There was something about the man that was familiar, but he couldn't decide what exactly it was. The man's face was rather nondescript, there was nothing particularly remarkable about his close-cut dark hair, but he was very broad in the shoulders and chest-- almost abnormally so. George watched absently as he moved past and away into the crowd.
It was a beautiful day, almost as warm as springtime, and Diagon Alley was appropriately crowded. He and Ron had taken their lunch break together and had met Percy and Ginny at Florean Fortescue's newly refurbished cafe. They sat at one of the round tables on the sunlit patio, eating ice cream while Percy proselytised on the impending Ministry appointments.
"... and can you imagine, Kingsley actually suggested that we hold elections! What are we, Muggles? This is solely a one-party system, and I..."
George tuned out again. Ron took a hearty gulp of his milkshake, catching George's eye and rolling his own in the process. Ginny was absently studying the melting pink ice cream in her dish, poking at its smooth surface with the tip of her spoon. George carved a chunk out of his sundae and crammed it into his mouth, his mind on anything but government reconstruction.
The barrel-chested man was back now, moving purposefully past a pair of stylish young witches laden with shopping bags. He stepped onto the patio and crossed slowly behind Percy, who was so wrapped up in the sound of his own voice that he barely noticed anyone. George watched with mild interest as the man edged past some young wizards and went into the ice cream parlour, where the sun glare on the window prevented him from seeing inside.
"George?"
"Huh?" he said, turning away from the window. "What?"
"Percy asked who you think should run the Auror office." Ginny said, nodding her head to where Percy sat, finally quiet, hands folded in his lap and looking interested.
"Oh, uh, how about Dawlish? Always on top of things, he is."
He sensed movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head.
The broad-shouldered man stood just beneath the shop's awning, blocking the entire doorway with his large frame. He moved his hand beneath his cloak, and in a terrible instant, George knew where he recognized him from. He jumped out of his seat, fumbling for his wand, overturning the table in the process. It hit the ground with a crash, and ice cream flew everywhere.
"George, what the--"
"Avada Kedavra!" the Death Eater yelled, as a jet of green light shot from his wand and into Percy Weasley's back.
"No!" George cried into the chaos that erupted, finally pulling his own wand from his pocket and pointing it directly at the cloaked man.
All around him, people were running and screaming and diving behind tables. Percy was slumped sideways in his chair, blank eyes staring down, and glasses only slightly askew. Ron was trying to drag him away from the Death Eater. Ginny stood next to George, wand out and ready as the man advanced.
"Expellia--" George called, but the man feinted to the left and blasted another horrifically accurate killing curse at Ron, who crumpled to the ground at Percy's feet. George's blood turned to ice in his veins as he stared, uncomprehendingly, down at the lifeless forms of his brothers.
"Avada Kedavra." Ginny said, low and dangerous.
Looking up, George was astounded to see her own wand issue a short green burst at the Death Eater, who ducked at the last possible second, surprisingly agile for such a large man. He shot one back, and George and Ginny dove apart.
He skidded across the patio, scraping his side and back along the pavement. It took him a second to get back up, shirt torn up and his skin scratched and bleeding. The Death Eater held his wand aloft and, too late, he realized his own wand was back where he had fallen.
"Stupefy!" Ginny cried, just as George yelled "Accio wand!"
He caught it and spun, just in time to see a green flash of light hit his sister full in the face.
She fell forward with a crash, bringing down another table with her. Amidst a chorus of glass dishes smashing against concrete, George let out a loud cry. He turned to the Death Eater, who was just steps away, and pointed his wand at him with such force that his muscles started to cramp. Every fibre in his body felt like it was on fire--
"George?"
A beautiful girl with long velvety eyelashes and dark crimson lips stood above him, a soft glow surrounding her like a halo. Her face was gentle, a look of concern clouding her dark eyes. Downy white wings were folded behind her. Wow, he thought, there really is such thing as an angel.
And then he saw that her hair was up in curlers, and the halo was an offensively bright recessed light, and she was wearing a dark green robe trimmed, inexplicably, in feathers. Then, he was sitting up and rubbing his eyes and realising he had been asleep in Paige's hotel room and the Death Eater in Diagon Alley had all been a bad dream.
"George, are you all right?"
"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep." he said, scrubbing the last traces of the nightmare from his eyes with his fist. "What time is it?"
"Going on five. Are you sure you're okay? You were yelling."
Still feeling disoriented, he shook his head. "Yelling? What did I say?"
She sat down at the end of the bed and began unwrapping her hair from the enormous rollers. "Well, first you were yelling for Ron. Then you said something like 'abracadabra', and then you just... yelled."
He watched as she took down her hair, running her fingers through the large curls as she worked. Something twisted in his stomach, his heart was still galloping in his chest, nad then the words were forcing their way out of his throat. "Fred died."
"What?" she asked, distracted, as she yanked on a roller that was stuck around a loop of hair.
"Fred died."
Her hands fell from her hair and she half-stood. The curlers tumbled from her lap onto the floor, rolling everywhere. "He... what?"
"Paige, Fred died. In May."
"Oh my God." she breathed, sinking back down on the bed, a hand pressed to her mouth. When she brought it down so she could speak, it was smeared with red lipstick. "How?"
George took a deep breath. "He was killed in the war--"
"The war?!"
"You-- you know about the war?" he faltered, confused.
"Of course. Was it... was it in Iraq?"
"Iraq?"
"Oh George!" She slid across the rumpled duvet, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "How... how did it happen?"
He wrapped an arm around her and used the other hand to pat her back awkwardly. "He was with Percy. They were fighting and... and there was an explosion. Part of a wall fell in, and onto him. Percy dug him out, and brought him into a niche. H-he stayed with him so that nothing would happen, but by the time Bill and I found them..." He trailed off when he realized that something warm and wet was falling fast onto his shoulder and trickling down his back. She was crying.
"You were there too?" she whispered.
"My whole family was."
She gasped wetly. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."
"You couldn't have known."
"Did… did they let you all come home, or did any of you have to stay?"
"We stayed until the battle was over. Then we all came home."
She took a shaky breath. "Oh, God. Then what happened?"
"Well, we buried him. In a little cemetery in the town we grew up in. It was… it was hard. But after a week or so, Dad went back to work. So did Bill and Percy. Charlie went to Romania, and Ginny went back to school. Ron moved in with me."
She tightened her grip around him. "Oh, George, I'm so sorry. I didn't have any clue that your whole family was in the army."
What exactly are they telling Muggles these days? he asked himself. "Not all of us were in the Army-- only Ginny, Ron, Fred and I. The others were just in the Order."
After a moment, she laid her cheek down on his shoulder and spoke against his neck. "I can't believe it. I had no idea. I'm so sorry, George." She pulled away from him and wiped at the black streaks on her face, where mascara and tears had rolled down her cheeks and chin.
"Thank you. I-- I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. It's hard for me to talk about."
"I can't even imagine."
There was a long silence. There was that look again, that look that he hated. But no, it wasn't pity. It was just sadness. Suddenly, she shook her head.
"Wow, I can't even believe it. The whole thing… it's so much like Saving Private Ryan."
"Like what?"
"Saving Private Ryan. Did you ever see that movie?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Oh, it's good. It's about these soldiers in World War II trying to find this guy named Private Ryan because his brothers--" she stopped abruptly, looking embarrassed. "Well, I'll tell you about it some other time. But doesn't losing Fred make you wish the war was over?"
"Over? I--"
"Yeah. Like, don't you want to just go up to your president-- well, I guess he's your minister-- and say 'look, jerkoff, my six brothers and sisters fought your dirty war and my twin died and still you send more people over there and for what?' "
It was then that George got the feeling that they were talking about two distinctly different things. "I never really thought about that." he answered cautiously.
She got up from the bed, crossing the room to study herself in the mirror. Their eyes met in the reflection, and she smiled sadly. "You're a good person."
"No, I'm not." After a pause, he continued. "You're going to be late."
She sighed. "I guess you're right."
He watched as she pulled the remaining rollers from her hair and tried to wipe at her ruined make-up with tissues, to no avail.
"What time is it?"
"Five-twenty." he replied, after a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table. Without warning, she sprinted towards the bathroom and shut the door. A second later, he heard the sound of running water.
Still feeling discombobulated from his dream and the divergent conversation he had just had with Paige, George got out of the bed and scooped up his shirt from the floor. Once it was on, he began the arduous task of trying to locate his socks. One was half-under the night table, and the other was, inexplicably, on the other side of the bed. Socks in hand, he sat back down on the wrinkled duvet cover and began to put them back on.
A few moments later, the noise of the shower cut off just as quickly as it had gone on. The bathroom door opened, and Paige emerged, wrapped in the absurd bathrobe and dripping wet. Her hair was wrapped up in a fluffy bath towel, and face was perfectly clean and make-up free, as he had never seen it before. He watched, amazed at how young she looked, as she hurried around the room, collecting errant rollers.
"What, what is it?" she asked, straightening up to find him watching her.
"You look so different without all that stuff on your face."
Rollers in hand, she made a face and headed back for the bathroom. He followed, only wearing one sock. "It's not a bad thing." he said, stopping in the doorway. She unwrapped the towel from her head and used it to wipe the fog from the mirror.
"Thank you." she replied, picking up a comb and going to work on her wet hair. "I look like I'm seventeen, though."
"So?"
Paige turned from the mirror. "So… you tell me."
"How about I show you?" he responded, stepping further into the bathroom.
"What does that even mean?" she asked, but she was still smiling.
The voice that sounded like Fred snorted loudly. That's what I was wondering, mate. "I have no idea." He shut the door behind him.
Barely half an hour later, he stood in the hallway outside of her room, watching as she locked the door and tucked the keycard into her outlandishly tiny black handbag before they started towards the elevator.
"We made good time. No thanks to you."
"I didn't hear you complaining."
"Nor will you." she said, stopping at the brass doors and pushing the elevator's call button. The brass doors slid open, and they stepped into the small space, carpeted in red paisley and covered in beige wallpaper heavily adorned with gilt-framed mirrors. He studied her reflection, all strapless dress and wavy hair and crimson lips. She caught his eye.
"You clean up pretty nice."
"You flatter me, George."
"Nah."
They rode the rest of the way down to the ground floor in silence. When the doors slipped open again, they were in the vast-- yet surprisingly quiet-- lobby. Soft music played from an unseen source, and he could see their respective destinations as they stepped off the elevator; hers, the swanky, dimly-lit refectory across the lobby, his, the exit door straight up the concourse.
She stepped off of the elevator and turned to him, an sort of awkward smile on her face. "I've had fun with you."
"Me too."
"Well…." She let the word draw out in silence.
"Are you planning on coming back?"
"Of course. I really like it here. Can I look you up next time I'm in town?"
"Of course."
She leaned forward to kiss him chastely on the cheek. In her heels, she was almost as tall as he was. "Good-bye, George."
"G'bye."
Then she walked away, towards the crowded dining hall. At the French doors, she stopped and turned, smiling at him once more. Something strange happened in his stomach then, but he ignored it, instead raising his arm and giving her a small wave. She returned it, and then walked through the doors. He watched until her red dress disappeared from view, then headed out of the hotel and into the street, already crowded with New Year's revellers. It took him longer than normal to find a dark alleyway from which he could Disapparate.
He arrived back at the flat a few moments later, not alltogether surprised to find the door unlocked and very loud conversation from above, clearly audible as he climbed the steps.
" 'ey, George!"
Ron, Harry, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and some dark-haired guy George only vaguely recognised from the halls of Hogwarts were sitting around the dining table, playing cards. Bottles and glasses of assorted libations littered on the tabletop and the sideboard. From the front of the flat, he could hear loud female laughter.
"Gentlemen." George said, tossing his coat on the sofa.
"Where've you been?" Ron asked, slamming a fan on cards down on the table with unrestrained glee.
"Out." he replied mildly.
"With who?"
"Nosy git, aren't you?"
"I thought you were going to Lee's?"
"That's my next stop."
"Oi, George, you want to play?" Dean asked, motioning for him to join them at the table.
"What are we playing? Exploding Snap?" He slouched into the empty seat next to Ron, pouring what he thought was gillywater into an empty glass. He took a swig, them promptly spit a fine mist of liquid all over the table. "What the devil is this?!" he yelled, coughing and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "It's vile!"
Seamus, who was already flushed, laughed rather hysterically. "It's gin!" he called, elbowing the black-haired bloke and motioning for him to hand George the jug from the centre of the table. "Here, try it with pumpkin juice. 's not bad."
"Anything would be better than that, it tastes like a Potions project Snape gave us once." George added some of the pumpkin juice to his glass, the brought it warily to his mouth. "I failed." With a deep breath, he tipped it back.
"Well, what d'ya think?" Seamus asked eagerly, watching for his reaction.
"Piquant." he replied with a grimace. "It's like pie with a firewhiskey chaser. Ugh." He set the glass down and pushed it away with one finger. "Okay, I'm in."
"D'you know how to play poker?" Harry asked.
"What the hell is poker?"
"Muggle game." Dean responded, sweeping the cards into a pile and handing it over to the dark-haired guy. "Here, Justin, you deal."
"No thanks." George said as he began to distribute the cards, passing his over to Ron.
"Oi, you prejudiced?" Dean said with a grin.
"Me? I'm from the biggest family of blood traitors this country's ever seen. I've got nothing against Muggles… I just think their games make no sense. You ever see that thing they call American football? I've never seen anything with more convoluted rules."
The bloke called Justin quickly distributed the cards. George watched, interested, as they ran through a few rounds, with Ron winning almost every time.
"We should have been playing for money." Ron said, once again laying down a hand of winning cards and tossing back a tiny glass of vile-smelling amber liquor in one mouthful. "I wouldn't have had to work for a week." Someone knocked loudly on the door of the flat, and Ron called loudly for them to enter. "Come on up!"
"Who else are you expecting?" George asked, listening to more than one set of footsteps on the stairs.
"Neville!" Dean called jovially, waving as Neville Longbottom entered the sitting room, a too-small knit hat pulled over his head and two scarves wrapped around his neck. Behind him, wearing a long coat, mismatched mittens, and a dreamy smile, was Luna Lovegood.
"Hullo everyone! Happy New Year." he said, sounding somewhat muffled as he began unwinding his first scarf. "Bit chilly out there."
The creaking of the office door and a chorus of excited hellos signalled that the female contingent had joined the festivities. In the frenzy of greetings that followed, George found himself being hugged tightly by one of the Patil twins before stumbling, quite literally, over Luna, who had been humming to herself while unbuttoning her coat.
"Oh, hello George." she said sweetly, pulling off one orange mitten and one lilac-coloured one and stuffing them into her pocket. "Is this your house?"
"Hi. This is my place, yeah."
"It's lovely."
"Thank you."
"Ginny tells me that your shop is doing very well. I still haven't gotten to see it yet. I came to Diagon Alley before Neville and I went to Costa Rica, but we didn't make it this far down. Is business good?"
"Er, yeah, it's great. How… how was your holiday?"
"Very nice, thank you. Daddy and I went to Kenya. We were looking for the Banded Bulbous Snarfblat."
"Oh yeah? Did you, uh, find it?"
"No, no we didn't, unfortunately. We did see giraffes, though. They were quite wonderful. And I'm sure I saw a hoopsnake on Christmas Eve, that was very exciting."
"Sounds like it."
"How are you getting along? Are you still very sad about Fred?"
In his mind, it was a warm afternoon in early May, and he was watching himself, in a too-bit suit of Bill's and an overly starched shirt, standing on the new grass that covered his brother's grave. Luna was there, scratched and bruised and sporting an old lady-style lace shawl, speaking in her breathy, lilting voice about listening for Fred's voice in quiet moments. He had heeded her words on countless occasions since that terrible day, and did find that, in odd instants, he could still hear his brother.
George regarded the present-day Luna with a serious expression. "I am, sometimes. And it's still hard for me to talk about. But there's times… well, I know I can go on alone, even though I don't want to."
She nodded solemnly. "That makes a lot of sense. Ginny and I have talked about this quite a bit. She is worried about you, you know. I told her that you are strong, but you should remember that you can talk to your family. They lost him too, and I'm sure they want to comfort you when you're feeling sad."
He stared at her, not knowing what to say. She spared him from having to, though. "It's been nice talking with you, George. I hope we can do I again soon. But if you'll excused me, I'm going to go tell Parvati that there's a wrackspurt flitting around her. I think it likes her gold barrette." With a friendly squeeze of his forearm, she crossed the room and was swallowed up by a gaggle of girls.
Shaking his head in bemusement, he slipped unnoticed into his bedroom, where he changed his shirt and ran a comb through his shaggy hair, arranging it to obscure the side of his head where his ear used to be. His fingers lingered at the place that hadn't been disfigured a scant sixteen months previous. It seemed insignificant, though, when he considered what he had lost in the past twelve.
Before he could get sentimental, however, he forced himself to rejoin the group in the sitting room. There were two groups again, one playing cards, one clustered around the Patil twins, who had taken out-- he did a double-take. Is that a scrying bowl?! he asked himself. A dishwater-blonde girl shifted out of the way, and he was able to determine that, yes, it was indeed a scrying bowl perched on the scuffed coffee table.
"Leaving without saying goodbye?" Harry asked, as George attempted to slide into the stairwell without drawing anyone's attention.
"Looks that way, doesn't it?" he replied with a grin.
"Well, far be it from me to call attention to this event."
"Well said by the man with the invisibility cloak."
It was Harry's turn to grin. "Happy New Year, George."
"Happy New Year."
He hurried down the stairs and, just outside the flat door, turned on the spot. A bare second later, he was standing on the doorstep of Lee's parents' tidy townhouse on the outskirts of a Muggle town some ninety miles north of London. Light spilled from every window, and he could hear music and laughter. Swallowing quickly in hopes of stopping the butterflies that were making circuits around his gut, he raised his fist and knocked firmly on the door.
Lee opened the door, looking much as George expected him to, with the perennial dreadlocks and a loudly-patterned shirt. His eyes widened, and a familiar smile spread across his face. "Well, look who it is. Come on in, mate. Hey, everyone!" he called over his shoulder. "George Weasley's here!"
A cheer rose from the crowd as he stepped into the house. Familiar faces smiled at him from every direction as Lee shut the door and clapped him heartily on the back-- many Gryffindors, with plenty of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, most from his year, along with some older and younger Hogwarts alumni in attendance. He felt like some of sort of celebrity, and even more so as people appeared from other rooms to say hello.
"Hey, George!"
"Good to see you!"
"Hey, Weasley, how's business?"
"Oi, we were taking bets on whether or not you'd put in an appearance!"
As he made his way through the crowd, smiling and waving and accepting handshakes, Oliver Wood stepped in front of him, sinewy arms crossed in front of his chest and an unwelcoming expression on his face. "Looks like I lost. I bet you wouldn't show." George was momentarily speechless. It was only when Oliver broke into a grin and threw his arms around his shoulders in a lung-constricting, masculine sort of hug that George found his voice.
"Merlin, Wood, what are they doing to you up in Puddlemere?"
"Not stopping me from sending owls to you." he said with a raise of his eyebrow.
"Maybe they're stopping them from returning with my many replies?" George suggested mildly.
Oliver tossed back his head and laughed, patting George on the shoulder as he did so. He tried not to flinch with each blow. "It's good to see you, very good to see you."
"You too. Happy holidays."
"Oi, same to you!" He stepped closer and dropped his voice. "I'm sure you get this every time you go out the door, I've been worried about you, George. How're you doing?"
"You're right, I do get that every time I leave the flat. But I've been all right. Busy."
"That's what I hear."
"George!"
A blur of olive green interrupted them at that point. It was Alicia Spinnet, who raced down the steps, the full skirt of her dress flapping like wings. She squealed loudly and leapt at George, squeezing him tightly and jumping up and down like a little girl on Christmas.
"Hi." he said, gently disentangling himself from her grip. "How've you been?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you! I was just telling Harry last week how much I've missed you. How are you?"
"I'm doing all right, thank you."
"Just all right?" She took one of his hands and was starting to give him sad eyes when Lee elbowed her.
"Come off it, will you? None of that tonight. Let the man enjoy himself if he wants to."
"Thank you." George said, more to Lee than to Alicia, though he smiled down at her. "I'm doing pretty good, most of the time."
She processed this. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. Would you like a drink?"
"Sure."
Alicia scurried off. George breathed a mental sigh of relief and turned to Lee. "Thanks Lee." he said simply.
"No problem. The way I see it, if you wanted to be sad, you wouldn't be here."
"So true. So, what've I missed?"
Lee shrugged. "Nothing too unusual. Ken Towler had a melodramatic row with his girlfriend about a minute after walking through the door; some gits from Ron's year showed up, trying to get people to play something called poker--"
"Oi, they're at my place now."
"Angelina stirred up a fuss, too," Oliver said, "showing up with--" He trailed off as the aforementioned Angelina came into view, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room. She crossed the room in a few long strides, sweeping George into a hug.
"I'm so happy you're here." she said, finally releasing him.
"So am I. You look... great." She did, in fact, look amazing, in a black-and-white patterned blouse and wide-legged white trousers. Her hair was hanging loose around her face, and her dark skin seemed to glow in the light.
"Thank you." she said with a smile. "It's great to see you."
"You too. How's Quidditch?"
"Oh, it's ace. I really adore it. I can't wait to get back out on the pitch."
"Yeah? When does training start back up?"
"The first of February. First match of the season is coming up in mid-March."
"Yeah, Ron got Ginny tickets for Christmas. She's excited."
"Oh, that's great! You should come too-- the opener's against Puddlemere." She stuck her tongue out at Wood, who returned it with a rude hand gesture. "It's bound to be a great match."
"Here you are, George!" Alicia had returned with a bottle of butterbeer for him.
"Thanks, Alicia." As he took it from her, he noticed a wiry, dark-skinned guy with short bronze dreadlocks. He stood alone by the wall, studying the wide-plank flooring and sipping at a glass of neon-green liquid. After a few moments, he looked up, and George recognized him almost instantly. "Isn't that Davi Bezerra? That chap they recruited from Brazil to play Chaser for the Pride of Portree?"
"It sure is." Alicia responded.
"What's he doing here?"
Alicia looked at Angelina and giggled. George looked from the shorter girl to the darker girl, who was blushing.
"I brought him. He's-- he's my boyfriend." Angelina said. Both girls broke into giggles as George looked from her to Davi, and then back again.
"But… isn't he young? Eighteen or so?"
"Seventeen." she replied, and her face became even redder. "You wouldn't know, though." Again, high-pitched titters, and then she waved her arm to catch Davi's attention. He looked over, and she motioned for him to join them.
"Hi." He joined Angelina, Alicia, Lee, Oliver and George. "Your floor is very nice. I think that's Brazilian wood." he said to Lee.
"Thanks. I'll tell my folks."
Angelina placed her hand lightly on her boyfriend's arm. "Davi, this is my friend George. We played Quidditch together at Hogwarts. George Weasley, this is Davi Bezerra."
"Angelina has told me a lot about you." Davi said, shaking George's hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."
"Likewise." George said. "I mean, most of my information on you comes from the Quidditch reports in the newspaper, but... Well, it's nice to meet you too."
The rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly. George spent most of the evening talking Quidditch with Davi, who turned out to be very friendly. Alicia, Angelina and Katie had also convinced him to dance with them (after a good glass or three of firewhiskey), after which he staunchly refused to approach the dance floor again. People drifted up to him every now and then, to say hello and ask after him. Very few people looked at him strangely, and everyone who spoke of Fred was very kind and respectful. He accepted a good deal of condolences, but, all in all, Lee's party was much more successful than he had anticipated.
At a few minutes to midnight, he was sitting on one of the overstuffed armchairs in the Jordans' sitting room, listening to Katie Bell relating a story about Professor McGonagall's transfiguration class from their fourth year. Alicia was perched on the arm of the chair, holding his hand in her lap.
"… and then he says, "no Professor, that's not the case at all. I did know that was going to happen.' You should have seen the look on her face, it was classic! And I thought Fred was going to wet himself!" George laughed, clearly remembering the look on McGonagall's face as well as his brother's bout of conviviality.
"Oi, come on, everyone." Lee said, vaulting over the back of the sofa and landing between Katie and an auburn-haired Ravenclaw alumnae named Linda. "Turn on the Wireless, it's almost time for the countdown."
Angelina, who was closest to the Wizard Wireless set, turned it on, filling the room with the sound of Malachi Redbone's Enchanted New Year's Eve, which had been on the air every December 31st for as long as any of them could remember.
"We're just about a minute away from midnight now, from that magical time known as the witching hour. I'd like to ask everyone listening in at home to join us in thanking The Weird Sisters and Celestina Warbeck for their performances this evening.
"Let's observe a moment of silence now for all of those we've lost in the past twelve months, most especially those who fell in the war against Voldemort."
In the silence that followed, Alicia's warm hand closed tighter around George's. All around the room, everyone's heads were bowed. He squeezed back, quickly.
"Thank you." The smooth voice of Malachi Redbone spoke again. "Let's check our official clock… and it looks like we're about twenty seconds out now. I'd like to thank our sponsors, Quality Quidditch Supplies, located at number 31, Diagon Alley. Visit them today and see the newest Cleansweep.
"All right, witches and wizards, we're about twelve seconds away now-- join me in the countdown at ten--"
All around Lee's house, the guests joined in the chant.
"Nine!"
"Eight!"
"Seven!"
"Six!"
"Five!"
"Four--"
Author's Note: Stupid work. I really wanted to update last week, but, due to career ridiculousness, I barely have a paragraph complete for the tenth chapter and that gives me anxiety. Plus, I started another story, of which I have two chapters (in about ten minutes, there'll be three) up. They're short, though.
So, OMG, pop culture references-- this chapter's got 'em. Who can name one? And who noticed that I completely ignored canon in the beginning of the chapter, with the mention of Iraq? Sometimes I can't help but use a bit movie canon-- i.e. the story takes place in the present day instead of 10 years ago, Oliver Wood looks like Sean Biggerstaff, etc. Anyway, sorry, it just sort of came together like that. I'll tell on myself if it happens again. You tell me if you notice other stuff-- I forget details sometimes, and, what with the RDR/Rowling trial, I try not to spend too much time on the HP Lexicon. I keep expecting it to disappear.
Mele kalikimaka (yeah, I know it means Merry Christmas) to the delightful HP fans who reviewed my last chapter-- it had the most I've received for a chapter yet! Woohoo! So, thanks to: Amaherst, mommato2beauties, respitechristopher, Gray Eyed Beauty, Hyperlily, cinroc, Heart of the Phoenix, and Waffleninja. I will hum your praises all through the next week.
