To Dare

A/N: Again, thanks to everyone who makes my hit counter go up. Thanks also to James and Oliver Phelps for doing such an amazing job portraying Fred and George onscreen.

To Dare

Chapter Eight

George showed up the next day with the biggest bar of Honeydukes chocolate Thalassa had ever seen. “I just wanted to apologize again for last night,” he explained, looking as contrite as he could manage.

The expression was so uncharacteristic that she had to laugh. “George, where did you get this? Honeydukes doesn’t have an outlet in Diagon Alley.”

“Apparated up to Hogsmeade this afternoon. I remember how you used to buy one chocolate bar and make it last as long as you could.”

She smiled. “You didn’t have to do that. I told you last night when you and Fred saw me home that all was forgiven.”

“No, we behaved really badly. Here you are, working like a Hufflepuff to get this order finished after someone ruined most of your regular stock, and all we did last night was waste your precious time. And make you sick,” he added.

“It’s not your fault I can’t stand the sight of broken bones.”

“Perhaps not, but I’m sorry for it all the same. Is there anything I can do to help make up for the time you lost?”

“No, not really. I’m almost done. The order should be ready to ship tomorrow. I’ve already owled my customer.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I mean that’s great news.”

“What is it, George?”

“Well, you won’t need us anymore.”

He sounded too pathetic to be completely serious, so she laughed again. “Of course I’ll still need you. Great Merlin, I don’t know how I got along without you for three whole years.”

“Apparently, you got along just fine.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She shook her head a little sadly. “I didn’t realize just how much I missed the two of you.”

“We weren’t hard to find,” he reminded her gently. “I sent you an owl right after your father died and another when Fred and I opened the joke shop.”

“I know. The only excuse I can offer is that I wasn’t very good company at the time and I didn’t want to change your opinion of me.”

“Friends are supposed to be there for one another in the bad times as well as the good.”

“Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I realize that now.” She was silent for a few moments, her attention focused inward. Then she seemed to shake off her pensive mood. “I should get to work so you can go home at a reasonable hour tonight. It must feel like being back at school serving detention, hanging about here nearly every night.”

“Oh yes,” he teased. “You’re such a harsh taskmistress, forcing me to research experimental potions that might become million-Galleon selling items.”

“Prat,” she laughed, but not unkindly.

She turned away to start one of the last potions on her list. As she worked, she couldn’t help sneaking quick glances at George when he wasn’t looking. It always amazed her that, as alike as he and Fred were, there were differences. Most people treated them like a single entity, one personality walking around in two bodies. If anyone did care to notice the subtle differences, they usually perceived Fred as bolder, brasher, the leader. While it was true that Fred tended to jump in, literally, where angels feared to tread just for a lark, George spoke first when there was anything serious to be said. Not that George wasn’t every bit as capable of instigating some outrageous bit of mischief, but his practical jokes always seemed more carefully constructed so as not to cause harm to innocent bystanders. Thalassa wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the joke shop had been George’s idea first.

Tapping the hourglass with her wand, she instructed, “Five minutes,” and a small portion of sand appeared in the top half of the glass. Thalassa breathed a small sigh of relief that her order was almost done. She didn’t mind hard work. In fact, she usually thrived on it, but spending time with Fred and George had reminded her that there was a great deal more to life. While she waited for her potion to boil down, she studied George through half-closed eyes. He truly was her best friend, and over the last few weeks that friendship had grown even stronger and deeper. As she observed him, he carefully leafed through the notebook he’d brought. His hands were steady and gentle as he turned the brittle pages. Her mouth went dry as she remembered how good it had felt when he’d applied salve to her burns, and how she’d felt so completely cherished when he held her the night of the attempted break in at her flat. She wondered how it would feel to have him touch her in other ways. Would he be deft and practiced or tender and sincere? Her gaze wandered to his mouth. As ready with a smile as Fred, would he kiss like Fred as well? Her heart began to beat faster as she remembered what she and Fred had shared. Her thoughts progressed to other things they might have shared if she hadn’t sent him home. Darker, thicker passions began to stir as she considered pursuing similar possibilities with George.

“Have I got something on my face?”

Thalassa flushed scarlet as he caught her staring. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I was just thinking.” She glanced at the sands in the hourglass and saw they had nearly run out. “Oh bollocks,” she swore and hastily scooped out a measure of yarrow to sprinkle into the bubbling cauldron. She snatched up the dram of chimera saliva and poured it into the potion with a shaking hand. One drop missed the cauldron and sizzled as it hit the polished granite tabletop.

“Careful!” George lunged for a bottle of ogrefat lye and poured a dollop on the corrosive spill before it could eat through the surface. Thalassa banished the flame under the small cauldron and moved the still-boiling potion away from the hissing mix. She stirred the rapidly congealing liquid briskly, trying to keep the consistency even as it cooled.

“All right there?” he asked.

“I think so.” She lifted the stirring rod and watched the potion ooze smoothly off and pool back in the cauldron.

“Did you get any on you?”

“No. The worktable was the only casualty.” The saliva and lye were gone, vaporized, leaving only a small pitted area on the polished surface.

George took out his wand and pointed it at the spot. “Reparo,” he said and with a slight crackling noise, the granite returned to its unblemished condition.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Not like you to be ham-handed, though. You must be overtired.”

“I suppose I must be,” she agreed faintly. What was wrong with her, daydreaming while working with dangerous components? That kind of carelessness back in school would have cost her house points. A year ago it could have cost lives.

“Well, then,” he said briskly, “let’s get this lot cleaned up and get you home. I’ll call ahead to the Leaky Cauldron for some take-away. Fred mentioned you disliked having to cook after brewing potions all day.”

“You shouldn’t be spending your money on me. You’re supposed to be saving. Besides, you’ll spoil me.” She began tidying up. “I’ll become so high-maintenance that no wizard will have me.”

“You could become as high-maintenance as you like and wizards will still queue all up and down Diagon Alley to ‘have’ you.” He grinned wickedly. “Likely a few witches, too.”

“Rubbish,” she retorted, but turned her head to hide a smile.

“So what were you thinking about?”

“What?” She looked up, startled, from the utensils she was washing.

“Earlier, you said you were ‘just thinking’.”

“Oh.” She turned off the taps and dried her hands. “I was thinking about you and Fred.” That much at least was true. “You usually get along so well with each other. You frightened me last night. Have you ever fought like that before?”

“Loads of times. Well, perhaps not precisely like we did last night. We only had a few rows over anything important, mostly just kid stuff. Why?”

She began pouring the syrupy potion into small bottles. “I’ve never seen you two like that. Back at school, it surprised me how well you got along. I always thought siblings didn’t.”

“Well, Fred and I never got along with Percy, but he’s a git. I suppose we always felt like it was the two of us against all the rest.” He started packing the bottles in a box for her. “Of course, the fact that Mum can’t tell us apart had more to do with us sticking together than anything else.”

“Why is that?”

“Because she didn’t know which of us was responsible for the messes we made, she would always punish us both. We soon decided we might as well be in on the fun from the beginning since we were going to have to pay for it anyway.”

She shook her head. “I still don’t understand why your own mother can’t tell you apart.”

“We’ve never been able to figure out why you can.”

“What’s to figure? We spent the better part of six years growing up together. We studied together, took meals together. I watched the two of you play Quidditch for four years.”

“That doesn’t explain how you knew which one of us was which in your sleep.”

She sighed. “I ought to keep that to myself, but I think I know how.”

“Give over,” he commanded.

“It’s your aftershave. Whatever you use smells of sandalwood. Fred smells like bay rum,” she said with a superior smile.

Oh, of course. It was obvious now that she pointed it out.

“You almost never switched in all the time I knew you, unless you were up to some serious mischief, and I thought you were going to order us some take-away. I’m almost through here.”

“As you wish.”

She just laughed and went to check the locks in the front of the shop. Before long, they were seated at the table in her kitchen, tucking into beef stew and pumpkin pasties.

“You never said, you know. Why you find it so fascinating that I can tell you two apart.”

"You're the only one who's never got us mixed up, even once."

"That can't be. The only one?"

“Thalassa, in the pictures Mum has of us when we were small, even Fred and I don’t know which of us is which.”

“That’s surreal. How can you not know yourself?”

“We are identical twins, you know,” he remarked dryly.

“Really?” She gave him a wide-eyed look. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He rewarded her joke with a chuckle.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way. It really is nice not to have to cook.” She stood stiffly and began to clear the table.

“It was my pleasure.” He watched her limp slightly as she carried the dishes to the sink. “Are you all right? Here, let me get this.” He gathered the rest of the dishes from the table.

“I’m fine. Just a little sore from standing on that stone floor all day.”

“You push yourself too hard. Why doesn’t your mother help with the brewing?”

“Because quite frankly, that Longbottom boy that was in Ron’s year would be more help. Mother’s absolute rubbish at making potions. On days when she was a particular trial, I used to imagine her in Snape’s class.”

He chuckled. “So that’s how you keep your patience with her. I always wondered.”

“Now you know the truth. I’m a rude, disrespectful, disloyal, and ungrateful daughter,” she ticked her ‘faults’ off on her fingers as she cited them. “And occasionally an unnatural creature.”

He stared at her in horror. “Did she really say all that?”

“Oh that, and more. I was never powerful or talented enough, certainly not pretty enough, and not sneaky or ruthless enough. In short, nothing she could brag to her friends about.”

“That’s it,” he said firmly. “I’m doing the washing-up. You go have a nice long soak in the tub or something and then I’ll give you a massage.”

“There’s no need--”

“There’s every need. Now go.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her around, giving her a little push out of the kitchen.

“All right,” she laughed. She really was exhausted, and she didn’t even want to think of standing for another moment. George had the right idea. A hot bath would help to soothe her tired muscles.

The big claw-footed tub was Thalassa’s main magical convenience other than the Floo. She simply hated to share a bath with anyone, so when she’d moved into her flat, she’d done a little renovation and installed the tub, complete with extra taps that dispensed two different kinds of bubble bath. Today, she chose the lavender-scented foam that wouldn’t dissolve until the water was let out. The pink bubbles formed a thick layer on top of the water that took a little effort to push through. That had the added benefit of keeping her head above the water when she fell asleep in the tub.


George knocked on the bathroom door. He hadn’t heard any noise for quite some time and he was beginning to worry. “Thalassa,” he called. “All right in there?” When she didn’t answer, he pushed the door open. “Thalassa?” he tried again, but there was still no sound. What could have happened to her in her own bath with him just in the other room? His imagination supplied several possibilities, none of them good. He was relieved to find her merely asleep, chin deep in pink bubbles. He knelt on the floor beside the tub and pushed a damp lock of hair off her forehead. “Thalassa, love, wake up. Your fingers and toes will be all pruney.”

She slowly opened her eyes and stared at him glassily for long moments, obviously still half-asleep.

George stroked her cheek with one finger. “You scared me. I thought the Death Eaters had somehow spirited you away while my back was turned.”

Finally, full awareness came to her. Thalassa’s eyes widened and she blushed a brighter pink than the bubbles surrounding her. “George!” she squeaked. “Out! Out!”

He grinned wickedly and slowly got to his feet, letting his eyes drift over the surface of the bubbles, almost as if he could will them away. “I’ll wait in the living room. Don’t fall asleep again, you’ve still got a Weasley Special massage coming.” He sauntered out and closed the door quietly behind him. He went to her Muggle music player and put in one of the discs she’d picked out the first time he and Fred had been to the flat. Soon Thalassa emerged from the bathroom, her head wrapped in a towel and her dressing gown belted tightly. George was pleased to see the blush hadn’t all faded from her cheeks

“This will be easier if you lay down,” he said.

“Wh-what?” Startled eyes flew to his face.

George didn’t think it possible for her to blush more brightly than she already had, but she did. It didn’t take a Legilimens to guess what path her thoughts were taking. “Your massage,” he reminded. “It’ll be easier if you lay down, preferably on your bed. The back of the couch tends to get in the way.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be fine. The bath actually did wonders,” she protested, nervously clutching her dressing gown closed up to her neck.

“I don’t mind. Come on, I’m pretty good, even if I do say so myself.” He walked over to her, put his hands on her shoulders and began rubbing the knotted muscles there. She hesitated and he worked his fingers up the sides of her neck.

“Mm. " She swayed on her feet. “Oh, okay,” she murmured after a moment, finally giving in. She pulled the towel from her hair and tossed it into the bathroom. Then she turned and led the way back to alcove where her bed stood. She casually waved her hand and the candles flared to life.

“Would you like me to brush your hair first?”

“That would be nice.” She handed him her brush and sat down on the edge of the bed.

He carefully smoothed out the tangled waves in her damp hair, breathing in the scent of her. She smelled like lavender and sunshine and he wanted to bask in her presence. Her hair was nearly dry when he was finished. “Do you want it tied back?”

“No just leave it loose. I get headaches when I put it up.”

“Right then,” he set the brush aside. “Take your dressing gown off and lay down.”

She hesitated a moment.

“There’s no need to be shy,” he teased. “You’ve already slept with me twice.”

She refused to laugh along. “Turn your head."

He smiled to himself, but did as she asked. He had a better view in the large mirror over her vanity anyway. He watched her glance nervously at his back before she undid the knot at her waist and slid her gown off her shoulders. He barely stifled an appreciative sigh as her flesh was exposed to his view. Merlin, she was beautiful. Her breasts were high and firm with pale pink nipples and her skin was the color of fresh cream. She lay down quickly, removing the temptation for him to forego the massage altogether.

“All right, you can turn around now.”

He was glad she couldn’t see the expression on his face. He turned back to her and finally got a good look at her tattoo. A huge, winged snake twisted from the top of her right shoulder all the way around and down to her left hip. The detail was incredible, each scale jewel-bright. He wondered if Fred had seen it the other night. “This is beautiful.” He ran his fingers over the design. “When you said you had a tattoo, I imagined something more… well, you know.”

“Yes, I know. Ian was a true artist, though. It makes me sad to think of all that talent, just gone.”

“Did it hurt much?”

“Oh yes,” she said in an amused tone. “But the pain is part of the spell. It’s as much the work of the one getting the tattoo as it is of the artist. Ian compared the process to a vision quest. He said he was just the shaman, interpreting the co-creations of the Gods and his clients.”

He began smoothing his palms over her back, feeling out the knots and tense spots.

She sighed. “Oh well, at least someone other than Ian finally got to see it.”

George’s heart skipped a beat and he felt a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that Fred hadn’t seen Thalassa this bare. He began to knead her shoulders, evoking a sound from her that was something between a moan and a sigh.


For a long time, Thalassa’s world consisted only of two strong hands moving over her skin. Up her neck to her scalp, across her shoulders and down her arms, every square centimetre of her back received the same methodical care. Muscles that had been knotted up since the break in gradually loosened under George’s skilled touch. He worked his way lower to her waist and hips and she made a small protesting sound.

“Relax,” he scolded. “You’ll undo all my hard work.”

She tried to do as he said, telling herself his touch was strictly therapeutic. The problem with that was that she didn’t want to believe it. He was slowly seducing her and she found she wanted to be seduced. She experienced the same sense of unreality she’d felt the other night when Fred had surprised her with his romantic advances. She’d known George since they were children. They were friends and co-conspirators. When had that changed for her? While she struggled with her emotions, he was working his way down the back of her legs. She shivered when he touched a sensitive spot behind her knee.

“Cold?” he asked.

“A little,” she lied. No, she wasn’t cold; she was on fire.

“I’m almost done and then you can get covered up.”

She smothered a sigh. He couldn’t be unaware of the effect he was having on her, could he? Perhaps he was waiting for some sign from her that she wanted him to take the next step. She felt a twinge of guilt as she recalled how eagerly she’d responded to Fred just two nights before. What was wrong with her that she could be this attracted to two men at the same time, and brothers at that?

George was moving his hands back up her body, checking to make sure her muscles were still relaxed and loose. Her dilemma, she decided, stemmed from the fact that she truly cared about both of them.

“So,” George said lightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She immediately tensed up. Great Circe! Had she been thinking out loud? Surely he hadn’t read her mind. “Talk about what?” she stalled.

He applied gentle pressure until she relaxed her shoulders again. “You know what: the past few years, what you’ve done, and been through, since you left school.”

“No,” she refused. “I really do not want to talk about it.”

“All right.” With his thumbs, he coaxed a re-knotted muscle to release. “I just thought since you were naked, you might be ready to bare your soul as well.”

She turned her head to glare at him and he smiled back innocently. She propped her chin on her folded hands. “You don’t understand what it was like.”

“Because you won’t tell me,” he reminded gently.

She was silent a long time while he sat beside her and merely skimmed his palms up and down her back. Then she said, “During the war I volunteered at St. Mungo’s.”

“When? I was up there plenty of times and I never saw you. I’ve asked everyone I can think of and no one remembers seeing you anywhere but your shop.”

“Been checking up on me, have you?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “No one you would’ve asked would have seen me. I worked in their potions lab. I went every night after the shop closed and every weekend.”

He wondered what horrible things she could have experienced working in the relative safety of the basements of St. Mungo’s, but he held his peace.

“I thought I could help brew Healing Draughts and such, but they quickly discovered I was the best they had, paid or volunteer. They thought my talents were wasted on the simpler potions no matter how fast I could turn them out.”

“So what did they have you do?”

“Complex antidotes, DeathStop, the more powerful painkillers and,” she paused, “the Cup.”

George was confused. “What’s the Cup? I don’t remember a potion by that name.”

“It’s the euthanasia draught they provide for the mortally wounded. They call it the Cup of Grace, sort of a play on coup de grace. It’s a very complex potion and if it’s not done properly, it can work too slowly, or it doesn’t work painlessly. Professor Snape only taught the theory in his advanced class. I did it so well, they didn’t have anyone else brew it.”

“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? It sounds like that’s a potion you’d want done right. You filled a need.”

“I suppose you could look at it that way.”

“But you don’t.”

“No. I brewed nearly all of that potion that was used during the war. I killed more people than the Death Eaters did.”

“That’s not true!” He was aghast. “You weren’t responsible for those deaths. All those people were already dying. You gave them peace, relief from pain.”

“That’s not all of it,” she countered dully. “You have to remember, my spellwork has never been more than simply adequate. I simply can’t channel the raw power that some of our younger Housemates, or even you and Fred can. I know I would’ve been next to useless on the front lines, but I always felt I should have tried anyway. I was a coward for hiding in the basements of St. Mungo’s”

“That wasn’t cowardice. You did what you were good at. We couldn’t have won without the work that you and others did from behind the scenes.”

“Perhaps not, but every day I went into that hospital by the delivery entrance just to avoid any contact with the patients or their families. I barely ate or slept for wondering who would receive the Cup I brewed each day, but I didn’t have the courage to ask and find out. I didn’t keep track of the casualties. I didn’t visit the wounded or comfort the bereaved. I just buried myself in the work. And all the time I worried that there might have been something I could’ve done that might have saved a life or a limb or a mind, had I just had the spirit to get out and fight. Instead, I brewed poison,” she whispered as tears ran down her face unchecked.

“Shh.” He stretched out on the bed next to her and put his arms around her. She wriggled closer and buried her face against his neck. He held her while she cried all the tears she hadn’t let fall since her father’s death. Occasionally, she’d choke out a sentence or two. (“Didn’t even visit Katie.” And, “Couldn’t believe it when I heard about Snape.”) When her sobs had faded into hiccoughs, he kissed her forehead. “I wish I’d known. You shouldn’t have had to carry this burden alone. I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him through lashes spiky with tears. “You have no need to apologise. You survived, whole and sane. I did my best to keep you out of trouble back at school, but I couldn’t keep you safe during the war. If anything, I failed you. I couldn’t face the thought of something happening to you or Fred. That’s why I avoided you. It I didn’t hear bad news, I could at least pretend you were all right.” She ducked her head again and slid an arm around his waist. He tightened his arms around her and rested his cheek against the top of her head. They lay there for a time, simply taking comfort in one another’s presence.

Unseen by Thalassa, George smiled. “Of all the times I imagined you naked in my arms, I never thought it would be like this.”

She gasped and started to push him away, but then realized the only thing covering her nakedness was him.

“What are you going to do now?” he murmured.

She bit her lip. “George, please…”

He rolled them both over so that she was on her back and he lay on top of her. “Please what?” He gave her a wolfish grin. “This perhaps?” He dipped his head and kissed her. He felt her stiffen and he thought for a moment she was going to push him away, regardless. Then she whimpered and her resistance melted away. Tentatively, she began to kiss him back. It took every ounce of self-control he had just to move his lips softly over hers and not coax her to open her mouth. He’d wanted this, wanted her, for so long it was all he could do to simply lie still and not move against her, especially when she parted her thighs to cradle his lower body. He clenched his fists in the bedcovers until he heard his knuckles crack, resisting the temptation to caress her.

He ended the kiss reluctantly and raised his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed and she exhaled a soft sigh. He watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips. Her eyes fluttered open and she gave him a puzzled frown. He wished he could read her thoughts. Was she thinking of him, or of Fred?

“George,” she began in a choked little whisper. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We’re friends. Friends don’t do this.”

“Some do,” he argued. “But what if I told you I didn’t want us to be friends any more?”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Your friendship is precious to me. I wouldn’t willingly give it up for anything,” she said, misunderstanding.

“Not for anything? Not even for love?”

“You don’t love me,” she protested. “Not like that, anyway. Even if you told me you did, as your friend, I’d have to tell you that you deserve better.”

“Let me decide what I feel and what I deserve.”

“You don’t love me,” she repeated.

He sighed and considered his options. He could just snog her again. She wasn’t unwilling. He had seen her watching him earlier, and last night he hadn’t missed the way her breathing had quickened as she tended the bruises on his ribs. She just had some doubts. He knew he could chase those shadows out of her eyes, at least for a while. Unfortunately, it could easily damage the trust between them, and he still wasn’t sure that she was actually responding to him or if he was simply enough like Fred that she could close her eyes and pretend. She was warm and soft in his arms, though, and he loved her so much it made him ache. Just one more kiss, he decided. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, giving her the chance to refuse him. She didn’t and this time there was no hesitation on her part. Her response was immediate, unreserved, and it eased a pain he hadn’t known he carried.


Thalassa felt her defences crumble as George bent his head to kiss her. Even before his lips touched hers, she had no will left to resist him. She knew in that moment that she loved him, had loved him for quite some time. His kiss was so sweet; it broke and healed her heart with each beat. This was completely different from kissing Fred, and yet they made her feel the same way. Oh Gods, did that mean she loved them both? She made a protesting sound in her throat and pulled her mouth away. “George, no. Please stop.”

He drew in great lungfuls of air as he struggled for control. “Why?” he rasped.

“I can’t-I’m not ready for our relationship to change. What happens to us if we start seeing one another and it doesn’t work out? I’d lose my best friend, both my best friends, because I’d lose Fred as well.”

“That’s the real issue, isn’t it? You fancy Fred and I’m just not him.”

“I--“ How could she deny that? The words were true, even if his meaning wasn’t. “I’m in an awfully vulnerable position here.”

He growled in frustration and reached for her dressing gown. He handed it to her and levered himself off her, careful to keep his gaze averted. She cursed softly as she struggled to put on the tangled garment, and then scooted away from him. When he turned back, she was sitting up against the headboard. Thalassa ran her hand through her hair and tried to think of what to say. She couldn’t tell him the truth, but she didn’t want to lie to him either. “Whatever I may or may not feel for Fred is not the issue,” she said carefully.

“Oh I think it is,” George argued with a certain amount of bitterness. “I always did think you secretly crushed on him back at school.”

“But I didn’t,” she said, surprised. “It was always Oliver Wood.” Then she scowled. “After last night, I hardly think you are in any position to be concerned with how I feel about Fred.”

“What are you--? Are you really that thick? Fred told you we were fighting over you!”

She jerked back, startled by his vehemence, and bumped the back of her head against the headboard. “Ouch.”

“I’m sorry but, bloody hell! I’ve loved you forever and every time I try to tell you, you treat it like a joke.” He hung his head. “That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.” He moved closer to take her hand in his. “Just tell me, honestly, how you feel.”

“Confused,” she answered.

“Not the answer I was hoping for,” he returned dryly.

“I’m sorry. You’ve changed all the rules on me. I thought I knew where we stood. I mean, of course I’m attracted to you. I’m not made of stone, after all. I just never considered acting on that attraction before.”

He gave her a hopeful look. “If you think you could love me, I want to give this, us, a try. I promise that whatever happens we’ll always be friends.”

“Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep,” she warned. Then she sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I need time alone to think. You’d better go home now. Since I’ll be finished with my order tomorrow, I won’t be working late anymore. You and Fred don’t need to stop by to see me home.”

He sighed heavily. “So you want us to stay away?”

She got up and started moving back into the living room. “Don’t you think it would be best for all of us if we spent some time apart? We’ve been practically living in each other’s pockets for nearly a month. Surely you two have things you’ve been neglecting in order to act as my bodyguards.”

He trailed after her. “Not really, but if we’re wearing on your nerves, of course we’ll clear off. Well, I will,” he amended, “and I’ll pass the message on to Fred. How long do you think it will take you to come to some decision?”

“I don’t really know. I’ve never been good with relationship things and this is particularly complicated. I don’t like it that you two have been fighting over me. I don’t think I could live with myself if I were the thing that finally came between you.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll abide by whatever decision you make.”

“And if I decide we should all remain just friends?”

“Then that’s the way it will be.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close to kiss her lightly before he turned and left.

Thalassa locked the door behind him and turned off the lights. She anticipated another sleepless night, so she got out the bottle of purple liquid that would let her sleep without dreams. She’d gone through entirely too much of it in the last few years, but none, she realized, since the Weasley twins had come back into her life.

Until tonight, she thought, swallowing the carefully measured dose she’d poured. She lay down on her bed and waited for the potion to take effect. It didn’t take long for her to drift off into the blessedly dreamless sleep she craved.

A/N: Just so no one thinks I've broken a cardinal rule and had my heroine performing wandless magic, the candles in Thalassa's flat are enchanted. They work in a similar way to Muggle lamps that one can turn on and off by clapping one's hands.