Thanks to those who take the time to read, and review, this story. I appreciate everything.
Chapter Three starts now. Enjoy
Once again, anything in italics, with the exception of spells, is a past memory, or a flashback.
**
Theresa's eyes took a second to focus in the pitch black room. She had heard barely audible whimpering coming from across the hall, and heard creaks on the floor boards from below her. She'd always been a light sleeper, so she took the time to investigate.
She picked up the wand from her nightstand. "Lumos" she muttered, and she made her way through her open door to the source of the noise. Coming up the stairs was Mrs. Weasley, in her nightclothes, also with her wand lit.
"It's George." She mouthed to Theresa.
"OK…you can go back to bed, Mrs. Weasley, I'll take care of it." The girl responded, grasping the hand of her elder.
"…If you're sure." Mrs. Weasley whispered, with a worried glance toward George's bedroom. "You need your rest, and he could be up all hours…"
"I'm sure. I'll stay with him. I'm wide awake as it is."
With a silent agreement, Mrs. Weasley left Theresa on the landing, and headed down back to bed.
Now alone, she went over to George's door, pressing her ear against it before pushing it open and padding across the floor to where his huddled form twisted under the sheets.
"Ah…no…but…" He mumbled as she took a seat in the chair beside him, sitting Indian style and holding her wand above his head. His bangs were sweaty, and his eyebrows contracted. She brushed his bangs away from his brow with a delicate sweep.
At the slight contact, his eyes shot open and he looked around in a panic.
"Where's…?"
There was a quiver in his voice that could have cracked ice.
He sat up, looking around the room before letting his head sink low. He place his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. He was shaking.
She scooted to the end of his bed, and sat watching him.
There wasn't a sound in the room except for the ticking clock and his heavy breathing. Then:
"I dream about him every night, but usually I can let it go." He murmured, reaching out in the semi-darkness for her. She grasped his hand and held it tight. "But this one was just terrible." There was an awful, gut-wrenching tremble in his voice that she didn't like at all.
She conjured a warm facecloth from nowhere and leaned forward to place it on his forehead.
"Thanks, T." He said, taking the damp cloth and burying his face in it.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She said finally. He shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
There was a long moment of silence, before: "We were kids again, and playing on our toy broomsticks, and…and he fell. Scraped his knee. I tried to heal it for him, but he just bled more and I couldn't do anything about it and he was covered in blood, and I just stood there." He was talking rapid fire, like if he didn't say it, it would only plague him longer. He was ripping off the metaphorical band-aid.
"And I had that same hopeless feeling I had the day he died…like I should've tried harder to save him, even though I couldn't. Because I was the more responsible one of the two of us."
"The dreams are the worst, because you have hope again for those moments…then you realize that it's your mind playing tricks on you again." He said, sinking down onto his pillow again. "I feel so easily manipulated."
She moved back to the chair.
"Do you want me to stay with you?" She asked, and, for the first time since she arrived, he gave a small laugh, albeit a tired one.
"I feel like a 5-year-old asking you to do that." He smirked, tears glistening in his eyes as he looked up at her. "But maybe for a little while… that would be, er, nice."
"Do you want to talk?"
"Sure."
"About what?"
"Well…what's it like in Boston?"
She smiled.
"Boston? Um, it's kind of like a really small London, I suppose. Dirtier though. But it's so easy to walk the city, and you can find really beautiful things everywhere. Like little cobblestone alleyways and such."
"What's the food like?"
"Fatty but delicious. But that's America for you."
He once again gave a small laugh.
"I sit along the banks of the Charles on their Independence Day…watch the fireworks. They have such boring fireworks compared to your Wildfire Whiz-bangs. It's a bit sad really," she chuckled, and continued. He was watching her carefully. He look relaxed and not as anxious as he had a second ago. "I got by completely without magic. Subway systems are awful there, and everything smells like Chinese cabbage once you get downtown."
She watched him as he picked at a hole in his pillowcase, his eyelashes wet.
"But you like it."
"Yeah I do. It's not as crowded there. It's a good place to clear your head, I guess. Or at least, you can find places that will help you clear your head."
"What did you do while you were there?"
"A lot of theater. It was nice to get back to it…after not doing it for so long. Had a job as a receptionist at a law firm, too. Dull work that was."
"Theater…oh yeah…that's where you pretend to be someone else, right? I could get into that, I think."
She spoke cautiously.
"It's actually such a mind game, because to do it successfully, you either have to be 100% comfortable with yourself, or not comfortable at all. There's no middle ground. It's a nice escape, though."
They talked in that manner for a while. She watched the bright red sun appear just over the orchards, and closed her eyes as her face was bathed in sunlight.
She inhaled deeply, and looked down at George, seeing his eyes were half-lidded.
"You need to make up that sleep."
"I know I do, but I'm worried."
She stood, taking the facecloth and wrapping her robe tight around her nightshirt.
"How about I whip you up a Draught, and I'll make us some breakfast while I'm at it?" She got up and opened the four-paned window, trying to ignore the now-conspicuous barren half of the room. There was dust collecting on Fred's old desk.
George sat up "Can I really say no to that?" He was surprised by how hungry he was.
"No, not really. How do peach muffins sound?"
"Peachy."
"That was awful." She giggled, going to the door and looking back at him. The sun cast his face into shadowed relief, and it alarmed her to see how dead his eyes really looked in the daylight. "I'll be back soon."
She eased her way down the stairs, amazed how she remembered which ones creaked. By the sleepy nature of the house, she wagered a guess that nobody was up yet.
She entered the kitchen.
"Fred, I swear to God, you so much as touch me with that, and I'll-"
He was chasing her around the kitchen table with a lit firework.
"George, help me!"
"It's not dangerous, I promise!" Fred roared, heaving with laughter as the firework whirred with high-pitched squeaks. George could barely move from laughing so hard. With a great lunge, Fred touched the non-burning part of the firework to Theresa's skin, and instantly, it erupted into brightly-colored gerbera daisies.
George collected them, grinning at Fred, and presented them to her.
"See?" Fred smirked.
She shook her head like a dog trying to get rid of water, and poked her wand under the teakettle, lighting a fire. Coffee would be a good start. She searched under the stove for a muffin tin and, finding one, filled the tiny molds with a thick batter that poured from the tip of her wand. With another flick, she set the kitchen knives to work chopping up a few peaches, and found the coffee in one of the cupboards. She magicked a few sausages into a fry pan, and they sizzled and popped in an appetizing manner. Her stomach growled.
"Theresa dear?" Mrs. Weasley had come in and given her a good morning hug.
"Oh! Hello Mrs. Weasley. I'm just making some breakfast for George."
"He didn't keep you up all night, did he?" She looked worried as she found the French press for Theresa and plunked it on the counter, eyeing the younger girl.
"No well, not exactly. We talked about other stuff. Kept his mind off things, you know?"
Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.
"At this rate he'll run you ragged by tomorrow afternoon."
Theresa was now summoning a cauldron to her and reading the directions for a Dreamless Sleep Draught. She thought before she spoke, adding ingredients and not taking her eyes off the page.
"I'm OK with it, really. I need to kind of still get assimilated as it is, and…it seems he's doing the same."
"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Weasley as she sat down at the table.
"I think he's starting to get used to the idea of not having Fred around."
Mrs. Weasley looked skeptical.
"Well, he's not really accepting it, but he's coming to terms with the reality. He understands that there's no changing the past at least."
There was silence as she conjured plates and mugs, and stirred the Draught. The muffins were turning a delicate golden brown in the stove.
"For a while, I thought he was going crazy." Theresa heard Mrs. Weasley whisper. "He didn't eat for two solid weeks, maybe more. Drank a glass of water every now and then to keep breathing. I'd find him close to hypothermia in the shower, sitting on the floor, shaking. He'd go on long walks and not come back till the next morning. Mumble to himself under his breath. He didn't smile for a year or two at least, I'm convinced. I can't stand seeing any one of my children like that, especially-" she hiccupped. There were tears in her eyes.
"And…and I miss him so much." She added as Theresa sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. "Every day."
"I can't imagine…"
"No, no one can until it's happened to them." Mrs. Weasley wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. "The death of a child is something I wouldn't wish on the worst people in the world." She looked at Theresa, silent for a moment, then gave her a watery smile. "They were my boys, you know? It's like I lost both of them…they used to make me laugh so hard I couldn't move. Now I can't move because I'm crying so hard."
"You might be the catharsis I've been looking for." She added quietly. Theresa opted for a change of subject.
"Would you like some coffee Mrs. Weasley? Or a muffin? I'm going to bring a tray up to George with the Draught and some food, but I made plenty for everyone."
"What? Oh! Yes, yes, that would be lovely. And you can just leave the leftovers on the counter. The others won't be up for a bit now, but they'll devour those the minute they see them."
Theresa poured a hot cup for Mrs. Weasley, and gave her a warm muffin.
"I'll be back in a few." She murmured to Mrs. Weasley as she put muffins, sausages, coffee, and the Draught onto a tray and carried it up the stairs.
She found George out of bed, and he was staring at the sunrise. When she entered, he turned to her.
She put the tray down and went over to him.
"Come eat." She whispered, grasping his shoulder. He looked down at her.
He encircled her with his arms, hugging her tightly and with much love. She rested her head on his chest. His heart was pounding. This embrace was full of purpose.
And when at last they broke apart, they sat on the floor and ate together, sunlight and fresh air bursting through the window.