Chapter 29—Gone
Fred remembered the nightmares he'd had during his six month stay in St. Mungo's. Sometimes they were vibrant, sharp, with a story to tell, and sometimes they weren't—just fuzzy, incoherent thoughts and fears, twisting together to plague him while he slept; the metallic smell of blood and sounds of people screaming and a wall in the distance rumbling in collapse replaying over and over until he woke up sweaty and feeling more exhausted than ever.
Even after he'd come home, they'd continued, but eventually waned and were replaced by sleeplessness. The amount of nights he'd stayed wide awake staring at the grey ceiling of his bedroom quickly became outnumbered by the nights he'd swing his legs over the bed and roamed the flat. He'd taken to pacing; not necessarily out of nervousness or anxiety, but out of the sheer satisfaction he was awarded with from walking. Simply walking. Big ugly feet on the cold wooden floor, his every toe memorizing the feeling of every wood grain. Two in the morning, three in the morning, sometimes until sunrise. Appreciating the feeling of walking, and knowing he was probably worrying George sick the entire time.
But he'd been told he wouldn't walk again, so every pajama-clad step he took in the darkness was doing what Fred and George loved best: proving the naysayers wrong, and doing what they were told couldn't...or shouldn't...be done.
And so the pacing continued, and Fred found himself laughing at the thought that it was a shame the shop was below their flat instead of another inhabitant, because he would have loved to rattle some chains and moan as he walked around, relishing in sick satisfaction that he'd be terrifying the downstairs neighbor there was a ghoul living above them.
So it shouldn't have come as a surprise in the least to Fred when Ava's nightmares began, but expecting them didn't make them any easier to watch.
After all, you can expect the worst all you want, but it doesn't make 'the worst' any less shitty when it comes.
He knew their morning of terror on the island would come back to haunt her: the fiery explosions, the sheer terror of being chased through the woods like prey being hunted, the wizard she'd shot and killed, the odd floating bits of nature surrounding them, Audrey, Dakota, and Fox, all while the steely grey storm swirled in the sheet of cloud above them.
He was determined to keep them both as busy as possible, furiously trying to convince himself a tired mind would be a dreamless mind. And for a few nights, it actually worked: he'd enlisted Ava's help in preparing the shop to finally re-open after the Merryweather attack that had almost destroyed it, and alongside himself, George, Lee, and Verity, she did what he'd hoped for: she kept busy, and came to bed exhausted.
But it was about a week after the Order meeting when it first happened. Fred was in somewhat of a restless sleep himself; thankfully void of nightmares but hovering somewhere between awake and unconscious.
There was a stirring movement beside him.
It wasn't the familiar jostle of a toss or turn, or the mattress dipping and depressing for a moment as Ava would get up for some water. No, it was a continuous movement, back and forth, back and forth, repeating until one of her legs kicked his and jolted him fully awake.
She was asleep, but her legs flailed forward and backward as she desperately ran in place.
"Ava," Fred murmured, propping himself up on his elbow and rubbing his eyes.
She was laying on her side, her back facing him, and her shoulder rose and fell rapidly with frantic, uneven breaths.
"Ava," he said, louder this time, and squeezed her shoulder.
She let out a little gasping sound and muttered something inaudible, her eyelids fluttering wildly.
"Wake up, wake up!" Fred urged, shaking her a little.
Her eyes flew open and were glassy for a moment as the dream melted away and she was greeted with the dark bedroom around her.
"You were having a nightmare," he murmured, leaning down and kissing the side of her head. Her left arm rose from her side and her hand gripped his upon her shoulder. He moved closer to her, holding her against him for the rest of the night, but he was almost certain she didn't fall back asleep.
But the nightmares only worsened, and Fred found himself desperately waking her on a nightly basis, his heart sinking at the sight of her unconsciously plagued by invisible terrors.
Three nights after the first incident was the worst that it got. Fred stayed awake, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, waiting patiently for the dreams to start.
Ava was laying on her back, and her hands suddenly twisted; her fingers curling claw-like and digging into the mattress. Her breathing became hurried, ragged, and she began crying out in the inaudible dream language again, murmuring and whimpering and groaning as her facial features screwed up together tightly in worry and fear.
"Ava, wake up," he began softly, sitting up to lean over her. It was a practiced routine now; waking her too suddenly seemed to result in even more terror but he had to be firm enough to get through to her.
She whimpered again and he passed a hand through her hair, rubbing her scalp a little.
"Ava, come on love, wake up," he said, leaning close to her ear and rubbing her hair again.
She awoke with a start, jumping in place, her breath catching in her throat and making her sputter a little.
"Fred," she panted in his ear, her chin in his neck.
"Mm," he hummed back, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, pressing her chest up against his.
The sound of crickets chirping carried in with a breeze through the open window, and Ava's breathing became steadier, slower, more even. The warmth of it passed over his neck, and something stirred inside of him. And for the first time since the night in St. Kitts, he made love to her, and then again right before the sun rose, banishing away all memories of fear and pain that had plagued her dreams for the past few nights with kisses along her collarbone and holding her so tightly against him, he swore their two bodies temporarily melded into one.
But—as it had exactly happened to Fred four years ago—once her nightmares stopped, the restlessness and sleep evasion begun.
They were close to the re-opening of the shop now. Fred and George were finishing up some new products to debut, and Verity and Lee were having near-daily passionate arguments about interior decorating and color schemes and displays. The twins found themselves often separating the two in the fear of them coming to blows and afterwards, having a laugh about it all, but Ava seemed distracted; she was quiet and often staring into space or rifling through papers she brought down with her from the flat.
It was one night that Fred rolled over, his arm outstretched to sling over where her body should have been, when instead, he was met with a cold, empty spot on the mattress.
He sat upright, listening hard in the darkness, and heard a slight creaking accompanied by some shuffling sounds from down the hall.
Fred sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and quietly making his way to the doorway. Guilt sank inside of him like stones in his belly; is this what he'd done to George for so long, for so many nights? Interrupted his sleep and left him worrying, wandering through the flat in search of him and observing him from the shadows?
He reached the end of the hall and froze in place, watching her. Ava was in the middle of a slow, mindless pace around the sitting room, making laps around the couch and lamp and coffee table over and over again. She wore nothing besides underwear and one of his t-shirts, her bare legs illuminated in the golden light of the lamp and then swallowed by shadow again as she made her rounds. She was holding a stack of papers again, up close to her face, and her brows were furrowed together as she read.
As she chewed on her bottom lip and turned a page over, Fred revealed himself from the dark hallway and strode into the dimly lit room.
"What are you reading?" he demanded loudly.
Ava jumped in place as though someone had burned her, stumbling over her own feet and promptly careening into the coffee table. Her shin met its edge with a solid whacking sound, and her eyes bulged, the papers leaving her hands and fluttering to the floor gracefully.
"What the—holy shit, Fred," she gasped breathlessly, leaning down and cradling her calf, wincing in pain. "What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?"
He chuckled to himself at her clumsiness, shaking his head and taking a few steps forward.
"I wasn't sneaking," he said, bending down to start collecting the sheets of paper layering the floor. "Is there a better way to greet someone pacing around in the dark at, what-" he paused to squint at the clock mounted on the wall "-three in the morning?"
"Give me those," Ava muttered darkly, suddenly forgetting all about her leg pain and darting forward to snatch the papers from Fred's hand. She held them closely against her chest and scowled at him.
They frowned at one another in silence and stillness for a few moments before they both suddenly sprang into action; Fred nearly dove across the room with his arms outstretched, desperately reaching for some additional fallen papers arranged across the area rug, and Ava was at his side, pathetically shoving his shoulder with hers. They were suddenly on all fours, side by side, scrambling around and clawing at each others hands, fighting like toddlers.
"Give-me-those!" Ava panted through gritted teeth, tugging the papers from Fred's hands.
"Not-a-chance!" he panted back, and yanked harder. The force from his tugging sent her sprawling across the floor on her belly, and Fred jumped to his feet, dancing backwards away from her.
"Ha!" he said triumphantly, but Ava's stubborn streak was in full force; she sprang to her feet like a frog leaping from a lily pad and just about tackled Fred.
He barely stumbled in place; he was already about ten inches taller than her, and she shoved her thin frame against his, crying out in annoyance.
"Fred!" she whined as he held the papers high above her head, laughing hysterically.
"Avaaaa!" he sing-songed back, waggling the papers up even higher, like making a dog jump for a bone.
Scowling deeply at him, she bent at the knees to give herself one big leap, the tips of her fingers clutching at the edges of the papers and ripping them on the way down. They both froze, staring at one another blankly and each holding jaggedly ripped halves of the papers.
"Fred, wait-" Ava started as he quickly brought the tattered sheets up to his face to read what he could. But she sighed loudly in abandon, crossing her arms on her chest and watching uncomfortably as he read.
After about a minute, Fred looked up, and held his arms out at his sides.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he questioned her, and shook the papers in his left fist. "What's the point of this?"
"Stop," she whispered, looking away ashamedly. She rested her chin on her shoulder and avoided his gaze, staring determinedly into the kitchen.
"No, you stop," he countered, stepping forward until he stood directly in front of her. He shook the papers again. "Where did you even get these?"
"They're yours," she whispered back weakly, her voice tight and eyes shining with oncoming tears as she still looked away from him. "Back from when you looked up my name in the library. I found them all scattered under the bed."
"What were you doing under the bed?" he cried, brandishing his arms.
"Looking for monsters," she shot back sarcastically, rolling her eyes and finally looking at him. "I was just sweeping, okay, and I came across them-"
"So why are you pacing around reading them at all hours of the night and desperately defending them like they're some sort of contraband?"
"Why are you giving me the third degree like I'm some kind of criminal?" Ava cried out in return.
"What the shit is the third degree?!" Fred roared back.
"Stop raising your voice at me," Ava said in a warning tone, staring at him with a hard expression.
Fred paused, and suddenly became self aware of his wildly beating heart, the ringing in his ears, the warmth on his forehead. He let out a long, deep breath from his nose. His bloody temper. Again.
"I'm sorry," he said, a lot softer, and tossed his half of the papers on to the squishy brown armchair inbetween him and Ava. A black and white, slightly grainy photograph of Fox in high school graduation garb smiled up at them. "But really. Why are you sneaking away to read about Fox in the middle of the night?"
"I wasn't sneaking," Ava said, repeating his words from only a few minutes earlier with the smallest of smirks. "I just couldn't sleep, and...and..."
"And?" Fred pressed, raising a single eyebrow.
Ava made a loud, frustrated guttural sound, tossing her half of the papers down as well and shrugging exaggeratedly, letting her hands rise and fall against the sides of her thighs. "I don't know, Fred, okay? I don't know. I guess I just can't stop thinking about the girl-"
"The bitch," Fred quickly interjected, pointing to the side of his head where a patch of his red hair was shorter than the rest, but she continued immediately as though she hadn't heard him.
"I just keep thinking that Fox—and that isn't even her real name, her real name is Annie, Annie Wu..." Ava was suddenly rambling, her thoughts disheveled, staring at the ground and pacing again. "Annie was a person, you know? A real person before all of this happened, just like me. And I've been thinking this whole time that she's been most likely dead, and now she's not, she's brainwashed and doing magic and just wrong all around, apparently teaming up with Merryweather and promising me revenge-"
"Ava, come on," Fred said, surprised at his own voice. It was gentle, soft; deep and threaded with concern, sounding more like a loving murmur than a command. It was the same way he woke her from her nightmares, he realized. And now, as he watched her frantically pacing and babbling, he wanted nothing more than to do exactly that. Wake her from the nightmare she was in the middle of.
Ava, wake up. Ava. Ava.
"And part of me hates her for becoming what she has and part of me pities her, and part of me hates myself because I know she wouldn't be like she was if it weren't for me leaving her behind, and now I can't stop thinking about Callaghan as well because I know they must have done the same to him-"
"Ava," he said, firmer, stepping closer slowly.
"And I've just been sitting here reading and reading all of these articles, all of these reports and interviews with her family and friends and track coach about how awesome she was and how much they miss her and how empty they feel without her, and I think about her now and I find myself wishing I'd rather her just be dead than be the crazed Merryweather she is now-"
"Stop!" Fred said it loudly, finally completely closing the distance between them and placing his hands on Ava's shoulders. He shook her just slightly. "Stop it! Stop talking about her, stop reading these, just stop! Stop doing this to yourself!"
"Why?" Ava whimpered back, looking up at him. The hysteria had bubbled forth from her eyes all at once; her cheeks was pink and soaked with tears and her face was contorted in hopeless despair. Her shoulders shook underneath his hands as a sob escaped her, and then suddenly, her legs were weak, failing beneath her as she sunk to the ground. Fred gripped her upper arms tightly to keep her steady but sunk along with her, kneeling in front of her under the dim light of the lamp.
"Why? Why should I care what happens to me, when everyone around me is getting hurt, when everything I've touched is damaged, why should my pain matter more than Callaghan's, more than hers-" Ava gasped through sobs, hugging her abdomen, squeezing her eyes shut and rocking back and forth.
"Because I love you, okay? Because I love you." Fred said the words loudly, shaking her shoulders again and dipping his head down to try and see her face with his. But she was inconsolable; she collapsed into a heap, seemingly deflating, her face coming down on his thigh and soaking through with her tears.
Fred's eyes were staring past her, looking into the corner of the sitting room but not really seeing anything at all. He just concentrated on holding her crushed form against him, one arm wrapped around her back and the other petting her head softly as she wept. He didn't soothingly shush her, he didn't tell her not to cry, and he suddenly realized he never had, just as she never had for him. They'd always just let each other let it all out; together in the Hogwarts corridor after he'd shattered his knuckles upon the wall and together now on the floor beside the coffee table and lamp. They'd never tried to stem the flow. They'd let the floodgates open for the other person, let the levee break, but stayed strong and steady and surrounding the entire time. A Citadel.
"Because I love you," Fred repeated again, leaning down to murmur it into her ear. He didn't repeat it because he needed to hear her say anything back and he didn't say it because she needed to hear it. He only said it because he felt it, truly felt it.
And that's why he loved her, after all. She made him finally feel things.
"Because I love you."
The day before the grand re-opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the shop was almost empty and nearly quiet. Verity and Lee had been sent home, as all the work was finished, and Ava was upstairs in the flat making dinner.
George sat on the first landing of the freshly painted staircase, his elbows resting on his knees, waiting for Fred to return from the storage room. He wrinkled his nose; the whole shop still smelled a bit like paint, actually—the old color scheme of orange and magenta was gone, and everything had a new, exciting gleam to it, bathed brightly in cobalt blue and canary yellow.
"Did you get lost?" he called out over his shoulder, tapping his foot impatiently. "She'll be here any minute!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" came Fred's voice, immediately accompanied by the sound of a slamming door and shuffling footsteps. He appeared around the corner of the staircase, his hair tousled and an oddly random array of items in his arms: a thick roll of Muggle bubble-wrap, a box of their newest invention, Bird Call Beans, and a bottle of red wine.
George raised his eyebrows and held out his hands expectantly. "Well, I can't wait to hear the explanation for this."
Fred chuckled and lowered himself to sit beside his twin, placing the three items in the space on the landing between them.
"This," he started, patting the roll of bubble wrap, "is from Neville. The poor bloke keeps a dozen of these hidden under the desk in his office at Hogwarts."
"May I ask for what?" George asked slowly.
"For when the students are being little shits and stressing him out. See?" He grasped a handful of the wrapping in his fist and squeezed tightly until it emitted several loud crackling sounds. "Satisfying."
"Very," George muttered back, popping some of the bubbles between his fingers as well. "But what'd you bring it out here for?"
"In case Skeeter makes me murderous and I need to do something with my hands other than wring her neck," Fred responded without pause, shrugging. "And this," he continued, touching the box of Bird Call Beans, "is for if she actually wants to do her job and interviews us about the re-opening, maybe asks if the public can expect any new products."
"And you got the wine for what? Using it as a weapon and cracking it over her head if the bubbles don't de-stress you enough?"
"I got the wine because I was thirsty," Fred retorted, lopsidedly smirking and winking at his twin. He tapped the bottle with the tip of his wand and the cork rocketed out the neck with a pop, bouncing across the floor and rolling behind a display table.
"Cheers," Fred murmured, drinking straight from the bottle before passing it to George and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
It was silent for a moment as George tilted his head back to take a swig.
"I told Ava I loved her."
George promptly choked on his wine, his eyes bulging and gasping for breath as he slammed the bottle down on the landing platform.
Fred furiously thumped his twin on his back. "Get a hold of yourself!" he commanded, slamming his palm between George's shoulderblades.
George shook him off after a moment, holding a hand to his chest. "You—you what?" he gasped.
"For the love of Merlin, you'd think I just told you Lee and I were eloping," Fred snorted, taking another drink of wine and rolling his eyes. "You heard me. I love her."
George nodded, still struggling a bit to catch his breath. He cleared his throat loudly. "And...and you told her?"
"I did. Four times, in fact," Fred replied, leaning back with his palms against the platform, tilting his head and admiring Verity's artwork on the ceiling high above them. It had been painted bright yellow, and in cobalt blue calligraphy were the words, 'The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.'
"Four?" questioned George. "What happened the first three times? Did she have her hands over her ears begging you to stop talking?"
"You're a prick," Fred said, smacking George's arm but grinning nonetheless.
George sniggered back and helped himself to more wine. "Erm...on another note...have you seen...have you talked to Percy?"
Fred raised his eyebrows so astonishingly high they disappeared into his fallen hair across his forehead. "That was a seamless change in subject, Georgie. Bloody fantastic. Well done, very graceful, thanks for that."
George grinned sheepishly and held his palms up in a surrendering pose. "I'm just curious is all. We haven't really had a chance to talk about it, mate."
"Yes, we did."
"No, we didn't. You dragged me into the toilet as Ava and Angelina slept at the hospital and begged me to take your place as Head. That was about the extent of it."
Fred sighed heavily. "Let's not do this now, alright?"
"We don't have to do anything at all," George said, clapping his twin on his shoulder. "But you should talk to him."
"He doesn't want to see me," Fred muttered.
"He'll see you."
Just at that moment, the sound of the front door to the shop swinging open met their ears, the little suspended bell that was charmed to sound like wild hyena laughter echoing around the room loudly as the door clicked shut again.
"Oh Christ, she's here," Fred whispered darkly, bringing the wine to his lips one final time and chugging deeply.
"Should've brought something stronger. Whiskey," George whispered back hurriedly, gripping the edge of the landing platform with his fingers and leaning backward as though he was expecting some kind of sudden velocity.
The twins shrunk back, cringing together as the sound of footsteps neared. But the person that appeared around the side of the enormous Bird Call Beans display wasn't who they were expecting.
"You're...you're not Skeeter!" exclaimed Fred breathlessly, springing to his feet. He jumped down the small set of stairs and nearly tackled the pudgy man wearing plain grey robes, looking to be somewhere around his late twenties, his thin ashy blonde hair prematurely balding.
The man stumbled backwards slightly in surprise as Fred embraced him as though he was embracing an old friend.
"Um...hello," the man offered, patting Fred's back gingerly and looking to George in fear he would embrace him too.
"I've never been so happy to see someone in my life!" Fred declared, squeezing him harder.
"Are you in love with him too, Freddie?" George teased in a delicate voice, and Fred released the reporter to offer his twin two identical rude hand gestures.
They chuckled together as Fred came back to sit on the staircase platform, a dreamy, relieved smile still washed over his face, and George Summoned a chair that came whizzing around the corner and shoved itself behind the man's knees, making him bumble over his own feet a bit before letting himself fall into the seat.
"So you were expecting Skeeter?" the man asked in a deep baritone voice that didn't quite match his face. He patted the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and chortled. "The name's Paylor, Mark Paylor. I'd say nice to meet the both of you but we've already met."
The twins exchanged baffled glances, and Mark laughed again, waving his hand dismissively. "Hufflepuff, I was in my seventh year when you two were in your third...I was the one who had to be sent to the Hospital Wing after the Dung Bomb incident."
Fred and George, still clueless, continued staring for a moment until George spoke up.
"We became particularly fond of Dung Bombs in our third year, mate, you'll have to be more specific than that."
Mark visibly gulped. "You two, erm...you stuffed the Hufflepuff Christmas goose with Dung Bombs before you left on holiday break. I...bit into one."
The twins made an interesting facial expression then; it was the same one they made when their mother screamed their names in a threatening manner.
"Oops," George muttered, shrugging sheepishly.
"Ooh, you were the one that-" Fred started.
"Projectile vomited all over the back of Professor Flitwick's head, that's right," Mark finished for him, but he was grinning. He waved his hand again. "All in good fun though, yes? I see the pranking business has worked out well for you two." As he spoke, he reached in his robes and extracted a roll of parchment and a stubby, blue-grey quill, both of which gently rose into the air and poised themselves.
Fred and George simultaneously sighed and let out some light, relieved laughter. Mark was harmless; and his Quick Quotes Quill was a lot less threatening than Skeeter's. Their interview went on for only about twenty minutes, and carried more like a conversation rather than an interrogation.
"Two more things," Mark said at the end, holding up two of his fingers, "and then I'll be out of your hair. Firstly: besides the fabulous new color scheme, are there any surprises the public can be treated to with the grand re-opening?"
Fred and George grinned together.
"Good thing you asked," Fred said in a peppy voice, clapping and rubbing his hands together. He reached behind him and produced the striped box of Bird Call Beans, the package cleverly disguised as Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He held out the box to Mark and shook it a little. "Have a bean."
Mark raised a single eyebrow. "Are those Bertie's?"
George shrugged exaggeratedly. "Who knows?"
Fred imitated him, his shoulders nearly tickling his ears. "We certainly don't."
Mark huffed and puffed a little, shuffling his bottom in his seat. "Alright, alright. In the name of journalism," he muttered, and plunged his chubby hand into the box, bringing it back out with a grey and white heather-patterned bean pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He eyed it suspiciously for just a second before hurriedly tossing it into his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut in dread as he chewed and swallowed.
"Well?" asked Fred.
"What do you think?" asked George.
Mark smiled, looking relieved, and opened his mouth to answer.
"Hooo."
The twins immediately exploded into laughter, leaning backwards and practically rolling around, clutching on to one anothers arms for support.
"What was that, Mark?" Fred asked, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Hoo. Hoooo!"
"Alright...give..." George trailed off, cracking up into peals of laughter again and struggling to sit upright. "Give him the reversal."
Fred dug around at the bottom of the box and pulled out a tiny velvet pouch, opening the mouth and shaking out a single bean, which was clear as glass.
"Here," he said, tossing it to Mark.
It looked as though Mark's lips formed the word 'thanks'.
"Hooo."
He devoured the bean amongst continued laughter from the twins, and licked his lips, furrowing his brow as though he was concentrating very hard on speaking correctly.
"Well...done."
Fred and George applauded, and Mark offered them a good-natured smile.
"Bird Call Beans," Fred announced, tipping the mouth of the box towards Mark so he could lean forward and look inside. "Makes the consumer speak in nothing but the corresponding bird call for one hour, or until they eat the reversal beans." He pointed into the box as Mark's quill furiously scratched on the floating parchment. "The turquiose and green one is Peacock, the shiny black one is Raven, the brown and white one there is Turkey-"
"What's that one?" Mark asked, pointing to a rather threatening looking bean. It had bold stripes of black, scarlet, and white.
"Ah," George replied, leaning over to see and smirking mischievously. "That's a rare one. Found in only one in a dozen boxes."
"It's Woodpecker," Fred followed, "but it doesn't make you emit bird calls."
"What does it do?" Mark asked suspiciously.
"Makes you furiously smack your head into trees," George replied simply.
Mark threw his head back in laughter. "No...no really, boys...what does it do?"
The twins stared at him solemnly.
"We're serious," they chorused together.
The smile faded from Mark's face a bit as the Quick Quotes Quill continued dancing upon the parchment merrily. "Well then, one last question and then we're finished," he said, dabbing at his face with the handkerchief again. He looked back and forth between the brothers, leaning in to address them directly.
"For both of you: to what do you attribute your success?"
Fred and George paused before they answered, sliding their gazes over to one another and locking their identical eyes, their identical mouths forming identical smiles.
"My brother," George said quietly, nodding to Fred.
"My brother," Fred responded the same, nodding back to George.
Mark was clearly satisfied, nodding heartily and smiling triumphantly as he pocketed his quill and parchment.
"It was nice speaking with you two," he said, shaking both of the twins hands.
Fred and George stood and stretched, their arms high above their heads and yawning lazily.
Mark paused before the front door, his hand on the knob. "Quick question for you two," he called out in a curious tone, and the twins made their way around the display table to face Mark.
"If you so desperately didn't want Skeeter to be the one to interview you, why didn't you make that a term upon your interview?"
George blinked once. "Come again?"
Mark chortled and shrugged. "Well...you could've sent an owl back to the Prophet agreeing to the interview, but only if Skeeter wasn't the one doing it."
Fred grinned. "But where's the fun in that?"
Mark simply smiled, nodded once, and exited the shop, the wild hyena laughter from the bell echoing throughout the quiet.
"I have a brilliant idea," George suddenly announced, whirling around to face his twin. "Call me crazy but I think we can present one more new product tomorrow. But we'll have to pull an all nighter, what do you say?"
"I say yes, but let's do dinner," Fred pointed his index finger at the ceiling, gesturing towards the flat. "Then we'll do it, but I have to go somewhere first."
"Where?" George asked curiously.
Fred sighed heavily. "St. Mungo's. I'll give Percy a go."
George clapped Fred on the shoulder. "Good on you."
They walked to the stairs together and began making their way up towards the flat.
"What's she making? Smells good."
"Pot roast."
"I'm going to tell her I love her cooking. Four times."
"Oh, shut the hell up."
Fred was rarely nervous to do anything, but as he stood in front of room #62 in the Intensive Care Wing, he found himself rocking back and forth on his heels, adjusting his clothes, playing with his hair, and just generally biding his time.
He raised his fist to the door, then lowered it, then raised it again, gritting his teeth as he pounded it twice and then quickly took a step backwards as though the door would bite in return.
"Who is it?"
Percy's voice.
Fred cleared his throat, his stomach in knots. "It's...It's me!"
"Whose 'me'?" But there were footsteps coming closer and closer to the door, and just as Fred was considering that this was a terrible idea and measuring just how long the hallway was and wondering how far he could sprint before Percy got to the door...it swung open.
The brothers didn't quite know what to say to one another; Percy's expectant look on his face looked sort of frozen and Fred looked like he'd just been threatened by his mother again, shrinking away and his face screwed up in dread.
Percy spoke first. "Hello."
Fred raised and lowered his hand pathetically before shoving it deep in his pocket. "Hi."
More silence, until Audrey's voice called out from somewhere behind Percy.
"Whose there, love?"
Fred and Percy's eyes locked; Fred found himself despairingly cursing himself and wishing he'd thought of what to say sooner.
"It's Fred," Percy said quietly with an award-worthy poker face. And he backed up slowly, taking the door with him and opening it wide.
Fred was burrowing holes in his pockets deep enough to travel to Argentina with as he peered into the room nervously. All of the windows were open, sunlight and breezes streaming through, and the bed was neatly made and pushed up against the right wall, longways, as though to give the center of the room as much space as possible.
And there she was, shoulders straight and neck long and graceful even in her current state—Audrey, in a wheelchair, hair done and her blouse neat, a blanket draped across her legs and baby Lucy in her lap.
"Fred!" she said brightly, and the genuine smile spread across her face nearly broke Fred's heart. "Come in!"
Fred took wide, slow steps into the room, sending Percy a weak half-smile as he passed him.
"Hi Audrey," he said in a near-whisper, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
She returned the gesture, even reaching around to touch the back of his head lovingly with her free hand.
"Lucy," he said with a smile, acknowledging the baby with a tap on the nose. She giggled, drooling happily and bouncing a little.
"I thought you'd be the Physical Therapy Witch," Audrey said. "She's due to bring me for my session any minute now."
"Want me to watch Lucy for you when you go?" Fred offered.
Audrey shook her head, some of her brown hair falling from behind her ears as she did so. "She comes with me. So I can learn how to do everything I would normally do, just seated. And Lucy's such a good girl for Mummy, isn't she?" Audrey spoke brightly, as though she was talking about normal day-to-day activities, and began tickling Lucy on the belly.
"Knock, knock," came a voice near the doorway.
Fred turned and was instantly washed over with the sensation of deja-vu; the witch standing in the door frame was none other than Healer Rachelle—the exact woman who'd given Fred his physical therapy sessions during his stay four years ago.
Rachelle smiled widely. "I was wondering when I'd run into you, Fred."
"Rachelle," Fred said with a surprised laugh, and crossed to the room to greet her with a hug. She wrapped her arms around him in return and nearly crushed him; Rachelle was freakishly strong and wasn't afraid to show it. He'd spent numerous days absolutely hating her, despising her, seething at the very sight of her—she was a pusher, and a damn good one at that. Fred would fall while learning to get out of bed himself again and, after checking to make sure he wasn't hurt, Rachelle would patiently wait for him to stand up on his own; he'd drop the glass of water he was practicing holding to regain grip strength and she'd hand him a broom and dustpan and wait for him to clean it up himself. He'd spent so much time gritting his teeth to avoid cursing at her, wondering what good she was if she made him fend for himself—but it wasn't until the end, the day he stood from his bed and walked to the other side of the room without falling and gotten himself released, that he realized how truly wonderful she had been. He often wondered if he would have recovered half as quickly as he did if it weren't for her.
"You know each other?" Audrey asked curiously, still smiling and her head cocked to the side.
"Oh, Fred absolutely hates me, don't you Fred?" she roared, swinging her arm and pounding him on the back so firmly he nearly tipped over.
"She's a monster," Fred agreed, grinning at the Healer and winking.
Rachelle let out a bark of laughter. "Fred nearly killed me during his stay after the Battle. I basically taught him how to wipe his own ass again and got on every last one of his nerves doing so!"
"Quite a visual," Audrey said softly, blushing a little but grinning widely in return.
"Well come on, Aud, time to go!"
Fred vaguely wondered for a moment why Percy wasn't coming around to wheel his wife out of the room, until he saw it—Percy's hands were gathered in fists at his sides, his knuckles white and his fingernails digging into his palms. Audrey placed Lucy in the center of her lap, her back against her belly, and she concentrated hard, the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she placed her hands on each of the wheels and turned herself, steering her way out of the room.
"I'll see you soon, Fred?" she asked as she passed him, her wheelchair squeaking slightly as she glided by. She had asked him; it was a request, with hopefulness in her tone. She wasn't making an empty 'I'll see you around' type promise. She was asking him to make the effort to visit again.
"Yeah, you'll see me soon."
She smiled brightly, reaching up to squeeze Percy's hand as she passed him before exiting.
Rachelle saluted, one hand on the door knob, nodding to the brothers before she swung the door shut behind her.
Four. Five. Six. Seven. Fred counted the seconds he and Percy stood there in silence, before finally thinking of something to say.
"Rachelle is brilliant," he offered, vaguely gesturing to the closed door. "If there's anyone whose going to help Audrey, it's her."
Percy replied with a single curt nod, avoiding Fred's eyes.
"I saw...I know how badly you wanted to help her out of the room," Fred said softly, watching his brother's face and waiting for him to finally look up. "George used to do the same, you know. I'd fall, he'd rush to help me and Rachelle had to physically stop him. The two almost came to blows a few times." Fred chuckled at the memory. "But yeah. She's amazing."
Percy released a long stream of air from his nose. "Audrey's been learning quickly. Rachelle had her make the bed today," he said, nodding to the corner.
Fred looked over his shoulder, feigning deep interest in the bed. "Nicely done."
"Yeah."
"Perce,-"
"Sit, Fred." Percy was pointing to the window seat. "Sit down."
Fred cleared his throat awkwardly as he made his way over to the seat, settling into it as Percy lowered himself into the armchair beside it.
Another six seconds of silence passed between them before Percy finally spoke.
"I'm not angry with you."
Fred stared into his hands on his lap. "Ron said-"
"I wasn't ready to see you then. I didn't know what to say. But I'm not angry, and I never was."
"Alright."
Percy bent his arm at the elbow, bringing his hand to his mouth to gnaw on his knuckles for a moment as he stared out the window, where the sun was beginning to set. "I know that this—this is my punishment. My karma, if you will."
Fred's head snapped up. "What?"
Percy continued biting on his hand for a few more seconds, his legs crossed and the suspended foot jiggling incessantly in anxiety. "This is my punishment for what I let happen to you."
Fred made an odd noise; it was somewhere between a choking sound and a single laugh of disbelief. "What are you playing at, Perce?"
Percy let his hand fall from his face back down on the arm rest, and finally looked over to Fred, addressing him directly. "When you—when we were in the hallway, on the seventh floor—when the wall came down." Percy was usually incredibly collected, but now, he was fumbling to simply string his words together. "I—I think I could have saved you. I never told you that."
"Perce, come on mate, it was an accident-"
"No, no, I know that," he interjected back, waving his hand dismissively. "I know it's not my fault the bloody wall came down on you in the first place. But...after the hole was blasted through, and you were knocked to the ground...the rubble was only covering your legs, Fred. You hadn't been buried yet. You remember?"
"Yes," said Fred in a tight voice. This was probably his least favorite subject to talk about. Ever.
"Well, I—I-I stood there!" Percy's voice was suddenly forceful, a declaration. "You were laying there with your legs covered and you were screaming, and I saw the wall wobbling...and I froze."
Fred stared at his brother,expressionless, simply blinking a few times and waiting for him to continue.
"I sort of just...I don't know, watched it happen! And I don't know why, I don't know why I froze, but I probably could have stopped it and I didn't-"
"Percy." Fred interrupted him there, saying his brother's full name loudly and slowly, leaning forward to get closer to him in the armchair. "I'm going to give you a swift smack across the face in a second. You're babbling. Just shut up you prat, please."
Percy's face was carved from stone for only a second before he burst into laughter, hearty and round and heartfelt, his eyes squinting and nearly all of his teeth showing, the orange glow from the sunset outside illuminating his pale face and neck.
Fred let out a couple breaths of laughter along with him, patting his hand for a second before settling back into the windowseat. "Perce...you're not being punished for anything, mate. If karmic punishment for past deeds were a real thing, don't you think George and I would be homeless beggars on the street by now for all the hell we've raised?"
Percy chuckled again. "Alright, alright. Good point."
Fred released a long, deep breath, shaking his head and looking out the window. "You weren't the one who pushed the wall down on me, same as I wasn't the one who put the bloody bullet in Audrey."
"I'd like to find the coward that did," Percy said in a quiet but surprisingly dangerous voice.
Fred nodded. "He's dead. Dakota killed him."
"How is he?"
"Dakota? He lost an eye and half his face but, erm...he's doing surprisingly well, I'd say." Fred grinned. "He hit it off with Gabrielle."
Percy raised his eyebrows. "Fleur's sister?"
"Oh yeah. From what I hear she's been going to see him everyday."
Percy chuckled in disbelief. "Fleur with Bill and now her with one-eyed Dakota. Those girls loved their scarred men, don't they?"
"Seems like it."
There was another silence between the brothers then, as they both sat quietly watching the sun settle down into the horizon, but this one wasn't as loud.
A little boy had his face pressed up against the glass window of the shop, his features smashing against the glass and giving him the appearance of a pig.
"Lee!"
But Lee had seemingly lost his sense of hearing; he was too busy admiring his reflection on the back of some metal shelving.
George leaned further over the railing; he and Fred were on the second floor catwalk of the shop making sure everything was in order, while their friend remained on the ground floor.
"Lee!"
Lee jumped suddenly as though startled, and whirled around wildly until he spotted the twins above him.
"What's up boss-man—er, men?"
George pointed down to the window, where the boy and now a couple of his friends were all crushed up against the glass.
"Can you bear to tear away your eyes from your own reflection for just a moment to cast a Fogging Charm on the windows?"
Verity was clearly heard snickering from the third floor walkways above.
"Right on it!" Lee called out as he strode to the window, whipping out his wand. "But you have to admit I—we look all pretty smashing, eh?" He cast the charm, much to the little boy's dismay, and spun in place, holding his arms out and showing himself off like a peacock ready for a mating ritual. "Good call on the change in uniform, you two."
George grinned back down at his friend, rolling his eyes, but glanced sideways to Fred.
"I won't say it to him, because his ego's about to burst as it is," George muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "but we do look absolutely killer."
Along with the magenta and orange color scheme being exchanged for canary yellow and cobalt blue, their uniforms had been changed completely as well—gone were the magenta robes with the triple W orange stitching; they'd been replaced by slim-fitting blue suit pants with a bold yellow stripe going down the side of the leg, with a crisp yellow button-up, the sleeves rolled to the elbows and the triple W stitched across the breast in blue.
George watched as Fred had absolutely no reaction to his words; he was peering around distractedly and kept letting his eyes drift up to the third floor walkways above them.
"Hello?" George said in an obnoxiously shrill sing-song voice, snapping in front of Fred's face. "Anybody home? What, is today national bloody ignore George Weasley day?"
Fred jumped just as Lee had, one hand nervously rising up to pat the side of his head where his hair was still slightly uneven.
"Yeah, the Fogging Charms on the windows, brilliant," he said, nodding a little too vigorously.
George raised a single eyebrow. "Are you drunk?"
"What?! No!" Fred exclaimed. "Just a little tired is all, we did stay up all night long finishing those." He jutted his chin outwards, gesturing towards their product that had been finished at approximately 5am. The display was small but shared a table with their Bird Call Beans.
"Aaand you're looking for Ava," George finished for him, watching his eyes travel up to the third floor again, where there was a set of four steps off the edge of the catwalk that led to a small landing, which led to the door to the flat.
Fred nodded. "She said she was running behind getting ready and would meet us down here in time for the opening. She was acting kind of strange, honestly." He leaned over the railing. "Lee! What time is it?"
"Five minutes past when we were supposed to open! Come on, the crowds are about to start a riot!"
Fred groaned. "I'll go up there to see what she's doing."
George gripped his twin's shoulder. "Why don't you go down there and make sure everything looks right, make sure the stock room's organized and all that shit, and I'll go look for her?"
Fred let out a deep breath. "Alright."
They separated; Fred heading down the stairs while George turned on his heel to ascend them and head to the third floor.
"Oh, and Lee? One last thing?" he called down to the ground level. "Go start a diversion outside. Call it the pre-show or something."
"What do you suggest?"
"Anything. Everything."
The sound of dress shoes jogging against the wooden floor sounded, and Fred revealed himself, standing beside Lee.
"George! You really think it's going to be that long?"
George snickered. "I'm married now, Fred. I know what it actually means when a woman is 'almost ready'." He turned around to head to the landing, passing Verity dusting some shelves along the way.
"Make sure he doesn't drive himself out of his gourd," he whispered to her, who winked back, nodding, and headed downstairs.
There's something in every person's belly, not anatomical or tangible but there nonetheless, that feels things. Whispers things. It's often referred to as a 'sixth sense', or just simply a 'gut feeling'. Muggles and the wizarding world alike experience it, and often find this feeling, this intuition, has some truth to it.
Call it what you want, but as George closed the door behind him and stepped into the flat, that part in his belly was practically singing.
Something wasn't right.
"Ava?" he called out gingerly, but as his voice echoed around the quiet space, he already knew he wouldn't hear a response.
"Ava?" he tried again fruitlessly, suddenly taking on a hurried pace and striding to the other end of the apartment. He checked each room that he passed; the bathroom, his old bedroom. Empty. Empty.
"Ava?" he tried one last time, gently nudging the door to her and Fred's bedroom.
The stillness and silence was eerie; in a way, haunting. The bed was made and the window was left wide open, the curtains swaying in the breeze gently. George could hear the buzzing from the crowd on the ground outside, but other than that, there was nothing.
"Shit," he hissed under his breath, and turned to sprint out of the bedroom, back down the hall and into the conjoined space of the entrance hall, kitchen, and sitting room.
Everything was as it should be. The lamp was in place, books were neatly stacked, the tables and chairs weren't tipped. Everything was right, everything was in place, there were no signs of an intrusion or struggle.
But Ava.
She was gone.
