Chapter 6: New Familiar Faces
"My dear, you seem to have had quite a shock!" a kindly voice said as Clara opened her eyes. She was lying on a long chaise lounge that she was fairly certain had not been in the room before she'd fallen to the floor in a dead faint.
Oh right. Magic.
Both Rick and Ryan were sitting across from her with worried expressions on their faces.
Clara forced herself to smile and blushed with embarrassment at having been so damn weak. She never fainted. This had to be the first time that she could remember having done so, and of course with her luck it was in front of the Headmistress of an entire school. Why, again, had she thought she could handle this?
"Please excuse Albus," the Headmistress said tersely, "His portrait has a penchant for...theatrics."
"I'm sorry," Clara said, cringing a little as everyone gave her sympathetic looks, "I shouldn't worry you like this. I'm the parent here. I shouldn't be fainting over something as minor as...er...talking paintings."
"Well, truth be told, muggles do tend to experience some dizziness and fatigue when they use Doorkeys," McGonagall said primly.
Rick snorted and Ryan glared at his brother.
"What?" Rick said with a grin, "She said 'dorky'!"
"Door. Key. Mr. Summers," McGonagall said, staring over her glasses with a look that could freeze lava.
"Yes, ma'am," Rick replied, shrinking back a bit in his seat.
Clara found herself smiling. It was a rare instructor that could do such a thing to her most mischievous son. Perhaps this Hogwarts place was the right place for her sons to attend after all.
"Headmistress," she said, after a pause, "May I ask you a question?"
"I believe you already have," the Headmistress replied with a kindly smile, "But you may, of course, ask another."
"Well, it's just…" Clara said, feeling that familiar twist of uncertainty in her belly, "I am looking...for...someone. His name is Fred. Red hair, very witty and he said...he said he owned his own business with his brother."
McGonagall gave Clara a very serious and measured look and Clara felt as though she had said something very wrong or inappropriate.
"I mean, it seems like maybe he went to this school too...er...but don't worry if you can't.."
"Am I to believe that you do not know exactly what happened here a little over twelve years ago?" The Headmistress had crossed her arms and was practically looming over Clara, her mouth a thin line, "If you are feeling better, then please follow me. There is something I would like you to see."
Clara stood and tried to wave away Ryan's hand though she felt a small swell of momentary dizziness as she got to her feet.
"I'm ok, guys. Really," she said, a part of her still somewhat touched when her sons kept close to her on either side, looking like very short bodyguards. Even Rick's normally unflappable demeanor seemed affected by his mother's fragility.
They were still such little kids. But they were still growing, and soon, they wouldn't need her anymore and she'd have to figure out what was next.
Clara pointedly tried not to dwell on this thought.
They followed the woman and her bobbing pointed hat down a spiral staircase and out into a large stone hall.
"This way," she called over her shoulder, "Be careful not to get separated. Hogwarts has a way of being quite large and difficult to navigate without a proper guide."
They went down another staircase, and Clara could have sworn that she felt it move. She told herself that she was imagining things, though after seeing the talking portrait, she wasn't nearly as sure of herself as before.
"In through here," McGonagall said, opening two large double doors and ushering them into a giant hall with four long tables that were decorated in red, green, blue and yellow, each featuring a different animal's outline. A slightly shorter table sat perpendicular to these four tables at the far end of the large room and when Clara looked up, she could see blue sky dotted with tiny fluffy clouds above her where the ceiling should have been, though she knew that they were indoors, so this should be impossible.
The Headmistress moved toward the far end of the room behind the far table and pulled on a golden cord, which pulled back a pair of purple velvet curtains that had been placed like a backdrop against the wall.
"See anyone familiar?" The Headmistress said softly, her voice echoing in the massive room.
Clara looked up and her hands flew to her mouth.
A massive painting hung against the wall with a glowing bronze plaque above it.
The plaque read "To honor the heroes who made the ultimate sacrifice to Vanquish the darkness once and for all."
A smaller plaque with a date and the words "Second Wizarding War" was placed beneath it along with a list of names.
The painting was set inside of a massive, plush room filled with sofas and tables and plenty of food and drink. It looked as though a feast was laid out for the heroes inside, who were reveling within as though they were on a television show within the black walnut frame.
"Many died at the Battle at Hogwarts," the Headmistress said sadly, "Such a tragic loss of life for so many."
But the people in the painting were smiling and waving and greeting the Headmistress.
"Are they...?" Clara started, touching the canvas lightly.
"No...it's beautiful magic, but these are only sophisticated shadows based on those who knew them," McGonagall replied, looking over her glasses at the three Americans, "Is there anyone in this frame who appears...familiar?"
Three sets of eyes scanned the expansive canvas. Clara saw a man with a scarred face kissing a woman with pink hair as though they'd just been married. There were a couple of girls playing a game of cards, some of which kept exploding. And a short boy with an old style flash camera kept snapping pictures excitedly. Ryan pointed to a beautiful snowy owl that sat on an ornamental perch, while Rick snickered as he called attention to a man with a horribly scarred face and an eyeball that whizzed around and around in its socket as though it were a top.
"Not re-oh," Clara's heart nearly stopped when she saw the shock of bright red hair and the impish expression on the young man at the end of the table as he shot peas through a straw and hit the woman with pink hair right in the ear, causing her to shriek, her hair turning a bright shade of orange as she shook her fist in warning.
"It's him..." She said softly, unsure as to whether she was saying it to anyone in particular or simply trying to process the thought herself.
"Who is he? A long lost relative?" Rick said, rolling his eyes.
"That's Dad, isn't it?" Ryan said softly, placing his hand on his mother's wrist.
"I never knew..." Clara said, her eyes filling with tears, "I could never find him...and I just assumed..."
"...That he abandoned you?" The Headmistress sniffed, "Preposterous! Fred Weasley was many things- a constant source of gray hairs in my case- but he was not dishonorable. Had he known...had he made it through the War..."
"I don't remember reading about any war," Clara said, sniffing louder than she would have liked, "What happened?"
"Oh, merely a crazy megalomaniac hellbent on world domination," McGonagall said, peering over her glasses with a tiny smirk.
"Oh!" Clara found herself letting out a near bark of a laugh, "Well, if that's all!"
The boys looked confused as the two women broke out into snickers that quickly dissipated due to the seriousness of the matter.
"Fred, do quit tormenting the others and come over here!" The Headmistress said with authority in her voice.
The red haired young man rolled his eyes in an alarmingly similar manner to Rick's favorite expression and approached them until it seemed that he was standing on the other side of a looking glass.
"Do you...remember me?" Clara said, the memories of that night all those years before breaking the surface and filling her with the longing, exhilaration and sadness that she'd carried with her for nearly twelve years. His face was so young, now, while her own eyes were lined with crow's feet and a troublesome groove had worn its way between her eyebrows.
He was frozen in time and all she could do was go forward.
"Can't say I've seen you around," Fred said with a roguish grin and Clara's heart dropped to the floor.
"I..I see," she said, staring so intently at the floor that her eyes burned.
"Aww, don't be like that, love," he said kindly, "I just meant that round these parts, most of the people are knee height at best."
He laughed in that easy way that had melted her heart all those years ago, and her chest ached with sadness.
"Of course I remember you, Clara," he said, "Sorry about the disappearing act, but I couldn't consider myself a proper Gryffindor if I didn't go to help those in distress. But...why are you at Hogwarts? I had you pegged for a muggle and besides, you're far too old to start out as a student and you're not wearing teaching robes so you're obviously not a professor."
"I...I've never referred to myself as a muggle, but I suppose that's what I am since I don't have the same sort of abilities that you do," she replied, "But...well...it seems you left me with a bit more than some happy memories."
"What do you mean? I'm just a magical painting, I don't-oh," Fred's painted face went silent with shock as he finally noticed the two identical boys standing behind their mother.
Clara pressed her hand lightly against the fabric of the painting and Fred did the same, as though all that separated them was a pane of glass.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, his eyes filling with tears, "I never knew."
"I was mad at you for such a long time," she said softly, "I thought that you did it on purpose, but then I realized that a lot of the anger I was feeling was actually directed at myself, for being tricked, for allowing myself to believe that anyone would...well, that's all water under the bridge now."
"Clara, look at me," Fred said, "What I said to you that night...I wasn't just spouting nonsense to get into your knickers."
McGonagall coughed loudly at this, and Clara turned, her face going red as she remembered that they weren't alone. Thankfully, the rest of the painting had mysteriously emptied of its occupants.
"If you don't mind," the Headmistress said nonchalantly, "I could take your sons on a tour of the facilities while you talk a bit longer."
"That would be perfect, thank you," Clara said, wiping a bit of moisture from one of her eyes.
"Mom, are you going to be ok?" Ryan asked, touching her hand.
"Yes, sweetheart, I just need to talk a bit longer to...er...your father," Clara said awkwardly.
The word felt strange in her mouth, but it was the best way to describe him, so she left it at that.
The two boys walked out of the room behind the Headmistress, but it was Rick not Ryan who turned back and looked at the picture with narrowed eyes.
"I think he likes me," Fred quipped as the door shut behind the others.
"Well he should," Clara replied, "Because he's just like you. A troublemaker too."
Fred grinned at this.
"So," he said, "Twins, eh?"
"You mentioned that you had a twin too," Clara said, looking around the painting, "Is he...there with you?"
"He has a portrait of me that I can visit at his house, but no, he's very much alive…" Fred replied thoughtfully, his face breaking out into a grin, "Oh! This is great news! Mum and Dad will be so excited! Not to mention George and all the rest!"
"What?"
"You've got to visit the Burrow, ok? Please? Do this for me and I'll be the happiest painted wizard in the world!" he replied giddily.
"A burrow? Why?" Clara replied skeptically.
"No, not a burrow! The Burrow! It's what my parents called their ancestral home. It's actually a proper house, though, not underground like the name implies," Fred said, his eyes sparkling as he did a cartwheel down the side of the painting.
"How do I get there?" Clara asked, intrigued that she suddenly had gone from no support or family to having gained a mysterious set of relations that lived in a house called The Burrow of all things.
"Just ask Minerva," Fred said, his grin growing wide with excitement, "Oh, this is the best day since I was first painted! Clara, I'm so excited now. You have no idea. You've made me a very happy man...erm...painting, you know. Oh, just one more thing."
"Yes?" Clara asked, suddenly feeling somewhat foolish that she was still talking to a painting.
"Press your cheek against the canvas, right here, ok?"
"Um, ok," she replied, somewhat skeptically, but she did as he asked.
"It's not the real thing, but it'll have to do," he said, and she could feel a warm resonance against the canvas almost like the pulse of lips pressed against her skin.
He kissed me!
"I wasn't lying when I told you that sometimes you just know," Fred said seriously, "The problem is that sometimes, reality has its way of taking the things you love and putting them where you'll never see them again. To be honest, I think I got the easy side of the bargain when I died. But George...he's never been the same. Clara, it would be so good for him to see you and...our...sons...gosh, that sounds so strange to say- I'd never really thought about having a family of my own as long as I had George...but...it feels good to say. So thank you, Clara. For coming here, for showing me."
"You're welcome," Clara said softly, suddenly feeling a bit nervous, "So...how would you like to hear about what your sons have been up to these past eleven years?"
"There is nothing I would like more in the world," Fred said, his eyes glittering with interest.
Clara began to tell him everything, and Fred listened raptly to each detail as though hanging on her every word. And for the second time in more than a decade, Clara felt like they were the only two people in the world.