The day dawned clear and bright. As the sun creeped over the horizon, its light stole in through the open windows of George's bedroom. He always left them open now, unable to sleep without the air and the noise of the outside world filtering in. The silence of the room with the windows shut made him feel claustrophobic. George shifted in his sleep. Sunlight slowly stretched its way across the floor toward his bed before finally spilling over his pillows and kissing his eyelids, causing them to flicker, then open.
Blinking, halfway between sleep and waking, he clung to his now fading dream, trying to recall the details.
He was at Hogwarts, at the top of the Astronomy tower. Fred stood on the low wall, laughing. George looked over the edge, but instead of the Hogwarts grounds, he saw a vast ocean below them. There was smoke rising from the tower behind them, flames licking up the walls.
He looked up at Fred standing above him and said, "We need a bucket."
Somehow, he thought if he could scoop the water from the ocean, he could use it to put out the fire.
Fred grinned at him, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "Do you dare me to jump?" he asked.
"No," George told him, but before the word had even left his mouth, he saw his brother fling himself backwards, laughter on his face as he crashed into the churning waves below.
"Fred!" George called, climbing up on the wall, wanting to throw himself after his twin, but suddenly his body was paralyzed, unable to move as he watched Fred's body sink below the waves.
George rubbed his hands over his face, letting the dream drift away from him as he brought his mind back to the room where he lay. Pushing the image of Fred's laughing face from his mind, he watched the breeze fluttering the open curtains, listening to the sounds it carried in from the street below. He heard chattering voices, a sudden shout of laughter, a bell jingling as a door was opened, then the slam of it shutting again. He rolled himself over, stretching and staring up at the ceiling. As his mind wandered, he suddenly realized what day it was. His stomach twisted and he sat up, rubbing his face. Sunday.
Sighing, he shoved the covers off him and threw his legs over the side of the mattress. Leaning forward, he rested his arms against his knees and stared down at the faded carpet. Why did he make that promise to Ginny? The last thing he wanted to do today was to visit the Burrow. Maybe he could back out, make up some excuse. He turned the idea over in his mind, considering it, but knowing full well he wouldn't be able to do that to his family. Shaking his head, George ran a hand through his hair and stood up, stretching. He'd just have to go through with it.
Throwing on some clothes, George left the room and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. He needed coffee. After setting the pot to brew, he walked over and pulled open the refrigerator door, staring into it at the nearly barren shelves as his mind began to wander. Eggs, bread, milk. He thought about making breakfast, but knew he wouldn't. He didn't really care for breakfast much. Or lunch. Or dinner. He sighed and slammed the refrigerator door shut, leaning back against it as he inhaled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He shuffled over to the cupboard, opening it and reaching up to take down a blue mug painted with the letter 'G' off the shelf. As he started to close the door, his eyes were caught by a chipped mug marked with an 'F'. He blinked at it for a moment, then turned it around so the letter was hidden from view before shutting the cabinet again. Turning away, he grabbed the coffee pot and poured himself a cup before leaving the kitchen.
George wandered through the empty house, mug in hand, before plopping down onto the overstuffed sofa in the living room. Leaning back, he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, watching the steam rise from his cup as he sipped from it slowly. He listened to the slow tick of the clock, its sound amplified in the quiet room. Staring at the ceiling, he felt the silence pressing in on him, humming loudly in his ears. George suddenly sat up, dropping his feet back onto the ground as he thumped his mug onto the table. He pulled himself to his feet and strode towards the window, throwing it open and leaning out, arms resting on the windowsill. Gasping in air as though he had been underwater, he closed his eyes and let the clattering noise rising from the busy street below roll over him.
Opening his eyes, George watched for a while as people walked past, going about their business. He listened to their footsteps ringing out against the cobblestones, their voices rising and falling in conversation. He heard a baby crying in the distance, an owl hooting as it swooped past his window.
Eventually, he pulled himself away and returned to his seat on the couch, slumping into the cushions. He picked up his mug from the table, staring into its depths as he swirled the remainder of his coffee around inside it. Lifting it to his lips, he drained it quickly, wincing a little as he swallowed the now cold beverage.
Deciding there was no point putting it off any longer, George dropped the mug back onto the table with a clunk, got to his feet and walked over to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of powder from a bowl sitting on the mantelpiece and threw it onto the logs, watching them burst into emerald green flames. He then took a deep breath, steeling himself for the ordeal he was about to face, before stepping into the flames and shouting, "The Burrow!"
George stepped out of the fireplace and into the living room of his family's home. Looking around, he saw four sets of eyes trained on him. He barely had time to register the faces of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny before seeing a flash of red streak across the room accompanied by a squeal as his sister launched herself at him. He patted her back as she wrapped her arms around his middle, squeezing him tightly before stepping back to look up at him.
"You made it," Ginny said, beaming.
He considered making some quip about his busy schedule, but the words just rattled vaguely through his brain, never making it to his tongue.
"Yeah," was all he said in the end, managing a half smile.
George looked over to where the others sat watching him. He noticed a game of wizard's chess set up on the coffee table, with Harry seated on the couch in front of it and Ron slouched on the floor across from him. Hermione was curled up in an armchair, a book open in her lap. He walked over to the group as Ginny settled back onto the couch next to Harry.
Ron stood up as he approached, looking awkward as he said, "Hey, George."
"Hi, Ron," said George, feeling just as uncomfortable with the situation.
He nodded to Harry and Hermione as they greeted him, then took a seat on the couch next to Ginny.
Looking to the board set up on the coffee table, he said, "You all playing?"
"Yeah," said Ron as he resumed his seat.
"Whose turn?" he asked, more to fill the silence than out of any real curiosity.
"Harry's," Ron responded.
Harry looked jolted at the sound of his name, as though he'd forgotten he was supposed to be making a move. He turned his attention back to the board and three pairs of eyes followed his gaze, Hermione having turned back to her book.
Silence reigned for a time, but George didn't find it oppressive. In fact, he felt relieved at the lack of conversation, content to just sit and watch the game progress.
Eventually, the match ended with Ron the victor. He immediately began resetting the pieces as he asked, "Another go?"
Harry sat back, stretching. "I think I've taken enough of a beating for one day, thanks."
Ron looked to George. "Want to play?"
George thought about it. He wasn't sure he felt up to playing anything, but then again, it would certainly be better than sitting around talking. At least if they continued playing, he didn't have to speak.
"Alright," he said.
"Great!" Ron said enthusiastically as he finished setting up the board.
They were about to begin when a whirlwind swept into the room. At least that's what it felt like to George as his mother burst in, shouting "Here you all are! Sitting around playing games when there's so much work to be done. The garden hasn't been de-gnomed in ages! Didn't I ask you to—" she stopped suddenly as her eyes landed on George, looking stricken.
George rubbed his neck uncertainly as he saw her eyes begin to water. "Hi, mum," he mumbled.
"Oh, Georgie!" Mrs. Weasley cried, rushing over to him and sweeping him up in a hug.
George felt uneasy as his mother wrapped her arms around him. He blinked rapidly as he felt a prickle behind his eyes, chest aching as she held him tightly.
"Alright, alright, mum," he said as he pushed her away, "Allow me to breathe, will you?"
His mother just smiled at him, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. "We'll go take care of those gnomes," he offered as Ron and Ginny shot him mutinous glares.
"What? Oh, no dear, you all just stay here and finish your game," said Mrs. Weasley, oblivious to the surprised stares of her youngest children at her sudden change of heart.
Ron grinned and turned his attention to the board as Harry and Ginny exchanged a look, eyebrows raised.
"Is anybody hungry?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
"I am," Ron said loudly. Ginny rolled her eyes and Hermione suppressed a smile.
Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to have heard him, however. She turned to George instead, saying, "You look so thin, dear. Have you been eating?"
George didn't feel hungry and he certainly didn't want to discuss his eating habits with his mother. He wished she would stop fussing at him. He wanted to go back to the quiet game, with all the eyes in the room focused on the chess board instead of being turned to his face, as they were now.
Mrs. Weasley gazed at him imploringly. "Why don't I just pop into the kitchen and fix you all up some lunch?" she said.
"Sure, fine," George mumbled. She beamed at him, smoothing her hand over his hair before bustling off into the kitchen to prepare the food. He felt a little guilty at the relief that came over him as he watched her walk away.
After she left, the others sat looking at him uncomfortably; all save for Ron, who was busy giving an order to one of his pawns.
"Your move," he said to George, oblivious to the tension in the room.
For once, George was grateful for his younger brother's lack of awareness. He turned his attention back to the game, glad for the distraction. Silence settled over the room once more, interrupted only by the occasional instructions given to their chess pieces as they moved them across the board.
Eventually Mrs. Weasley returned bearing trays of food. She set them down as eager hands began to snatch at the items arranged there. As his mother encouraged him to eat, he grabbed a sandwich at random, taking an obliging bite to satisfy her. As Mrs. Weasley left the room again, he dropped it back onto the tray again, abandoning the half-eaten snack.
"Rook to D-4," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of food, sending crumbs flying across the board.
"Oh, Ronald, don't speak with your mouth full," said Hermione from behind her book.
Ron swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before replying, "I wasn't."
George smirked at his younger brother as he made his next move. Suddenly he noticed something. Eyeing his brother suspiciously, he watched as Ron moved another piece, leaving himself open to a checkmate.
"Are you letting me win?" George asked suddenly, seeing through Ron's rather obvious ploy. He wasn't terrible at chess, but he had no illusions about his abilities either. He knew he wouldn't be able to beat his brother that easily.
Ron's ears immediately turned a bright red at the accusation. His eyes slid past George, avoiding his gaze as he stuttered, "N-no – er, I just – erm – of c-course not."
George rolled his eyes at his brother's lame attempt at a denial. "Well, I'm convinced," he said, standing up.
"No, wait—" Ron said quickly, "look, you're right. I'm sorry, I just –" he met George's eyes with a pleading look. "Let's play again, okay?"
A memory suddenly flashed in George's mind.
He was six years old, running through the garden outside the Burrow, Fred at his side. 'Race you to the pond!' Fred shouted to him.
'Wait!' he heard a whining voice behind him and looked over his shoulder to see a four-year-old Ron chasing after them, his worn teddy dragging along on the ground behind him as he held it by one leg. 'Wait for me! I want to come too!' he cried.
Fred laughed and called back, 'You can only come if you can keep up.' Then, grinning over at George, he sprinted through the gate, George on his heels, and slammed it shut behind them.
Hopping, Ron grasped for the latch but was too small to reach it. 'That's not fair!' he huffed.
George just laughed as he and Fred took off running.
He didn't know why the memory came to him then, but he sat back down and began to reset the board.
"If I wanted to cheat, I could manage it perfectly well without your help," George told him.
"I know," Ron grinned, helping him put the pieces back into place as they started a new game.