoke in measured tones.

"I believe she said to leave her alone. We've had enough of your 'good advice,'" George said dangerously, pressing harder on Snape's throat. Instead of showing pain, Snape clenched his jaw tightly and returned the glare. He tried to open his mouth, but George cut him off. "And I don't care that this is your father's library. Will you leave us be?"

"Yes," Snape said, no sincerity in his voice and sounding as though he was not only choking, but also agreeing to mow the front lawn of Hogwarts with a pair of nail clippers. George pulled his arm away, but didn't step back until after Snape had Disapparated.

"You didn't need to choke him, George," I said quietly. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"You were doing a damn fine job," George said a bit angrily. I ducked my head, if only to avoid his eyes.

"I'm trying," I said quietly to the floor, half-hoping he couldn't hear me. "I want to be able to take care of myself. I don't want you to have to fight for me. I'm not that fragile and I'm not going to break." I looked back up at him to gauge his reaction. Instead of being meek and passive, I lifted my chin and looked at him defiantly.

His imitation of a Stunned herring gradually disappeared from his face and was replaced with slumped shoulders and a helpless look. "Sorry, Anya," he said with a sigh. "It's the big brother in me, I reckon. I looked at you and Snape and I saw Malfoy bothering Ginny. I'm... I'm sorry."

"Wow... heh... I sounded really spiteful just a minute ago, didn't I?" I said. I was actually rather proud of myself. Knowing I was a major hand in keeping 3W afloat, winning the attentions of an attractive wizard and being able to stand up to my best friend did wonders for my confidence. As I said before, it was confidence like I had never known it.

"Just a bit... c'mon, let's get going. I think I owe you an ice cream sundae from that Quidditch bet last week." He bent down and picked up the books that fell out of his arms when he'd lunged at Snape and put them under one arm. I was just about to remind him to check out the books when I remembered that wizarding libraries were different than Muggle libraries. After the two week limit, the books would return themselves back to the front desk, where the librarian would Spellotape any damages and send a charge to the last person who had it. When taking out a book, the name was clearly became stamped on the back inside cover only to be replaced by the next recipient's name. I'd been careful with all my books and had never once been charged. I was able to keep my clumsiness from destroying other people's belongings, at any rate.

We were just about to turn a corner when George held out his hand and stopped me. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong when he put his finger over his lips and pointed to the center table. Just between the space between the top of the books and the shelf above, I could spot a red-haired man sitting beside a bushy-haired brunette, undoubtedly Ron and Hermione.

"I thought he had a Quidditch match," I whispered.

"Maybe it was a short game," he whispered back. Ron had his chin propped up on his hand and was watching Hermione read with a simple kind of fondness. Her reading glasses were perched low on her nose. After a few minutes of Ron's undivided attention, Hermione peered over the top of her spectacles and looked at him with an arched eyebrow.

"You're creepy," she giggled softly. He didn't answer, only leaned closer to her with a dreamy sort of smile on his face. I hoped I didn't look quite as absurd when I had been talking about Sean. She forced a smile off her face and went back to her reading. Ron smirked at this and I saw his hand counting off seconds beneath the table. At exactly five, Hermione dropped her book, plucked her glasses off her nose, threw her arms around Ron and kissed him hard. I covered my eyes for a few moments (to be polite, of course) and saw George snickering at me when I removed my hand.

"Now leave me alone," she said simply, going back to her book. Ron leaned in close and whispered something in her ear, causing giggles to burst forth. He kissed her ear gently and she squirmed away from him.

"We're so bad," I whispered, slapping George's arm. "We shouldn't be watching this." George shrugged, relatively unaffected by his conscience. Suddenly, his eyes lit up mischievously.

"Hey, can you still do that impression of Snape like you did back in Hogwarts?" he asked deviously, remembering to keep his voice low.

"I can do any voice," I said arrogantly, throwing my long brown hair over a shoulder. George grinned and nodded in his brother and sister-in-law's direction. I cleared my throat softly and hummed a low note to prepare my voice for what I was about to do.

"This okay, Weasley?" I asked in a voice so identical to Snape's that I might've scared myself. George nodded, looking impressed. I drew in a deep breath.

"WEASLEY! GRANGER! NO SNOGGING IN THE LIBRARY!" I roared through the books, almost terrified of my own impression of Snape. The voice worked, however, as Ron and Hermione jumped apart as though they'd waded into a pond of Electrifying Fish. Ron fell out of his chair completely and Hermione leapt up, looking around the library frantically. I turned away, putting my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter. George leaned heavily against the bookshelf, turning purple in an attempt to stay quiet.

"See you... back... at... 3W..." he sputtered and Disapparated. I was right behind him.

When I landed on something soft, I had first thought it was Parrot Pillows, but then I realized it was George in between the pillows and me. He was laughing loudly, his head thrown back and his mouth wide open. I was laughing along with him as I rolled off him into the rest of the Pillows. George picked up a pillow and put it over his face to stifle the sound of his laughter. Tears rolled down both of our faces and I thanked Merlin that there weren't any customers, lest they think we were both complete nutters.

"That... was... the single funniest..." George tried to say, half-propping himself up, but he burst into another bout of laughter and fell back into the pillows beside me. I sat up beside him, giggles slowly dissipating, and wiped my eyes.

"Their faces!" I gasped, remembering the looks of sheer terror in their expressions. I put my hand over my stomach and caught my breath.

"I'm glad you two are having such a great time," a voice said evenly. I looked up, startled, to see Fred standing behind the counter looking as though he was attempting to suppress fury, but failed miserably.

"This isn't what it looks like," George said, still snickering. "We both Apparated into these pillows..." He finally composed himself and sat up beside me. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

"I was asleep... until I came here to see how the shop was going and found this." He lifted up a sheet of parchment that I recognized as the letter we were sent by Parker Jackalope Practical Joke Enterprises. I gasped softly and looked to George, whom I had thought had had it. The smile quickly disappeared from his face and he stood, sobering.

"You weren't supposed to--" George began.

"I wasn't supposed to what? Know about what 3W is going through? The company is half mine, as you've well forgotten!" The volume and harshness in Fred's voice brought back awful memories and I made no effort to bring any attention to myself quite yet. Weasley problems were best solved without outside intervention, which usually only served to complicate things. I would only get involved if I had to.

"Your wife has been in the hospital for the past week and you expect me to add more weight to your shoulders? Trust me, Fred; it's the last thing you need. Don't think that just because you're seven and a half minutes older than me that you always know what you're doing!"

"I'm not talking about seven minutes; I'm talking about your seven bloody I.Q. points!" Fred shouted, losing his patience. Before it could go any further, I stood and placed myself between them.

"You two are behaving like children!" I said with a stamp of my foot. "Fred, you were far too distracted with your wife's health to get involved. George, don't tell your brother he's stupid." I had the absurd urge to send the two of them to their rooms. Strangely, George and Fred looked equally impressed with me.

The both broke out in identical grins and said, in unison, "Yes, Mum." My arms flopped down to my sides and I glared between the two of them.

"She is getting fiery," George said to Fred, nodding towards me. I ignored him and crossed over to Fred.

"How is Angelina doing?" I asked gently. Fred drew a deep breath as he spread his fingers out on the counter and looked at them with child-like interest.

"She's still sick," Fred said, his voice sounding very tiny. "The doctors said that it was blood poisoning complicating with... with what happened when she was Sponged." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George pale slightly, excuse himself quietly, and go to the backroom. Fred continued as though nothing had happened. "She cut her hand on something and didn't... " He took a moment to compose himself. "She didn't tell me. When she was in the hospital... I- I asked her why and she said she didn't want to bother me with it." He let out a short, bitter laugh devoid of all humor. "She thought it would bother me."

"She'll be okay, Fred," I said, answering my own question. "Look, I know you two were on the rocks a bit before what happened - I of all people know that -" (Fred looked a little sheepish.) "I know this sounds morbid, but maybe this will bring you two closer together."

Fred nodded slowly. "I surely won't ever take her for granted again." He smirked a little in amusement. "Why didn't you go into psychowizardry?"

"Listen to a lot of nutters' problems? Yeah, right." I looked at the closed backroom door and frowned. Hadn't George just gone back there? Why would he shut the door behind him?

"You've got a lot of experience listening to nutters. You talk to yourself, don't you?" Fred cracked, looking a whole lot more like his old self.

"Yeah," I said vaguely, still looking at the closed door. "Look, Fred, I'm going to see what's bothering George. I'll get you up to speed on the PJPJE case in a bit, all right?" He nodded, looking a little worried, but didn't stop me. I gave him a tense smile, slipped behind the counter and slowly let myself into the backroom.

The room was dark and I pulled out my wand, preparing to light it.

"Don't," George said somewhere in the darkness. Somehow, the strange sound to his voice combined with the dark room made me as nervous as Ron's old pet, Scabbers, around Hermione's late cat, Crookshanks.

"George? What are you sitting in the dark for?" I spotted movement where a dim ray of light had penetrated the dirty window and fell on George's flaming red hair. He was sitting on an old couch with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands. I crossed the room to him carefully and sat beside him.

He turned to look at me and his eyes were slightly red around the rims and shiny right where they were blue. He had the look of someone who had just been through something awful and didn't know how to deal with it.

"I just want to be alone for a little while, okay? I... I need to think," he said raggedly. I had never heard him ask me to leave him alone since Katie Bell's funeral almost eight years earlier. He had sat alone in a back pew, not speaking to anyone. When I slid in beside him to ask how he was doing, he said he wanted to be alone. I didn't argue then and I wasn't about to now.

"Okay... you know you can talk to me if something's bothering you, right?" I asked. He nodded.

"Thanks, Anya," he smiled and I saw a little bit of the old George coming back into his grin. As I left, I closed the door softly behind me.

To be continued...