Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.


At sunrise, the sun's rays pierced an opening in the curtains of George Weasley's window and slapped him in the face. 'I want bigger curtains.' was George's first thought of the day as he slid his legs over the edge of his bed and rose to his feet. When his vision finally achieved focus, his jaw dropped for a second.

He had almost finished a greeting before his expression of shock vanished. He had thought for a moment that his twin brother was standing right before him, but he was mistaken. He balled his fingers into a fist and struck the mirror, feeling a quake of shock through his arm and a cold breeze tickling his bleeding knuckles.

He growled at the crumbling glass that once taunted him, but then heard a delicate whimpering that cleaned his mind of all violent thoughts. He turned quickly, his eyes fixing on the top bunk of his bed and spotting a pair of gleaming golden eyes which were twitching with fear.

"Don't be scared," urged George. "I won't hurt you. It's just that... say, how old are you?"

"Nine," managed Helinora, her calm and clear manner of speaking winning out over her fear.

"I won't lie to you, I've lost my twin brother in the war, and I'm not quite over it. When I saw the mirror, I thought it was him, and when I realized what it was, I got angry."

"Oh," Helinora's tense tone softened. "I'm sorry for you."

"Thanks," said George with a weak smile. "How about breakfast?"

George held out his arms to help the young Centaur girl, but she hopped past him gracefully, stuck a perfect landing, and turned to smirk proudly at him. George offered a small applause and took her hand, knowing she'd still need help with the stairs.

"Yes, please," said Helinora. "Do you know, the stars foretold of twin heroes bequeathing an instrument of the Dark Force's destruction to the Hero of the Age when the Black Knight mounted the White Horse."

"Er—really?" George hesitated. "Oh, yeah, that was about five years ago."

As he guided her to the door, it shot open quickly and another red-headed Weasley burst into the room looking quite peeved, with his short, neat red hair somewhat frazzled.

"I'll no longer be tolerating any tomfoolery and racket in this house," huffed Percy before halting at the sight of Helinora. "What on Earth—MERLIN! Merlin's... Merlin's... His—"

But before Percy could name a garment severe enough to express his shock, George rapped him on the shoulder.

"Pipe down!" hissed George with a scowl.

"That's—it's a Centaur, but—but how?" breathed Percy.

"Blimey, Percy, it's a long story, just ask Hermione," said George impatiently before he turned to Helinora. "This is Percy, he enjoys long walks on the beach and cuddling in bed with his book of Ministry Rules and Regulations."

With a soft laugh, the Centaur girl turned to Percy. "I'm Helinora, nice to meet you."

Percy offered a curt nod while shooting a narrow-eyed glare at George, and took Helinora's other hand to help her down the stairs.

They were greeted in the kitchen by a spread of breakfast dishes over the large table, each more appetizing than the next. They were also greeted by a flurry of gasps and shrieks at the sight of the Centaur girl.

"Bloody boot, it's just a Centaur!" whined George while making his way to the table and pushing a chair that would have belonged to Ron out of the way so that Helinora may stand in its place. George eyed the plate of thick bacon in front of him longingly as Helinora turned to the crowd.

"My name is Helinora, and I'm a Centaur of the Deralon tribe. I was attacked by a werewolf—imagine my surprise, Mars had waned—and my fellow Centaurs knew that the werewolf infection would interfere with my reproductive abilities. My existence is pointless if I cannot bear children, you see."

"No it isn't," said George. "That's a load of Centaur rubbish."

"Perhaps," said Helinora. "But as I can no longer reproduce, I've been sentenced to death. At my execution, Ron saved me and brought me here."

A few moments' silence passed, with Ginny, Molly, and Arthur looking horrorstruck.

"Where is Ron?" asked Mrs. Weasley through sniffles.

"Ronald's run off into the night yet again," growled Hermione coldly as she stepped into the kitchen, followed by an exasperated-looking Harry.

"Try to see it from his perspective," groaned Harry in a tone that told everyone it was the fifth or sixth time he'd said it. "He doesn't want to hurt us."

"Oh yes, he's quite the saint, isn't he?" Hermione scoffed.

"What's happened to your hand?" asked Ginny, gripping George's hand which was crusted with blood.

"Well..." mumbled George, his expression changing drastically. A *crack* sounded through the room as he Disapparated on the spot, taking his plate of bacon with him.

"He punched his mirror," explained Helinora, and judging by the looks she was given, she knew she didn't have to explain why.


Glancing toward the pale azure of the afternoon sky that barely penetrated the grimy windows of the Hog's Head, George Weasley sat in his usual seat at the bar, consuming a shot of thick amber liquid.

"Give me another," grunted George to the grizzled barman.

"You don't need another," said Aberforth before snorting and spitting into a trash bin.

"Just give me another. I've got the money, give me another."

"Look, I'm not very good at this emotional guidance shit, but I think you ought to stop being such a wuss."

George's head slowly rose as he glanced at Aberforth who gave him a serious nod.

"Maybe you're right, I should go," said George before he Disapparated in his chair, leaving a few sickles and a startled Aberforth behind.