Hi guys! Sorry it's been a few days, I originally planned to put this one up yesterday. As always, reviews are wonderful :) Enjoy the chapter!
Romera
"Well, it's late," Slate said abruptly. George was startled.
"But…you haven't told me anything. About what I need to do."
"We will," Dex said, brushing George's shoulder with his own as he passed. George stood up hurriedly.
"Tomorrow? Are you sure that won't be too late by then?"
Dex started to laugh, but Slate silenced him.
"It won't be too late," He said curtly, and turned his back. "Romera will help you to your room," He said over his shoulder, jabbing a thumb at Romera. She grinned and tossed her long hair over her shoulder.
"Come with me," She said smoothly, taking George's hand. George followed her up the stairs. His eyes drooped and he felt sick to his stomach. He barely knew what was happening. Romera led him up a creaky flight of stairs and took him to a bedroom at the very end of the hall. The room stood completely on its own; when George turned to look at the hallway, he had the feeling that he was entirely alone.
"What's the matter? Don't you like it?" Romera asked, tilting her head and widening her eyes at George. She had big eyes and a round, innocent face; but the dark curtain of hair gave her a mysterious look.
"It's…it's fine," George said. "Are you sure I can't start today? They just need to tell me what I need to do. I can get started tonight." But his eyes were already half-closed, and he swayed with exhaustion. Romera smiled.
"I like you," She laughed. "You're funny. I can tell."
George looked up at her quickly. No one had said that to him since Fred died. He suddenly saw himself through her eyes; the person he used to be. Always happy. Always smiling. He wanted nothing more than to be that person again. Romera laughed again.
"What? You look surprised," She purred, putting a hand on George's chest. George backed into the room, shaking his head.
"Nothing. It's—nothing. Thanks for…for showing me up here, I suppose," George said uncomfortably. He glanced around. "It's…very…roomy." Romera smiled slyly.
"It was my pleasure, Georgie," She whispered. George shook his head.
"Don't call me that." Romera backed off for a moment, narrowing her eyes at George. He could feel her evaluating him in those dark eyes of hers.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Romera sighed after a moment, wrapping her arms around George's chest. "I must have forgotten."
"Please," George said softly.
"I just want to help you feel at home. I lost someone in the battle, too," Romera said sadly, playing with the fabric of George's shirt. "A sister."
"I'm sorry," George said softly. Romera was still watching him intently.
"I know it's hard," She continued airily. "I know that you must feel alone sometimes." George didn't know what he was doing. Romera slid her hands down the front of his chest, to his stomach.
"Don't you trust us, George?" She asked, playing with the hem of his t-shirt.
"I don't know anymore," George said desperately. "I'm so tired of not knowing. I just want to forget everything, just for a few moments."
"I wanted that too," Romera breathed. She slid her hands around his waist. "I know what it's like. My baby sister…gone…"
George watched Romera toss her curly hair away from her eyes.
"You want to forget everything? Just for a moment? I can help you with that," Romera purred. She shut the door behind her with her foot and laced her fingers through George's hair. George closed his eyes. His stomach was twisted in knots; he felt sick. Ashamed. Torn.
Romera's fingers slipped down from George's face, to his chest, his stomach, and to his jeans.
Suddenly, the voice in George's head spoke up. George's eyes snapped open. He grabbed Romera's wrists and pushed back from her.
"No. No. Not tonight." He said fiercely, breathing heavily. The voice in his head was still yelling. Romera pursed her lips.
"Okay, George. Not tonight." She snapped her wrists back and opened the door behind her with a bang. "Enjoy the room, Georgie," She said, briskly walking to the doorway. Before George could breathe a sigh of relief, she paused.
"If you ever need anyone…I'm here." When George glanced up again, she was gone. The corridor was once again deserted. George sank down onto his bed and rested his head in his hands.
The voice in his head was Fred's. He somehow knew that.
George took out his wand and rested it on the table next to him.
As he fell asleep, he heard his mother telling him the story. He felt Fred next to him, kicking him under the sheets. He heard Ginny down the hall, giggling as Ron played with her. The sounds of his old life surrounded him.
But George had never felt so alone.
George woke with a start. He could barely remember where he was. The room he was in creaked—it seemed to rock, back and forth, back and forth. With a wince, George remembered last night. Slate. Dex. Romera.
Romera.
Did that really happen?
George felt like a different person. He rolled off his bed, and suddenly felt his arm seize up. He shouted before he remembered why it was burning; the word was red like fire on his pale skin. Fred. George grabbed his arm and bit his lip to keep quiet. He rocked himself back and forth, like a mother trying to soothe her baby, trying to take his mind off of the pain. He didn't know who could be listening, or who could be just down the hall. The pain subsided after a few minutes and George let go. Long, red finger prints were left on his arm over the word.
George pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and stretched the sleeve down as far as he could over the cuts. He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the full-length mirror in the corner of the musty room. With a deep breath, George wrenched open the stiff door and entered the hall.
He stepped quietly; carefully, hoping not to wake anyone. But as he neared the stairs, George realized everyone was already awake. They sat around the counter in the kitchen, talking lowly. When George slinked into the kitchen, the talking stopped immediately.
"Hey there," Slate said, grinning the same crooked grin as when George met him a day ago.
"Morning," George muttered. There was a silence.
"How'd you sleep?" He heard a smooth voice behind him and felt Romera brush his arm as she passed, smiling coyly over her shoulder. George opened his mouth, but his voice cracked.
"Fine," He said, clearing his throat and trying again. Romera smirked.
Another silence.
George was painfully reminded of the thick tension at the Burrow.
"So, er…you never finished telling me…" George struggled with the right ending. Dex laughed.
"That's true, Slate. You gonna finish talking to this guy? So we can get him his twin back?" Dex asked harshly. George narrowed his eyes slightly; he knew that he didn't like Dex. He had a severe face and a cruel voice. But he was with Slate, who had promised…who had promised…
"Sorry about that," Slate smiled at George. The scar wrinkled. "Where did we leave off?"
George hesitated; he wasn't sure whether this was a trick.
"Harry. Er, Harry Potter." George blushed. He wasn't used to using the last name. Harry was a friend, after all. Slate raised his eyebrows.
"Ahh, yes. Harry Potter. You're his friend, is that right?"
"Right. Well, he's my brother Ron's friend. But yeah, I've known him for a while, if that's what you mean," George babbled nervously.
"And what else did we talk about last night, George?" Dex piped up from across the kitchen.
"The…the Elder Wand," George said, eyeing Dex.
"That's right. Now, these two things have something in common," Slate said, moving across the kitchen slowly. "You know what it is?"
George shook his head. Slate smiled and put down his mug of coffee.
"Want something to eat, George?" He asked, changing the subject. George was caught off-guard.
"I—no, I'm good. What about the wand? Will it bring…him back?" George asked impatiently.
"You sure? You're looking pretty thin," Slate observed through his cloudy eyes.
"I'm sure."
"Suit yourself," Slate remarked, and turned his back to George.
"Please!" George snapped, losing his patience. "Please, just tell me!"
"All right, then," Slate said, turning back around. "You're very determined, aren't you?"
George just nodded.
"Harry Potter has the Elder Wand," Slate slinked closer to George. "It's his. He owns it."
George nodded again and knitted his eyebrows.
"And…you need the wand," George said slowly. Slate raised his eyebrows and lifted his head slightly.
"Smart boy," George heard Romera purr from across the counter, but he didn't dare look at her.
"So…you need Harry. Because he has the wand."
"Exactly."
"Are you sure that he still has it?" George asked doubtfully. "I mean, what if something was to happen to it?"
"Oh, nothing's happened to it," Slate said confidently, but glanced over George's head at Dex, who cleared his throat and looked back down at his paper.
"You see, when Harry defeated Voldemort, he had all three of the Deathly Hallows. Including the Elder Wand. Without it, he wouldn't have even been able to survive."
George nodded. "So he must have the Elder Wand. And you know this for a fact?"
"George," Romera said suddenly, lifting herself from the table. The hem of her long, silver nightgown coiled to the floor. "This is your twin that we're talking about. Your best friend. Your Fred." George felt his throat tighten. "Don't you want to bring him back?"
"Of course I do, but…I just was wondering…" He glanced back and forth between Dex and Slate.
"Wondering what? George, you are wasting time. Every minute you stand here asking questions, Fred is slipping further and further away from us."
"Remember the mirror?" Slate asked, staring down at his coffee mug. George inhaled sharply, remembering Fred falling into the darkness.
"Is that what you want?" Romera continued. "For it to be too late? And for it to be your fault? Do you want that, Georgie?"
George didn't even bother to correct her; his throat was tight, his eyes stinging, but he refused to let himself cry. He wouldn't. Not anymore. He looked up at Slate, who stood tall over the kitchen counter. Then at Dex, who neatly folded up the paper, briskly walked to the other room, and tossed it in the fire. Then at Romera, who stood dangerously close to George.
He knew something was wrong.
But George thought again of that empty shop, dusty and lonely in the narrow streets of Hogsmeade. He thought of his family; of his mother, who hadn't stopped crying for months. He thought of what Fred had said to him before their first Quidditch game.
"I dunno, Fred, look at it outside! It's pouring, and did you see that lightning?"
"You doubt yourself too much. Just play like you always do, and it'll be fine."
"Okay. Just promise me that you won't do anything too stupid. I mean, I'm all for doing stupid things, but this time…"
"You think too much, Georgie. We're going to be fine. We always are."
He looked again at Slate and nodded his head.
"Tell me what I have to do."
