Chapter 20-Confessions of a Sweater
"So," Oliver says, gazing at the boxes of fireworks sitting in the storefront, "what happened earlier?"
"Huh?" I ask absently, stacking several cauldrons of Do-It-Yourself love potions together on a shelf.
"Why was Angelina upset?" he asks, frowning.
"No clue," I lie. He frowns again, and I can tell he knows I'm lying, but he doesn't push the matter. "How's Katie?"
"It's official," he says grimly, waving his wand at a box of napkins that actually turned your face vivid colors when used. "Locomotor Napkins," he says hastily, pointing his wand at them, and the packages flew around to an organized stop on the table.
"My mum can do that, all organized and stuff," I say, admiring his handiwork. "I've not got an eye for detail, she says, so I can't do it that well. What's official?"
"I'm going to be a dad," he says, and he ducks just in time as a bewitched Snitch flew past. He grimaces as it catches him on the ear. "Stupid git," he mutters. "Whose idea was it to bewitch them to fly straight at the Quidditch players?"
"Lee's. Not sure about it yet, it would be bad if one somehow got into a Slytherin's hands, they'd use it against everyone. We thought it'd be some fun for, ah, sibling rivalry. Maybe we should background check all Hogwarts customers," I say. "You should make me the godfather," I add, glancing up at him as I straighten the feather on a Headless Hat.
"Yeah, right," he says with a snort. "I'll probably never see the kid, anyway, we broke up last night, and her brother's a very powerful wizarding attorney. He'll make sure she gets the kid, no matter what. Scourgify," he snaps, pointing at a dusty cauldron.
"Bummer. You know, I think we could open up tomorrow."
"We need a sign," Oliver sighs. "Like a big, flashy neon one."
"Eh. Bill has some friends who specialize in advertising. You should try to make things up with her. At least so she doesn't hate you enough to keep away her kid from his dad."
"His? Personally, I'd rather have a daughter, only because I know being a son kind of sucks. At least, it did for my family." He sounds uncharacteristically bitter. "You know how Katie is. Real determined to do everything her way. I'm surprised she even wants to keep it. I think she doesn't want anything to do with my name anymore."
"Keep it? What do you mean?"
"Her mum's Muggleborn, and that woman has this sister who can get rid of your kid for you." He frowns at a black top hat. "What the hell is that?"
"Muggle magic tricks," I answer. "Get rid of your kid? How does that work?"
"I don't know, some kind of operation, but essentially you go in pregnant and come out not pregnant. I think they kill it. Something Muggle, I don't know much about it." He looks sick to his stomach. "Thing is, I kind of want a kid. Not now, mind you, shitty timing, but you know, I want a family."
"Yeah, I understand." I reach up and catch one of the jinxed Snitches.
"Life is shit," he says angrily. "It's a load of bullshit that your brother's dead-he was only what, twenty?-and Percy's got cancer, and he's about my age, only what, twenty-three? Dammit," he adds vehemently as he accidentally elbows something over.
"Yeah, I know," I say, releasing the fluttering ball.
He's not done with his rant. "And then that bitch treated Jackson and Fulvia so much better than all of us because they were Slyths!" I think he's forgotten I'm here, because I've never heard him mention much about his family. "Ellie was the best of us, too, but she was just a goddamn Ravenclaw, Mum didn't have to notice!"
"Oliver?"
"And then when I was in the Order, we had to deal with listening to Jackson the whole time with his snide remarks about how Benjy was too young to be in the Order and how Amelia was too sick to do anything! Good riddance to the whole lot of them!"
"You don't mean that," I say sharply.
He rounds on me, eyes full of rage. Then he takes a deep breath. "No, you're right," he says at last. "I didn't." He turns away to lift a large crate of color changing potions, and I'm surprised he does it without magic.
"We need more staff," he says after a long, painful silence.
"Ron's unemployed. He can come and help us. We've got enough in Diagon Alley, I think. I'll leave Lee in charge there."
"A promotion," Oliver says, and despite the seriousness of our previous conversation, he flashes me a grin. "Lee will enjoy that."
"Yeah," I agree, feeling a bit guilty I hadn't talked at all to Lee for a long time. "How's he doing?"
"Good, I guess. He talks about his daughters all the time. They're sweet," he says, his voice dying, and I know he's thinking about his own unborn child. He shifts nervously, bouncing on the balls of his feet, before saying, "Think us and Ron can handle the whole store tomorrow?"
"Maybe," I say doubtfully. "We can open at noon. Ron and I will want to visit with Percy before we come. Who all do we have working in Diagon Alley?"
"Lee, Io, Verity, Faulkner, Atlas, Phobos, Deimos, Jodie, and me."
"Phobos, Deimos, Atlas, and Io can transfer here," I decide. "I'll send an owl before we leave."
"Admit it, George," Oliver says, a slightly troubled look on his face. "You don't want to work with Verity."
"So?" I demand defiantly.
"Nothing," he says at last. "It was weird talking to Fred after I found out. I guess I know how you feel."
"You knew back then?" I sputter. "You knew before he died?"
"I knew before he did," Wood retorts. "She came straight to me."
"I didn't know that."
"I'm sorry," he says wryly, "that I never gave you ever last detail from the past year."
I sigh. "I'm sorry. I don't want to-not after what happened to Percy. She didn't tell him any of it, and he..."
"How is Percy?" Oliver asks, sounding concerned. I remember they had been in the same year at Hogwarts.
"He's..." I trail off. I'd went to see him after Angelina and I had talked. His skin had been slightly yellow with jaundice, gray rings around his eyes, which was odd. There's not much to do in the hospital but sleep, so if he was staying awake with pain... He'd been awake for a while but he'd dozed off by the end of the hour. I'd went to talk to a Healer.
"He's got liver cancer, terrible thing," Healer Whitaker had said in a low voice, her eyes dark with worry. "Not very good odds, not good at all." She shook her head. "If he doesn't show improvement by Monday, we're moving him to a Muggle facility. They've got something we don't-treatment for their own diseases."
"Is he going to live?" I'd asked.
"I don't know," she admitted after a very long pause.
Now the memory was haunting me. I shake my head. "He's not well," I say gruffly.
Oliver nods. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You didn't do anything to him. He might have to go to a Muggle place for treatment."
"What kind of cancer does he have?"
"Liver cancer, stage one, I think."
"I had leukemia," Oliver says. "Stage one isn't fatal. Hell, I met this guy who had stage four."
"Oh," I say lamely. For some reason I'm reluctant to tell him about the engagement, so instead we keep setting things up for tomorrow. It doesn't look near as impressive as our Diagon Alley store, mostly because Fred had handcrafted a lot of the stuff. Fred had a thing for charms. He could do the most difficult spells. Potions, on the other hand, were my thing. Snape had never given me a failing grade, and one of my three O.W.L.s had been in his class. Together, with our skills, we had successfully created one of the most popular stores in the Alley. It's not the same without him.
He's staring at me intently, and I have the uncomfortable hunch that he's reading my mind. No, not reading it, Mad-Eye had told us. Legilimens. Occlumens. You can't read the mind, only see its thoughts.
Either way, I don't want him knowing what I'm thinking of. He might see January and I, and he'd give me hell for that. Or worse, he might see that hot ball of rage and grief and guilt inside me, burning and burning, and he won't have anything to say about it.
I shut my eyes. "Tomorrow."
"Okay," he says, matching my quiet tone. "I'll be here at eleven-thirty. Do you want me to send owls to Phobos, Deimos, Atlas, and Io?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," he says, and he opens the door and leaves. I watch him from the storefront as he heads down the main avenue of Hogsmeade. Then I head upstairs to my tenement. I know I should get things for staying at the Burrow another few days. I should stay till Monday, at the least. Percy wasn't there any longer to keep them company, and while Ron's staying now, he won't be forever.
Instead I lie down on the couch, feeling selfish and tired. I want to sleep. I need to sleep.
But I can't. I have to go home before Mum freaks out. I pack a suitcase of clothes and come across old sweaters Mum had made for both of us. Mine is red with a yellow G. Upon further investigation, I find Fred's, hung up in the closet. His is yellow with a red F.
I feel the tears run down my face before I realize I've started crying. They boil and burn on my cheeks. I put both sweaters in my suitcase and slam it shut before I start falling apart. I sit down on the couch, trying to pick up the pieces again. I knock over the thing nearest to me-a lamp. It shatters in my palm, slicing the skin open. I yell as blood drips down onto the carpet, pain searing up my arm like my blood's boiling. My hand's bleeding badly and I doubt I'll be able to hold a quill for at least a week. I go to the bathroom and wash it off in the sink. Maybe someone as experienced as Mum could fix it, but I couldn't. I run water over it, watching it run down the drain as a pink fluid.
Fred. I wonder if he'd ever lashed out in his anger like this. But then, in the Quidditch match when we'd both been forced to resign, he would've ripped Malfoy apart if Angelina, Alicia, and Katie hadn't been holding him back. I wonder if he'd ever foreseen this happening. Me hating him. Percy, possibly terminal. Mum, on the brink of suicide daily.
No, he couldn't have seen any of that. But he had to have known it would not go over well to learn he had fornicated and a son-a nephew-had been the result. I stare down at the red. It's still bleeding and shows no signs of stopping. With my good hand I find a box of gauze in the medicine cabinet and wrap my hand up tightly.
I go through the rest of the closet and find eight other sets of matching jumpers, all labeled with our names or letters. I don't remember bringing them here after his death, but it's possible one of the others had done it. I feel tears spring to my eyes every time I look at one. Fred and I had always made sure our clothes had corresponded. I cram them all into my suitcase and leave as quick as I can. I head to the post office and write a letter to January, asking her to meet me on Sunday at the cafe and another for Diagon Alley. I tie them to the owl and watch it go before Apparating to the Burrow.
Ron glances up. "Oh," he says. "Hey." He sniffles and wipes his nose.
"Where are they?" I demand, looking around. No one else was to be seen.
"Hospital. They're moving Percy early. He started coughing blood again." He sniffles again, and suddenly I understand why.
"Why are you here?"
"Don't want to go," he mumbles. Because there's the possibility he might see another brother die. I shut my eyes.
"Where are they moving him?"
"Somewhere in Albania. There's a huge wizard hospital there."
I sigh. "Is he dying?" I'm dreading the answer.
There's a huge pause. "I don't know," he says at last.
Percy can't die. Despite all the teasing Fred and I had given him, he can't. He needs to hang on. I don't want to go to another funeral within three months of the last. I don't want to see another burial. I don't want to have to pick out anymore headstones. I run upstairs like a coward and slam the door of my room shut.
Oliver was right. Life is shit.