This chapter is mostly going to be George-centric, just so you know. xD I also feel like I should thank starraiser for giving me the idea to split the twins up, by telling me not to. C: On with this!
Disclaimer: Old news, I still don't own Harry Potter.
George fell out of a fire place. He didn't know where he was, his eyes were streaming- from his tears and the fact he didn't have a chance to close his eyes before being thrust into the roaring fire. He coughed and spluttered, having also breathed in a large quantity of ash while screaming for his brother. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, straightening up and looking around him. He recognized the dining room of the Leaky Cauldron. There was a gaggle of wizards sitting at the table, peering at them from over their mugs of coffee at his less than graceful enterance. George straightened his robes and walked from the fire place to the door. Before he could get out, Tom, the innkeeper stopped him.
"Oy, aren't you gonna stay here or somethin'? Ya can't very well just blast in here and not even stay." He called to the boy.
"Oh." George said, taken aback and trying to find his voice. "I..I'm sorry. I...didn't exactly mean to come here, it wasn't my idea and well...I haven't really got much money with me." He fumbled over his words, his wound still fresh. Of course it hadn't been his idea to come here, and being kicked out without a second's notice had meant he barely had anything except the robes on his back and the wand in his pocket.
"Fine, fine. Tom grumbled something under his breath that sounded like "Using my fire place with no regaurds to who he's disturbing, the nerve..." as he walked back to his desk.
George sighed and pushed the door open. He looked up and down the street. The street lamps were creating a yellowish glare on the cobbles of the road. He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, then thrusted them into his pockets. In his left pocket was his wand, in his left he felt two galleons and something else, something unfamiliar. He took it out of his pocket, looking at a small silver instrument. It glinted in the glow of the lamps and George looked at it closer. His brother was smirking up at him, blinking every so often. He ran his fingers over the engraving. Fred Weasley. A tear escaped George's newly dried eyes, and Fred stared benignly up at him.
What was he going to do now? He had no where to go, no one to talk to, no one to help him. He was utterly alone, and wasn't prepared for it in the least. He had never really been alone in his life. Fred had always been by his side. Always. Now he didn't have his brother, didn't have his mother, didn't have anyone. A horrible feeling started to erupt in his stomach. He couldn't just sit there all night. It was getting cold. Maybe he could find somewhere to hide out until he had to go back to Hogwarts. Yes, that was what he would do. But where would he hide out? Maybe he could get to Lee's house somehow...
The door opened loudly from behidnd him, disrupting his train of thought. Tom the innkeeper was behind him again, holding out a red envelope as though it was diseased. "This just came outta the fire for ya. Looks pretty urgent, I'd say." He threw the envelope into George's hands as soon as it began to smoke. It unfurled and a loud voice filled the alley he was standing in. Tom stared, in disbelieving awe at the words issuing from the peice of parchment.
"GEORGE WEASLEY!" Molly's voice rebounded angrily off the fronts of the buildings. "I AM UTTERLY DISAPPOINTED IN YOU AND YOUR BROTHER'S CONDUCT! MORE THAN I EVER HAVE BEEN IN MY LIFE. AS PUNISHMENT, NEITHER YOU OR YOUR BROTHER WILL BE RETURNING TO HOGWARTS. I HAVE ALREADY SPOKEN TO PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE ABOUT IT, AND THOUGH HE DOES NOT AGREE WITH ME, HE HAS ERASED YOUR FILES. I CAN'T HAVE YOU DISGRACE THE WEASLEY NAME ANY MORE WITH YOU OUT OF MY SIGHT. YOUR BROTHER WILL BE STAYING HERE, YOU MAY FIGURE OUT WHERE TO GO ON YOUR OWN- YOU ARE NO LONGER MY RESPONSIBILITY." The howler dissipated and its fragments fell to the ground. George felt Tom's eyes on his back and felt himself beginning to tremble.
"Blimey, you musta done it this time." He said before returning to the silent inside of his inn.
George looked up at the stars and wondered what his mother was doing to Fred. One Howler was nothing compared to the constant tirade his brother must have been facing. The hopelessness of his situation was setting in and crumbling down around his shoulders. He fell to his knees on the concrete. A light snow was beginning to fall. He burried his face in his hands, then let them fall carelessly in front of him, his wand falling out of his right hand and making a hollow sound against the road. He was stranded.
A crack made George look up in surprise to see a triple decker bus standing in front of him. A small squashy boy he recognized as Stan Shunpike stepped down the bus's stairs and peered at him down his nose.
" 'Chu doin' on the ground?" George stood, hastily grabbing his wand.
"Nothing." He answered awkwardly.
"Well, whatever. You gettin' in or aren' ya?" Stan asked, looking past George. "You ain't got no bags?"
"No, no bags. But, yes. I'll get in." George said queitly, putting one of his Galleons in Stan's outstretched hand. Once inside the bus, Stan asked George where he wanted to go. George pondered this for a moment. He still hadn't considered where he was going to go. He would have gone to Lee's but he couldn't for the life of him remember what the name of his street was. He didn't want to end up somewhere he didn't know, and be stranded all over again. Taking a deep breath, he told Stan he wanted to be dropped off at Grimmauld Place.
"Why d'ya wanna go there? That's a Muggle street, that is." Stand said. "Whatever ya want though. Hey, Earn, y'hear? Grimmauld Place, on the double." The driver grunted in response, and George felt the bus speed up. They rode in silence for a while, and even though George was trying to look out the window and not draw attention to himself, he felt Stan looking at him. Finally he spoke. "Ain't you one of them Wesley's or something?"
"Weasleys." George corrected. "And yeah, I guess." I used to be. he thought.
"Didn't there useta be another one a' ya?" Stan asked. "A twin or somethin'?"
George tensed. "Yeah." was all he could manage.
"Well, where is 'e? Ya leave him at home?"
"Yeah, he's home." George said, rubbing his temple.
"Well, why? I thought you lot were inseparable or something?"
"I don't want to talk about it." George said through gritted teeth. He really didn't want to start crying again, not in front of Stan, but if the conversation kept going on like this he hardly stood a chance of keeping his eyes dry. "Please."
"Alright, fine." Stan said. "Was just wonderin'. Your stop's here anyhow."
George thanked both Stan and the driver and descended the stairs of the bus. It was even colder than before outside, and snow was steadily falling now. He stood and looked at the row of unappealing apartments. He looked at the spot between eleven and thirteen and realised he didn't know how to get inside. His father had done it for him in the beginning of the year, and not told any of his children how to get in themselves. George had a fleeting hope that it worked like the room of requirement and walked back and forth past it three times, dwelling on how much he needed somwhere to go. To his displeasure, the houses didn't move, but stayed quite still. He kicked the ground angrily and started to feel around the outside walls of the houses. He found nothing. He groaned and pulled his cloak tighter around him. It was really getting cold. He sat on the ground, up against the trunk of a small tree directly across from where he knew number twelve was hidden. Someone would have to come out eventually, right? George pulled up the hood of his cloak and huddled into himself, trying in vain to retain some warmth. He sat and stared at the plain row of apartments for he didn't know how long.
A warm hand was on his shoulder, shaking it slightly. Someone was calling his name, softly, quietly. He stirred. He didn't know he'd fallen asleep. He looked up to see the face of Remus Lupin looking at him, eyebrows knitted in concern. He shook his head and snowflakes fell from it.
"Professor Lupin?" He asked.
"George, Merlin, George. What the bloody hell are you doing out here?" Lupin asked.
George felt himself smile. His chapped lips cracked as they spread in a grin. "Trying to get inside. I didn't know how." Remus sighed.
"Why were you trying to get in anyways? It's Christmas Eve. Why aren't you at the Burrow?" He asked, helping George to his feet and wrapping his own cloak around the boy's shivering shoulders.
"It's...It's kind of a long story." George said quietly.
"Alright." Remus said, sensing the tension in his words. "Let's get inside, then." And the pair of them entered number twelve Grimmauld Place, leaving the snowy outside behind them.