DISCLAIMER: I have borrowed this characters (most of them), and do not wish to make money off them, as I do not wish to be sued.
CHAPTER TWO
THE VISITOR
There was something important about that Saturday, he could feel it, but was in no condition to remember.
Charlie stared at the ceiling, spread-eagle on the floor, willing the room to stop moving so damn fast. How was he to locate another beer with the walls spinning so relentlessly? Downright bloody irritating, it was.
"Beer," he mumbled, realizing there were still people around him.
"Beer? Chuck, get up and finish this game!" said his flat mate, Scott.
"Where's my money?" Charlie slurred, "And aren't we a little old for Exploding Snap?"
"It don't count if you can't get off the bloody floor," came the reply, "You know the rules."
Yes, he knew the rules. He had not truly out-drank Scott unless they were both standing, thus, if he could not stand, he would not get paid. He rolled over on his side and was dangerously close to vomiting, but his one good lurch aided him into a sitting position. With that accomplished, he used the table's edge to lug himself into a chair.
"I'm sitting up. Now where is it?"
"Christ, Chuck, you drunkard," said Ian, who sat across from him, "Let's finish the game!"
"I'm too old," repeated Charlie thickly, "to play this goddamn-"
"-'twas your idea, you inebriated fuck. Deal up, and shut your mouth!"
Charlie was arranging the cards haphazardly in his clumsy hands when there was a knock on the door. It sobered him right up, like a bucket of icy water.
It was two short knocks, a rolling knock, then a knock with two fists. He recognized it as the special knock used by his family, when he was in hiding with them; a knock to be used only in the unlikely event that someone had to leave and return later. He'd only heard it when they'd practiced it, so long ago.
Ian and Scott glanced at the door with disinterest, then at Charlie.
"Charlie," said Scott with a sly smile, "I'll give you double your money if you can make it to the door without running into anything."
The bet was won, though very slowly. In truth, Charlie didn't want to know who it was. He feared bad news. He really just wanted the visitor to go away. He treated the door as if it would attack him, edging toward it with paranoia. Ian elbowed Scott merrily, and they shared a private joke about how Charlie must be afraid it was an old girlfriend, or an illegitimate child left on the doorstep.
Charlie opened the door just a crack and saw a very thin, pale, filthy, unshaven young man. His odor wafted in the door, enough that Charlie crinkled his nose. The young man had a head full of fat, red, obviously unintentional dreadlocks. He wore green Muggle army fatigues and a black cloak that was in tatters. There was a large hiking pack on his back. Charlie stared blankly at him for a long moment before realizing who it was.
He also remembered what was significant about that day. It was Fred's twenty-fifth birthday.
"Fred?"
"Alright, Charlie?" said Fred. He briefly threw his arm around Charlie, then walked past him into the house. Tossing his bag aside, he plopped down on the sofa with an exhausted sigh.
Scott and Ian looked him up and down in a distasteful manner. The whole deck of Snap cards exploded, unnoticed.
"What's up, boys?" Fred asked, a smile on his dirty face, craning around, over the back of the sofa to look at them. "Drinking already? Why, it's hardly four in the afternoon."
Scott rose quickly from the table and took a swig of his beer. He turned to Charlie, who was still dumbfounded at the front door. "Charlie! Since when have you taken to inviting hobos to our flat?"
"I thought this here was a restricted colony, dragons and their keepers only!" Ian exclaimed.
Charlie scratched the back of his neck. "He's on my list..." he muttered.
"You put hobos on your list?" Scott gestured at Fred, slopping beer all over the charred Snap cards. "Charlie, I knew you were a bit soft-hearted, but-"
"-he's my little brother," Charlie said, shaking off his surprise, "My little brother Fred."
"Yes, well," garbled Ian, who was quite drunk himself, "Your little brother Fred stinks. Will he be staying long?"
Charlie glared at them. "You'll kindly not be such an ass. He's only just gotten here. We'll find him a shower and something clean to wear. How are you, Fredsie?"
"Fine, and you?"
"Alright. You want some food?"
Fred waved his hand dismissively.
"You look like you could use some food," Charlie pressed.
"No, thank you, I've just eaten."
"He says he just ate, Chuck," offered Ian, "Best move right along to the showering."
Charlie ignored him. "Still traveling, I see, Fredsie?"
Fred tensed, staring at him with large, tired eyes. "I'll never give up."
Charlie sighed. That was not what he'd meant at all. He decided it best not respond, hoping that Fred would just let it go. They'd been through this with him a million times, all of them: Mum, Dad, Ginny, Ron, Bill, even Percy.
"Say, Chuck," said Scott, stumbling over to them, "Is this the brother you've told me about? The loony one?"
Fred gasped and glared at Charlie for an explanation. Charlie shook his head, running his hands through his hair.
"You're as daft as you are a drunkard, Scott. You're pissed. I never said anything like that." Charlie shot him a warning look. "Get lost, both of you. Let me catch up with my brother."
At first Ian and Scott looked insulted, but their drunken faces relaxed, their eyes half-mast, and they left the room, jeering to each other about their flat mate.
"Don't mind those slobbering wasted gits, Freds," Charlie said embarrassedly, "So..."
Fred was still looking at him with that same expression. "You're wrong, Charlie, George isn't dead. I'm going to find him."
Charlie sighed again. Of course, being Fred, he would not let the subject go.
"You held his body, Freds," he said with as much conviction as he could muster. Admittedly, the conviction was nil, having repeated it so many times.
"I don't remember anything, except that he was gone. And I'm going to find him."
"I buried him myself, Freds."
"I don't remember anything."
"Bill and Ron and I, in the back yard."
"You're wrong."
"We buried him, Freds. Under the tree that was planted when you were born."
"Shut up."
"Alright," Charlie replied sadly, trying not to sound patronizing, "I hope you do find him, Fred. I sincerely hope you do. You want a butterbeer or something?"
Fred seemed to sink into himself. He squeezed his bony knee caps, eyes blank, jaw working. His knuckles were turning white. On his filthy, sallow face was an eerily determined look, until suddenly he relaxed and took a lumpy dreadlock into his fingers, studying it, twirling the loose hair around larger clumps.
Charlie was beginning to wish he'd ignored the door. He'd been perfectly happy, drunk and brooding over the state of the world. General, indirect things to worry about. He didn't want to be reminded of this personal pain- Fred's pain, his pain. It hurt much worse, even seven years later, than any blasted state of affairs.
There was a thick silence.
"Glad you decided to visit. It's been awhile." Charlie lied
"Yeah. Thought it was time to catch up. So how's the family?"
"Ron's wife is expecting,"
Fred rolled his eyes.
"What?" Charlie asked irritably.
"Bringing a child into this world," he scoffed, "are they still in hiding?"
"For as long as it takes."
"As long as it takes for what?"
"For Voldemort to be defeated." Charlie glared at his brother, daring him to press the issue further. Of course, being Fred, he did.
He snorted. "They'll be in hiding forever."
"I don't want to discuss politics with you- damn it, Fred, why did you come here?"
"All of them? Still?" He asked, unfazed by his brother's anger.
"No one's left since Percy."
"Percy." Fred spat, his face darkening.
"I don't want to wallow with you, Frederick. If you came here to share your misery, you can leave right now."
"What about Bill?"
Fred had a frustrating way of hearing only what he wanted to, Charlie thought.
"Still in hiding," he said shortly, fuming.
"Why doesn't he go and fight?"
"He's ill."
"He's always ill."
"And who's fault is that?" Charlie snapped.
Fred stared at him. His eyes glistened. "We didn't know what we were doing."
"NEITHER DID PERCY!" Charlie cried.
"PERCY?" bellowed a voice from outside the room, "PERCY WEASLEY?"
Scott came stumbling in, beer in hand, a Muggle baseball cap loose and backward on his head. He belched loudly. "Listen, I'm sor-" hiccup "-sorry I was so rude earlier. It's lovely to meet you, little brother Fred."
"Charmed," said Fred curtly, ignoring Scott's hand.
Scott roared with laughter. "A hobo with dignity is he?"
"Scott, go away."
"Percy Weasley, the new Minister of Magic, ain't he? Why didn't you tell me that bungling idiot was your brother? I should have known!"
Fred's eyes bulged. His jaw dropped.
"I have told you, Scott," Charlie said through clenched teeth, "Now shut up and go away."
Once again his flat mate's deep throated, gurgling cackle echoed off the walls. He slammed down his beer, sloshing it all over the end table. "I don't blame you for not saying anything. The git's only been Minister for a few months, and has managed to mess up nearly every damned thing, hasn't he? Not surprising... you'd have to already be rather... lacking in intelligence, to take on that duty in these times. Probably how he got the job, eh Charlie?" Scott guffawed.
Fred sat straight up, jerking his thumb at Scott. "Is this idiot serious? Percy's the Minister of Magic?"
"Christ, where have you been?" slurred Scott
"SCOTT WILL YOU PLEASE GO AWAY!" Charlie roared, looking around for his wand.
"Alright, alright," Scott giggled, holding his hands out in front of him. Beer splashed on the floor. He made a prompt exit.
"Was that beer-flinging jackass telling the truth?" Fred demanded.
"Yes, Fred, he was."
"Merlin's fucking beard..."
"Where have you been?"
"Around. Everywhere," Fred's eyes narrowed, "You know what I've been doing, Charlie. Percy can't be... he can't be the damn..."
"Another excuse for you not to fight," Charlie said nastily.
"I don't need excuses. I have more important things to think about."
It was Charlie's turn to roll his eyes.
"And why don't you go and fight, Charlie?"
"I am."
"How?"
"As soon as they find a replacement for me, I'm leaving."
Fred averted his eyes, using two fingers to scrutinized one lumpy dreadlock, his feet tapping furiously on the floor. He chewed on his tongue, wrapping the loose hair round and round the clump. "You're off to commit suicide," he said quietly after awhile.
"Absolutely not. They have a very intense training program-"
"-rubbish! Who's the brains behind that, bloody Percy?"
Charlie ignored him. "-they have a very intense training program. I won't be allowed anywhere near a Death Eater until I'm fully prepared. And Percy is doing just fine."
Fred shook his head in disbelief, which enraged his older brother. "Good luck to you, then."
"Yeah, you too." Charlie spat.
They sat in silence, Charlie trying to control his temper, his head throbbing. He looked as his brother, playing with his dreadlock, so thin and unhealthy, and damned himself, for he soon felt pity replacing his anger.
Fred was loony. Charlie thought of the way he used to be, the way they, the twins, used to be, and felt a lump in his throat. He realized it didn't make sense to be angry at his brother for being delusional and mentally ill. It was truly pathetic, how long he'd been searching for his dead twin. What else could Charlie do, but be patient with him, and try not to judge?
"Well," he said finally, greatly wishing the mood to lighten, "Do you want a shower, then? Scott was right about one thing, you really do stink something awful."
Fred chuckled. "So people keep telling me."
"Why did you come here, Fred? Surely not to celebrate your birthday."
"No. I'm waiting,"
"For what?"
"I'm not sure."
Charlie nodded, guiltily hoping that whatever it was, it wouldn't take long.
Well, what do you think? Tell me tell me tell me!!! Review review review!!! In case you were wondering, no, this is not at all a sequel to "Undone." However, if you haven't read that, you should :)