It was the rain's fault that virtually no customers entered the shop that day. At least, George Weasley hoped that it was because of the bad weather, and not because the end of the war meant that nobody needed cheering up anymore. George feared that he alone might not be able to keep the people interested in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Without Fred, everything seemed to go wrong, and George slowly lost all enthusiasm to work on new ideas. It was no fun anymore. It had turned into work.

The gaping hole his brother had left had absorbed all his creativity. But he could not simply place an ad in the Daily Prophet that he was searching for a new muse. Well, he might, if things deteriorated further. Until now, it was hopefully only the bad weather that made him consider the worst.

With a sigh, George looked through the shelves he was cleaning and let his gaze travel along the deserted streets of Diagon Alley. He watched as a figure hurried over the cobblestone pavement, hood drawn over his face to protect himself from the rain. Apparently that also took away his ability to see where he was going. George chuckled as the person slipped and fell because of an incredibly huge puddle that now soaked him to the bone.

As the person did not get up immediately, George felt the urge to go outside and at least ask if everything was okay. He had just opened the door, and his mouth to speak, as the hood slipped down revealing a white-blond shock of hair. George stopped on the doorstep and blinked against the rain, and watched as Draco Malfoy clung to a bag that looked big enough to hide Hagrid's feet in it. Or at least one of them…

When Malfoy placed a hand on his ankle, cursing under his breath, George had already attempted to get back inside. He stilled and looked at the pale figure in the rain, waiting for someone else to help, or at least for Malfoy to pull out his wand and just continue walking. But nothing like that happened and George heard a voice in his head telling him that he should not refrain from helping Malfoy because he was Malfoy; a pureblood, a snobby brat, a former Death Eater. This voice was telling him that the end of the war was an opportunity to start anew and not to make the same mistakes again. So he hurried over to Malfoy and grabbed his shoulder.

He did not expect Malfoy to flinch away and look at him like George was ready to curse him. Raising his hands in defence, George ducked down next to Malfoy, who held on tight to his bag, whilst shaking slightly – probably because of the cold rain.

"You okay?" George asked. But Malfoy did not answer. He just sat in his puddle and stared at George like he'd never seen him before. Forcing a smile, George pointed at Malfoy's ankle. "Are you hurt? I saw you fall." He swallowed the comment about how ridiculous Malfoy had looked as he almost turned a perfect summersault during his fall.

Malfoy wiped the wet strands of hair out of his eyes. Large drops of rain had caught in his eyelashes and Malfoy blinked hastily as he lifted his chin to look at George, letting his lashes flutter against slightly flushed skin. He looked quite adorable, especially as he tried to glare at George. Malfoy had always looked quite adorable, which was one reason why George had rarely taken the git seriously.

"My ankle. I think I sprained it." For a change, Malfoy did not destroy everything with a snarky comment. Maybe he was thinking similar things as George, trying to be a little more amenable, and for that George leant over and examined his ankle.

"Doesn't look too bad. Can you cast a healing charm?" George wanted to go back inside, but realised that Malfoy was not sitting there for the fun of it. As an ex-Death Eater, he was probably unable to heal injuries. That was not something those people had placed value on.

"Of course I can. I'm not such an incompetent…" Malfoy bit hard on his lips as George raised his eyebrows, expecting the old Malfoy's return. "I don't… have a wand…"

"Well, let's get you inside then," George said, and almost smiled because of Malfoy's stunned expression. But the corners of his mouth did not lift upwards; they had not, since Fred died. Along with his twin, his smile and the ability to laugh full-heartily had died. "It's raining cats and dogs; I can't heal this here." He grabbed Malfoy's arm and pulled him back on his feet, but Malfoy seemed to be a little drama queen and was even unable to walk with a limp.

"It's okay. Let me…" Malfoy suddenly tried to shove George away, clinging with his free hand to the bag. George grabbed it and suddenly realised the reason why Malfoy had lost his balance.

"Merlin's pants! You truly have got Hagrid's foot in there," he exclaimed. He not only received an odd look from Malfoy, but also took advantage while Malfoy was slightly distracted to rip the bag out of his hands. The cling and clatter he elicited proved that it was certainly not Hagrid's foot Malfoy carried around with him. "Now, come on." George swung his arm around Malfoy's waist and grabbed him tightly to support his weight.

"No! Wait… I…" Malfoy yelped and did not finish his sentence; the pain of being dragged along harshly showed on his face. When he was certain that Malfoy would acquiesce, George tried to be a little gentler. Malfoy was clearly uncomfortable touching him, however, as his arm hung loosely around George's shoulder, making progress difficult.

As soon as they entered the shop, George let the bag fall to the ground and closed the door. He turned the open sign around just in case someone suddenly decided to leave the warm safety of their home to buy a cute little pygmy puff.

Malfoy stared at the bag like George had just killed his beloved pygmy puff.

"You don't have to tell me why you're carrying ten pounds of Galleons with you," George muttered, emphasising that he was not interested why Malfoy did what Malfoy did. Nothing good could come from that and it was better not to be involved at all. "Sit down." That George pointed at the staircase made Malfoy sneer, but he did not complain and seemed to be relieved that he could sit again, after slumping quite inelegantly down on the bottom stairs.

"Why are you helping me?"

George only answered Malfoy's question with a shrug. He focussed his gaze on the thin leg that lay across his lap. Malfoy's clothes were soaking wet and clinging to his body. As George pulled one dripping trouser leg up past Malfoy's knee, he noticed goose bumps spread over the revealed calf.

"That's unnecessarily high," Malfoy said and shoved his trouser leg back over his knee, raising his chin slightly in response to George's annoyed look.

"I'm not ogling your leg, Malfoy. It's not pretty enough for that," George retorted, and pulled out his wand to fix Malfoy's ankle.

"But you looked long enough to form an opinion," Malfoy answered. "I –" The rest of his sentence turned into a hiss, but he did not jerk away from George's hands as they pulled the shoe and sock from his foot.

"It's just a little swollen. I can fix that," George said, but when he pointed his wand at the pale foot, Malfoy moved away. "What now?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're planning something aren't you? Like removing the bones from my foot, transfiguring them into noodles, something remarkably uncomfortable."

"I didn't list all the remarkably stupid things you might do with a bag full of gold, so why don't you trust me?" George sighed as Malfoy huffed but allowed him to turn back to his ankle. "So, why don't you have a wand, Malfoy?"

"I thought you weren't going to mention any remarkably stupid things," Malfoy mumbled. "Like going outside without a wand when the entire wizarding community hates me."

"As long as they don't have anything to do with the bag of gold," George replied, avoiding the topic of Malfoy being justifiably unloved. He grabbed Malfoy's foot and turned it slightly to see if the movement still caused any pain, but Malfoy was either a good actor or the healing charm had worked surprisingly well. George was not bad with healing charms, but lately nothing seemed to go right.

"Ollivander won't give me a new one. That's why," Malfoy said while rolling his wet trouser leg back down. He didn't bother explaining why because that was clear as crystal. Keeping Ollivander locked up in his cellar for months was not the best way to earn his sympathy.

George rose to his feet. He reached out a hand to help Malfoy up but this attempt to be nice was simply ignored. He watched impassively as Malfoy tugged on sock and shoe, and then pulled himself to his feet. "And the gold didn't convince him?"

Malfoy scowled at him. "I have to go. It was – Atchoo!" He pressed a hand against his mouth, muffling the next sneeze. With a sigh, George pulled out a tissue but found it was wet from the rain. Malfoy sneezed again and his cheeks slowly filled with colour. "I better go now." He headed for the door and lifted his bag from the ground, seemingly having trouble with the weight of it.

George frowned, crumpling the tissue as he balled his hand into a fist. "You can't Apparate without a wand," he stated and reached for Malfoy's shoulder to hold him back.

"Oh, really?" Malfoy snorted, and jerked away from George's hand. He obviously was not too fond of having George's hand on his body again.

George did not care about that. His fingers encircled Malfoy's wrist and he realised with a start how thin it was. He needed virtually no strength at all to pull Malfoy back. Together with his heavy bag, Malfoy bumped against George's chest. But contrary to any expectations he did not start struggling and yelling at George not to touch him, even though he had been incredibly huffy before.

Maybe the urge to get outside was not as strong as George had thought. And maybe the reason for that was not the tumultuous rain…

"Use my fireplace," George said, searching in vain for the grey eyes. The way Malfoy avoided his gaze was not in repulsion, like George initially guessed. Malfoy seemed embarrassed. His cheeks burned uncharacteristically red, just like they had after he fell in the puddle

"Why would you do this?" Malfoy asked, still not looking at George.

He was standing so close, that under other circumstances, George would have been able to feel the warmth of his body. But a low voice in the back of his slowly clouding mind told him that wanting to feel Malfoy's body, even just the temperature, was as wrong as paying to see whatever emotion was now visible on the normally ice-cold irises. That just did not change the fact that he considered doing so.

"Because it would be wrong to send you back out in this weather. You're thin enough to be blown away in that wind. Added to the fact that you're wandering around Diagon Alley with a bag full of gold and no wand for protection…" George felt his mouth become dry as Malfoy lifted his gaze and looked at him with a confusing mixture of distrust and hope.

He had seen Malfoy's eyes gleaming like that once before. In his fifth year, after the Dementors had searched the Hogwarts Express and aroused panic among all students. Malfoy had run into the compartment George had shared with his brother and Lee, and after he had stopped acting like an untamed Hippogriff, he had looked at George like this. Hopeful that George's arms would ensure him protection, yet still suspicious that they might crush him.

Slowly, George lifted the hand that did not enclose Malfoy's wrist. He wanted to trace his fingertips over the high cheekbones up to the corner of the strangely glittering eyes, and wipe the hint of tears away. He never reached any higher than Malfoy's shoulder.

"Okay…" Malfoy stepped away from him and cleared his throat, tugging his wrist out of George's grip. "I'll use your fireplace." The old Malfoy was back and acting like he would grant George's biggest wish.

Rolling his eyes and turning around, George motioned for Malfoy to follow him up the stairs to his flat. There was a strange tickling in his fingers and he tried fruitlessly to rub it away. Something was wrong with him. But it was nothing that he could not cope with, like those horrifying feelings of being alone that made everything easy become the hardest work. The sensation that a lost and vulnerable looking Malfoy created was at least familiar and it had always been easy to fight it. Fred's death did not change that. There had to be one thing Fred's death could not change.

It definitely did not change the fact that the tickling immediately crawled over his skin again when he brushed Malfoy's fingers as he handed him the Floo powder.

"Weasley?"

The fine dust trickled through Malfoy's long fingers as he hesitated by the fireplace. He was also still dripping. George thought about offering him a towel, or using a drying charm on his robes, but he took a moment too long, and Malfoy suddenly threw the Floo powder into the chimney.

"Thank you," said Malfoy, with something that George thought had to be a smile. But before he could look closer, Malfoy stepped into the emerald green flames and disappeared.

George's heart pounded ruthlessly against his chest. The flames had already lost their green colour when he finally could move again. He stumbled backwards and fell with his back against the wall, holding onto it for balance while forcing himself to breathe. But without Fred there reminding him to do so, it felt extraordinarily hard. And even harder not to think about that smile, an even rarer thing to see on Malfoy's face.

George gazed down at his hands. No wand… A wizard without a wand was inconceivable. But it was imaginable that it was hard for Malfoy to get one, especially since Voldemort had killed most of the skilled wandmakers. But as far as George remembered, Malfoy's wand was not destroyed. It was lying amongst the old socks in Harry's trunk, waiting to touch the enviable hands of his former master once more.

Draco should get his wand back, George decided.