Hiding Spots

Fred! Fred! This isn't funny anymore, come out!

It was well past sundown. Their mother was yelling, pacing the yard frantically, searching for her son. Nine-year-old George grinned. He had been found moments ago, but Fred must've discovered a great hiding spot, because none of his brothers, nor his mother, could find him. George wasn't searching with the rest of his family. He knew Fred like he knew himself, and he wanted Fred to succeed in the game for as long as possible. A victory for one of them was a victory for both of them.

But as the minutes dragged on, a knot seemed to form in George's stomach. Very rarely was he separated from Fred. Fred's absence gnawed at George. He felt naked, cold. Then a terrible thought crossed George's mind— what if something had happened to Fred? What if he was hurt? George tried to push the thought away. Nothing could happen to Fred. George would be there, George would know.

George heard a tapping noise from above, then wheeled around toward the house behind him. An immense wave of relief swept over him as he saw Fred grinning down at him from their bedroom window. George shot Fred an identical grin. Fred pushed a finger to his lips and dipped out of sight.

Their mother rushed back to George's side, exasperated and worried.

"Georgie, please. Tell me where he is."

"I said before! I don't know." George lied artfully.

Their mother did not believe him, but George kept a straight face. He was good at that.

Just then, Fred burst out the door and onto the lawn.

Their mother let out a cry of mingled relief and rage, running toward her son.

"I've been looking for you for ages!" she cried.

"Why? I've just been up in my room." Fred replied casually.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, you understand?!" their mother yelled. She was shaking.

"Do what? Sit peacefully in my room, enjoying the tranquility of an empty house? I'm sorry, but I don't see what's so wrong or unusual about that." said Fred, a cloying layer of feigned innocence in his voice.

George grinned. Tranquility was something they did not enjoy.

Fred was now back beside George, right where he should be.

"When did you sneak back?" George muttered beneath the continued yelling of their mother.

"About fifteen minutes in, when everyone was out looking." Fred replied in a low voice. "How'd you fare?"

"I was the last one found. Besides you of course." George gave Fred an admiring nudge.

Fred grinned at him. Everything was normal. Everything was perfect. George needn't have worried. It was foolish to worry. He and Fred were meant to be together. They would always be together…

"Fred George Weasley! You will come immediately the next time I call you!"

At the sound of his wife's yell, George awoke. He shut his eyes for a desperate moment, but the dream had escaped him. He felt it slipping away from him like smoke.

The bedroom door opened violently, and Eliza burst into the room, gripping their son tightly by the collar. The freckly nine-year-old boy sported a grin that was uncannily similar to one that George had known very well in his youth, the grin of the man his son was named after.

"Can you believe him?" Eliza asked furiously.

"Well, I don't know the exact nature of his most recent offense, but, given what I've seen him do before, probably, yeah." George replied, grinning at his son.

Fred Jr.'s grin widened.

"C'mon, George, you can't encourage this behavior." Eliza pleaded.

"Of course not." George said suddenly, his face comically stony. "I would never ever condone any sort of mischief or meddling whatsoever."

Fred laughed, and even Eliza's lips twitched.

"Okay, he'll fool around, I get that, but we at least have to know where he is." Eliza said with an air of compromise.

"Absolutely. We'll install a tracking device on him first thing and monitor his every movement." said George.

Eliza couldn't hold back her smile.

"Leave us a note, if you're going to play outside." Eliza said to her son. "Or even wake us up, if you need anything, I don't care what time it is—

"Well I do." George said. "Unless the house is burning, I'd rather not be disturbed while I'm getting my beauty sleep. Actually, scratch that. If the house is burning, I'm sure your mother could take care of it without needing my assistance."

They all were laughing now. George couldn't help but think about the small truth that his words held. He really did value his sleep, but not for the same reasons that most people did. Sometimes George dreamt about him. Sometimes George felt him.

George was better now. A lot better than he used to be, at least. He no longer either slept through the entire day or stayed awake for multiple days on end. He no longer struggled with addiction. He no longer was confronted with suicidal thoughts.

It had taken him ten years, but George had married a beautiful, understanding, caring woman who helped drag him out from a very dark place. He had since fathered two children, Fred Jr. and Roxanne, both of whom he loved deeply and completely. George knew that he was lucky to have the support, the loving family and friends, that he did. He was capable of happiness, even immense happiness, which he had thought years ago he would never feel again. Despite all this, George still felt that life had robbed him. George felt, wherever he went, an emptiness, an incessant pang that tugged at him, sometimes subtly, sometimes violently. George knew it would never go away, not completely. But now, most of the time, he was good at hiding it.