NIGHTCLUB
They were sitting in a booth in the hot evening, surrounded by coloured light and pumping music and people.
"Explain to me again why bringing George was a good idea," said Ron, looming forward on his elbows, fruity cocktail in one hand.
"It was your idea," Ginny said over the noise.
"I didn't say whose idea, I said why was it good?"
"Smart arse,"
He grinned. Hermione found she was staring. Goofy idiot.
"Needed a break from your mum crying every time she saw him," said Harry, "Don't blame him,"
They all stared over at George. He was half standing, half-sitting on a bar stool, one hand on the waist of a beautiful girl, one hand in her glossy hair, and his mouth very firmly planted on hers.
Ron took a sip of cocktail.
"Nine whole minutes, haven't come up for air once."
All of a sudden, they stopped snogging, had a short intense conversation, and turned towards the booth. Everyone scrambled to look nonchalant. Ginny nearly knocked over her drink.
"Ahaana, meet- everyone. Guys, we're heading off," said George, leaning down to be heard, "Hermione, don't panic. It's a twin thing."
"What?"
The girl- Ahaana, evidently- smiled.
"I have a dead twin too. Freak broom-surfing accident five months ago." Ahaana shrugged, "It's a twin thing."
Everyone stared.
"Night," said George, following her out.
They exchanged glances.
"It's a twin something," said Ron, taking a big swig of his cocktail. "Should we be worried?"
"Erm," said Harry
"Might be good for him to have someone to talk to who gets it," suggested Ginny doubtfully.
"Yeah, they seemed to be having a good ol' chat,"
"Solace," said Hermione, "Not that I'd normally condone picking up people in cocktail bars… Shit."
Hermione was up and charging after them, wand out, despite being surrounded by muggles.
"What the-?" Ron leapt up after her, and Harry and Ginny flung themselves out of the booth after him.
Outside in the street, Hermione had her wand at the girl's throat, elbow high, an aggressive fighting stance. Ahaana's eyes were wide with shock- but mostly the 'what the fuck? Your friend is crazy' type. George was leaning one hand on the phone pole and sighing.
"You really expect me to believe you walked into a muggle cocktail bar and coincidentally met a witch your age with a recently dead twin?" Hermione's voice was low and deadly. "How stupid do you think we are George Weasley?"
The girl's eyebrows flew up.
"Oh my g-"
"Shut up," Hermione spat, "George?"
"Fairly stupid," he said lightly
"Really not the time for joking,"
For the first time in ages, Ron saw George grin.
"Fred would disagree,"
"Fred's not here,"
"No,"
"Sorry,"
"Fred's a bit of an arse,"
"Relevance?"
George sighed.
"Like the barmy blinkin' arsehole he is, the bastard cursed me,"
Everyone stared.
George waved a hand reluctantly.
"Any time I get within shouting distance of another non-muggle twin with a dead twin, they get his daft voice telling them some tragic sob story and stupid suggestions about how to cheer me up. Or did you not notice that people keep doing weird shit in front of me,"
Hermione was frowning.
"So… Fred's disembodied voice told you to make out with George and you just did it?" she sounded appalled.
"Please stop threatening me. I could very easily have you arrested."
"Ooh nice," said George, "Point out illegal use of magic in front of muggles too- she hates breaking rules,"
"Shut up, George!"
"Hermione," Ron touched her shoulder. She lowered her wand, still glaring.
"Thank you," said Ahaana, "And not that it's any of your business, but no, that's not what he asked me to do."
"George?"
"All I know is, she came up to me and said 'your dead twin is a complete wanker', and we really hit it off,"
"George, I really don't think this is a good idea. You don't even-"
George sighed. Then he took a step forward, and wrapped his arms around Hermione in an almost avuncular fashion and gave her a squeeze.
"Thank you for looking out for me," he said, very sincerely. It sounded weird. "But it's fine, really." He grinned and ruffled her hair.
"George!"
He took Ahaana's hand and started to walk off.
"Hey, wait a second!" Ginny shouted after them, "What did Fred say?"
George stopped. He dipped his head, looking down at the pavement. Ahaana leaned in and whispered something. He nodded. She turned and stalked back to them, stilettos clicking.
"He won't stop until I do it. That's why we're leaving. But it's not really him. It's like a recording. You can hear it if you like," she pulled her wand out of her back pocket, and gave it a sharp flick. There was a sound like radio static, and all at once, Fred's joking tones crackled into the warm night air.
"You! Yeah, you! You with the dead twin! Got a minute? I'm dead. Fred the Dead. Dead and brilliant. Died saving the world, regular hero, and I have one final thing I need your help with. Look around for a stunningly handsome bloke with red hair and the saddest expression in the universe. Found him? Right. That's George. George could use a little cheering up, mopey bastard. You know what it's like. Hex him good and proper, give him your underwear and tell him… tell him some lame joke about ears. He's only got the one- you might have to shout. Go on, you know you want to…. You! Yeah, you! You with the dead twin! Got a minute? I'm dead. Fred the Dead-"
Ahaana flicked her wand again, and the sound vanished. Ginny had Harry's hand in a death grip, tears streaking down her face.
"I'm sorry," Ahaana said, her face twisting into an apology. She tucked her wand away. "I didn't realise he was a Weasley. Too much of a coincidence, right, Hermione?"
"What-"
"Meet a cute British wizard with red hair and a dead twin in a cocktail bar in Australia. What are the chances he would turn out to be that British wizard with red hair and a dead twin?"
"Say what now?" Ron was frowning.
Ahaana rolled her eyes.
"This is the other side of the world, but we're not in another dimension,"
"No, but- you mean you've heard of George?"
"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? That stuff's viral. Also there was that little business with Voldemort. I do read the paper. Well, no I don't, but you guys are kind of a big deal. Red hair is very much in at the moment. Being a ginge has never been so popular. The Weasley hype in this country is ridiculous,"
"The Weasley…?" Ron sounded faint, "Harry, you've been outshone,"
Ahaana chuckled.
"Bit difficult to outshine the boy who lived."
But the look she cast Harry made him feel raw. She looked so damn understanding. Like without knowing him at all, she somehow got it. Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny and half hid his face in her hair.
BREAKFAST
"I'm confiscating this," said Ron, reaching across the breakfast table and prising the book out of her hands, "Re-reading the same million books is not going to help. And reading this one- " he frowned at it, Obliviation and the Self: a Guide for Victims, "Is not only not helpful, it's- it's- look, you've got to stop beating yourself up. Find'em first, fix'em later."
Hermione didn't protest, but she didn't meet his eyes either. His mind flashed back to that night in her room- that night when they'd come so close, and shied off at the last minute, paralysed on either side of her bed, closer than ever and further apart.
Basically, he'd panicked.
But… he thought maybe she'd panicked too…
Like if they crossed that line there was no turning back…
But there was something here this time that wasn't about them. Some reason she couldn't look at him…
"Oi, whatever it is, just spit it out," he took a big bite of a honey-slathered crumpet, "Sherioushly, you can tell me anyfing,"
She glanced up and caught his eye, and he stopped chewing in the instant that her gaze darted away again.
Ron resumed chewing. He swallowed. Put the crumpet back on the plate.
"I may have just developed superpowers," he said, licking honey off his index finger, "Ready? Here goes: you don't want to find them." He held her with his eyes, and for a second almost believed he did have superpowers. "You don't know if you can find them. You don't know what you'll find. You might have fucked them up permanently. You don't know. And you, Hermione Granger, are really fucking scared."
An angry flush started to creep up her neck, and her chin rose dangerously.
Uh-oh, diffuse! Diffuse!
He held up his hands in surrender.
"Which is totally fine! But uh- it's messing with the plan. We know they were working in Lennox for a while, but it's been a year, and Australia is enormous. Books are not the answer. We have to start looking properly."
She looked flushed and furious, and just as she opened her mouth, presumably to start tearing verbal strips off him, he lost it and grinned at her.
She faltered, surprise deflating her fury.
Ron waggled his eyebrows at her.
"I'm right, so it's your turn to storm off,"
For a moment, a look of extreme annoyance crossed her face, and Ron thought maybe he was in for it.
Then she gave a shaky laugh and covered her face with her hand.
"You bastard, you're not even going to let me yell at you first?"
Ron, dizzy on success, found he was standing up, and leaning across the table towards her.
"Nope," he said, his body on auto pilot, hand reaching out to hold the side of her head- and before he quite realised what he was doing, he'd kissed her hair, and was saying "Not this time," collecting his plate of crumpets and strolling out of the room.