Percy pinched the bridge of his nose as he heard his brother sigh again. George Weasley was being an absolute child, dragging his feet and whinging about every little thing, as he had been for the past hour. Percy shook his head and tried to focus on the exhibit.
The Sword of Gryffindor, forged in 1282 by the Goblin smith Ragnuk the First of South Wales. Commissioned by Godric Gryffindor for the first ceremony of—
"Ugggghhhhhh…"
"George!" Percy snapped only to be shushed by a harsh, angular witch in lilac robes. He had the grace to look suitably chagrined before turning to glare at his brother. George rolled his eyes.
"What are we doing here?"
Percy's lips pinched together in a frown and he spoke in clipped tones. "I am here to see the collection of historical magical artifacts.You insisted on coming with me."
"But Percy, it's Christmas! And we're spending it with the rotting skull of Osrick the oblivious," he said bending over dramatically to read the floating golden letters next to the chipped alabaster dome.
"You begged to come with me George. You had the same look on your face that you get whenever Mum starts singing along to old Celestina Warbeck songs."
"Alright, first of all, Mum's singing sounds exactly like her Howlers, and trust me, I know. It's terrifying and it makes you feel sick. As for coming with you to this doxie-forsaken place, I had no choice. I just couldn't take it anymore."
"Take what?"
"Our family, Perce! They've gone mad! All the giggling and blushing and cooing. It's sickening!"
"Hold on, are you…jealous because our siblings are in relationships, because Charlie's not—"
"No, no," George cut him off. "Nothing like that." George leaned in closer and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "This morning I found a battered old journal filled with little doodles and hearts and sappy poetry about love."
Percy huffed out a small laugh. "Well, granted it's a little sappy, but you know what Ginny's like."
George glanced over his shoulder before turning back. "That's what I thought too before I saw Mr. Ronald Granger scribbled in the margin."
Percy choked on a laugh, and started at his own outburst even as his lips quirked up, cracking his usually stoic demeanor. "Oh dear Merlin, why?"
Wiping a tear of joy from his eye under his horn-rimmed glasses, he looked up and saw George looking at him strangely. "What?"
"You're laughing, Perce. You're actually laughing! I don't think I've heard you laugh since…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
Percy's smile dropped a little at the too familiar, yet distant words that brought on an odd wave of sadness. He wrinkled his brow, trying to place them, but then George spoke and they were quickly forgotten.
"Of course, I didn't know that we'd end up in a dusty old museum when we left. If I had, I might have just stayed with the flock of love birds. I mean, what is all this rubbish?"
Percy puffed up indignantly. "This is not rubbish, George. This is wizarding history stretching back to the tenth century."
"Alright, what so special about this then? It's just a squiggly painting that doesn't even move!"
Percy huffed. "That's The Starry Night, better known as Licht van Draken by Van Gogh the Vagrant. He had the potential to be a great wizard, but he left the wizarding world at a young age to pursue the muggle arts. He became quite well known in the muggle world following his death, so the spell had to be suppressed, but originally seven different breeds of dragons would be seen in the night sky. They would also occasionally set the frame on fire, which was seen as symbolic of…Fr—George are you even listening to me?!"
Percy winced at the slight slip, but George didn't seem to notice as he was currently using his wand as a lock-pick to get into a vending machine. The younger man looked up innocently.
"Yeah, the spell's gone, dead guy liked setting things on fire, I want a Cauldron Cake."
Turning back to the object of his quest, he heard his older brother sniff derisively and start tapping his foot. Without turning around he called back, "You go on. I'll catch up."
"Fine." George smiled as he heard Percy start grumbling about ignorant siblings and a lack of appreciation of fine art. He cackled as he heard a soft click from the lock and he twirled his wand as he stuffed it back in his snack machine was protected against theft with all sorts of spells, but the average wizard severely underestimated the power of muggle thievery. Seizing his prize, he stuffed his face with chocolate and hummed contentedly, setting off after Percy. He had walked a few paces before he looked down and realized he'd done it again. He'd grabbed a second cake for someone who wasn't there. Pain flashed across his eyes before he stuffed the treat into another, seemingly bottomless pocket. He'd give it to Ginny later.
He shook his head, and started walking at a more brisk pace. He passed different artifacts, glancing at them with a vague interest. He was almost finished with his Cauldron Cake, and he was debating eating the second one when he came across a large form draped in a deep purple velvet cloth.
" 'Ello," he murmured as he approached the pointed structure. He glanced around, but the room was empty. Of course, who in their right mind would be in Paladin the Pungent's Memorial Museum on Christmas Day. Turning back to the looming shape, he read the dim, glowing letters, straining to read them as the sun began to set.
"The Mirror of Erised." George made a clicking sound in the back of his throat and, biting his lip, stepped towards the covered mirror, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
Pulling back the cloth and letting it drop to the floor, it revealed a highly ornamental, full-length mirror, clouded over with age. George narrowed his eyes curiously and glanced back at the sign. It read:
The Mirror of Erised, created circa 760 C.E. by the free Welsh House Elf, Wagedd, as a means to trap her former masters with their own vanity. The mirror was enchanted to show the viewer their deepest desire as the Latin carving, 'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,' later added by Selkies of Verona, describes. Since the addition of this piece to this museum, the enchantment had been suppressed at the request of the late Albus Dumbledore.
"This mirror has caused great grief over the centuries. Many became enthralled by the visions the mirror granted, but it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."
George felt his lips quirk up. A dangerous magical object that Dumbledore himself warned to stay away from. Sounded like his kind of fun.
Stepping closer to the mirror he began examining it and immediately scoffed.
"Whoever studied this thing was a bloody idiot. This isn't Latin, this is 'I show not your face but your heart's desire,' spelled backwards! Selkies don't even speak Latin! Even Ron could figure that out." George quickly glanced behind him to make sure Percy wasn't witnessing him actually being clever. He'd never live it down.
With the room assuredly empty, he started circling the mirror, twiddling his thumbs, his face scrunched up as he made calculations. At last, he withdrew his wand and, pointing it at the tip of the arch, firmly stated, "Revelio Exponentis!"
When nothing appeared to happen he stepped closer, but only saw the blurred reflection of himself that had been there since he pulled down the sheet.
He pouted.
His reflection smiled.
George stumbled back a little in shock, before letting out a little laugh. He looked a little closer at the image, which held its head high under his scrutiny as he tried to glean what his greatest desire was.
At length he stepped back and sighed. "So my greatest desire is for me to be just as I am? I swear Dumbledore, you crazy old gnome, if you're being philosophical beyond the grave again, I will graffiti your tomb!"
Mirror-George laughed silently, turning his head to the side a little. George's smile dropped and he went pale.
The reflection had two ears, completely intact. The freckles on his nose were in a slightly different pattern. His eyes shone just a little more, a bright green flash trapped behind them.
George felt his breath stutter.
"Fred?"
The reflection straightened and looked out at George, smiling sadly, and nodded once.
George stumbled back, eyes blurring with tears, a shaking hand covering his mouth. He let out a cry of anguish even as his tears fell. Turning his face back to the mirror he choked on a sob as he saw tears trailing down Fred's cheeks. He inched closer to the glass until he was almost touching it before falling to his knees. Fred crouched next to him on the other side,
George hugged his knees to his chest, burying his face in the rough fabric of his jeans. Anything to get away from the eyes that were not quite his own. But he couldn't look away for long. For three long years, he'd wanted to see his twin one last time, more than anything in the world. So he looked back.
Fred's eyes, just as tormented as his brother's, were so desperate. More desperate than they ever had been in life. He wanted so much to reach through the glass to his lost half.
"Fred," George's voice cracked. "Fred…you're not real. I know you're not real. You're buried up on a hill back in Devon. And I know you're still there, I go back every week. You're just an illusion. But…oh Fred. Fred."
George's thin frame shook, wracked with grief even as he let out a keening cry and repeated a mantra of, "You're not real. You're not real."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fred move. His brother had hung his head and would barely look at him, but in his eyes George saw guilt. An apology. Fred was apologizing for leaving him. George felt his temper flare and he ground out his words.
"I didn't even get to say goodbye. I was on the other side of the school with Mum, and you died, and I never got to…"
He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, Fred's hand was placed against the glass, his palm pressing against it as if it truly had form. Fred offered a watery smile. George reached out his hand, tentatively towards his twin's. His fingers were so close to the surface that he could feel the coolness of the glass emanating out from it.
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."
He stopped short as Dumbledore's words rang through his mind and he shook his head. He shut his eyes tight and stood.
"Goodbye, Freddie."
He could hear Percy calling for him outside. He turned away from the mirror and wouldn't look back as he walked away.
If he had, he might have seen the image of Fred dissolve, even as he mouthed two words.
"Bye, Georgie."
As the morning of the twenty-sixth dawned, the wizened janitor was making his rounds and was perplexed to see the old mirror uncovered, as it hadn't been in nearly a decade. Pulling out his wand, he replaced the cloth, knowing better than to approach that cursed thing.
As he turned to leave, something on the floor, beside the mirror caught his eye.
It was a Cauldron Cake.