BROKEN
The Great Hall was full to capacity. Two days after the Battle of Hogwarts, students, teachers, and parents alike were gathered together during mid day lunch. To an outsider, a casual observer, one might believe this was commonplace. A luncheon, perhaps, made up of students, professors, and alumni. Although the rest of the castle still stood in practical ruin, the Great Hall, at least, was devoid of any hint of battle, save for several areas of scorched floor. Harry had noticed this immediately. Deep scorch marks that had been burned into to floor marked the area where Molly Weasleys magic had burned in anger, defiance, and destruction.
Harrys eyes had, in one swift glance, moved from the burned floor boards of the Great Hall, to the exact position where Molly Weasley sat, as if she were seated in an assigned spot, and he had already known where that would be. With immediate eye contact, he had felt a great sudden hole in his chest. She had lost her twin brothers in the first war against Voldemort. In this war, The Weasleys had first come close to losing Ginny, then Arthur. Ron soon followed, being poisoned the previous year. Bill had suffered a gamble between losing his life or his humanity to Greyback, only to come out permanently scarred, with a slight change in the way he preferred his meat prepared. George had lost an ear, and the entire family had lost Fred. In one swift moment, Harry had realized the loss his surrogate family had suffered. A loss they suffered for him, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. His own loss had suddenly become greatly overshadowed by that of the family he loved the most, And in that single moment the walls had come crashing down. Locked in a gaze with Molly Weasley, the closet thing to a mother he had ever known. The first adult female that had ever hugged him, fussed over him, force fed him, treated him as if he were one of her own; as a mother would treat her own son, a feeling that he had for years, secretly coveted.
In this moment, all the grief Harry Potter had ever known, ever suffered, had violently paled in comparison with the loss the Weasleys had freely suffered for him. She sat, somewhat expectantly as Harry, Ron and Hermione had entered the Great Hall together. He hadn't noticed the tears, or that his own vision had suddenly become blurred. He didn't register the fact that the random uneven gasps that had filled his ears were his own. He hadn't noticed the speed in which Molly Weasley had abandoned her lunch and swiftly made her way towards the three would be students who had just entered the hall. He had seen the devastation etched upon her face, for that was plainly obvious; the sadness in her eyes, and swiftness in which she had suddenly rushed towards them. It would be only natural for her to rush towards her youngest son. After nine months of absence, and the most devastating battle in Wizarding history, what mother wouldn't engulf her youngest boy in a Molly-like hug. In a whirl of color and confusion, his world was suddenly overturned. He couldn't breathe, overcome with emotion and the realization that his vision was lost to his own tears. It was not Ron that Molly had all but tackled in a bone crushing hug, it was Harry. He didn't register the words that were spoken, half sobbed, and half hysterical. He did notice, that as the Great Hall seemed to revolve around him, that Ron stood by his side stoically, more proud than he had ever remembered seeing him, and Hermione had at once broken down into her own silent tears, with a knowing smile on her face.
The faces of his two best friends revolved around him as if he were a child on a merry go round. He was confused, he was gasping for breath, and in that single moment, within a fierce crushing hug from Molly Weasley, he had realized that no matter what had happened in the past two days, or in the past few years, she loved him no less than one of her own. There was no blame to be had from Molly Weasley. The words he had feared the most had never come. And that was far too much for Harry Potter. The boy who stood in this very hall, and defied the most feared Dark Lord in history, was, in the simplest show of affection, defeated by a single hug from Molly Weasley. Brought to tears with a single stare, and left convulsing for breath with a single hug. The whole of the great hall watched in silence, as if they were trespassing against the most private of moments between a mother and son. The world melted away, save for Molly Weasley, and for a few fleeting moments the feeling that Harry had spent the whole of his life wishing for, and wondering about, had revealed itself to him. The feeling of a mothers unquestionable love for a son. In a single hug, a solitary show of love, Harry had finally realized that he could be, that he was, whole.
It wasn't until Molly had loosened her hold on Harry, and led him towards the table to be seated between her and Arthur, that he had realized Ron and Hermione had not only seated themselves amongst the Weasleys, but appeared to be half way through their own meals. He smiled slightly, as he couldn't remember the last time they had eaten a proper meal. They had all slept in the seventh year boys dorm room, and apparently, had not been disturbed for almost a full twenty four hours. None of the trio had slept in the two days before the battle, and if it weren't for the fact that witches and wizards could draw energy from their own magical reserves, they surely would not have lasted through almost four days without sleep. As surreal as it seemed, the war was indeed over, and all that was left was for the world to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives and try to move on.
As he slowly began picking through his own lunch, Harry had begun to look more closely at the people within the Great Hall. Molly, still fussing over her children. Arthur, looking weary and worn, yet radiating a battle hardened aura; an expression that Harry had never imagined. Bill and Charlie, each wounded and scarred, yet still keeping a formidable defensive atmosphere around them. Ginny, in Harrys eyes, as beautiful as ever, something fierce burning in the hollowness of her eyes. There was definitely a change in her manner. She had been most adamant to fight during the battle, and it would appear, to Harry, that she had certainly done just that. Her eyes, like those of everyone around them, could not hide the hint of horror that war leaves behind for those who suffer it. And then there was Percy. Returned to the family fold in the hour of need. No matter the events of the past, Percys loyalty to his family when and where it really mattered was more than evident, and Harry was glad for that. As small a thing as it might be, Harry wondered that with the loss of Fred, if Percys return into the family fold might slightly lessen their sense of loss, or at least dilute it in some macabre fashion.
In the moments that followed, He had felt a sudden rush of worry. He had missed something, and yet no one had spoken of it. His heart clenched once again as he turned to look around, searching for a face that was not in sight.
"Where is George." He asked. It was more a statement than a question, and the sudden movement as every Weasley had turned to him, save for Ron, with the same somber expression had only increased the nervousness he felt. Arthur brought his arm slowly to Harrys shoulder as he answered for the entire family.
"George has not yet … accepted what has happened Harry. You must understand that for him … it might take some time before he comes around. We've decided it might be best to let him grieve in his own way for a bit. He hasn't spoken to any of us since … well, he hasn't spoken to anyone yet, and I think it best if we don't push him. He'll come around when he's ready … we haven't actually seen much of him in the past day. He's off somewhere in the castle."
For a few moments, Harry just sat in quiet thought. He was all too familiar with grief. He knew exactly how it felt to lose someone. Not a brother, perhaps, and certainly not a twin … but he knew loss. He knew devastation, and he knew the careless, reckless thoughts that accompanied such misery. His heart ached for George, as if understanding for the first time that being a twin, a Weasley twin, meant being more connected to another human being than anyone could ever imagine.
"We haven't seen him since after the battle, Harry." Percy had not looked up from his plate, and he spoke softly, almost timid; a tone that had never been associated with his former pompous, if not slightly arrogant disposition. Harry could tell that Percy was choosing his words carefully.
"It's only been a day since the hall was cleaned up, but he hasn't been around since then. Sir Nicholas says he just wanders the hallways, but he wont speak to anyone. At least not to any of us. He'll come around. He and Fred were … well, you know, close."
Harry stared in somewhat disbelief. How could it be, he wondered, that the closest family he had ever known, ever will know, would let their son, their brother, alone in a time like this. Harry was no stranger to emotional devastation, and as something rose up within him, some small flame threatening to ripen into something fierce, he slowly excused himself from the Weasley clan.
"I need to find George. I'll be back soon." Harry said softly.
"We don't know where he is, Harry." he heard Percy say as he slowly turned his back and walked away. Turning slowly, and looking not at Percy, but at Mr and Mrs Weasley.
"I know where to find him." And without aide, without the Marauders Map, Harry set out to the place he knew he would find George.
The walk through the castle brought harsh reality back into focus. The damage was more than evident, and Harry was somewhat shocked at the degree of damage. Not a single hallway or stairwell had been spared. Not a single suit of armor stood, and none were left intact. Scattered throughout the school were various pieces of armor, as if a medieval battle had been fought, and every knight in the castle had just shed their armor where they stood. Portraits were damaged; some burned, some sliced, and some the victims of various blasting hexes. Occupants of damaged paintings had simply huddled together in various undamaged sections of neighboring paintings. All of this, Harry thought, would take months to repair, even with magic.
His legs carried him through rubble strewn corridors as if on autopilot. The fact that the Weasleys had not actually spoken of George was somewhat ominous. Not because they did not share his grief, not because they could not find a way to support him in his grief, but because they shared the same grief, and understood completely that in terms of loss, that George was suffering greatly. Sometimes, words simply had no value at all, and if anything, as a family, they completely understood his need for solitude. The twins had been inseparable in life, and no amount of comfort would ease his personal pain. Harry knew this as well. He was more than familiar with the need to disappear, to be left to ones own devices, to grieve in peace. He was also more than familiar with the need to know, the extreme need for answers. As much as Fred and George were inseparable in life; for he could not truly remember a time when he saw one without the other, in death, they had been separated. The sorrow and regret he knew George would be feeling, was not only for the loss, but because he had not been there; and for George, that would be inexcusable. He knew George would blame himself. Perhaps not for Freds death, but because they were not together, because they were not fighting side by side, and most likely, in the case of George Weasley, because he had not been there; perhaps not to save Fred, but to die together, fighting by his brothers side. Harry knew that for George, that single thought would be unforgivable. This, Harry knew, from experience. He had blamed himself in much the same manner for Sirius' death, for Cedrics death, and in part, for the death of Dumbledore. He had once sat in isolation for an entire summer with the guilt that his godfather, his closest connection to his parents, had died because of Harry. And for an entire summer, Harry had wished more than once, that he had died with Sirius. If not for Voldemorts obsession with killing Harry, these people, and many many others, would not have died at all.
George would, Harry was certain, be feeling lost. Angry. And Broken. He knew there was nothing to be done, nothing that could be said to ease the grief and regret, but there was certainly something he could do to help with the understanding.
As he passed the entrance to the Room of Requirement, it was if the autopilot he had been running on had suddenly vanished. He briefly wondered if it were in ruins, and made a mental note to check it out at some point in the near future. Reality had once again come close to overwhelming him, as he realized he would come upon George within half a hallway, and one right turn worth of footsteps. There were no words he could think of, none worthy enough, but he knew, as he was so familiar with his own feelings, that words would barely be necessary at all.
Then, as if his thoughts had suddenly caught up with his feet, he stood in the hall, only feet from the spot where George Weasley had chosen to sit. Rubble was strewn about the hallway, and a great chunk of wall missing from the castle, and large enough to drive a bread truck through, filled the corridor with afternoon sunlight. Harrys eyes involuntary darted to the nook in which he and Percy had placed Freds body, where he would lie, safe from passersby, and battle. And then, to the very spot where Fred had died. A small blood stain still marked the exact spot where Fred Weasley fallen. George had seated himself on floor in the center of the corridor, in a small clearing amidst the rubble from the blown in wall. He was mere inches from where Freds body had been lying after the explosion. With no words worthy of comfort, Harry sat beside George, and for a few minutes, that had seemed more like hours, neither had spoken a word.
"Did they send you to come and get me, Harry ?" George had asked without a trace of emotion.
"No George.. We err – we were in the Great Hall. Lunch. Everyone's there but you … I just thought … maybe that … well … I just thought I'd find you here."
Moments turned into minutes, and yet Harry felt no compulsion to force conversation. He was well aware of how there were no words worthy enough.
"It's all going to change, you know." said George with a slight hint of disgust in his voice.
"They'll start on repairs soon enough, they'll fix it all Harry, and then there'll be nothing to mark the spot. Nothing to show -" And with the hitch in Georges voice, Harry had known, he had felt that in that very sentence, what George was feeling. Fred had given his life in defense of Hogwarts, in defense of all that was good, and right, and once the school was repaired, there would forever be new generations of students walking that very corridor, and they would have no idea of the price that had been paid to ensure their freedom, their way of life, and their safety.
It was in those words, a half finished sentence rolling from the tongue of a heart broken wizard, that an idea had begun to form in Harrys mind. The school may not accept it, the Board of Governors may contest it, but the Weasleys had been the closest thing to family that Harry had ever known. For Fred, he would try. For George, he would try even harder. And for the Weasleys, he would walk to the edge of the earth.
"Well then George," Harry spoke softly, "I guess maybe we should make sure that no one ever forgets. We'll just have to see to it that no student to ever walk this hallway can make it from one end to the other without knowing what it cost."
Harry slowly stood, and walked to face George. George was looking at Harry, his face bore no expression, but the sorrow, the emptiness in his eyes spoke volumes. His robes were still torn, his face still covered in scrapes and soot, and he looked, Harry thought, broken. Far too sad for a Weasley, especially a twin.
With half an idea formed in his head, a call for Kreacher echoed through the corridor. With a telltale crack, Kreacher had appeared, and Harry immediately began whispering in his ear. With a nod, the house elf had disappeared, only to return moments later with a large bowl and a backpack, which he set upon the floor directly in front of Harry. George had only glanced towards them to realize the elf had just placed two items at Harrys feet. Harry whispered once again to Kreacher, but this time loud enough for George to hear.
"We need privacy Kreacher, can you do that for us ? Could you please keep people out of the corridor for a while?" Kreacher, who stood as tall as a tiny house elf could, still dressed in his newfound linen wrap bearing the crest of the House of Black, Regulus's locket still hanging from his neck, looked between Harry and George with a ferocious smile etched upon his ancient face. George had not seen the house elf since their stay at Grimmauld place two years prior, but had not failed to notice the change in the elfs disposition.
"As you wish, Master Harry. Kreacher will keep the corridor clear." With a snap of his boney little fingers, Kreacher had disappeared in silence. George took notice of the absence of sound as Kreacher had disapparated, but again, said nothing.
It wasn't until Harry had moved towards George, and placed the two items Kreacher had delivered on the floor between them, that George had taken notice of the pensieve. He wasn't aware that it was Dumbledores personal pensieve, but it was far larger, and far more intricate than any he had ever seen. He and Fred had purchased a smaller, and much plainer version a few years earlier in Knockturn Alley, which they had used to study the principals of memories for their 'Nightmare Nuggets' and 'Daydream Droobles'. By the time George had raised his eyes to look at Harry, He saw Harry already holding his wand to his temple in fierce concentration, and beginning to withdraw a pale translucent silver strand. A memory.
"George." Whispered Harry.
"You don't have to, I mean, you might not want to see. I wont tell you that I know how you feel … but … I know what it feels like to not know. I know what it feels like to regret not being there, and I know … "
It was here that Harry had paused, realizing the hitch in his own voice, and slightly aware of a single tear escaping down his own cheek.
"that instead of wishing he were back, that you're probably wishing you had both gone out together."
Harry wasn't prepared for Georges reaction to that particular assumption, for as George had leaned closer to Harry, fresh tears now flowing down his soot covered face, Harry had expected a more 'Weasley' response to his assumptions. Rather than the punch he had been expecting, George had enveloped Harry in a crushing hug as his tears flowed freely, and his sobs had come as gasps for breath. Not a single word was spoken between them for several minutes, and none were needed, and when George had somewhat regained his composure, Harry placed both hands upon Georges shoulders, and looked him straight in the eyes.
"You don't have to watch George.. I mean, we can save it for later or something …. I just thought..."
George cut him off quickly, but spoke softer than Harry had ever heard. There was no fight left in his voice, but Harry had already known the answer.
"This is it then ?" said George. "This is when ..."
Harrys hands squeezed Georges shoulders slightly.
"Yeah, this is it George. If you'd like, we can go together."
Making eye contact once again, George simply nodded, and slowly, the two vanished into the pensieve. Harrys memory began just outside the Room of Requirement, as he, Ron, and Hermione had just begun sprinting down the corridor toward the sounds of battle. As they neared the end of the hall, Percy and Fred had just come into view, each dueling a masked Death Eater.
As George watched the battle with rapt attention, Harry, in turn, watched George. Percy was dueling the so called Minister, who had just released his wand, and dropped to the floor as Percys transfiguration spell had begun to take effect.
"Hello Minister! ….. Did I mention I'm resigning?"
George watched with a mixture of pride, terror, and devastation, as Fred had turned toward Percy after three stunners brought the Death Eater he had fighting to the ground. Freds expression was one of pure amusement, and happiness. In the midst of battle, wizards and witches fighting for life and death, and here stood Fred, as if he had not a care in the world, as if this battle for life and death were nothing more than a simple garden de-gnoming, and looked at Percy with a smile on his lips, and laughter in his eyes.
"You're Joking, Perce!" Shouted Fred. "I havent heard you joke since you were …."
As Harry had known, it was in that moment that the castle wall had exploded inward, knocking Percy, Fred, Ron, Harry, and Hermione off their feet. George was physically startled, and Hary had only now realized that Percy might not have told George of the details. George looked taken aback for a moment and then, as suddenly as Harry had remembered it, Percys cries of anguish had carried throughout the corridor once again. George continued to watch as the scene unfolded, as Percy and Ron knelt beside Fred, who had fallen in mid jest, battling Death Eaters with their newly returned brother. He watched as giant arachnids entered through the gaping castle wall, only to be blasted by Ron and Harry simultaneously. He continued watching in horror as the battle recommenced, as a fresh wave of Death Eaters had sent curses flying toward them from the other end of the corridor. George watched as Ron and Harry brought Hermione down to the ground to evade being hit by a barrage of curses. He watched as Percy threw himself over Freds fallen body, as if to shield his dead brother from any further curses. Rather than flee, rather than save his own life, Percy, in the heat of battle, thought it more important to protect his fallen brother. To shield Fred from being subjected to further curses, and possibly to ensure that his family had something more than a pile of cursed ashes to bury. For this, Percy had willingly risked his own life without a second thought.
Georges heart had swelled with pride. In that moment, and Harry had not failed to notice either, Percy would have given himself to prevent Freds lifeless body being further defiled by Death Eaters. Both George and Harry continued watching, as the Harry within the memory attempted unsuccessfully to bring Percy out of his current position defending Freds body, until he, Harry, had stood in the midst of flying curses, and grabbed Fred by the shoulders. Only then, did Percy understand. Only then did he follow Harrys lead. George watched as the two had placed Fred gently behind the nook where a suit of armor usually stood, out of harms way, and out of sight to all but those who would know where to look. It was there that the memory ended, and Harry gently placed a hand on Georges elbow, and they both reappeared in the corridor where this had all taken place only days before.
As they reappeared from within the pensieve, George had quietly whispered "Since you were ten".
Harry looked to George in confusion.
"We hadn't heard Percy joke since he was ten. When he got his Hogwarts letter, he changed. More serious …. well, he was always serious about reading, and manners and such …. but when we were kids, he was different. Fred and I hadn't heard him make a joke since he was ten."
When Harry next looked to George, he was smiling. His eyes were still hollow, echoing the magnitude of loss, but they were no longer glistening, no longer threatening to release unshed tears, and there was, Harry thought, a hint of a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. His brother had fallen in battle; a noble death, he had thought, and he did so in the company of his older brother. Fred had died, yes. But he had died fighting with family, and George knew, he just knew that Fred had forgiven his brothers fall from the family. The pride they had both seen in Freds eyes the moment before the explosion was evident. Others, perhaps, would not notice. But this could not be hidden from George. They were brothers. Twins. Best friends. They were the same. Upon that realization, something had shifted within George Weasley. Not so much a great life changing revelation, but something subtle. Something, as it was, that one might not ever consciously notice. A brief lifting of guilt. Not of grief, mind you, but a slow dissolution of the kind of guilt that can tear us each apart slowly, rather than allow one to heal normally after experiencing such a tremendous loss.
George turned slowly towards Harry, who suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a hug that would do Molly Weasley proud. He could feel the relief in George, and not for the first time on this day, Harry Potter returned an embrace, both given and received as brothers would embrace each other. It was for a few moments only, but it was long enough for Harry to have thought he had done something right, something good. And as George released his embrace, he held Harry at arms length. His eyes shown brightly, and his face still etched with the tiniest trace of a smile. Not the George Weasley Harry had grown accustomed to, but it would do. He could tell that in some small way, sharing his memory with George had lessened a burden, a guilt, that he himself knew all too well.
"You're a right good egg, little brother...." George whispered, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Errr … thanks." Harry replied, as he watched George for a few seconds. It suddenly had seemed too simple. Sure, he had a pretty good idea of the things George might have been feeling. He knew that if it were him, because in truth, it had been him; that he too, would have found some form of relief or satisfaction in simply knowing. As he looked into Georges eyes, he couldn't help but grin, and at the same time hoped that George would not misunderstand the reasons behind his freshly brewing ideas at a time like this.
"We're hardly done George. I think we still have a lot to do, so … are you up to it? Do you think you're ready … I mean, you were right you know … they will be starting repairs soon. We should probably get to work before anyone starts looking for us."
George paled for a moment, somewhat confused since Harry had yet to explain himself.
"The corridor, George. You said that once the repairs are done, that no one would remember. Well, what do you say we give them something to remember. A memorial to Fred, Weasley style. So that no student to ever walk this hall will ever get from one end to the other without knowing the price we've paid. The price Fred has paid."
Harry spoke these words softly, but with more heart than any other words he had ever spoken. More so than even the words spoken just two days before to Voldemort himself. The words he had spoken to Voldemort were full of meaning, yes. Meaning, and venom. The words he had just spoken to George, however, were laced with promise, love, and surety. And George, standing with Harry in the hall where his brother had made his last stand, where Fred had fallen with happiness in his eyes, a smile on his lips, and the beginnings of a joke upon his tongue, suddenly understood what Harry was getting at. In true Weasley fashion, this corridor, amongst all others within Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, would be something to behold. A monument, not a memorial to a fallen brother, who would not soon be forgotten. By anyone.
And so it began, in a ruined corridor within Hogwarts castle, two wizards pacing back and forth, closely scrutinizing every brick, every stone, and every possibility. They began with light casual suggestions, taking those that had made the most sense, or the biggest impact, and working each idea individually from there. Hours had gone by while the two worked in unison, and when the final plan had been sussed out, they sat back down in the center of the hallway, and began to work out the practical spellwork they might need to see their ideas bear fruit. There was no practical jokes involved here, in contrast to the fact that the Weasleys were two of the most notorious pranksters Hogwarts had ever seen. This was not about jokes, or humor, or scare tactics. This was, as they had both agreed, a memorial, and therefore, not taken lightly by either wizard. George and Harry had each voiced their own ideas, and after hours of speculation and preparation, they had begun transforming their ideas into reality. There were certain repairs that had to be made, and the majority of their spellwork had to, of course, integrate their spellwork into the actual repair of the castle corridor.
George seeing Harrys memory had seemed to have somewhat of a profound affect. Purpose, Harry thought, in the midst of grief and sorrow. He also knew from experience, that although the things they had planned doing here may not meet the approval of the schools governors, that if their plans worked as imagined, and push came to shove, no one would deny him if he demanded the corridor be allowed to remain as he and George would leave it. After all, if it were in the power of Hogwarts Professors to leave behind a small patch swamp in the fourth floor corridor, then he was sure that regardless of any opposition they might encounter, no one would refuse a direct request by the adamant Boy Who Lived.
Truth be told, although he might have instigated this particular idea, Harry had found it easy to leave the majority of the practical spellwork to George. It was more or less his way of giving George some kind of release; a sort of creative outlet for his anguish, if you will. Far sooner than he had imagined, the majority of their tasks were complete. The process so far had required several trips into the pensieve. Some were to review Harrys memory of what had happened in the corridor, and the most interesting memories, Harry thought, were a few random memories of Fred and George working together in the back room of their shop. Many of their creations, it would seem, required their products to be created in layers, with simultaneous charm casting. Harry had been impressed with the amount of work that the twins had put into their joke products, not only for their originality, but for the complexity of their design. As many students, and professors, had already experienced, Weasleys Wheezes were of the highest quality. Weasley fireworks, and of course, their portable swamps were a testament to that fact.
At long last, after several hours, they both stood in the corridor, searching for a solution for their final piece of work. The castle wall had refused their spellwork, and would not allow any charms they had cast to be infused into its stones. Hogwarts, it would seem, had far more magic coursing though its very being than either had ever imagined. Without even considering the schools natural wards, every door, hinge, knob, tile, brick, stone, and even the mortar that held it all together, was saturated with ancient magic. It was difficult for them to tell whether or not that was due to centuries of residual magic, from students and professors, or perhaps each brick, stone, and tile, having been cut, carved, or shaped with magic, held specific magical qualities of its own. Whatever it was, they were having no luck in getting the stones that had been blown out of the castle wall to cooperate. Frustration etched lines upon Georges face as he scowled at the last of their hurdles. The charms they had chosen seemed incompatible with whatever ancient magic was infused into the building stones of the castle. And then, as clear as day, it had come to him. Ancient magic.
"I've got it George. I don't think we're doing anything wrong … I think maybe, we're just not using the right tools."
As George looked slightly confused, Harry retrieved the backpack, reached inside, and retrieved his other wand. Looking into Georges eyes, he extended the wand, held in both his palms, towards George. To an onlooker, it may have seemed that Harry was presenting George with either something very foul, or something very sacred. George, however, did not yet understand he gravity of Harrys actions.
"Honestly Harry, another wand isn't going to make a difference … the spells, well they all work fine, I just haven't figured out how to integrate them into the magic within the school."
George remained only half aware, still in deep thought about how to overcome this last obstacle.
"George … this isn't just any wand …."
It was in that statement, that understanding had appeared in Georges eyes.
"Is that – You Know Whos wand Harry ?" and as Harry began to reply, he noticed the change in Georges expression. From determination, to …. disgust.
"This was never Tom Riddles wand." Harry spoke those last words fiercely, as he thrust the Elder wand into the back pocket of his jeans.
"Come here George, You need to know exactly whose wand this is."
Harrys tone was neither demanding nor wavering. It was not a command, yet still not quite a politely phrased request, and so George had stepped closer to Harry, and watched as he removed a large leather bound tome from his backpack. Harry turned slightly, and handed the book to George, who took it gently, and just stared a the cover.
"Beedle Bard, Harry ? What do bed time stories have to do with anything?"
Harry smiled, as George still remained somewhat reticent.
"The tale of the three brothers, George ….. it's not so much a tale. The Deathly Hallows …. the Wand, the Cloak, and the Stone.... they're all real George. And I've had them all. I've had the cloak since first year. It was my fathers, and Dumbledore himself gave it to me my first Christmas here. The wand, well , it's as real as you and I. Dumbledore himself won it dueling Grindelwald, and he's had it ever since. Riddle never earned it – he never defeated Dumbledore – and the stone … well, I had that as well, but it's gone now. Anyway, it worked out in the end I guess, and here it is George. The Elder wand. It works fine for me, and I think it'll work for you as well... I know it will. Hermione snapped my wand in half a few months ago … Ollivander told me it couldnt be repaired..."
And at that, Harry removed his Holly and Phoenix feather wand from his pocket, and twirled it between his fingers.
"This wand, George, will do the trick … I think it's just the wand we need for the job, and when we're done, it goes back to Dumbledore … but before that … I just thought, one last thing … one last piece of magic … in the name of love, for a wand that has destroyed so much in its history. A fitting end, you think?"
Harrys lopsided grin was met with Georges beaming expression. Indeed, one great act of love, for a wand that has caused so much pain. A fitting end indeed.
Again, Harry held out the Elder wand for George, who pocketed his own before reaching out, and gently taking Dumbledores wand between his fingers. As he grasped the handle, he too felt the wands power, the warm tingle rush up his arm, and into his chest, and as he waved it gently in a long, slow arc above his head, sparks of crimson and gold were released in such quantity that a passerby might think it were fireworks. The warmth that had spread up Georges arm had taken him aback momentarily, and as that warmth spread, it radiated deep within his chest, filling the very emptiness that had been haunting him for two days. He had never felt such a reaction to any wand, not even his own, and wasted no time in setting about his final task.
As two wizards set about completion of the plan they had formed only hours before, the corridor had become a blurred flurry of spells. Fresh magic entwined with ancient, the air itself crackled with energy as sparks discharged from both wand and stone. Between charms ans spells, Harry had kept a keen on eye George. His face, his eyes, both set with a fierce determination. He had slowly come to realize, that underneath the comical nature of the twins, that they were indeed each a force to be reckoned with. He had also secretly wondered if perhaps, George and Fred Weasley might have been two of the most under rated wizards in Hogwarts history. In what seemed to have only been a matter of minutes, although it was probably much longer than that, the stones of the castle wall had been returned to their proper place. No longer was there a gaping hole in the side of the castle, and the newly rebuilt wall standing, almost as if it had never been blown apart, as good as new …. with something a bit extra lying hidden beneath the surface.
George stood in the center of the corridor, his eyes wandering to each area they had charmed. Harry simply watched, a smile etched upon his own face. He had done all he could, all he could think of doing. He had given George an afternoon of purpose, and hoped it would be enough. George had seemed to have satisfied himself with their work, turned to Harry, and grabbed him up in yet another fierce Weasley hug.
"You'd probably better take this, Harry." George said as he gingerly placed the Elder wand back in Harrys hand. "How about a bite to eat. I'm starved."
"Yeah. I haven't had a proper meal in ages. Give me a minute to collect this stuff, and I should probably have Kreacher return Dumbledores pensieve before McGonagall notices it's missing."
As Harry picked up the backpack, and placed the Tales of the Beedle Bard inside, George could not hide a flash of disbelief at the mention of Dumbledores pensieve. He had been aware that this particular pensieve was indeed much older, and much more intricate than the simple version he and Fred had purchased some years before. The simple fact that this one had belonged to the Headmaster had been a slight surprise. Harry Potter never failed to amaze. How he could have access to the headmasters personal possessions, and in such a nonchalant manner was nothing short of impressive.
"Kreacher" Harry called, and the ancient looking house elf appeared once again, Regulus' locket still hanging from his neck.
"Kreacher, would you please return this to the Headmasters office." Harry asked, as he conjured a glass vial and moved a single memory from the pensieve, to the vial, sealing it with a stopper.
"Certainly, Master Harry." replied Kreacher.
"On your way back though, do you think you could find a change of clothes for George, and maybe bring two pepper-up potions to the prefects bath on the fifth floor ?"
Harry had made sure to ask as politely as he could. Although Kreacher technically served him, as the Head of the House of Black, and had made an enormous turn around in his disposition, Harry still felt somewhat uncomfortable at the idea of owning a house elf. He was much more comfortable with Dobby, who served Harry with as much dedication, but as a free elf.
"As you wish, Master Harry." Said Kreacher, and snapping his fingers, he vanished once again, along with the Headmasters pensieve.
Walking from the seventh floor corridor, to the fifth floor seemed much quicker than Harry had ever noticed, and before either of them had realized, they were standing four doors to the left of the statue of Boris the Bewildered, the entrance to the Prefects Bath. Without realizing the need for a password, Harry simply turned the handle, and pushed the door open, revealing one of the very few rooms in the castle that George had never had access to. Inside, the bathroom's walls, floor, and single sunken bathtub were all made of white marble, lit softly by a candle-filled chandelier that had impressed Harry on his first visit, and had left George staring in amazement. The rectangular tub, the size and depth of a swimming pool, complete with a diving board, and unlike an ordinary pool, was lined with about a hundred taps, each with a differently coloured jewel set into the handle. Harry had already begun to walk alongside the pool, turning various taps; some more than others, which began filling the pool with hot steamy water, and bubbles of all different sizes, shapes, and scents. George still stood, an expression of amazement etched firmly upon his face.
"Full of surprises you are, eh Harry ?!" George bellowed, still taking in grandeur of the prefects bath.
Harry smirked, as he began to remove his school robes, revealing his trademark over sized, and slightly tattered muggle clothing beneath.
"Cedric told me about this in fourth year. This is where I came to work out the clue to the second task. Remember the screeching sound the Egg made when I opened it in the common room ?"
As George nodded, Harry continued.
"It was Mermish … Mermaid language. Sounded much nicer when you listened to it under water, actually. Makes sense, I guess. I told Cedric about the dragons being the first task, and he let me on about bringing the egg in the bath."
Harry hadn't noticed directly, but as he had explained this simple fact to George, he had not felt the slight wave of guilt that normally accompanied thoughts of Cedric. Stripping down to his boxers, Harry gave half a run, bounced off the diving board, and splashed into the pool, disappearing below the thick bubbles that now filled the entire pool. George quickly followed his lead, and is if by Magic; as if floating through an endless stream of thick, fragrant, colored bubbles that seemed to neither dissipate nor combine in color could somehow cleanse more than just ones skin, something more than simple dirt and grime seemed to wash away from each wizard.
After an hour of floating, swimming, and simply sitting in the prefects pool, Harry and George had climbed out, each taking an overly large white towel from the shelf in the corner of the room, and drying themselves off completely. Harry could not remember feeling so clean in all of their nine months on the run. Even the shower at Grimmauld had not provided him with such a clean refreshing sense of self. As he glanced towards George, it was slightly obvious that he too seemed more refreshed than a simple bath could ever provide. As they each finished towel drying, Kreacher had appeared with a small pop, carrying two sets of fresh clothes, freshly pressed robes, and a small silver tray, obviously from the hospital wing, on which stood a pair of small smoking goblets that undoubtedly contained freshly brewed pepper-up potion.
"Kreacher has brought fresh clothes and robes, Masters. Many in the castle were about to search for you. Kreacher has told them you would be arriving in the Great Hall for dinner soon." Spoke the house elf.
Harry could not help but sense the slight defensive tone in Kreachers voice, and a small sense of pride had begun to creep through him. Although Kreacher was certainly no Dobby, Harry had begun, once again, to notice how severe the change in the house elfs attitude had become since Harry had given him the locket that Regulus had switched with Voldemorts Horcrux. The smallest things, he wondered silently, seem to make the greatest difference.
"Kreacher?" Asked Harry, "Is Grimmauld Place still safe ? I mean … is it alright? We were followed, and Hermione wasn't certain if the Death Eater would be able to enter, so we didn't return."
Kreacher smiled somewhat viciously before replying.
"Grimmauld has always been safe from dark wizards, Master Harry. The Mad Auror had placed many wards against the dark wizards, but Kreacher made certain the bad wizard would not return to the House of Black." His sharp toothed grin, and piercing eyes reassured Harry that Grimmauld place was indeed safe, and still standing The thought of having someplace to go, somewhere, he had only realized, he could call home, if he chose, lifted his spirits. Eventually, he knew, he would need a home. He remembered the drastic difference that Kreacher had made while they had stayed there in the beginning of the hunt, and briefly remembered when Sirius had asked if Harry would have liked to live with him at Grimmauld. With far less of an ache than he had expected, the vision he now imagined, of living with his godfather in a sparkling, grand manor such as Grimmauld was a sad, yet heart warming thought. Maybe, he thought, he had a home to go to after all.
"Does Master Harry plan on returning to the House of Black, then" Kreacher croaked.
And Harry, standing in quiet contemplation, bent down so that he and Kreacher were eye to eye.
"I think, Kreacher, that Grimmauld Place is going to be quite full for the next few days."
He had never seen such obvious joy and happiness etch itself upon Kreachers face, and Harry immediately knew that he said exactly the right thing. He knew a house elves greatest so called joy, was to serve family. He also knew that Kreachers inability to destroy the Horcrux left the poor little house elf feeling as if he were unable to carry out his previous masters last request. Such a thing, combined with the passing of Mrs Black, and being left alone to take orders from only a painting had more or less driven Kreacher over the edge of sanity. It seemed to Harry that recent events, and the promise of a house to serve once again, would pave the road to happiness for Kreacher. Who, Harry thought, deserved nothing less.
Bathed, dressed, and feeling the full effects of Madam Pomfreys freshly brewed pepper-up potion, George and Harry made their way down to the Great Hall for a well needed meal. It didn't matter that it was well past dinner time, nor did it matter to either wizard that the Hall would probably be empty.