That Something

You've got that something

I wanna hold your hand

- I Wanna Hold Your Hand by The Beatles -

It had happened again, as he'd known it would. George had made it clear to his twin and business partner, Fred, that even if the ingredient count was increased, the magical device would never work.

But did Fred ever listen? No--and that was why George was back at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries once again to have his hands healed. It was only Wednesday, and he had already visited the hospital three times that week. I must have broken a record by now, he thought as he stopped in front of an old, abandoned department store.

His eyes wandered carelessly over the many chipped dummies that rested behind the dusty front window. They looked peculiar and demented, their heads drooping at odd angles and their eyes glazed over in a stare.

George stepped closer to the glass window display and directed his attention towards a particularly ugly doll whose fake eyelashes were falling off and whose face had a crack down the middle. He stepped forward, bending slightly, and addressed the doll. "I'm George Weasley, requesting to enter St. Mungo's due to a potions accident."

The doll gave a small nod, and George quickly stepped through the glass. He arrived in a busy reception area on the bottom floor of the hospital. It was rather crowded, with witches and wizards of all ages sitting in long rows of wooden chairs. Coughs, one right after another, and wheezing voices traveled quickly towards George's ears, making his mind race with thoughts of turning back around and leaving the overcrowded hospital.

A small girl, followed closely by a boy of equal size, weaved up and down the rows, annoying other patients and overworked Healers. George was nearly knocked to the ground as the children sprinted past him, just barely managing to jump out of their path in time. An elderly woman rushed past him, heaving slightly with her purse tucked under her arm and her wand clenched in a firm grip as she followed the children.

When George finally regained his balance from the sudden stampede, he pushed his way through the mob of ill wizards and witches and to the front desk. A plump woman sat behind the whitewashed stone counter. She had dark black hair that she had placed upon the top of her head in a tight bun. A few loose hairs fell over her old and wrinkled face. Even though her old hands must have been aching with pain, the woman wrote across the many pieces of parchment as if it were nothing.

"Mr. Weasley. Back again so soon?" The witch smiled, not even bothering to look up from her papers.

"I've missed you too, Eleanor," George replied, smirking. He leaned over the counter to give the woman a full blow of his charming smile. "I use my brother's stupidity as an excuse to come back here and speak with you."

"Oh, well I'll have to send him a card to thank him for your lovely visits," Eleanor replied before handing George a piece of parchment with a Healers name scribbled on it. His eyes glistened with a twinge of mischief when he read the name.

"Healer Prudence? I don't believe she will be as happy to find me back here as you were," said George as he folded the paper.

"I know how much you like her, Mr. Weasley," Eleanor said. "It makes me quite jealous, I must say."

"My dear Eleanor," interrupted George, "you are the only one here, my love, that can put up with me..."

"If you would stop teasing poor Pruddie, there isn't a doubt in my mind that she would warm up to you," said Eleanor softly, shuffling a few pieces of her parchment before once again scratching her quill against one of the sheets.

"I can't help it," said George with a grin. "It is just so pathetic--don't you agree?" The witch didn't reply, only nodding as her eyes continued to scan across the tiny letters on the parchments.

"I'll take that as a yes," grinned George, giving Eleanor a wink as he turned on his heel and headed towards the spiral staircase leading to the third floor. From behind, he heard Eleanor call to him, saying, "I never said that...but it is odd," before he stepped upwards and out of earshot.

George moved quickly towards the second and then the third floor, counting off the stairs one-by-one until he reached his destination. He was thankful that a short, balding wizard in green robes approached him as he entered, for the tingling in his hands was growing more prominent.

"May I help you, sir?" the mediwizard questioned.

"Yes. I've been sent up here to see Prudence for my..." George held up his bandaged hands, "...problem."

"I see," the wizard replied, quirking an eyebrow at George before nodding his head and saying, "Well, I believe that you know the way to her room."

"I do, sir," replied George. He took the note back from the wizard and thanked him before continuing down the long hall and weaving between the many other patients. The air seemed heavy. He felt almost claustrophobic with so many people surrounding him. It felt like a long journey to room eighty-five, but when he finally entered and took a seat on one of the cushioned chairs, he was thankful.

The room was plain and almost completely empty. Its walls were a sterile white, while the stainless steel counter to the far left had a perfect shine to it. One window filled the room with a sufficient amount of light, but with the door closed, George felt heated by the sun's bright rays.

He stood from his seat to open the window. As the light breeze wisped inwards and onto his face, George closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of fresh air. Below him, the sounds of London in mid-afternoon taunted George. It was the perfect time to take a stroll and not be bothered with the large crowds that occupied the streets during the morning and evening hours. If his hands weren't throbbing, he would have Apparated down into the streets and left the hospital far behind.

George felt someone enter his room. A faint moan from behind made George smirk and turn his attention to a small, brunette witch wearing green robes that matched those the older wizard he had just spoken to had worn.

"You've got to be kidding me," huffed Prudence. George noted that she looked exactly the same as she had the day before. Her dark, curly hair was shoved into a tight bun atop her head and she still wore a pair of gold earrings that were too fancy for her drab, green mediwizard robes. It was obvious she didn't wear any makeup, for her face was very plain, almost dull. George grinned as his eyes found the part of her outfit that entertained him the most. Those pathetic little...

"Mr. Weasley--" began Prudence, standing next to the counter as she opened a file and began to scribble upon one of the lined pieces of parchment within.

"Please, call me George." He smirked as he took the few steps back to his seat, his eyes glinting as they remained upon the young witch.

"Mr. Weasley," she continued firmly, finally turning to return George's gaze with a hard stare, "you are back because of your hands. Have you spilled a potion on them again?" George nodded and held up his bandaged hands, all while maintaining his ear-to-ear grin. This did not amuse Prudence. "Tell me," she continued, snapping the file in her hands shut and placing it upon the counter, "are you as daft as you act?"

George didn't have the time to answer as Prudence moved forward and carefully removed the bandages from his hands. It was silent. George could feel the annoyance Prudence had towards him while she sat so close, examining his red and bumpy hands. She was muttering quietly to herself, her eyebrows dancing up and down as her words poured from her mouth. George couldn't tell if she was reciting medical procedures or, since she was not allowed to speak rudely to the patients, if she was venting her frustration in incoherency. Either way, it was driving George mad.

"I see that your lovely elastic gloves match almost perfectly with your robes today," he commented airily. Prudence's eyes shot upwards and glared harshly at her patient. George could feel the daggers shooting from her eyes and almost laughed in her face but found it better to act nonchalant. This only annoyed her more.

"I'm glad that you pointed that out...for the third time this week," replied Prudence through gritted teeth. She quickly stood and moved back towards the counter, opening one of the bottom drawers to pull out a small glass jar.

"Tell me," began George as he followed and hopped onto the counter beside Prudence, crossing his arms and grinning wickedly as he did so, "Do your gloves match what's underneath those robes?"

"I beg your pardon!" barked Prudence, slamming the jar she was holding down onto the counter with an impact that shattered the glass into many pieces. Her cheeks began to burn, and it didn't help her embarrassment when George whispered into her ear, "I can't imagine black lace and elastic gloves making a good combination. It would throw off the whole--sexiness of undergarments."

Prudence tried her best to ignore George, waving her wand to and fro, fixing the glass jar and sealing the liquid contents within it. A Weasley, especially one of the twins, was not easy to tune out, however.

"Come on, Pruddie. Let me see your hands," pleaded George, his hands moving to grasp hers and pull the gloves from her skin.

"No!" she shrieked, jerking her hands out of his reach and placing them safely within her pockets. "Why must you mock me? It isn't bad enough that I wear gloves all of the time because I fear germs? You have to tease me about it until I can take no more. You don't think I'm embarrassed enough, do you?"

"Then why don't you just take them off?" queried George, jumping off of the counter and holding out his hands for Prudence to medicate and re-bandage. "Do what every normal mysophobic does: wash your hands constantly."

"And what, end up with hands that look as bad as yours? No, I've been there before and I will not go back. My gloves are the best I can do--" she replied.

"For now," George cut in.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, for now," repeated George. Prudence quirked her eyebrow and held George's file close to her chest before asking quite cautiously, "What do you mean?"

"I'll make you a deal," said George, beginning to pace the short distance between the wall and Prudence as he continued, "You find me annoying, correct?" Prudence nodded. "And you would be more than happy to find me being taken care of by another healer, right?" Prudence nodded again. "And at the moment, I'm in need of a challenge. So, I offer you the chance to get rid of me forever--if you allow me to do one thing."

"And what is that?"

George paused and gave that mischievous grin that Prudence had come to hate.

"You give me seven days to come up with a device that will help your--problem. If I can, you owe me a nice dinner at that fancy muggle restaurant down the street..."

"And if you don't?"

"Why, I leave you alone and request a different healer," replied George as he held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Prudence seemed to be calculating every part of the arrangement, trying to find if this Weasley was playing with her mind. Why in Merlin's name was he trying to help her?

"I don't understand," she said, her forehead creasing as her eyebrows furrowed. She gazed questioningly at George. "Why all of a sudden do you want to help me? It wasn't two minutes ago that you were teasing me about it and now...the sudden change...I just don't understand."

"Well, it's quite simple, you see," smirked George. "I'm bored and in desperate need of getting away from my twin for a few days, seeing that he has a streak going of spilling stuff on me that is harmful to my skin. You are in need of some serious help, and to be honest, those gloves bother me to no end. When is the last time your boyfriend held your hand?"

"That is none of your business," Prudence replied, stiffening up due to the rush of discomfort she felt. She couldn't remember the last time she was even asked on a date. The world had gotten too superficial for Prudence's own good.

"I see." George nodded, eying Prudence more curiously, but he did not push the subject further. "Well, do we have a deal?"

Prudence took George's hand in hers and shook it, but before letting go, she added, "But this product must be up to what I find ideal. I will not prance around in some outrageous getup and have you expecting me to buy dinner for you."

"Trust me," said George, "if I did find it even more embarrassing than what you have going on now, I wouldn't dream of being seen with you--and definitely not sharing a dinner."

"All right, all right. You've got a week, and if you can't come up with anything," Prudence smiled and handed George his medicine, "I'll never see you again."

"It's almost like you want me to fail," said George as he exited the room with Prudence behind him. He paused, and for some reason Prudence waited for him to speak. "You know, I think way down beneath your precious skin, you do like me....even if it is only a little."

"If I do, it's pretty darn deep," she replied.

"Honestly," George muttered, only audible to Prudence's eager ears, "who doesn't like a comedian?"

The week passed quickly, and Wednesday soon arrived with a sunny, cloudless sky. Prudence found herself eager for the week to end. She had begun counting down the days until George would return. She knew he would. How could he not? He had been the one that was so interested in her problem, and was it not he who had struck up the deal in the first place? Prudence felt more than confident that the annoying jokester, who she had grown fond of over the past few days, would return with her much needed remedy at hand.

"Today's the big day," voiced the rather excited Eleanor, standing to greet Prudence over the large mob of ill and wounded people.

"It sure is," beamed Prudence. Ever since the red-headed Weasley had left the previous Wednesday, Eleanor had not stopped gloating about the boy and his sense of humor. After a few days of hearing Eleanor's constant speeches about George, Prudence realized she found George charming and rather attractive and, even if it was at her expense, quite funny. She didn't voice these thoughts to anyone, however. It was hard enough having to deal with liking a man she wanted to find annoying.

The sun rose higher into the sky, and the list of patients in the Prudence's ward seemed endless. When she had a minute to spare, however, Prudence quickly poked her head out into the main hall and looked for any sight of George. At one point, her heart had skipped a beat when she had seen a tall man with red hair sitting outside of her office. But she was disappointed to find it was only a friend of a current patient that had decided to take a seat on one of her empty chairs. After chasing the man off and telling him he was in the way and needed to go to the lobby, Prudence checked her watch and gave up on George's ever coming.

It was a quarter to seven and her shift was over. Prudence didn't even bother changing out of her dirty, green robes as she left her office, shutting the door harshly behind her and startling a few of the other mediwizards that were walking by. Her head felt so heavy that she found it best to stare at the floor as she began to walk through the ward and down the stairs.

Prudence's mind was taunting and teasing her for her foolish decision to believe that George--Mr. Weasley--would ever come through for her. This was just another joke on her. Not only did he make fun of her problem, but he also got her to believe that he would actually help her. He was just like every other guy she had met before. She was different and very odd. Prudence knew this and accepted it--then why? Why, this time, did she feel so abnormal?

"'Night, Eleanor," Prudence mumbled, not even bothering to look up at the elder witch who had such an amazing life. She was happily married and had plenty of children and grandchildren to keep her busy and feeling young. Prudence felt a bitter envy towards the woman that was like a second mother to her, but she had no intention of showing her feelings.

"Good night, Prudence," Eleanor replied in her usual jubilant tone. Prudence was about to exit the building when the receptionist called after her, "Wait, Pruddie!" The young woman rolled her eyes and allowed her head to fall back to vent her frustration or possibly to keep her hate-filled tears behind her eyelids.

"Eleanor, I'm very tired and in no mood to gossip tonight," Prudence replied, but she still turned to walk back to the elder witch. Once she arrived at Eleanor's front desk, all Prudence could do was rest her heavy head in her hand and gaze up at the woman before her. Eleanor wore a kind-hearted smile that seemed to yell at Prudence, 'I have a superb life with a husband who is excellent at love-making, while all you have is a dog that doesn't answer when you speak to it.' Prudence felt a twinge of guilt and a bit of disgust for thinking that.

"Really Eleanor, I need to get home. You know--feed the dog, clean the apartment, watch a movie that portrays the life I wish I had." The last part was barely audible and made Eleanor quite annoyed that the young woman was testing her bad hearing.

"I see," Eleanor replied coolly. "Well, if you must...but I believe you should at least tell the young man that you already have plans."

"Yes, I'd better--" Prudence stopped mid-sentence and raised her head so quickly she nearly gave the elder woman behind the desk a heart attack. "What young man?"

Eleanor pointed, and with a frown at Prudence, said, "George, the one you've been waiting for all week. Honestly, girl, it's no wonder you are still single...leaving men to wait for you, then blowing them off...." The elder witch had begun to file the paperwork that was on her desk, muttering her annoyance towards Prudence while she did so.

Prudence moved towards the man at the far end of the lobby, weaving slowly through the patients. George's head was slumped forward, his chin resting softly upon his chest as his eyes rested and he slept without any disturbance. It wasn't until Prudence lightly tapped him on the shoulder that he stirred.

"Ah." He yawned and stood. "It's about time you showed up."

"I didn't think you'd come," said Prudence, after George had rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"You thought I couldn't do it, didn't you?" smirked George, turning from her to reach into a bag on the chair beside him that Prudence hadn't noticed before. From over his shoulder, she could see him digging and shifting through the items in the bag. It took a few moments before George straightened and turned back to Prudence.

"Here it is," said George, placing a small, circular pill in Prudence's gloved hand. She gazed curiously at it as George stated, "This will solve all of your problems. Well--the one we were wanting to fix."

"Umm--I don't think a pill is going to solve my phobia," began Prudence, moving to hand it back to George. She felt a slight disappointment and a little aggravated at George. "Thanks for trying."

"I'm not finished," said George, turning back towards his bag. "That was only a muggle candy that I gave you...just to see if I could make you think it cured your problem. You could have at least eaten it," he smirked, turning back towards her with a small box in his hands. "They are quite tasty." Prudence quickly placed the candy upon her tongue and was glad to find it had chocolate encased inside of its small, hard shell that had a sweet taste. After swallowing the candy, she nodded her head and said, "Well, it made me feel a bit better."

"See--it does help," said George. She noticed a faint smile playing across his lips, and Prudence began to blush as she felt her heart skip slightly.

"So, what's in there?" Prudence questioned, adverting her eyes to avoid George's.

"Now, this," began George, patting the box softly, "this is one of my best inventions to date. Inside this box lies the answer to your glove problem. I've worked very hard on it for you, so you'd best like it." Prudence only nodded her head. She was so eager to see the item that was in the box that she was unable to speak.

George handed it to her, and she carefully held it in her grasp. She was surprised by how light it was and wondered if this was all a big joke. It wasn't that far fetched; just look at what George had given her as the first remedy. Prudence watched as George unlocked the small brass clasp and opened the lid of the wooden box.

From what Prudence could see, there was absolutely nothing inside. Her eyes scanned the red velvet that lined the box for any trace of an object, but she found nothing. It wasn't until she lifted her head to yell at George for making her believe he had something that she noticed a twinkle.

"Thought I was tricking you, Miss Prudence?" smirked George. Prudence didn't reply, but instead looked back into the box to find that there was a pair of gloves just like the ones she wore at the moment. The only difference was that they shined brightly and had a soft glimmer to them.

It was George who reached into the box and removed the matching gloves, saying, "Take off your gloves." Prudence hesitated. She had worn the gloves for so long, she thought of them more as a part of her body than a foolish accessory. George asking for her to remove them had the same effect as telling her she needed to go bald. It was a bit of a shock.

The silence seemed to last forever as George watched Prudence stare down at her hands. At last, she pulled the elastic gloves from her hands. Both of them let out a long breath they had both been holding. Prudence placed her gloves in George's open hand, and he threw them without a second thought into the trashcan beside the wall.

"All right, now I need to you to give me your hands," said George. It was no shock to him when Prudence didn't immediately place her hands in his. She decided that holding them herself was safer. "I promise I won't give you my germs. Here," he said and took from his bag another object: a small container of liquid, from which he squeezed a drop onto his hands. George quickly rubbed them together and then held out his hands once more. "All clean," he said, showing her the front and back of them. "Now, may I please see your hands?"

Prudence hesitated once again, but before George could argue that his hands were fine, she placed them on top of his. Neither of them could deny that they felt a slight tingling where their skin met.

"These things are quite simple but can do so much," began George, gently slipping the first glove onto her right hand and then the second onto her left. It looked odd for her hands to be such a bright white and to be glittering.

"Now, you will need to spin around three times all while saying 'George Weasley is an amazingly sexy and extremely intelligent man'. Got it?" said George.

"How loud do I have to say that?" questioned Prudence, not even caring that it was ridiculous.

"Wow, you would actually do that? I should have just gone with it, but lucky for you, I was only joking," stated George, pulling a thick, wooden wand from the inside of his coat. "All you need to do is take your wand, like this," he said, pointing it at her left hand, "and tap it while saying 'evanesco'." As he said the magical word, the glowing, white glove disappeared.

"I've made them invisible," George stated, pausing to repeat the spell to make the other glove disappear like the other one. "After you say the spell, they transfigure to match every part of your hand, from your skin color right down to the little lines that make up your fingerprints. Once you have them on, no germ can stick to your hand and you never have to worry about any getting under the glove."

Prudence began to examine her hands--her actual hands. No longer did she look down upon them and find the gloves that usually covered her skin and left them standing out. They looked normal.

"And the best part is, they don't feel or act like gloves. You can touch your skin and feel your skin, as if they weren't even there," added George, digging his own hands into his pockets. He bounced nervously on the balls of his feet, awaiting Prudence's opinion on the gloves he had worked night and day on since he had left the hospital exactly one week ago.

"Do you like them?" asked George, his voice never so quiet as it was then. Prudence finally made eye contact with George, and once she did, she threw herself into his arms and hugged him as tightly as she could. She held him close and whispered into his ear, her voice breaking, "I love them....thank you, George."

"You're welcome, Prudence," he whispered back, wrapping his arms around her waist. The two stood there quite a while, just hugging each other, not wanting to let go. It was in that moment, for some reason, that both understood and accepted each other for who they really were. Prudence, the uptight germaphobe without the greatest sense of humor, and George, the overly sarcastic and often quite rude jokester, both knew exactly how they each felt--and they both enjoyed the feeling.

Prudence was the first to break the hug, but she didn't move far from George. She gazed upwards at the ginger haired man that towered over her and said, "I owe you dinner."

"That you do," smiled George. His eyes shifted from hers and raised an eyebrow at her outfit, saying, "Why are you still in your work clothes? You knew we were going to that fancy restaurant."

"Well, to be honest, I didn't think you were going to show up....I mean, just look how late it is," she exclaimed, pointing towards the exit, which framed the darkened sky. George began to laugh lightly.

"I didn't want to show up too early," he said. "We are having a dinner date, not lunch."

"So you made me wait all of this time and think that you weren't coming?"

"No, I just wanted to not look as desperate to have dinner with you as I felt," he replied quickly. Prudence began to blush profusely, and her mind and heart raced with the thought that George, a man whom she now cared a great deal for, wanted to have dinner with her.

"Could I hold your hand?" asked Prudence as she held out her own. George smiled down at her and slid his hand into hers, squeezing it lightly before pulling her towards the St. Mungo's exit. From behind the counter, Eleanor watched them leave the lobby hand-in-hand with large smiles upon their faces.

She bent low and pulled a long piece of parchment that was rolled and tied with a thin piece of string from the bottom desk drawer. Eleanor tugged it open and placed it upon her desk. At the top, in thick, intricate letters it read All The Lonely People.

Below the title, a list of Eleanor's friends and the co-workers she liked who were alone in this very large world were written. The elder witch's eyes scanned the long list of names and right in the middle, hiding between a Paul McKenzie and a George Starke was Prudence Porter.

Taking her large quill, Eleanor dabbed it in the ink bottle and brought it across the piece of parchment, slowly crossing out Prudence's name. The witch gazed down upon the young woman's name proudly and with a bright smile, whispered to herself, "She finally found where she belongs."