Fifteen Years

Part Four

George could see Freddie’s vivid hair in the distance. He was bobbing up and down, running to and fro. Angelina was standing back -avoiding being trampled by the other customers, as she struggled to keep an eye on both Freddie and Roxanne while they explored the shop. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was booming. The customers never tired of the hundreds of different prank opportunities that the shop offered. George watched on proudly, then weaved his way through the customers to talk to his son.

“Got enough there, Freddie?” he asked, looking down at the mountainous heap his son was carting about.

“Mum won’t let me have a portable swamp! She says I’ll get into too much trouble for those.”

“Does she now?” George’s eyes were twinkling, he leaned in close and whispered, “I’ll just have to send you some when you get there. But promise not to tell anyone!”

“I promise!” Freddie laughed and ran off to find something else to add to his collection.

“That boy of yours is going to be trouble,” Verity, one of his employees, said as she passed by, stocking the shelves. George just smiled.

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Candlelight was iridescent within The Burrow. George was standing outside admiring the garden. It was in desperate need of a scrupulous de-gnoming -he could hear the gnomes cackling and whispering amongst themselves. He thrust a hand into the mixture of weed and plant, and pulled out a squealing gnome.

“Gerrof me!” it barked, twisting furiously in his grip.

“Get out of this garden, you little twerp,” he said, swinging the gnome above his head, then hurling it over the fence. He grit his teeth vehemently, and watched, pleased, as the gnome sailed through the air.

“Nice shot,” ventured a careful voice as the gnome landed some hundred metres away. “Mind if I have a go?” Harry Potter materialised out of the darkness, smiling.

“Knock yourself out,” George said, nearly choking. Just the person he needed -but he still hadn’t figured out what to do about it. Harry stepped forwards and took a rigid hold of one of the gnomes. They were beginning to emerge from their tunnels, curious to see what the cause of the commotion was. Harry rotated his arm and fired, and the gnome landed just short of George’s, who was tottering around trying to find his way home. “Not bad,” George teased, “but not brilliant either! See if you can beat this,” he threw a gnome so far that it landed amongst the branches of a tree.

“Nice!” Harry said, squinting into the shadows.

“Git will be back by sunrise.” George took a step backwards, examining Harry in the half-light. As they struck up a light conversation, his heart began to pound. Now was his chance.

“What kind of stories were read to you, when you were a kid? Only, I’m curious about what Muggle children read.”

Harry laughed solemnly. “You honestly think they Dursley’s read me bed-time stories?”

“Oh, right,” George touched the hole on the right-hand side of his head self-consciously. “I forgot you lived with a bunch of twerps. I guess that meant no Babbity Rabbity? No Hopping Pot?”

“Most Muggle children get Cinderella or Snow White, but Aunt Petunia never liked those anyway. She hated anything to do with magic,” Harry couldn’t help but smile at the words Babbity Rabbity.

“So you definitely didn’t get the Fountain of Fair Fortune, or… the Tale of the Three Peverell Brothers?”

Harry’s smile faded into the gloom. “What are you getting at, George?”

George felt the blood abscond from his face as he looked into Harry’s motionless stare. “I just wondered what kind of stories Muggle-”

“Why are you asking me then? I just told you, the Dursley’s did not read me any stories,” Harry took a step forwards. “As for the Peverell brothers and their deathly hallows… are you trying to-”

“It’s for -I mean, I wasn’t even-”

Harry grunted and turned away. “It’s cold. I’m going inside.”

“I better head off now too.”

“You aren’t going to go looking for them, are you?”

“Looking for what” George laughed nervously as he walked towards his car, “night ‘Arry!”

Angelina had disapparated with Freddie and Roxanne a few hours ago, leaving George to drive all of their stuff home. Brilliant, he thought as he slumped in the car seat. As he turned out of the Burrow’s driveway, he glanced slyly over his shoulder. His mother would not approve. His dad, on the other hand, would be most thrilled to learn that George had enchanted his car. George had never forgotten the night he and Fred flew their father’s Ford Anglia to rescue Harry from Privet Drive, and they had always vowed to find out how their father had done it. They’d spent hours poring over old books, and slinking into Arthur’s shed to find his notes…

And then Fred had died.

George had finished the car as a tribute. Now, it was gleaming beneath the moonlight and ran perfectly. Finally convinced that no-one was watching from the house, he pressed the invisibility switch and pulled on the lever. The car began a gentle ascent. Winding down the window, George allowed the sharp night air into the car. Eyes stinging from the cold, he pressed down hard on the accelerator and turned the radio up. No doubt Angelina wouldn’t approve of his method of transport, it was illegal after-all. He couldn’t wait to take Freddie for a spin.

George had been driving for just over an hour when the engine made a rasping noise. Frowning, he glanced down at the gauge and saw that he was losing speed -fast. Stomping on the accelerator, he felt the car surge beneath him -then tilt, suddenly, and heave towards the side. What? It was like someone had cursed it. Panicking, he took out his wand. “Lumos,” he said, and the car was flooded with light. Everything looked normal -but, crunch, the engine groaned in agony. A shuddering, grating noise emanated from the frame of the car, it seemed to be twisting in on itself. Crying out as his door flew open, George was whipped out of his seat.

As he plummeted towards the earth, he found that he couldn’t move. His whole body had become magically bound -like invisible ropes had been tightened around him. He stopped, mere centimetres from the ground, and then hovered across the vast landscape. He tried to lift his head to see where he was going, but he still couldn’t do so much as flinch. He noticed concrete beneath him, and his body hurtled up three stairs. Blimey! He thought as he was abruptly deposited on the ground.

He heard a small creak, followed by a hollow laugh. George caught a glimpse of glinting dragon-hide boots traipsing lethargically towards him.

“Well, well, well,” said a cold and familiar voice, and one of the boots prodded him in the arm, “look what the cat dragged in.”

George felt the magical binding release him. He coughed and raised his head. All of the air in his lungs rapidly choked back, and he spluttered indignantly. Getting to his feet, he glared into the relentless, steely-grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.