Not Quite Paradise

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Not Quite Paradise

"And if it's just that you're weak,

Can we talk about it?

It's getting so damn creepy

Just nursing this ghost of a chance,

The fiction, the romance,

And the Technicolor dreams..."

----"Black & White People," Matchbox Twenty

Chapter Six

Ghost of a Romance

The first thing I woke to, some immeasurable time later, was the rhythmic sound of someone pacing back and forth across smooth tile. I opened my eyes slowly, aware of a faint pounding in my head. For a moment, all I saw was white. Then, the white was divided into rectangles by pale tan lines. I blinked a few times and looked up to see a foam-tiled ceiling.

"... Completely irresponsible," I heard a familiar voice say angrily from somewhere off to my right. The pacing stopped. "I know she's your friend, George, and a damned good employee, but you and I both know that we cannot have her working for us in that condition. She needs help."

I turned my head to the side, and felt the softness of a pillow beneath my face. I saw now that I was in a room, decorated so white that it made my eyes hurt. There were several machines beside my bed, including one that had a funny green line a few feet above it that spiked now and then.

"Damn it, Fred, she just lost her best friend in the entire world--" another voice argued. I could see that the door to my room was slightly ajar and I sat up a little, only to be forced back to the bed with tears in my eyes as a thread of pain began lacing its way through my skull.

"I don't care! Drinking and flying is not something to be taken lightly. It's the reason we only have three older brothers!"

These words struck me completely awake and I opened my eyes all the way to see Fred Weasley's face come into focus and stop in the small area of the hallway I could view from my bed. It occurred to me that I was the one they were talking about, but the 'three older brothers' comment threw me. Actually, it was the 'only.'

Next was George's scoffing reply, "You still believe Charlie's stupid stories he used to taunt us with when we were kids? He only did that because he wanted to upset the two of us. That's dragonshit and you know it." He paused here and Fred stepped out of my line of sight to be replaced by George, whose head was tilted slightly and was wearing a small, pleading frown.

His voice lowered to a whisper, but I could just barely make out what he was saying. "Fred, Anya has never done anything like this before. Her best friend just committed suicide - Anya found her for Merlin's sake - and I promised I would stay at her side all night in case she needed me. She woke up and... " George trailed off. I tensed slightly, wondering how much George intended on telling his twin about what I'd done - what George and I almost did. I remembered Angelina saying once that telling one twin something was just as good as telling the other. I flushed with shame and closed my eyes, not wanting to hear George relay my advances to his twin. "Well, I left. What do you expect her to do? Shrug it off and go back to work?"

"Of course not! She can't just shrug this off, George. She needs help before she hurts someone else," Fred said hotly and stepped into my view. Now I could see both twins perfectly: Fred, looking hacked off and George, pleading. A bit more slowly this time, I sat up, using a pillow to prop myself up. I felt very tiny in this room of all white and hugged the covers around me.

My memory was in bits and pieces of awful things. The last clear memory I had was of Apparating to Shelly's house when it was cold. I had a jagged flash of lying in bed beside George, but I didn't understand why he was there. Everything after that was jagged images and bits of sound that didn't make much sense. My memory had no answer for the hangover I seemed to be experiencing.

"She didn't hurt anyone but herself! The one witness says she got about twenty meters in the air and then turned around to go back. That's when she must have blacked out and lost control of her broom," George was saying, as I was jarred from my thoughts. I tried to take what was said and make my memory give me some sort of image. It only partially worked, as I vaguely remembered getting onto my broom, tremendously upset, and taking off for whereabouts unknown. For some reason, in the memory, my feet hurt.

"That's far enough! Why won't you take this seriously?" Fred said, temper rising. With one pale, trembling hand, I lifted up the bottom of the sheets that covered me to reveal my feet. The tops of them looked okay, and I had all ten toes (yes, I counted to make sure). But when I drew a leg up towards me and bent my ankle to see the underside of my foot, I gasped.

Dozens of tiny red marks slashed every which way across the sole of my foot, looking anywhere from small scratches to deep gashes. Only slightly less than worrying about where the cuts came from, I wondered why they were still there. With the medimagical advancements in the wizarding world, no cut, scrape or bruise lasted longer than a few minutes with the most vicious of broken bones regrown in a night with an extra day under observation.

My mind swimming and head still pounding, I covered my feet again and sat back into my pillows.

Fred's voice was slow and measured, leaving no room for argument, as he said, "She will not be employed at 3W until she undergoes some sort of rehabilitation and fixes her personal life. She needs time off to sort things out."

Sort things out? What sort of things? Fred was barking mad, he was. With a fierce twist in my stomach, I remembered Shelly. She was probably lying perfectly preserved in the magimorgue in St. Mungo's. The thought made my shudder, but also wonder where I was.

"The last thing she needs right now is to be alone. You know if she chooses the Treatment, she'll have to stay here for five days," George replied, voice desperate. I sat up a little straighter. Him not wanting me to be alone? How ironic.

"So stay with her, George," Fred said, voice heavy with exasperation. "I'm not saying we sever all contact with her. I just want her to pull herself together before she returns to work."

The next words muttered out of George's mouth surprised me, "I'm probably the last person she wants to see right now." In a vivid flood of color, my memory flashed through my mind. Oh, God, what had I done? What had George and I almost done? I had drunk so much... an entire bottle of wine on my own. Then getting on a broomstick? I was lucky to be alive.

But what George had said wasn't true. He was the one I needed more than anything, the only one who could make all the confusing things go away. Would I admit it to him? No way. He didn't need me, nor want me, so I would change myself so I didn't need him.

"What happened between you two last night?" There was a pause and a gasp of understanding from Fred. "The two of you didn't..."

"No, of course not. I did - I said - I was horrible to her and I left her when she needed me most. You don't understand why she--" George began, but his twin interrupted him.

"You think I don't understand Anya's motive for drinking just because I didn't have someone close to me die? For Merlin's sake, George, I saw what happened to you when Katie--" I snapped my head up, wincing in anticipation of George's reaction.

"Don't you dare bring Katie into this," he whispered dangerously. "Anya will be suspended until she completes the Treatment and then will be put on evaluation for two months. She'll agree to the Treatment, I know she will." George paused for a moment. "You can't take her from the life she knows. Her rehabilitation will be around people she's comfortable with, you and me."

"The Department of Magical Employment has guidelines about..." Fred began, but I could already tell George had won.

"Fred, please. If she refuses Treatment, we'll let her go. But give her one more chance." I waited a moment, in tense silence, before I heard Fred's heavy sigh. He said something to George that I didn't hear clearly, but then I saw them quickly embrace and George say, "Thanks, brother." I sank back into my pillows, head spinning. It was far too much to digest at once. I closed my eyes very slowly and they remained closed as I heard the click of a door closing.

I opened my eyes slowly and saw George leaning his head against the doorframe, eyes closed. The anguish on his face made me want to leap out of bed, race across the room and hold him in my arms, telling him I was okay and everything would be all right. He reached a fist up as though to pound against the door, but then slowly dropped it. With a soft sigh, he turned and met my eyes.

"Hey," he said raggedly. He came a little closer to the bed, looking a little awkward. I cursed what I had done. Things would never be the same. I had lost my best friend in the world because I needed him more than ever. It was strange how life worked in cruel paradoxes. "How're you feeling?" I bowed my head in shame, not answering. "Anya?"

I looked up at him, fighting tears, and saw nothing but worry and compassion in his brilliant blue eyes.

"What?" I murmured, voice cracking. "What are you doing here?" He looked appalled for a moment, as though he couldn't imagine me asking such a question.

"I... I was worried, of course," he sputtered, eyes darting back and forth. "Hermione was here at Paracelsus when you were brought in. She sent an owl to the shop and told me... I rushed here immediately; Fred and I were at work..." I narrowed my eyes at him because it was a lot easier to be angry with him than to be feeling hurt. Besides, I had every right to be angry with him.

"Yes, and Fred must have been late because it was you who had to open the shop this morning, isn't that right?" I said in a scathing tone. I could see his anger begin to rise with mine as I spoke those words. After a moment of searching for the right reply, the fury slowly dissipated from his face.

"I know what's making you say these things," George said. "It's the alcohol. Anya, I talked to Dr. Borowski... there was so much alcohol in your bloodstream; why did you do it?"

"The alcohol made things go away," I said, my voice sounding unnatural and shaky. "Without you there to do it for me, alcohol worked. You left, George. Left me so you could open your bloody little joke shop." I drew in a quivering breath and raised my chin. "See? I don't need you, George."

"Anya--"

"And speaking of that silly little store," I continued hotly, as though he hadn't spoken, "you can find yourself another record keeper because I'm not about to take your pity when half of the ownership wants me to go this alone." George's eyes were wide as he watched me take shuddering breaths. Finally, his features hardened into a mask of indifference and he stood.

"I won't deal with you when you're like this," he said shortly. With one last disbelieving glance, he swept out of the room.

Feeling drained physically and emotionally, I sank back against my pillows with a quivering sigh. Needing warmth, as the temperature seemed to have dropped drastically in the past few seconds, I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. I had been horrible to George, but I wasn't wrong. I didn't need him. He was someone I loved being with, perhaps was in love with, but I had gotten over Sean, hadn't I? Everything would be fine without him, without anyone.

I let my head fall gently to the soft pillow and began to weep. This was too damn much at once. I threw the covers off the bed and onto the floor. I stormed around the room, looking for a drink. Surely that would make things clearer. I searched under the bed, in the night table and even kicked the small dustbins over in my fury. My foot stung then, and I sank back against the wall, too numb for tears. With the last pound of fist on the floor, I was asleep.

***

When I awakened the next morning, I was safely tucked into my bed. The mess I'd left behind in my selfish outburst had been cleaned up and not a single trace of it remained. If not for the soreness in my toes, I might've thought it had been a dream. I sat up slowly, running my fingers through my surprisingly untangled hair and propped a few pillows up behind me. Just as I resolved to go get someone, a slim doctor entered my room with a clipboard of parchment.

She wore thick-framed glasses and had her hair tied back in a tight bun. My first impression was of Madam Pince, but I certainly didn't tell her that. She looked up at me and seemed faintly amused that I was awake.

"Miss Parker?"

"Yes?" My voice sounded funny.

"My name is Dr. Susan Borowski and I'm here in England as part of an exchange program from the United States. As your acting mediwitch, I am here to inform you of what happened and what your options are." I almost turned into an ice cube. "A search of your house plus several blood tests have brought us to the conclusion that you had consumed an enormous amount of alcohol and then took control of an aerial transportation device. Is this correct?"

"Yes," I said meekly.

"We also have also found shattered, bloody glass in the kitchen and a boggart in the bathroom. The glass is no doubt what caused abrasions on your feet. The boggart, we feel, is unrelated to the incidents." Oh, a doctor, a Ministry Law Enforcement Official and a magical creature expert all rolled into one. What fun. "As a result, your permit to operate aerial transportation devices will be suspended for two calendar years. You may bring this to the Board of Magical Law Enforcement if you wish to make an appeal."

"I don't," I said evenly. "I accept the consequences." Damn it, two years without my broom. Couldn't say it didn't serve me right. I probably belonged behind bars.

"Right then, makes a lot of people's jobs a whole lot easier." Just then, another doctor entered the room. He was slim, if not a bit gangly, and had sparking blue eyes hidden behind plain black thin-framed spectacles. His dark blonde hair flopped lazily over his ears and he absently smoothed it down as he entered my hospital room. He was quite fetching indeed.

I watched as he crossed the room, eyes never leaving him. When he looked up, he seemed pleasantly surprised to see me.

"Why hello," he said brightly, as though Dr. Borowski wasn't there. "My name is Dr. Simon Branford but you can call me Tony if you'd like." I gave a sideways look at this strange individual as he settled into a chair beside my bed. He asked me a few standard questions and then did an aura check. I shivered as he did it; aura checks always made me feel cold and I could never stand being at a doctor's office.

"So, you understand what happened and why you're here, correct?" He glanced over at Dr. Borowski and we both nodded gravely. She gave an extra firm nod and exited.

"I overheard something about the Treatment yesterday... what is it?"

"The Treatment will last exactly five days. During those five days, no magic is to be used by you or on you," he began. "After the initial injection, you may not have any potions administered to you if they involve magical properties."

"So I'm a Muggle for the next week, right?" I asked, trying not to sound too terribly disappointed. He nodded and continued. It struck me then that I couldn't have any Dreamless Sleep Potion, exactly what I should have taken in the first place.

"You will be staying here for the duration of the Treatment and your meals will be provided for you. Any attempts to sneak in extra food will only result in disruption of treatment, so I advise against it." This was probably a bluff, but I certainly wasn't going to test it. "I won't lie to you, Anya. This is one of the most difficult and painful medimagical treatments. Only thirty-four of the two hundred seventeen of those who go into it ended up succeeding. At the end of each day, you'll be more emotionally, physically and magically drained. By the last half hour on the final day, you will be in severe physical discomfort. It's your body's way of using the initial potion to clean out the addiction from your psyche.

"The only thing that will restore you to full health immediately during the next five days will be a fix of your addiction; in your case: alcohol. I must warn you, however, that if you enter the Treatment contract and then break it by giving in to your addiction, the dependence will become a thousand times harder to destroy. Treatment is a one-time deal. There are no second chances."

"I understand," I said quietly. Only about thirty percent had made it through. That meant seventy percent were still wound up in their addictions. Dare I take such a chance? Dare I pass it up? The decision had to be mine, not anyone else's. George believed I could do it, but in no uncertain terms was I going to go through it for him. I was going to go through it for me. "I'll do it," I said softly, looking up at Dr. Branford. He smiled kindly.

"I've already drawn up the parchment work for you," he told me, adjusting his glasses. "Mr. Weasley was certain you'd follow through." He turned to leave, but I had to know one more thing before he left.

"That's why my feet aren't healed, isn't it? He told you I would agree and you started the preparations early, didn't you?" Dr. Branford turned back slowly and nodded.

"We only did what had to be done to save your life. The less outside magical essence performed on you, the greater the chance the Treatment will be effective. We do, however, have you on Muggle painkillers, and that's why your feet aren't hurting." I took a deep breath and forced myself not to grit my teeth too hard.

"I will follow through with this, but I will make my own decisions from now on," I said evenly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. I didn't need George's misguided chivalry to put my life back together. I didn't understand why his mind worked the way it did that morning. He had been a part of the initiation of that kiss; I hadn't imagined it. He'd left me, walked out the door when I needed him more than anything. Now, out of nowhere, he reappeared and wanted to take care of my well being? No. From now on, I was going to be on my own in this and not need him or anyone to take care of me. I was twenty-six bloody years old and it was high time I stopped behaving like a child who needed constant attention.

I reached for the quill and signed my name at the bottom of the parchment Dr. Branford handed me.

***

As promised, my week was hellish. The first few days weren't too awful, but the nights were beyond reason. The nightmares returned, more vivid than ever. Different ones came as well, like the day I found out about my mother's death. I woke up crying and it took me twenty minutes to get myself under control.

I wasn't terribly lonely, much to my surprise. Neville Longbottom, who had been so clumsy at one time, became a well-established doctor in one of the most prestigious medimagical practices in the UK. Just the same, he took time each day to visit with me. It was amazing how much he'd changed and grown since Hogwarts. He was slimmer, almost lanky, and his freckles were the only things on his face to remind me of his younger self. And, my goodness, he was handsome. He was, however, far too serious for my liking.

He had a voice, however, and a pair of ears to listen to me, so I couldn't really complain all that much. I learned quickly that he was good at analyzation, but sometimes he failed to keep people's emotions in mind.

"Perhaps the little girl isn't responding well to tests because she's frightened," I suggested, after he told me about a particular patient he was having trouble with. The little girl in question, Rebecca Jamison, had been ill with what doctors feared to be a Sponge-related virus. The source of the illness was still unknown, but Hermione's tests had proved there were no traces of the descolada virus. The other tests were inconclusive, as adrenaline levels were too high during testing to give accurate results.

"I just don't understand why it's so hard for this patient to perform a simple test," he wondered, scratching his chin absently. I sat up on the bed and looked at him.

"Well, the first thing you need to do is stop calling her 'the patient.' This is a little girl you're talking about. She's in a hospital, quarantined from her parents, and without a familiar face to turn to. How is she supposed to be comfortable?"

"You know, I ran the concept of solitude affecting the test procedures past Granger and Potter, but they both thought it was nonsense," Neville replied, cocking his head to one side thoughtfully.

"Hermione 'Facts-Before-Feelings' Granger-Weasley and Harry 'I-Spent-My-Childhood-in-a- Cupboard' Potter are not the best people to go for emotional consultation." I noticed Neville trying hard to hide a smirk. "Let her parents see her, and bring her a teddy bear from home and make sure there's a nurse available to talk to her when she's scared. Neville, remember when you broke your wrist during your first flying lesson?" I had been in the infirmary myself with a bad stomachache from too many Chocolate Mangoes when he was brought in. "Remember how you wanted to owl your gran?" The man before me frowned slightly, as though reflecting upon some lost memory. "That's all Rebecca wants; she needs a person to hold onto that she's always been able to trust."

"Why don't you consider a career in psychowizardry? You'd be dead helpful to a lot of people," he said abruptly. "A lot of lives would benefit from your advice. I would advise looking into it once you get everything straightened out." I blushed furiously, and thanked him for the compliment. Eventually, conversation turned to the Treatment and the scientific processes behind it. I must say, counting his freckles was far more invigorating.

"As a matter of fact, when I went through the Treatment--" That jarred me out of my counting faster than a hippogriff being chased through the air by a Hungarian Horntail.

"You went through Treatment?" I repeated with raised eyebrows. He nodded slowly, looking absolutely scandalized over what he'd said. I supposed I'd lulled him into such a sense of security that he dropped his guard.

"A team of scientists has been involved in working on the Sponge phenomenon ever since we recognized its existence. They studied all sorts of different psyches and they found out..." This seemed hard for him to say, but he looked up at me and his resolve seemed to strengthen. "They found that a lot of the patients in Mungo's psycho ward were actually victims of a primitive form of the Sponge, a test round, so to speak." His voice was thick with emotion, but his words were precise. "My parents were among them."

I crawled across the bed so I was sitting nearer to him. This seemed to comfort him somehow. Never before had I seen this effect I had on people. To everyone but those I intended it for.

"I hit the bottle as hard as you did, Anya. Probably a lot harder. I tried not to believe. It was hard enough knowing that my parents were Crucioed to insanity, but it was far too late for a cure we now had. It was too much." He removed his glasses briefly, rubbed his eyes, and slowly slid his spectacles back on his nose. "Luckily, Susan noticed how the alcohol was destroying me." Susan Bones was his longtime girlfriend and their serious yet untied relationship was just about as famous as Alicia Spinnet and Lee Jordan's. "The people you love are the first to help you, Anya," he said carefully. His crystal eyes carefully studied me for a reaction. I suppose the whole world knew about George and me, though I couldn't picture George telling anyone except for Fred, and I knew Fred wouldn't do anything to upset his brother.

Maybe all an outsider had to do was watch us interact. Maybe we were that transparent.

"I know what you're thinking and George has made it abundantly clear that he wants nothing more to do with me. He hasn't even stopped by to visit once in the past three days."

"I don't blame him. I overheard some of the things you said to him the day you were brought in. You hardly gave him a chance to speak." I blinked repeatedly, totally shocked.

"You... you don't know what happened... you can't possibly--" I sputtered. He regarded me with a raised eyebrow as he stood.

"Anya, I'm not going to play judge or jury. But you and George have the most incredible two-person friendship I've ever seen. Sure, there's the Trio and the Chasers before Katie's death and Lee and the twins, but with you and George, no one gets excluded. No one gets left out. Don't give this up over one little incident." Without awaiting a response, he got up and left the room.

***

That night, I dreamt.

I know it's a dream as soon as it begins. For one, the sky is much too blue, the grass is much too green and the songs of the birds are much too beautiful for any of it to be real. I am in what I know is a small forest. I can't see anything beyond the trees, but somehow, I know it isn't a huge place like the Forbidden Forest.

I follow a small path that was frequently crossed by butterflies and little toads that remind me of the ones in the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley. The sun shines brightly on the path and guides me through the tranquil forest. I feel a presence on my left and look over to see George. His hand is in mine and he is talking to me about something - Quidditch maybe - and then turns to smile broadly at me.

"What are you smiling about?" I ask him with my own grin. He shrugs.

"We're almost there," he tells me, and points ahead. There is an opening in the trees and it looks as though it leads into some sort of field. I pull on his hand, anxious to get there. He stumbles along behind me and I turn to make a comment about his grace. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he scoops me up in his arms. Giggling, I throw my arms around his neck and he carries me the rest of the way down the path.

As we break out of the forest and into what looks like a typical London backyard, he gently lets me stand on my own feet. I recognize the house as the one I grew up in when I was young. It has the same light paint and the same dark roof. The patio out back still has the small table with chairs surrounding it. The light blue gazebo with a swing inside that my dad built for my mum still stands proudly at the edge of the lawn.

"I want you to see something," I tell George and pull him with me to the gazebo. I point to a series of markings along one of the posts. Anya, age 5. Michael, age 9. Anya, age 6. Michael, age 10. "Mum and Dad always brought us out here on our birthdays and measured our heights."

"My family would need another gazebo," George jokes.. "Come on; let's go inside. Your mum and dad will be expecting us." For some reason, I see nothing wrong with this scenario.

"Hello, Mum! Hello, Dad!" I say brightly as I bound into the house. They're at the table, smiling, food set at four places. They each rise to embrace me. George and I sit beside each other and I feel George's ankle wrap around mine beneath the table and hide a smile.

Everyone is talking; the atmosphere is relaxed. The kitchen is warm and smells of Mum's cooking. I slowly leave the conversation and enjoy just eating, looking down at my plate and listening to my loved ones' voices fill my head. I lift my head to answer Mum's question and recoil in horror.

Three skeletons sit at the table with me, bony jaws wide with maniacal grins. I shove my chair backwards and stagger away as the bones slowly disintegrate to dust. I hear a voice calling my name...

"Anya, wake up. You're having a nightmare. Anya!" I bolted upwards in bed, breathing heavily. I nearly collapsed back down to the covers, but strong arms were soon surrounding me. I could feel tears on my cheeks, but had no memory of crying. I was far too exhausted to sort things out. Dear God, please let me have one night of peace. It's all I ask.

I didn't particularly give a toss about whose arms I was in, but I felt myself being lowered gently back down to the bed and tucked in again. Warm hands paused on my shoulders for a moment, before releasing their gentle pressure. I heard the soft patter of reluctant feet walking away and then a door opening and closing.

***

Sean Ludlam visited a few times during my stay. While he wasn't maintaining his perfect façade, he was tactful enough not to ask how I'd gotten here or what happened. All he said was that he'd gone to 3W to say hello to me and Fred had given him the news. I wanted to ask if George had been there, but I didn't.

Sean brought a chessboard and pieces with him and although he won all three games, it made me feel better to return to a sense of normalcy. But I couldn't shake the feeling I was being watched. I looked over at the viewing window near the door, but of course, I saw nothing but my own reflection. Dr. Branford had told me it was for monitoring patients as they slept without disturbing the occupants within. They were supposed to be turned off during the day, but there had been a lot of recent trouble with the hospital's magical equipment lately.

I could still feel eyes on me.

***

I woke up on two days later - day five - wanting to die. I couldn't open my eyes, let alone sit up. I wanted to go back to sleep, but was far too afraid. If I'd been slightly upset by my original nightmare, the ones occurring in the past few days had terrified me beyond all reason.

And I wanted a damn drink.

I wanted a drink so bad I could taste it. Besides staving off nightmares, alcohol had made my body addicted in the worst way. No, no, that was nonsense. I had made myself addicted to alcohol. It was easily the stupidest thing I could let myself do.

My blood pressure was high, I had an increased heart rate, and I felt as though I had a constant stomachache. Never again would I touch a drink with a higher proof than butterbeer. And even that was to be drunk in very small amounts.

I faded in and out of consciousness. Luckily, I was never asleep long enough to dream or if I was, I didn't remember. During snatches of being awake, I was aware of missing 3W. I missed the fun, warm atmosphere and the security of being somewhere where nothing bad ever happened. I missed listening to Fred and George toss around new product ideas. I even missed the obnoxious little children racing up and down the aisles.

I woke once to see Dr. Branford standing beside my bed.

"Only a few more hours, Anya. You can make it," he said with a reassuring smile. "You're a lot stronger than you think you are." I called him something really mean that I dare not repeat in a whisper in the middle of the Sahara desert and abruptly fell asleep again.

A pounding pain reawakened me in my head that seemed to roll in waves down my body. Dr. Branford was still there, along with Neville and Hermione. Hermione was saying something to me but it sounded as though she was speaking to me from underwater.

"Want... drink..." I managed to gasp. My chest cavity felt as though it was becoming smaller and smaller and my breaths came in shorter gasps.

"Get one of those damned Muggle air masks on her," Hermione said angrily. "We can't have her gasping like a mermaid out of water." Neville disappeared for a moment, then my mouth felt funny and I could breathe better.

"You're doing wonderful, love," a faraway yet familiar voice said. I blinked a few times and looked over to the side of the bed opposite where the doctors were standing. There was a figure in such bright white that it blinded me. I squinted away from the light and it faded slightly. I made out features.

"Daddy?" I whispered. I heard murmuring from the side of the doctors, but paid no attention. The ghostly specter on my right nodded. "Daddy, you must be so ashamed of me," I whimpered, tears springing to my eyes. "Merlin knows I'm ashamed of myself." He reached down to wipe my tears away but his fingers passed through my face.

"We all make mistakes, Anya. It is best to be grateful that you are able to take care of your consequences." He smiled kindly at me and I felt the warm weight of his hand in mine. It was impossible, but I was far too incoherent to think much of it.

"I messed up really bad, Daddy. George doesn't care anymore... Shelly's with you now... I hate being alone. So scared."

"You're never alone. I promise you that you're never alone. Your mother and I are with you always."

"Just a few more minutes, Anya. Hang on," Neville's voice broke through the haze. I concentrated on nothing but my father's face and the sound of his voice until I felt a slow dissipation of pain in my body. It was as though sand was slowly being poured through a sieve and I rested, exhausted, back against my pillows. My father faded slowly as I fought to maintain a grasp on his hand, my lifeline.

"I'm so proud of you, princess," he murmured. I could have sworn I felt him kiss my forehead very softly.

"You made it; I knew you would." Simon, maybe. Or Neville. Couldn't tell. "I'll get some Dreamless Sleep Potion. You could use some peace." I felt a poke in my arm and everything after that was a peaceful blackness.

***

"Miss Parker, an excellent job, I must say," Neville said with a broad grin. He offered his hand. I smiled back and shook his hand as I shouldered my bag. "I admit I had my doubts, but here you are."

"Here I am," I sighed. He frowned.

"Something else troubling you?" he asked. Ah, the man was perceptive. I sat on the bed and he reluctantly sat beside me. I had taught him well; he was watching me as though interested in what I was about to say. "Are you worried about telling everyone about what happened? I mean, besides those who don't know? I think you should be enormously proud of yourself."

"That's just it. I've got no one, Neville," I said in a strangled voice. I had never voiced the words before, but they were so hollow and empty and... true. "There's no one out there waiting for me... no one to be proud of me." He looked down at me with not pity but sympathy in his eyes. "I'm going home to an empty house."

"Now I don't believe that for one minute, Anya," he said gently, as though coaxing someone to step away from the Owlery window because they had too much to live for. "George has been here every day... He asked me not to tell you he was here, but he's come every day and watched through the viewing window, if just for a little while." My eyes flickered over to the one-way mirror next to the door. "Sometimes I would allow him in here for a few minutes while you were asleep. Whether he admits it to you or not, he's very concerned for your well-being." Neville fell silent then, and studied me carefully.

"He was here?" I repeated.

"Every day," he confirmed. My mind spun, digesting this new information. He had given every indication he was fed up with me but to be so worried? Why wouldn't he want me to know he was here? Damn, and I thought I had everything figured out. "Look, Anya, you're a bright, wonderful witch. George knows this and he'll act on it as he sees fit. As a spokesperson for males everywhere, I tell you with all confidences that blokes are severely daft when it comes to women. But I know you two will figure things out."

That was my life in a nutshell: one big misunderstanding. Couldn't've said it better myself, Neville.

"Thanks, Neville," I said, forcing a smile. I stood and stopped, startled, to see Angelina in the doorway. Before I knew what was happening, I got a hug and a kiss on each cheek.

"Angelina, what are you doing here?" I stammered. She laughed and waved off my words as though they were silly nothings.

"You didn't think I was going to let you go home all by yourself? Goodness, you've been in the hospital for a week!" Mrs. Seven-Months-Pregnant said as though I should have known it all along. I smiled gratefully as Neville excused himself politely, said he had rounds to make, and made a hasty departure.

"Angelina, really, I can make it home on my own. You really shouldn't have bothered--" I began. Angelina smiled over at me, one hand over her swollen stomach, the other waving away my words.

"So I take it you're a part of the Society Against Angelina Doing Things On Her Own, are you? Well, Fred's minister, but you can run for deputy minister," she said flippantly as we exited the room and slowly began walking down the hallway together. I had just thought to go slow so she could keep up, but I was the one lagging behind slightly. "Fred's kept me cooped up in the blasted house, as though I had some sort of disease. For Merlin's sake, I'm pregnant, not ill." I laughed with her at this; Angelina Weasley was always one to get her own way. After a few more minutes of silence and a slight slowing of the pace on her part, she touched my arm softly.

"Oh, how terribly insensitive of me... how are you doing, Anya?" she asked gently. I avoided her eyes and looked down at my shoes as we turned a corner.

"I'm okay," I lied. I wasn't okay. Not yet. Soon, I would be, but not yet. "Pretty tired. I'm probably going to sleep through the next three days." I chuckled nervously.

"Bad times are hard. Sometimes it seems like it won't get better, doesn't it?" I didn't look over at her. I didn't answer. As soon as my eyes would meet hers, she would know. I gave myself a good mental smack for it. I couldn't wear my heart on my sleeve like that. "But if there's one thing I've learned about hard times, it's that the harder they are, the better things seem to be when they're over. A reward of sorts." This time I did look over at her. I acted irresponsibly and irrationally and... I was going to get rewarded for it?

"I know Alicia and Katie and I weren't terribly... er... welcoming to you back at Hogwarts. We were just teenagers who had found a target, childish foolishness." For a moment, I wondered if she was going to ask for the forgiveness I'd granted her thousands of times over. "We didn't include you because we didn't think you were strong enough. But I know now that you are strong enough and you will make it. Have some faith in yourself."

"I have no reason to," I said softly. We were now standing just outside Paracelsus. There was nothing more I wanted to do than take a taxibroom home, feed my cat and have myself a good long cry. Something kept me there, though; something kept me rooted to the spot, listening to Angelina.

"Enough of that no self-esteem ----wizarding expletive not as bad as "dragonshit"----," Angelina said, in all her frustrated glory. Then I appreciated why Fred loved her so much; she was his perfect match. He would never be able to walk all over her, push her over. She was a match, an equal, and a partner. She didn't take no for an answer. Her way or the flyway. "You're a wonderful person, you know that. You made it through a procedure that loads of witches and wizards haven't had the courage to attempt.

"One time when you were writing home to your parents in first year, and you didn't think anyone was listening (not to mention you have this awful habit of muttering as you write), you asked them why you were placed in Gryffindor. This is why, Anya. You may not be out there with Harry saving the world or being a Quidditch superstar like Alicia or broadcasting Quidditch all over the world like Lee. Just because they're making flashy accomplishments doesn't mean the battles you win go unnoticed."

I blinked at her for a few moments, not entirely sure what to say. It was absolutely the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to me, but at the same time, terribly confusing. The silence hung comfortably in the air as I tried to absorb what she said. After a while, as the quiet seemed it would never be broken, Angelina nudged me gently. "I would think you want to get home."

"Thank you," I said in a broken voice.

***

I stood silently at the top of the hill, ignoring the breeze that whipped my cloak about my legs. Though windy, it was an otherwise perfectly sunny day with only the fluffiest of clouds hiding the periwinkle sky. Cruelly ironic sort of weather for a funeral, but then, it was the only day of the week that I had been out of Paracelsus that the weather had been nice.

The priest had long since left and there were only five or six others left standing around Shelly's grave. I raised my eyes from her tombstone to see Matthew and Andréa Walters bow their heads and walk solemnly from the site. My heart ached for them, for they had loved and supported Shelly throughout her entire life and thought there was no finer child anywhere in the world.

Fred had stopped by earlier, just after the priest had left, and placed the flowers near Shelly's name. He stood by me for a few minutes and he reached over to squeeze my hand. I held his hand for a little while and pretended he was George.

"How are you doing?" he asked after a while. I laughter bitterly, sniffled and then wiped a few tears from my face.

"Not the greatest question to ask at a funeral," I said, looking up at him. He offered a sad smile.

"Sorry," he said softy. I nodded. "I really mean it... I am sorry... so, so sorry." At this point, I don't think he was talking to me anymore. He blinked rapidly for a moment, swallowed hard and then pulled his hand out of mine to gently set it on my shoulder. "George misses you, you know," he said, voice strong. I dropped my eyes and looked at my shoes.

"Yeah?" I asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"Yeah... I reckon you not coming to visit him any more broke his heart. You've got to be more careful with that heart of his, Anya. You're the only one he ever let hold onto it."

I shook my head and swallowed back tears, once more reminded of me and George's fading friendship, just when I needed it most. Katie had his heart and always would. Bless Fred; his heart was in the right place, but his words were false.

"Maybe he ought to come see me, too, then," I retorted, sounding harsher than I had intended. Fred squeezed my shoulder, and then dropped my hand.

"It'd be awful stupid if the two of let something get in between you like this," he said simply. "Both of you have too much pride to admit how much you need each other. See you around."

He began to walk away, but not before I could toss a "Thanks, Freud," over my shoulder. He waved and, with a small wink, Disapparated before my eyes.

I turned to the sound of my name being called and saw a young couple approaching me. I recognized the woman as J'Belle Jubilee (now Richardson), an old Hogwarts friend of mine and Shelly's. I hadn't seen her since Christmas, the last time the three of us were together. She stumbled into my arms and we held each other for a long while, not speaking.

As we held each other, I looked over her shoulder at Daniel, her husband. He was standing awkwardly off to the side, hands in his pockets. He nodded distractedly in my direction with a sympathetic smile as I felt J'Belle pull away from me. I watched as she wiped tears from her own face.

"So this is what it takes to get you to cross the pond, huh?" I asked, an awful attempt at lightening things. J'Belle began to cry harder at this.

"Oh, Anya... Oh, I'm so sorry... I never meant to lose touch. But with the baby and all..." She wiped her cheeks awkwardly with the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry." We hugged again, me feeling a deep ache in my chest for my horrible words. "That's absolutely no excuse for... for my behavior."

Compared to the way J'Belle second-guessed herself, I looked like Gilderoy Lockhart. The poor thing was so confident and friendly on the outside, but she constantly worried about how she appeared to others. It took Shelly and I years to convince her not to listen to our schoolmates or care what those schmucks thought.

"I'm moving back here to the UK... I can't lose touch with you again," she murmured into my shoulder, voice muffled in my robes. I rubbed J'Belle's back gently; she needed the comfort. And so we stood together, holding each other, mourning the loss of friendship.

***

By the time my second full week of returning to normal life rolled around, I decided to get my real job back. While the money from my inheritances would hold me over for quite some time, I couldn't dodge work forever. I had too quickly thrown away the offer to work at 3W again and decided to ask for my job back. It would take an incredible amount of will to swallow my pride and do it, but I would do it.

I entered 3W cautiously, poking my head inside first. Not a soul, customer or employee. I stepped inside and was nearly knocked off my feet in a wave of nostalgia. It was as though I hadn't set foot in the store in centuries.

I paused in the third aisle, picking up a Parrot Pillow affectionately. Oh, how I'd missed working here. Someone once said that if you enjoy your job, you'd never have to work a day in your life. Well, I'd worked plenty of days in my life, but never here.

I heard the front door open and someone enter, but I didn't take much notice. I heard another door (door to back room, most certainly) open and a pair of voices begin to converse. Finally, I put the soft pillow back of the shelf tenderly and moved to leave the aisle, when I heard a familiar voice... but one I hadn't heard in over a year.

"... and so Lee looked down on his plate and it was sitting right there. Isn't that a scream?" It was Alicia Spinnet, an old friend of Angelina's... an old tormentor of mine. I shook my head and tossed the thoughts from my mind. It was just some stupid childhood differences back at Hogwarts. We'd all been kids; too easily hurt and too easily hurting others.

"Stop by for anything in particular or have you not yet gotten over your unrequited love for me?" Fred asked idly. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. He certainly was offhanded in such matters of the heart.

"Oh, please," Alicia said with disbelief in her voice. "As if my love for anyone could be unrequited." The two laughed and I held back a remark about humility. "Actually, I stopped by to see if the rumors were true. Did that Parker girl from Hogwarts really drink and fly? I mean, I know George talked to her sometimes back at school..." My eyes narrowed. Talked to me sometimes? He was my best friend and she knew that damn well. Grr... Alicia had always been my least favorite of the Chasers.

"Yes, something like that happened, but--"

"Wow, never thought someone like Parker would do something like that." I considered throwing the Parrot Pillow at her. "Finally tipped over the edge, did she? I always knew she was a bit unstable back at Hogwarts, never one for Quidditch, not particularly good at any of her classes..."

"She did well in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures," Fred said quietly. I smiled. Someone had remembered. Alicia sighed.

"Only because Granger helped her. Tell me: does George still take pity on her and let her tag along?" Whereas a comment like this during second year might have sent me into tears, now it made my blood boil. Pity, indeed. I clenched my fists at my side and fell back into naming dragon species to calm myself.

"Pity? I'm sorry if that's all you believe their friendship is about. As a matter of fact, I think you're jealous."

"Jealous?" Alicia laughed incredulously. "That's rich. I'm very happy with Lee; you should know that." I dared a glance and saw a skeptical look on her face. Quite pissed, I could tell.

"You never liked having George terribly close to Anya, even back at Hogwarts. You had this future set in your mind that the three Chasers would pair off with the three Jesters." His tone was mocking. "You didn't care what happened to the little overlooked common girl. You've always been one to get what you want, but it drove you mad that your little prophecy would be unfulfilled. So you did your best to keep the commoner from wanting to be friends with the Jester, because then he would always have a distraction from the Chaser. Little do you know that the Jester is quite satisfied with his commoner and keeping them apart after the Chaser has already moved on is just futile." Fred's last words were harsh and sounded rushed. Poor bloke had no foresight. The brash, sure look on her face had faded and she'd gone distinctly white with disbelief.

"Fred Weasley, I never, in all my life, tried to--"

"Spinnet, it's not something to be proud of or ashamed of. You were just a kid wanting the best for your good friends without thinking that you were hurting others. Katie and George had something special once; we all know that. But keeping up this resentful facade against Anya because George still has her and not Katie will not help things."

"That's preposterous! They're not even romantically involved and even if they were, it wouldn't last long. Ever since George came to his 'realization,' he's never been in a fully functional relationship. He's always been left unfulfilled because one part of his psyche was left unsatisfied. Either he's ended it or his partner saw the writing on the wall and did the honors on her - or his - own. Katie was what he needed and now that she's gone, there can't be another!" At this, she turned on her heel and stormed out of 3W.

Fred looked after her for a few moments, not saying a word. Finally, he shook his head and sighed. I waited until he turned around to place something on a shelf before taking a few steps to sneak out of the store. I didn't want him to know I'd been there. His voice stopped me.

"You know, my wife is a whole lot better at sneaking around and spying than you are, Anya," he said as he turned around. I paused and gave a nervous smile.

"How long have you known I was there?" I asked. He grinned.

"Depends. How long have you been there?" I rolled my eyes. Typical, typical Fred. "Just joking. I only noticed you when you tried to slink out of here like Crookshanks used to sneak in (damn cat). I take it you heard everything?"

"Yeah... don't really care what she thinks either." I shrugged. If what everyone wanted was for George to be forever consumed by Katie's ghost, far be it from me to stop him.

How heartless.

If I'd been a house-elf, I would have run home and shut my ears in the oven. But as I wasn't, I just felt a sick feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach.

"What'd you stop by for? More confessions of unrequited love?" He wiggled his eyebrows and I had to roll my eyes a second time.

"But of course." We allowed ourselves a good laugh before sobering. "Actually..." My voice began to sound sheepish and my nerve was beginning to fail me. "I came to ask for my old job back." I chewed my lower lip nervously, awaiting the verdict.

"It's yours, of course. We've gone through three other girls in two weeks. None of them could figure out the way you organized things."

"I do have my own system, don't I?" I said with a bit of a chuckle. It may have looked like a mess to others, but I knew precisely where everything was. "Seriously, though, thank you. I really appreciate it, especially since I've been a bit... er... less than sociable with you recently." Fred waved it off.

"No big deal. But the question is, are you and George going to behave as though you each found out the other had a crush on you?" He said this in a half-mocking tone, but I knew in that moment, that George had told him everything. "And yes, he told me everything, Anya," he said, reading my thoughts. "I'm not going to get involved or tell anyone what they did was right or wrong. Things happen at their own pace. So what if it took you and George a bit longer than most? You are dealing with the more daft of the famous Weasley pair." Bit longer for what? To screw up a friendship entirely too early? Or to initiate a relationship entirely too late?

Of course it wasn't the latter. I'd done nothing to initiate a romantic relationship. I had only made an advancement to shag him to shut out the rest of the world. Now, after lots of thought, is when I wanted to give the relationship a try. Then, I had just wanted a quick solution to make the world go away. Fred, apparently, could tell it was bothering me, so he quickly changed the subject.

"Can you come in tomorrow morning? I want to run a few ideas past George and I need you to pull a few files for me." I nodded. If George was at work the next day, then fine. I'd cross the bridge when I got there. If not, that was fine, too.

"Sure," I smiled. "Well, I've got a long walk home, so I ought to get going. Thanks again, Fred."

***

As I closed the door behind me, I felt a sort of sense of relief. No more nonsense and practically hiding from George. What would come would come and I would meet it when it did.

I put out Stevie's water dish and sank into the large pouf in my living room. I looked across the room to see my father's picture on the mantle. I remembered his echoing voice from the hospital and wondered if he truly had visited me. While he and Mum had never formally become ghosts, a lot of theories circled around that the dead were always with us.

In those moments, I missed my father more than anything in the world. He'd been my rock, the one strong place I could always count on. I liked to think I was strong for him, too, just before he passed. Before I knew it, I was being sucked into my own memory.

I picked up my father's weak hand and placed it in my own. It was amazing. I had always been the one to go to him for strength. But to see my protector, the one man who'd loved me even when I spit peas in his shoes, looking so terribly weak, terrified me. I cleared my throat and began to speak. "If... if it's too hard... you can let go. I won't... I can't... I can't blame you for that." I paused and sniffled back tears. "Say hi to Mum for me?"

My father's comforting blue eyes opened a little and he gave me a sleepy smile. It broke my heart to see him take such effort to move the muscles in his face. If I thought for even a moment that he'd listen to me, I'd've told him to save his strength. His lips parted and from between them flowed the deep sound of his voice, "Say it to her yourself... she's standing over in the doorway."

With a terrible ache in my stomach, I turned around and looked in the doorway. How silly of me, of course no one was there. I looked back down at my father, whose eyes were still trained in the corner of the tiny hospital room.

"Daddy, there's no one there," I said softly. He didn't seem to hear me; he just continued to sustain the tiny smile on his face.

"Oh, Anya, your mother is so beautiful... so much like you." He reached up a very weak hand a swept a lock of hair behind my ear. I whispered for him to rest and gently laid my opposite hand over his. His facial expression suddenly changed, and I could tell he was hurting and didn't want my to know. For the thousandth time, I damned the doctors that were unable to treat his heart condition. "Time for me to go, princess. I'll be there when you get married. Both of us will."

My lower lip quivered and tears filled my eyes. I wasn't ready to let go of him yet. I was only twenty-two, for Merlin's sake. I was barely more than a child. But more than thinking of myself, I knew he needed me to be strong in his final minutes.

"I'm not getting married, remember?" I reminded him, in a light, teasing tone. "I'm going to live in a big house on the end of a block with a hundred cats." It was an old joke that I was to grow up and be a spinster, after Daddy had made fun of the way I slurped spaghetti when I ate. He told me no one would ever marry me if I ate like that.

Daddy shook his head at this, though. "Don't be silly, princess. Someone's going to fall in love with you and you're going to fall in love with him and you'll live happily ever after; I just know it." Apparently, he didn't remember the joke as fondly as I had. "How about that nice George boy you're always running around with? Don't worry - when I get up there, I'll pull some strings, all right?" He winked sleepily and despite my worry, I blushed. My father suggested I date him at least twice a day. He didn't understand that what George and I had was special, not to be complicated with romantic nonsense. But I couldn't honestly tell him right then and there that the thought hadn't crossed my mind.

"Okay, Daddy. But for now, just rest. I love you." It was important he heard me say those three words. It was not time to argue about my future. I had to make my father's last moments as peaceful as possible, though I wanted him to stay more than anything in the world. I also knew it was far too hard for him to hang on much longer. He had selflessly held on this long for only my sake.

"I love you, too, princess." He ran his finger along my cheek affectionately, looking very proud of me for some reason. I gently tucked the covers in around him.

"Goodbye, father," I said through tears. So maybe my no-crying streak hadn't been a solid eight years. I wiped tears from my eyes, and kissed his forehead softly as his eyes slipped shut. I rested my head very gently against his chest, not moving until the recurring beep became an endless stream of sound.

"So what happened to us?" I was so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn't realized I was no longer alone in the kitchen. I leapt from the table, wand in hand. I pointed it with a shaking hand at the man who dared intrude into my house.

George.

Figured.

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked in a high-pitched voice that was not my own. George stared goggle-eyed at me, eyes trained on my wand. I snorted and tossed it on the table. My adrenaline levels slowly receded and I sighed. "Don't look at me like that; I'm not going to hex you."

George frowned and sighed himself. His shoulders sank and he looked a whole lot older than the last time I'd seen him. Of course, that was impossible; it'd only been three weeks. Three weeks that had seemed like an eternity.

"Anya..." he began in a pleading tone. No, no, no, stop that! I was supposed to be independent and self-sufficient and strong all on my own, but my heart ached at the simple sound of his voice. So I decided to answer his question.

"'Us?' There never was an 'us,' George. It's always been the prankster and the little girl he took pity on. Everyone knows it now, so you can stop pretending." The words sounded harsher than intended, but it was the truth. Okay, maybe it wasn't the truth, but Alicia's words still stung.

George took a step forward and put his hands on my upper arms, as though trying to get me to focus on him. I tried not to melt against his warm, safe touch, but it was very hard. He was watching me carefully with his blue eyes as he spoke in a whisper, "Little girl... pity... pretending? Anya, what's wrong with you? Who has been telling you these things?" He was looking at me as though I was the only person in the world... as though he was intent on making me understand something.

"You left me by myself just like everyone else," I said, voice shaking. "Go on then! I don't care anymore!"

George shook his head slowly. "I don't believe that." His touch didn't waver and I dropped my chin down my chest, unable to look into his eyes any longer. He moved one hand and put a finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

"George--" I began, but he dropped his arms and cut me off.

"You know, visiting works both ways, Anya!" Angry wasn't the word to describe his voice. Desperate.

"Doctor's orders say I can't Apparate for another two weeks and my broomstick license is suspended for the next three years." It wasn't an excuse at all. I'd walked to Hogsmeade to go to 3W and his home wasn't terribly far. I could even have used Floo powder.

"There's an old fashioned thing called 'walking,' you know." I threw my arms down at my sides in frustration.

"I just want to give up... move far away and become a Muggle or something. I've got nothing left holding me here." George stepped closer to me again, shaking his head slowly. There was very little room left between us and my heart began to beat just a little bit faster.

"You've got me. And I need you here, too." Again, the desperation was present in his voice. But he'd said the words I'd longed to hear. He needed me. For what? And why had he waited so long to return to me?

"What, you can't fill the position of record-keeper?" The words left my mouth before I knew what I was saying.

He shook me, as though trying to get some sense into me, but not hard enough to hurt. He wasn't even holding my arms tightly, but I still felt safe. Safe, safe, safe. It was ridiculous, really. "Stop it."

"You never needed me before." And all at once, I felt his lips pressed roughly against mine. Before I could properly reciprocate or even know what was happening, he'd pulled away and locked eyes with mine.

He began to speak, words coming out in a rush, as though it was the most important thing I know what was going on in his head. "Anya, I've always needed you. Since day one, when Snape paired us together in Potions and I didn't know how to make a Hair Growing Potion and you told me to put the pixie dust in... I have always needed you." Our faces were very close and I wondered idly if he was going to kiss me again or if I would have to initiate it myself.

All at once, I remembered him pulling away from my kiss not more than a month ago. I remembered him making a half-arsed excuse. I remembered the hollow click as the door closed behind him. He needed me because he needed an outlet for his problems, a source of advice. But he didn't want me like I wanted to be wanted.

"Then why didn't you... you may need me but you don't want me." I turned my face away. Oh, if that was all it took to make the tension in the room dissipate.

"That's not true. Anya, I didn't leave because I didn't want you. I left because... because I can't give what I want for you. I can't promise that life will be perfect. I want you to be happy... I'm just afraid I won't be able to give that to you." I looked back up at him and raised a hand to gently touch his cheek. The expression on his face made me think he was utterly amazed at my touch and that it was the first time he felt it.

"I can't promise 'happily ever after' either," I whispered. "But I can promise 'one day at a time.' I can't keep living like this, not knowing." And I couldn't. I'd missed him so badly even if I was pretending to be okay without him. While I could live without him, I didn't want to.

I tilted my head very slowly against his and soon our lips were pressed firmly together, no hesitation from either end. I tangled my fingers in his hair and his arms slid slowly around my waist. His touch was soft and firm at the same time. He smelled of the common room at night - an achingly intoxicating mix of both safety and danger. I felt my hands go to the front fastenings of his robes. I drew away slowly; I needed to look into his eyes and make sure this is what he wanted, too.

In his eyes was nothing but need. Need for me, need for my touch, didn't matter. It was me. I wasn't insane.

My lips were nearly brushing against his as I spoke quickly, heart pounding. "I want to know everything about you, George. I want to know what you taste like, what you look like, what you smell like. I want everything about you to fill my senses. I want to know your highs, your lows, your in-betweens. There's part of you that you've shut off to me, to everyone. I want to know those secrets and I don't want to have any secrets from you."

I suppose he had to be sure of me, too, when he said, "You... you want me, then?"

I spoke a bit more slowly this time, making sure he heard and understood every word. "When I say that I want you, George, I mean it in every sense of the word... even adding meaning where there was none before. There is so much in my life that hasn't made sense. But you make sense, George... and so does this."

And after that, there was no further need for speech.

To be continued...