Fifteen Years

Part Two

He clutched his wand tightly and turned around. The room was musty, and dust particles floated in the air as he opened his eyes. Everything was untouched. Unchanged. Exactly as they had left it. His eyes began to blur over as he took everything in. There was a calendar on the wall, sporting a picture of the Chudley Cannons -who were waving devotedly. Moving closer, George noted that it was still open on May, 1996 . The year he and Fred had moved out of the Burrow and into the apartment above their joke shop. They had left a lot of their belongings at home though, because they visited frequently and spent the summer holidays with their family. 

Their two single beds were pushed into a corner, nearly touching. The duvets’ were crumpled as though they both had only just gotten out of bed. They had cleared away most of the usual bedroom furniture in order to make room for their experiments. There were two large desks on one wall, both cluttered and overflowing with old equipment and ingredients. There were boxes stacked against the opposite wall, with their notes and plans spilling over the top. Bits of parchment were strewn all over the floor. Stepping forwards, George heard a crinkling noise beneath his foot. Stooping down, he collected a piece of parchment from the floor and unfolded it.

 A small smile spread across his lips as he examined a diagram of an Anti-Gravity Hat. Most of the notes were in his own handwriting, but Fred had added little arrows that pointed out some of the different features and the problems that they were having with this early design.

There was also another plan, pinned to the wall, one that he had forgotten. One that they had never completed. It was for a multi-coloured scarf, beanie and mittens set, that changed style and colour in accordance with the rest of the persons’ attire, so that they could be worn stylishly in any situation. He put the parchment in his pocket, deciding that he would finish the project and add it to their joke shop.

George touched the bumpy wood on one of the desks, and turned around. A smirk slipped across his face as he admired the charred walls. He folded his arms and reminisced over of the large number of explosions that had been caused by their experiments. George could almost smell the scent of the Puking Pastilles mixture as it had simmered away in the corner. Then, boom! It had gone everywhere. He leaned back on the wall and grinned to himself. He was relieved.

This wasn’t as bad as he had expected.

George looked up above his bed and noticed his old pinboard. The pictures were ashen and faded. Walking closer, he could make himself and Fred out. They were in their Quidditch robes. It was their second year at Hogwarts and they’d just been chosen as Gryffindors’ beaters. Their mum, excited, had asked Percy to snap some photos of them playing. Begrudgingly, he had conceded. Fred was grinning from ear to ear, waving his bat around in Percy’s’ face. George could see himself -appearing amused in the background, no doubt at their older brothers’ stern expression. He could almost hear Fred laughing as Percy told him to put the bat down, “Perce, you pompous git, stop tarnishing the moment,” he had then proceeded to chase Percy around the field, brandishing the bat the whole way round.

Another picture was of all seven Weasley children, playing in the orchard behind their garden. They were all on broomsticks, except Ginny, who was too young, and were practising Quidditch. Percy was refereeing the game, as he normally did, zooming around on his broomstick beneath the others. Shouting instructions. Blowing the whistle too often.

Ginny was leaning against a tree, the colour of her cheeks matched her hair as she watched on, angry that they hadn’t let her join in. She was left with the job of keeping the scorecard. Bill had the quaffle, his long hair flapping wildly in the wind, exposing his fang-earring. Only a few hours after this photo was taken had their mum forced him into a chair and chopped off most of his hair and snatched the earring away.

Charlie was chasing after the golden snitch, his freckled face lined in concentration. Ron, pasty-looking, was cautiously guarding the posts. Fred was meant to be chasing after the quaffle, but was instead gyrating with a bunch of lemons in his arms. George watched as a lemon sailed across the field and hit the back of Percys’ head, and another one splattered over Bills’ forehead as he sped towards the posts. George saw himself swoop down and retrieve the falling quaffle and score a goal. “Ten points to Fred and George!” Ginny shouted, etching the score onto the parchment. The twins high-fived and ignored Percys’ furious whistle.

George grinned, and took the photos in his hands, pocketing them. He’d repair the quality later and find a frame for them. He noticed a stack of empty boxes in the corner, ones they’d left behind after they’d packed up and moved out, seventeen years ago. “Wingardium leviosa,” he whispered, sweeping his wand. Papers and equipment hovered swiftly into the air. He directed them towards the boxes, when -bang! The ground beneath him trembled. Losing concentration, he dropped his arm and everything was released from the spell. Paper swirled around him, trembling in the air then sailing to the ground. Copper cauldrons clattered downwards and spun, loud on the wooden floor. He frowned, and stuck his head out the door. “What’s going on?” he shouted, peering over the hand-rail. Roxanne looked up at him from the ground floor.

“I was just trying to help, daddy,” her lower lip was trembling. An oversized box was at her feet, the contents spilled all around her. Angelina came up behind her.

“It’s okay sweetie,” she said, giving Roxanne a one-armed hug and then levitating everything back into the box, repairing a crystal jug on the way. “Harry and Ginny have just arrived, and Hermione and Ron are on their way,” said Angelina, looking up at George. Roxanne scurried off, presumably to go and play in the orchard with her cousins. She was particularly fond of Harry and Ginny’s’ son Albus, who was seven now. They both enjoyed going for long walks up in the orchard and climbing every decent tree they could find and eating all of the fruit from it.

“How are you going, George?” Angelina looked concerned.

“I’m fine, actually,” George said, smiling reassuringly. “I’ve found lots of old things. And an idea for something for the shop. I think you’ll like it. I’ll come say ‘ello to Ginny and Harry soon,” he tilted his head and waved, quickly whisking back to the bedroom.

George admired the mess that he had made. He picked up one of the cauldrons and threw it in the box, littering its’ basin with old scraps of parchment. Then he noticed something strange. It was a symbol, one that he had seen before.

A triangle, with a circle inside it, and a long line running straight through the middle.

Why was it in their room? He read the writing on the parchment, a puzzled look on his face. The Deathly Hallows, it said, but he already knew the symbol well. He remembered hearing the tale of The Three Brothers when he was very little. Beedle The Bard stories had been part of their childhood. But why would there be a diagram of it in their room, hand-drawn and labelled?

His heart stopped. His eyes widened, and a strange buzzing noise hummed loudly in his ears. The strange circle on the page seemed to be staring straight at him.

The resurrection stone.

He could bring Fred back.