Just Like Home | Charlie Weasley

Chapter 1

Eleanor Hazel Birch was a simple girl. She loved the quiet life, thrived on her routines and felt comfortable when she knew exactly what her day would entail. She had by no means had an easy life; which is precisely why she was the way she was now. At twenty-five years old, she didn't have much in the way of friends... Or family for that matter. She had her best friend, Hayley, she got along pretty well with Darcie who was her employee in the coffee shop and her dad was the only family she had left which made them very close. To the outside eye, Eleanor may look lonely, perhaps even a bit peculiar, however everybody who interacted with her would agree that she had the warmest heart and knew exactly how to make one feel incredibly special.

It was a normal day for Eleanor. She awoke at 6am, got herself ready and retreated downstairs into the coffee shop's kitchen to make a start on the pastries and sweets for the day. She tied her chocolate brown curls back into an untidy ponytail, stuffing her wand into her hair as a way of keeping it safe, and rolled up the sleeves of her jumper. With the soft sounds of the radio to keep her company, she lost herself in the world of sugar, flour and spices for a couple of hours before Darcie arrived to help her open up.

"You've made even more mess than usual this morning," Darcie giggled when she saw the state of both Eleanor and the kitchen when she arrived. "How long have you been in here?".

"What time is it?" Eleanor asked, accidentally swiping more flour onto her face as she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

"8.45,".

"Ah... about two hours then," Eleanor grimaced, actually looking around at the state of the kitchen. "Would you mind opening up whilst I clean this up? I won't be long,". Darcie nodded and chuckled fondly, retreating out to the front of the shop to prepare to open.

Hazel's coffee shop was very small. But, what it lacked in size, or certainly made up for in character. George Weasley adored the coffee shop as it was the only place in Diagon Alley that made his coffee just the way he liked it without sending him judging glances. Black, with two and a half sugars. Eleanor, who George had come to know rather well now considering he visited her shop every day, would always know exactly what to say to him to make him feel human; at least for a few minutes, before he had to return to his melancholic reality. Things hadn't been easy for George since the war. One year and five months. One year and five months ago, George's world all but ended. He lost the most important person in his life; the only person who ever truly understood him and was expected to attempt to live his life as though nothing had happened. How was he supposed to function, to continue to run the shop that was both of their dreams long before they even knew what they were doing? His heart shattered each and every time he set foot inside the brightly coloured, eccentric ship they'd built from the ground up, but at the same time... It helped him feel close to Fred. Of course, Fred would have a field day if he knew how much George was moping, and he'd be positively furious if George let the shop go, so that's the only thing that kept George going. He didn't want to face the wrath of Fred Weasley's angry spirit.

From the very first moment Eleanor had met George, she could sense that something awful had happened to him. His smile never met his eyes and he carried himself with an aura of loss and defeat. Although she hadn't been in the country when the war broke out, she suspected it had something to do with that. Of course, the many whispers she heard about the alley about the loss of a twin helped her put the pieces together, but George had never told her. For some reason, Eleanor felt very protective of George and vowed that she would do what she could to make him feel at least a small piece of happiness in his life, even if it was in the form of a coffee and a pastry every day.

"Morning George!" Eleanor beamed up at the tired-looking red-head who ducked in through the door of the tiny shop. "You're early today!".

George laughed. "Yeah, my brother's staying with me and he's an early riser. Woke me up at 7," George grimaced, making Eleanor chuckle as she set about making his coffee.

"How are you?" she asked. George had never spoken to somebody who held such sincerity and genuinity in their voice with just three words, and it almost made him want to spill his guts, cry and hug her til the world ended.

George swallowed the familiar lump in his throat and simply nodded. "I'm okay. Thank you," he said back, his thanks holding a matching sincerity. "I'll be much better after this, anyway," he joked as Eleanor handed him his coffee, just the way he liked it.

"Aw, well glad I can be of service," she grinned. "Now George, you know you don't pay in here. How many times do I need to tell you?" She scolded him as he attempted to hand over the sickles. To Darcie, it looked rather comical. The tiny, 5'2 brunette with the wild curls looking up to the massive 6'3 ginger man as she told him off.

"We're never going to agree on this, are we?" He sighed, shaking his head. "Right. Well I best be off, I'll see you tomorrow Ellie. Bye Darcie,". Eleanor waved George off as Darcie attempted to hide her blushing cheeks, which Eleanor decided to kindly ignore (for now). As she turned her back to tend to the pastries, she heard Darcie let out a giggle.

"Ellie, look...". Eleanor turned around to see Darcie pointing to a small pile of coins sitting on the counter.

"How did he even do that?" Eleanor asked, her voice full of a mix of awe and confusion. "Did you see him do that?".

Darcie shook her head. "Nope. I can see why he runs a joke shop, though,". Eleanor smirked knowingly and threw the coins into the tip jar. At least Darcie can have them.

That evening, Eleanor allowed Darcie to leave as soon as it was quiet and began closing up the shop. She had plans with her dad this evening to have dinner together, something they did together every Wednesday evening. She flicked her wand toward the shop as she locked up the door to turn off the lights and made her way towards The Leaky Cauldron to use their flop network. The early-autumn air held a slight chill as she walked briskly through the alley as it wound down for the evening, the last few witches and wizards making last-minute purchases and closing up shops. She nodded to Tom in greeting as she stepped inside the pub and made her way over to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of powder and speaking out her dad's address.

She arrived into her dad's living room in a flurry of soot, spluttering and ungracious landings. No matter how many times she travelled via floo, she never could get the landings right and her dad had taken to placing a rather plush, soft rug in front of the fireplace to cushion her falls.

"Hey dad!" She yelled from the living room, hearing her dad pottering in the kitchen. Her senses were overwhelmed with the delicious scent of roasted potatoes, vegetables and roast beef.

"Hi pumpkin," her dad, Christopher, greeted her with open arms and a kiss on the head as she entered the kitchen.

"Smells amazing, I'm starved!" Eleanor said as her stomach let out a comical crumble.

Christopher shook his head. "Are you eating enough at home, Eleanor? And brownies or pastries don't count as meals!" he scolded.

Eleanor grinned and rolled her eyes. She wasn't the best cook in the world, granted, but she still had a healthy appetite at home. Eleanor was a girl who loved her food, and nothing would ever change that. Broken heart? Eat some chocolate. Under the weather? Roast potatoes. Cold? Soup. Simple as that.

The two sat down to a very pleasant meal together as they caught up on the week's news. Of course, Eleanor didn't have too much to share in her comfortable life, and neither did Christopher, truthfully, but they always found things to talk about.

"How's things at work, dad?" Eleanor asked, chowing down on a roasted carrot. Christopher worked at the ministry of magic in the department of magical transportation. He was one of the ones in control of how port-keys are made, used and monitored.

"Quiet one this week. Only one illegal port key was reported and it was accidental, apparently," he laughed. "How's the shop? Any new suitors come in yet?".

"Dad!" Eleanor groaned. "As if I'll find my future husband in a coffee shop no bigger than a niffler's den,".

"You never know, dear. You never know,".