Fifteen Years

Part Nine

They did kiss goodbye.

But it was a cold, passionless thing.

More protocol than sentiment.

He ambled down the street, and she closed the door softly. Roxanne stood in the window, waving, until her mother called her away and the curtain fell back into place. George took one last look at their house. It was mid-September now, and the leaves of the trees in the front yard were crisping into red, gold and yellow. They spilled onto the withering grass creating a whole spectrum of colours on the lawn. The house -two storied and made of burgundy brickwork and washed-out wood - was nearly imperceptible behind all the leaves. Still staring, George picked up his broom from where he'd stashed it beneath a bush at the end of the street.

His stomach lurched as he wondered when he would next be home. I should have told Angelina what I'm doing. I should have said a proper goodbye.

Casting a wary eye around in case Muggles were watching, George kicked off from the ground. He zoomed upwards, the feeling of unease like concrete in his stomach. The boxes followed him closely as he shot towards the sky. Just before he hit the clouds, he decelerated and came to a stop. With the wind knocking him about, he gazed down at the massive maze of suburbia that was spread out below him. Cars were twisting back and forth through the collection of streets and cul-de-sacs. Busy people on their way to somewhere.

It was home.

And he was leaving.

Heart blazing, he whipped his head up and stared into the clouds above him.

Do it for Fred. He would do it for you...

Body tensing, he accelerated into the blinding sea of white.

---

Freddie dumped a handful of ham sandwiches on his plate. They were neatly sliced into triangles that were a perfect fit in the palms of his hands. The prank down by the Slytherin common room had left him with a huge appetite.

He began shovelling the sandwiches down his throat.

Ryan was sitting across from him, watching him. "You eat like a dragon," he said, peeling an orange warily as Freddie devoured everything on his plate.

Freddie looked on as Ryan gingerly placed a segment in his mouth, then lowered the rest of the orange on to his plate.

"And you don't eat much more than a Cornish Pixie," he said, waving the tray of sandwiches beneath Ryan's nose.

"What is it?" Freddie said, lowering his voice.

"I think someone was watching," Ryan leaned in towards him, narrowing his eyes.

Freddie sat back. "Who?" he asked. He didn't want to be expelled -he'd only been here a short while!

Ryan tilted his head to the side and nodded towards the Slytherin table. "Him."

Freddie turned, frowned and looked back at Ryan. "The first year with black hair? Great, that's just brilliant,"

"We're done for," Ryan sighed and looked down at his orange. "I saw him on our way down and wondered what he was doing, lurking about like that, when he should have been going to lunch. Then I thought I saw him again on our way back up, but I wasn't sure."

Freddie dared to turn around again, and found the boy looking directly at him. His hair fell in dark strands across his angular face. There was a distinctive air to him. His nose was permanently upturned, as though he were somewhat disgusted, the tip sharp and pointed like a carrot. His blue eyes were twinkling. He knew. And he knew that they knew. At first, he seemed like someone who would be shy, but a second glance told another tale. There was a hidden accumulation of confidence behind his diminutive elf-like figure. He was like some kind of miniature entrepreneur, and he looked as though he was already calculating his next move.

Freddie glanced into Ryan's eyes, registering a spark of unease.

"We're done for," he repeated.

---

George was already numb. His flight through the clouds had completely drenched him and the autumn sun on the other side was weak and held little warmth. He had his old Gryffindor scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, the tassels flapping wildly as he slipped through the open sky.

The miniature compass he had attached to his broom told him that he was travelling north-west.

It was tranquil, really, soaring at a constant speed hundreds and hundreds of metres above the earth. It was almost as if his problems had dropped away like the ground beneath him, and he was suddenly levitated above it all. He'd just began to order his thoughts when-

"Ministry of Magic!" a resonating growl thundered through the serenity. "Stop flying immediately or we will be forced to detain you!"

George nearly put his neck out as he lashed around to see a group of three coming up behind him. A closer look told him that they were all onboard Lightning-Strikes, specially designed brooms for the Auror Department that could reach unimaginable speeds in short amounts of time. George knew, from what Harry had said, that the brooms were equipped with an arsenal of weaponry. They could shoot nets, they could send out stunning charms and could cast a defensive shield around their rider. All at the press of a button. But the worst, most deadliest weapon, was the lethal bolt of lightning that could erupt from the handles and take out the enemy. Harry had mentioned that this treatment was reserved only for the most dangerous of criminals, like some of the Death Eaters that had been rounded up since Voldemorts downfall.

George could only hope that the Aurors weren't as good at flying as he was.

And that he wasn't classed as some kind of dangerous criminal.

Because there was no way he was going to stick around.

He put on a burst of speed, his boxes scurrying to follow after him.

"Stop immediately!" said the voice again, "this is your last warning!"

What if they caught him? Had he actually done anything wrong? He had to run. He could never explain what he was doing with ten boxes of explosives;

'Sorry officer, I was just going to give these to my eleven year old son so that he could make a good impression on his fellow students by lighting up the dining hall.'

Somehow his plan lost some of its ingeniousness with that thought.