tampered | perhaps it's just as well that I still look like hell...

Fred Weasley does not believe in God. He does not believe in Heaven, and he does not believe in nonsense like religion or "miracles." That sort of thing's for Muggles and wizards with nothing better to do with their time. No, the only things worth believing in are his family, his friends, that Slytherin are a bunch of gits, and that laughter is the cure to everything. So when he stood laughing and felt the world wiped away in an instant, the last thing he expected was to wake up, let alone wake up to find his family right there with him. Having Ginny with him was a blessing all its own, a miracle if he ever knew one, and Fred was more than ecstatic. He didn't deserve much else, shouldn't've had it to begin with, and that was okay. That was wonderful.

But then George shows up.

George, his brother, his twin, the other half of his entire universe, and everything changed entirely. Fred's not so dependent that he can't function without his brother, but he doesn't like doing it and actively chooses not to. Where's the fun in being half of what you're meant to be? George is meant to be by his side, and they're meant to stay together. That's what twins are, that's what family is. That's what was taken from him in the War.

So when he finds his brother and they fight and they hug and they vehemently deny the fact that either of them cried at any point in that time, Fred has trouble believe any of it was actually real. Even after they Disapparate and George pushes open the door, Fred hangs back to watch because this can't be real. This world is too strange, having them here with him, and he can't stomach all of it at once. Even their world, filled with magic and mysteries that even the Ministry can't explain, isn't enough to make sense of whatever's unfolding before him as he follows his brother into the cabin, into their home, where he will find family and love and comfort and all those impossible things that can't be real. He died and left everything he wanted, to wake up and find everything he needed.

Fred may not believe in Heaven, but what else could this be?

"Gin! I've brought home a stray, d'you think can we keep him?" he calls from behind George, hands buried deep in his pockets and a smile on his face.

She had hoped for this. Ginny had hoped for this every single day since Fred's arrival that if they couldn't have their whole family here with them, then at least they could have George - because the twins need each other, that much has been clear for as long as the youngest Weasley could remember. And it didn't feel right that they were separated just as it didn't feel right that she had this amazing gift all to herself, this extra time with the brother she hasn't even lost yet but knows all too well that someday, in her stagnant future, she will. So she took advantage of that time but still greeted each morning with a hope that she'd find another familiar, freckled face on the network. And then, not too long after Fred's spectacular arrival, his twin followed.

She knew they couldn't be kept apart for too long.

Ginny comes flying down the stairs the moment she hears the door open. She's at the foot of the staircase when Fred's voice - or George's? Merlin, she's so glad to hear both - rings out through the too-empty cabin. And then she sees them, both of her brothers standing in the doorway, identical to the last freckle save for a missing ear between them, and all her earlier fears and doubts and hesitations about secrets kept are momentarily forgotten. She gives a strangled cry of delight that sounds rather like George! and she darts across the cabin to close the distance between herself and her other brother, throwing her arms tight around him and laughing. Merlin, but it feels so good to have family here again. Not just for a visitor's weekend, not just because a curse willed it, but true and honest family she can see every day and be reminded that not everything in this City is terrible.

"George," she says again in a breathless rush, pulling back to look up at him, bright brown eyes gleaming with joy, and her gaze shifts a little to look over his shoulder to Fred, and her grin widens. "Yeah, I reckon we can keep him. As long as he cleans up after himself."

Oh yes. This is more like the welcome he expected. He grips Ginny as hard as he can, lifting her off her feet and swings her, a laugh bursting out of him before he even realises he's doing it. It doesn't matter that's only been a day for him. It's been forever for her, and he can tell.

Especially since... blimey has she grown? He pushes her back, holding her out with his hands on her shoulders and gives her an appraising eye.

"Don't tell me you actually got taller, Ginny," he says with a grin. Then over his shoulder, "I see what you mean about needing the bars over the window, mate."

Whatever fears and doubts may be lurking behind his cheerful grin, something lightens in his chest at the sight of them hugging. They're not usually so outwardly affectionate, the Weasleys, save for when the moment calls and this moment seems to be screaming for it. It's so familial, so close and adoring, and Fred starts laughing even before George starts swinging their sister about.

This is home. This is perfect.

"That's two votes against one now, Gin. But don't worry, we'll be sure to keep you plenty company," he winks, "But first things first. The hallway's hardly any place for a family reunion."

"I'll hex your knees backward if you think about locking me up," Ginny replies cheerfully to both twins, skipping neatly over George's inquiry about how she's grown. They're not having that conversation now, not with Fred right here and smiles all around. She regrets having sprung that little tidbit of information on Fred too soon, so she's being careful now, rising up on her tiptoes to ruffle George's hair for good measure; and with the other twin's laughter echoing through the cabin, it's easy to forget everything else for a little while. Something in her heart warms, spreads out to the tips of her fingers and toes as she steps back to look at both of her brothers, here with her. Together.

"Alright, come in and close the door before a City monster skulks out of the forest." It's said as a clear joke, but there's a memory at the back of her mind that is not far off at all from those words. Still, she beams at the twins, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. "I see you didn't knock each other into the fountain. Good." She pauses, then narrows her eyes. "So what did you do instead?"

If there are bruises on those identical faces, Godric help you both.

"I claim complete innocence. It's not my fault Fred felt the need to welcome me with his fist."

He grins as he's saying it. What is a little tussle between brothers, anyway? And he wouldn't have expected anything less from Fred, who's always had a bit of a time controlling his temper. Not that George is that much better, true. It might take him about five minutes longer to get worked up.

He follows Ginny into the cottage, taking his time to look around. It certainly looks like the kind of place a Weasley would choose to live in. It looks warm, homey. A bit of clatter here and there, but an over-all feeling of home. George gives it his seal of approval at once.

Fred's bound to have a black eye in the morning, and his back's shot to all Hell, but he's grinning ear to ear nonetheless. Nothing like some loving brutality to let loose and relax. All that pent up frustration and anger is gone, or at least greatly lessened, and he feels loads better. Though much of that can be attributed to George's general presence, rather than the contact of his fist with his face.

"I couldn't help it. I saw his ugly mug on the Network and was filled with an unfathomable rage," he jokes as he shuts the door and follows behind them both. "And he just happened to be the nearest object."

Not true at all, he'd just gotten dressed when he Apparated and ran across the bleeding fountain just to get to him. It's justified, okay?

"Fred," Ginny sighs immediately, tone reproachful but still undeniably amused. "Really. I suppose I ought to count myself lucky that you didn't jinx me the moment you saw me?"

Honestly, her brothers. She's got half a mind to brew a potion here and now in the kitchen before they start to bruise, but she knows she'll get teased in a second for channeling their mother. Well, argued the half of her that sounded rather Mollyish indeed, maybe someone should. Still, she studies the twins with a critical eye and they don't seem too banged up yet, so she holds off on the disapproving tuts for now. Besides, just seeing them in the same room and joking off of one another is enough to override everything else and a helpless grin tugs at her lips before she can stop it.

She falls into step between both brothers and slings an arm around both of them, hugging them close for a moment. Not long enough to be accused of being soppy, but lingering enough to convey how glad she is that they're both here. And then she disentangles herself. "I'll not have my brothers beating each other up after I just got them back," she says pointedly. "So do you want tea or ice?"

"Just tea, thanks," he says, and gives her hair a good ruffle, "It's lucky for me that your aim needs work, Fred."

Fred only laughs at the berating, because the number of times they've been lectured for rough housing are beyond counting. It's just easier taunt and tease and break things than to settle down and talk like civil beings. Civility is so boring.

"I'll have the ice, then." Not for tending to his injuries, but for showing George just how much 'work' his aim needs. Does he get extra points if he hits the remaining ear?

Ginny doesn't even consider ulterior motives - mistake - when Fred requests the ice and immediately sets to work in the kitchen in true Molly fashion, conjuring a bag of the stuff with a flick of her wand; another flick sets the kettle boiling as her free hand reaches up to pull tea things from the cupboards. It's easy, mindless work that settles her nerves with the familiarity of it all, and she's tossing the ice at Fred while making tea for them all, and it doesn't matter if it's been a day or two years between them: she will always remember how her family takes their tea.

"You're idiots, by the way," she points out from the kitchen counter. "Fred, put that on your eye. Merlin's beard, this is what I get for having brothers." Ginny raises an eyebrow at them. "And George, I swear, don't encourage him to work on his aim. You're both Beaters. Obviously you can aim."

Godric's balls, she felt like Mum.

George bites back another retort about her turning into Mum. It really is uncanny. He sees a flash of a biscuit tin when she opens the cupboard and dives in behind her to snatch it out with the practiced ease of a seasoned biscuit thief. They turn out being a little stale, but edible.

"Well you're stuck with us now, you better make the best of it," he says around a larger sized mouthful.

Bloody Hell, that is uncanny. Fred's just in the process of aiming at George's hole when she all but calls him out on it without even looking. He has to laugh; it's just too coincidental. Too remniscent of home. It's brilliant, really, and for the first time since he got here, Fred is legitimately happy.

Which is excuse enough for him to hit his twin with a barrage of ice anyway. He'll even toss a few Ginny's way for good measure. "You know you wouldn't have it any other way, baby sister."

"Oi!" Ginny whips around when the ice cubes hit her bare shoulder, wand raised warningly and eyes narrowed. "Keep that up and I might change my mind. Some of the wards around this place are mine, you know."

Her eyes are teasing even if the words aren't. True enough she isn't accomplished enough a witch to make the enchantments around a dwelling keep people out, but she has had a hand in protecting the cabin from intruders and it's an indication of how long she's been in the City. Maybe City monsters can still wander in but that's unlikely. Now, anyway. Ginny levels a Look at her brothers for a moment longer before smirking and twirling her wand between her fingers instead of tossing a jinx their way, because it's impossible not to smile at such familiarity.

"But I suppose if I'm to be locked up in here for the rest of my life, I'll need some sort of company that isn't Arnold."

As soon as the first ice cube George had retaliates and jumps on his brother, attempting to get him into a headlock. He struggles for a few minutes, doing his best to ignore whatever Ginny's going on about. Although he does stop and relax his grip after one line.

"Arnold? You've still got that thing? Blimey, I didn't think they'd live that long."

Between tossing the last of the ice and preparing for any jinx Ginny might be sending his way, Fred is entirely caught off guard by George's attack and ends up trapped in his grasp with a howl of laughter. This is what he's been missing these past two weeks. He whaps his twin on the back of the head once he's released him, then goes about straightening his clothes through still more chuckles.

"How long's it been now, then? Fi--" Wait, no. No. We are not talking about how long Ginny's been here. He disguises his discomfort as pain, stretching out his back with a groan. "Think I'll be needing that ice after all. At any rate, we might need to be using Arnold for breeding, if you don't mind too much."

Ginny shoots Fred a warning look over George's shoulder, far sharper than her earlier ones, when he almost hints at the length of her stay here. Not now. They can't talk about that now, not when things are so good and perfect. Fortunately enough, Fred moves covers up spectacularly and her expression relaxes and when she levitates their mugs of tea towards the table and trails behind them to take a seat, she's smiling again.

"Arnold's a very resilient sort," she states proudly, pulling the Pygmy Puff out of her pocket and setting him on the table. The purple ball of fur purrs enthusiastically and rolls over to where George spilled some biscuit crumbs and she huffs out a breath of laughter. "You two can use him to breed, sure. Claire's got one too, I think a gift from—" Regulus Black "—someone before I arrived here. He's male, though, that other Puff. I don't know where you're going to get another."

And as she pulls her tea closer to her, she conjures another bag of ice and slides it over to Fred.

"That might make it a bit trickier, yes, but not impossible."

He intercepts the ice before it reaches Fred and takes a handful out, chucking a few back at Fred before wrapping the rest in his handkerchief and pressing it against his jaw. Yes, he could have asked for his own bag. But this is more fun.

He caught that look, alright, Gin? It's a topic he is loathe to touch on even in the very best of circumstances, which this occasion just so happen to fall under. There's no need to go about sullying a perfect moment, despite the holes filing into the conversation. How'd Claire get a Pygmy before she got here? He doesn't get enough time to contemplate it before he's got swat away the oncoming barrage of ice.

"Oi!" Fred is totally Summoning that kerchief now, just to send the ice falling all about the place. No point in making it easy for him. He makes a show of pretending to blow his nose in it before tossing it back George's way. "You know us, Gin. We'll find a way."

Ginny gives up entirely at cleaning up after her brothers, rolling her eyes and taking a long drink of tea instead. Despite her initial exasperation, though, she can't quite hide the grin that's crinkling the corners of her eyes and curving her lips as she lowers her mug again. This could almost be the kitchen at The Burrow during that last summer before everything changed. Bill and Fleur could be upstairs fending off Mum as she planned the wedding, the trio could be out in the garden to discuss their great escape while degnoming. It could be home.

It isn't. It's close, it's so beautifully and painfully close, but it isn't.

She huffs out an affectionate laugh, lifting her mug of tea with one hand while the other sits outstretched on the table so Arnold can hop back into her palm. "But the question is," she says, looking from Fred to George, "am I part of that way or just in it?"

George uses his wand to send the handkerchief whizzing back. "That would just be giving it away, little sister," he says with a grin. Once he's hit Fred squarely in the face, he turns back to his sister.

"You said we have stock here. How much exactly have you managed to hang on to?"

George awakes with a start. Hot, bright summer sunlit is streaming in through the window, landing on the dusty blanket spread over him. Despite feeling bone-tired only a few hours ago, he is now wide awake. He cranes his neck, his heart hammering in his throat, and looks across to the bed next to him.

Fred is still asleep, drooling into his pillow. George lets a sigh of contentment come out of him.

It's real. He didn't dream it all after all. Well, he still hasn't ruled out dreaming, actually. But if he is than he's glad not to have woken from it yet.

Suddenly full of energy, he slips out from under under the covers and pads out of the room, making sure to shut the door carefully behind him.

In the kitchen he starts riffling through the cupboards looking for tea. The kettle starts whistling away happily with a wave of his wand. It feels so normal to be making tea, when he still isn't sure what this place is or what he's doing here. But he likes the feeling of normalcy - warming the pot and putting his teabags in, letting it steep, looking for something to make toast with. Because really, who dreams about making breakfast?

The past month has felt like a dream to Ginny Weasley, even when she's been here long enough to know what the City is capable of. Even so, she's never imagined that she would have family here again; she's grown used to the idea that if people from her world came and went, it would be witches and wizards like Bellatrix or Tom - and if it was someone she longed for, someone like family or a close friend, they would be gone the next day. It was never fair. But even after a few years here, Ginny doesn't pretend to understand the City and its whims. She doesn't try to delve into its reasons for much, especially this gift of her brothers throughout August. Her last birthday had been truly awful and this year's more than made up for it. Fred arriving on the day of, George following a few weeks later. It was perfect.

She's up before her twin brothers. She's tired, but thrumming with energy, and after a quick check into their bedroom to reassure herself that she isn't the only Weasley anymore, she ducks out of the cabin for an early morning fly. She's skimmed the treetops of the forest, let the morning sunlight and summer breeze shake the last of the sleep from her, and when she returns to the cabin, she can see George through the kitchen window and she breaks into a smile. It's like a memory come to life, having a brother puttering about the kitchen for food. Quickly, Ginny puts away her broom and then steps back in, smoothing her wind-tousled hair back as she shuts the door behind her with her foot.

"Well, it's about time someone got up," she teases as she strips off her flying gloves and tosses them on the table. "Fred's still asleep, I expect. Did you want help with breakfast, Georgie?"

He grins at the sound of her voice, and turns around. He'd managed to scrounge up a bit of slightly stale bread, which doesn't taste so bad once he's toasted it and slathered in in enough raspberry jam.

"I'd say yes if there was actually anything to cook in here," he mumbles around a large bite of toast, "Although I see you've kept it well enough stocked with tea to water a small army. Mum would be so proud."

Ginny rolls her eyes at the good-natured jab, grinning still as she makes her way around the table and rises up on tiptoe to pull open one of the topmost cupboards. It's times like these that she misses having a chicken coop in the backyard, with fresh eggs available just a few steps from the kitchen door, but she knows she couldn't have used all of them in yesterday's breakfast.

"I meant to go grocery shopping when you showed up," she replies as she takes down the last two eggs from their hiding spot. "I got distracted, so I beg your pardon." She flashes him a broad grin that's entirely at odds with her exasperated tone, and she draws her wand to Summon what she needs to make a modest batch of scrambled eggs. As she does so, Ginny keeps glancing over her shoulder to her brother, more times than necessary, as if she needs to make sure he's really here with them. She can't imagine having to help Fred through the aftermath if George was only here for a day, but the telltale crowds of a visitor's day are nowhere to be seen in the City proper. Thank Merlin.

"Sleep alright?" she asks a few moments later as she tries to coax the stove into lighting up with a prod of her wand.

"I expect better next time, little sister," he says over the top of his teacup.

He notices the looks she keeps shooting him, and he can hazard a guess about what they might be on.

Merlin, he only saw her yesterday. But this Ginny... she's grown so much, and changed.

He sets down his glass, and fixes her with a pointed look.

"Ginny, how long have you been here?"

The question catches her off-guard, though it shouldn't. She fended it off yesterday, under the pretense of not wanting to spoil the good mood of the day, but now that the reunions are over and done with, now that Fred is still asleep and out of earshot, she hasn't got any excuses left at her disposal. Does it make her less of a Gryffindor for wanting to keep her back to George as she works on breakfast? A part of her does think so.

With an inaudible sigh, Ginny turns to face her brother and bites her lip at the look he's shooting her way. She's always been a talented liar when the need called for it, but in the face of her brothers all stuck in a strange, new world, a lie is the last thing any of them needs. "How long have I been here?" she repeats evenly. "Two and a half years. It'll be three in December."

Ginny leans back on her elbows on the countertop, but not before huffing out another breath, as if admitting this is physically exhausting. And in a way, it is. She doesn't want to see her brothers realise they missed her growing up, she doesn't want to see that they think she was left behind when they all went home two years ago. But she's got to be honest. "I was sixteen when I arrived in the City, George. I told you the last thing I remember was leaving The Burrow for Auntie Muriel's house, and... I've not been back since."

She's nineteen years old, now. A year younger than the twins. It's too bloody weird.

George places his mug back on the counter. Merlin's beard, three years. That'd make her... as old as him, almost. Blimey. He runs his hands over his face.

"And how long has it been, you know, just you?"

It doesn't seem possible for any one member of the Weasley family to be cut off from the rest. Even after Fred... well everyone else was still around. More around than usual, actually. What it must have been like for her... George doesn't envy her that, to day the least.

Now this question is one she didn't expect. Her head snaps up to look at George, brows knit in a frown. Just her? Not long at all, she thinks, not if you count Hermione having been here for a few months. Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange were in the City for the winter, but Ginny will never tell her brothers that; she got through it unscathed, there's no need to worry them. But just her as the only Weasley? Two years, she thinks. But she doesn't want to say it.

"Not too long," she tells him smoothly, turning back around to crack the eggs into a bowl and whisking them up with a few quick flicks of her wand. There's a time for honesty and there's a time for too much honesty. There's nothing that can be done about the time lost between them, but the family is here now, and that's what matters. "People come and go all the time and time passes quickly here."

He can see her closing herself off. He doesn't blame her, honestly. It's something he's become rather spectacularly good at himself these past few months. Instead of pushing he simply crosses the floor and leans against the counter next to her, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Blimey. I don't think I could ever be at home without a few Weasleys around." He gives her a playful nudge with his shoulder.

His comment brings a quiet smile to her lips, and Ginny glances to her brother for a moment with a look that conveys exactly what she's feeling. This place has been as close to a home as it could get these past few years, but now that she's got brothers at her side again, it feels even more right. She's not one to settle in the City, she doesn't want to admit defeat, but if it gives her and George some extra time with Fred, then she's not complaining.

"Yeah," she agrees softly, looking back to the eggs as she pours them into the pan and exchanges her wand for a spatula to do it the Muggle way. She's learned, after all, since living with Claire. "It's been weird without you lot. I still can't believe you're both here. It's..." She releases a sound that's half-sighed, half-laughed. "I never really thought I'd see you again unless I went home, you know?"

George drapes an arm around her shoulder, the eggs be damned. Being here... well it's true that he'll miss the rest of their clan. But Merlin, he's got Fred back. The thought of going back, now that's he's reunited again... well let's just say that he's not too keen to go back too soon.

"Don't worry, little sister. I have a feeling we won't be going anywhere again for a while yet."

That promise is something that could easily go unspoken, but it reassures Ginny to hear it out loud, and the knot she's been carrying in her heart eases at the words. It had hurt to find her twin brothers missing that one summer day two years ago, knowing that one had to return to a world without his other half, and the other... somewhere entirely unknown. She had fought with Harry that day, too, all because she wanted to know if George was alright, and she hated that he didn't have an answer for her - even though it was all too obvious what it would be: no. Of course not.

But that was avoidable here. Here, with both twins safe in the City, they could manage. Ginny smiles, leaning comfortably into the sideways hug as she cooks the eggs, wondering if it's too obvious that she hasn't seen family in much longer than family has seen her.

"Good," Ginny finally replies, letting the hug linger for a beat longer before disentangling herself to take the eggs off the stove. "Because Merlin knows I'll find a way to bat-bogey your arses if you leave me behind again. Now grab me a plate."

"If anyone could send a bat-bogey hex between dimensions, it would be you," he says with a smirk.

He goes back to his earlier place leaning against the counter and picks up his mug of tea. It feels so much like home right now, way back when there were far too many of them crammed into one house. Who knew he'd ever miss it?

After a good-sized swig of tea, he rifles around in cupboards until he finds some plates, and slips them next to stove.

"Does this mean you'll be making us breakfast every day? That's something I could certainly live with."

"No," Ginny answers pointedly, doling out the eggs onto the plates with a careful tip of the pan. "I reckon now that you're both here, we ought to take turns. I'm not Mum, you know."

Which could mean two different things, really. One, she literally isn't their mother, and they're fully grown wizards who've gone and moved off to live in their own flat. Surely they can manage cooking a meal once in a while, surely they didn't live off of the food at the Leaky Cauldron? And two, she isn't their mother in that Ginny Weasley is, oftentimes, not the world's best cook - when Molly Weasley oftentimes is. Eggs are fine, they're difficult to muck up. Biscuits, to a degree, are also fine. But don't ask her to make anything too complicated, George, or you might regret it.

Ginny snags a piece of bread for toast and hands a plate of eggs to her brother, taking up her wand again and giving it a little flick so the cutlery drawer slides open. Everything she does, the way she moves through this kitchen, speaks of an easiness born of too much time spent here. Her non-verbal spellwork has improved infinitely, and there are little hints of her growing up everywhere.

"So," she begins again, slanting her gaze towards George, "you asked me questions, I reckon it's my turn now. How are you, really?"

"S'pity. I still have a tendency to create small fires in the kitchen."

He attempts another smile over the top of his mug, but it falters after Ginny's next question. He casts his eyes down and sets the mug back on the counter, wrapping his arms around himself as he leans. He's finding it hard to hold Ginny's gaze, so he decides instead to focus on the small kitchen window, pretending to be interested in that small flock of birds that have taken up residency in a nearby tree.

Why do people keep asking him that bloody question? Does he really look like that much of an emotional wreck? He thought he'd been holding together fairly well, considering.

Alright, bollocks. He's never been terribly good at lying to himself about that one. Other people, however...

"What does it matter now? We're both here, we're not going anywhere. I'll be fine. Better than fine. Brilliant."

It's not that he looks a wreck but more than Ginny thinks that he might be. Merlin knows she was on shaky ground the first time Fred arrived in the City, announcing his death to the network, and a few months wasn't nearly enough time to get used to it. Used to it. Like losing a brother is something to just adjust to, like an ill-fitting set of robes. She leans over to snatch a fork from the drawer and holds it in her mouth as she looks for the salt and pepper, letting her brother have the time to consider her question.

And when he does answer her, not quite what she was expecting - though she doesn't know what she wants to hear - she looks up at him, takes the fork from her mouth, prods at the eggs quietly. "I'm just saying," she begins slowly, carefully, "that I'm here if you... I don't know, just need someone to talk to. I've not gone through the last few months you have, not yet, but..." She sighs, looking away briefly. "I had to deal with it too, George."

George sets his mug down and runs both hands over his face. He knew it was coming, after the way Ginny had asked back at the fountain. He keeps his hands over part of his face as he speaks. Somehow it's easier when he doesn't have to look at her, too.

"Merlin, Ginny. All anyone's done for bloody months is talk. It's just a constant stream of friends and relatives coming to 'check up on me', and I swear half of them are only there because I made Mum stop visiting so often and she put them up to it. And every single one of them is 'there to talk if you need it', like talking is going to fix things. Like I'm just going to just break down and cry and then all of sudden I'll be all better."

He takes a long time picking up his teacup and taking another long sip, his eyes still firmly fixed outside the window.

"I know I'm sounding like a twat and everything. And yeah, you've had to deal with it, too. We all have. I'm just getting a little sick of it, is all."

"You do sound like a twat," she points out quietly, not quite able to keep the hurt and irritation entirely out of her voice. "At least you had people offer, I'd have bloody liked to have the option." It's as much as Ginny's going to say about being left behind here and hating it, despite her protests otherwise. She knew people from her world didn't leave the City (and her) voluntarily, but they left all the same. She lost Fred and the rest of them within six months of each other and she refuses to take this from George when he doesn't even understand.

Not that she's giving him the option to understand, but she's stabbing her eggs rather forcefully on her fork and shoveling them into her mouth before muttering around them: "So, yeah, I'd imagine you got a little sick of it but don't take it out on me. I'm just trying to be your sister."

It's a low blow and she knows it. And her expression betrays less anger and more frustration, but she's glowering at her plate more than anything else right now.

George doesn't answer right away, just looks down into his mug. He's used to Ginny trying to guilt him, and normally he'd be the first person to brush it off. He'd never been one to let things other people say get to him.

"Yeah, I reckon you are. I'd never let anyone but my sister get that stroppy with me."

He smiles as he says it, hoping that she understand what hes trying to say. Yes, he is being a prat. Sort of. Somewhat justifiably, he hopes. He will make an effort not to be, but no promises.

"Not true," she huffs under her breath. "You let Mum get her wand in a knot all the time."

She's trying to let it go as much as she can, but having family around puts her on edge in a different way; the way she feels and acts around her brothers, regardless of age, is something that will never change. And sometimes Ginny will be the little sister she is and fight for little (or no) reason. But when it's something as sensitive as the death of a sibling, it hits closer to heart and the implication - however vague or unintentional - that she can't possibly understand or feel the same way or help... stings. And sure, her brother is smiling at her, but she can't quite bring herself to smile back just yet.

Ginny falls silent, leaning back against the counter with an irritable frown as she tries to finish up her eggs, though they're sitting heavily in an uneasy stomach. She shouldn't be taking this out on George, either. She's being an idiot. But she's not apologising first.

Good luck waiting that one out, little sister. Unfortunately the Weasleys are a stubborn bunch and an apology probably isn't forth coming. Instead he finally picks up his eggs and starts shoveling them down.

Damn it, things were supposed to be better here. No one alternating between feeling sorry for him and then getting all quiet and disproving when he wouldn't have any of it. How'd he manage to muck this up in less than 12 hours?

Things are better, it's just that Ginny seems to have forgotten what it's like to be around family again. Well, perhaps not strictly true, but her memories of family aren't matching up to what's happening here, and it's jarring for her. She never imagined having to try and comfort George about Fred, but she never imagined trying would yield such unsuccessful results, too. This isn't the George she remembers; the one in her mind was smiling, still, inside and out. Fred is different, too. And she knows she is. This isn't the family she left behind and as overwhelmingly happy as she is—she feels a little lost, too. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

Ginny crosses the kitchen to put her plate in the sink, sets her hands on the counter to take a breath, then releases it in a sigh. Then, a beat later, her back still to him: "Sorry, Georgie." Ginny, cracking first? It really has been a long few years of lessons learned alone. "I just don't know what to do. I never... I didn't ask, before. The last time you were both here. I thought ignoring it would be better. When you went home, it felt... I don't know, it felt like a mistake not talking about it at all."

George crosses the floor to stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder once again. Ginny really has grown up since the last time he saw her. Not just physically, but... she's so much more different than the bratty little firecracker he left behind. She still has her old spark, of course. But there's something running deeper there, as well.

"It's a good idea in theory, yeah. Although I still think it's something we're a bit rubbish at. Maybe we should practice more on our own and have another crack at it later."

More jokes, of course, still wanting Ginny to understand what's underneath. Things are just too new and raw and terrifying right now, and he doesn't know if he can cope with any more of it. He's not trying to fob her off, just - taking a rain cheque.

She relaxes ever so slightly when George comes up to her; she didn't even realise how tightly she was holding her shoulders until they give way a little, and once again she hates that she's got to be so on edge around family. This is family. It won't always be perfect laughter all the time, not with something like Fred's fate looming over their heads, but they've got to support each other somehow. Ginny sighs and bumps her shoulder gently against George's.

"Much later." Then she glances at him with a slight, but genuine, smile. "And if you need to get away for a bit, we've brooms in the back shed. Handmade, but they're safe. I've not fallen yet."

George's eyes light up at this, and he gives her his best grin. "We recruit someone else and we could play two-against Quidditch. Muggles can fly brooms, can't they?"

"I've been teaching a few," Ginny replies with a faint measure of pride. She's sincerely enjoyed being able to share her passion for flying and having other people to share it with. "Just flying, though, not much of Quidditch though I talk about it a fair bit."

She's explained the game countless times, and once the City decided to share her memory of a Gryffindor vs Slytherin match with the whole network. People had been impressed and she'd been so pleased. It looks a lot more serious than it sounds, certainly every bit as violent as that hockey sport Chase showed her once. Part of the thrill of it, really.

perhaps it's just as well that I still look like hell...

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hello LJ what are notifications?

.....seriously omfg i didn't even see this

I clearly did much worse, so I forgive you :-D

:D

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THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

THE MORNING - GEORGE AND GINNY

aaaaaaaa I totally responded to this yesterday, and apparently LJ ate it. FFFFFFFFF YOUUUUUUU!

sob it's okay <3333

eeeeee late Marion is late /cuddles

<3333

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