A/N: Hello everyone!
First off: My deepest apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I got very carried away, and ended up writing over 30,000 words, which took ages longer to edit than I planned.
Second: Thank you so much for your kindness and encouragement, especially over my break! <3 It was much appreciated. Thank you so much for reading, and for being wonderful. <3 <3 You all are lovely.
Third: This is one of those weeks where I didn't get much sleep (I had a lot of fun, though!!), so I'm going to be posting the playlist a bit late. <3 I hope that's okay!! <3
PLAYLIST: [To be edited]
For now, I highly recommend "Vhs" by WYS. Also, this is a fun ambience video:
(I listened to it a great deal while editing this week, and it's very cozy.)
As always, I do not own the rights to this storyworld or to these characters.
I hope you all had a lovely, wonderful week.
Grab your snack (I recommend chocolate chip biscuits this week), your drink (pumpkin juice or butterbeer, if you have it!), and your coziest duvet. Let's dive in.
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George
January 12, 1999, 1:45 p.m.
"So what's this for?" Fred asked, eyeing the frothing pint. George shrugged and nudged the Butterbeer towards his brother before propping his crutch on the booth siding. Fred made to rise and help him, but George held up a hand, hobbling perfectly well on his own as he slid into the bench across from him.
George wiped his sleeve over his mouth and took up his own pint. "No reason," he said lightly, bringing the drink to his mouth.
The Three Broomsticks bustled with mid-day activity. Hogsmeade denizens rushed in and out around the rough stack of logs near the fireplace. Some picked up late lunch orders while others settled around the bartop, where Rosmerta barked out names as she slid drinks across the worn, wooden surface. George hadn't let his eyes stray once from the counter, plucking his and Fred's right after they were called.
He really ought to speak to some of the other shopkeepers about security wards. Maybe some sort of device to keep waiting beverages safe. Perhaps Aberforth would help with it.
"You show up without warning in the middle of our workday to drag me out to a pub." Fred's tone was dry and he tapped a dragon leather shoe on the worn, red carpet beneath their table. "Where you tell me to sit, and then you buy me a drink, which, while appreciated, is highly irregular behavior from you."
George shrugged and scrubbed his index finger over the dented table edge. "I've bought you pints before," he said. It wasn't that irregular. Sure, they usually handled their own bills these days, but it was all coming from the same place, wasn't it?
"Yes, but not normally at this hour on a Tuesday. I'm usually the irresponsible one," Fred said. "We planning on pulling a switch?"
George snorted.
"It's just a pint," he said. "Can't I buy my brother a pint without it being an ordeal?"
Fred lifted his arm and dropped it over the bench back. "Not with that giddy look on your face, no," he said.
George balked. "I don't look giddy," he said, perhaps a bit too quickly.
Fred's brow lifted to his shaggy hairline. "Sure, Mate," he said. "How's Granger, by the way?"
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Lumos
FanfictionHermione doesn't remember marrying or falling in love with her husband. In fact, when the healer asks her if she'd like to see her husband, she thought Ron would walk through the door. Instead, it was George. A stray Obliviate from a dissenting blo...
