The Lost Twin
School: Beauxbatons
Year: 3
Technique: Kinship names and compound words
Word count: 837
George paused in front of the door. Hand trembling, he reached forward to turn the door knob. The door creaked open, its hinges rusty from disuse.
Stepping into the doorway, a wave of memories assaulted George. He hadn't been in this room — the old bedroom he'd shared with Fred — since before Fred had been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts six weeks ago.
George hadn't been strong enough to relive those memories, going so far as to share a room with his brother Ron over the past few weeks. Orange might be a repugnant colour, and Ron's snoring was terribly loud, but at least there were fewer memories to haunt him there.
George hadn't been strong enough to do much of anything recently. Losing Fred was like losing an entire part of him. For a while, George hadn't known how to live without Fred. George went about his day like a robot: eat, sleep, and repeat.
Of course, he knew that Fred wouldn't have wanted him to live like that. Fred would have wanted him to laugh and play pranks. To not mope around like George had been doing since Fred had died.
But it was difficult. How could George find joy in the world when there was no joy within himself?
Everything George saw reminded him of Fred. Something that Fred would have laughed at. A prank that Fred would have wanted to play on someone. A new idea for their joke shop. Each time he was reminded of Fred, George felt the hole of loss and grief grow deeper and deeper.
Today, though, George was determined to break the chains that kept dragging him down. It was time to face those memories. To remember Fred, but not be all-consumed by his loss.
George took a deep breath before stepping farther into the room. Looking around, everything seemed to be the exact same as it had been the last time he had been there. There was a bed on each side of the room, two desks that he and George had pushed together in one corner, and a couple of boxes with some of their old mementos in another corner of the room. The only difference was a thick layer of dust that blanketed everything in the room. That and the empty, gaping hole that was Fred's absence.
Even before Fred's death, the twins hadn't used the room as much more than a storage spot, spending most of their time in the flat above their shop in Diagon Alley. Even so, standing in their old bedroom, George felt Fred's loss acutely as memories threatened to overwhelm them.
George heard footsteps behind him. Turning around, he saw his dad, looking tired as he climbed up the rickety staircase. "Hi, Dad. Busy day?"
"Yes. Things at the Ministry have been awful lately." His dad stepped into the room and put an arm around George's shoulder.
The silence between them stretched, George not knowing what else to say. Looking around the room in search of a conversation topic, George caught sight of a scrap of parchment that lay on the floor, peeking out from under the bed. He leaned forward to pick it up. Both sides were completely blank.
Next to him, his dad frowned. "Wha—"
George tapped his wand on the parchment, having a hunch about what it might be. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
George grinned victoriously as chicken scratch-like writing began to appear. After he and Fred had discovered how the Marauder's Map worked, they had begun to place many of their private papers under similar enchantments.
Reading the messy handwriting, George couldn't help but smile, remembering exactly what had happened on that day. The parchment detailed the creation of the aptly-named paranormal conjurer, which created Peeves-like beings that caused chaos of the prank variety. Too much chaos, it seemed. The remainder of that day was spent trying to figure out how to stop the process of conjuration — unfortunately, while they had found a way to make the process start, they hadn't found a way to stop it.
"Wow, that's impressive!" his dad exclaimed as he finished reading the parchment from over George's shoulder.
George nodded, a wistful smile on his face as he recalled all the other things that he and Fred had created together. Now, it was just him. A pang of loneliness went through him as he thought of the gaping wound that was Fred's death.
As he did though, his resolve hardened. Fred might not be there with him in person, but he was in spirit. George could only imagine the look of horror on Fred's face if he saw George's emotional state. Picturing Fred's expression gave George the strength to climb out of the hole of despair that he had created.
George would never forget Fred, but it was time to stop moping and start healing. Perhaps he could start things off with a few of the classic pranks in memory of Fred.