The Mudblood

Chapter 54 : Summer

"Coming through!" George bellowed as an oversized box came flying down the staircase. I jumped out of the way, colliding with Fred just as the box went smashing into the wall.

"Gotta work on that spell," George commented as I fumbled to back away from Fred.

"Er—sorry," I said embarrassedly.

He shook his head disapprovingly. "Let you sleep on the couch with me a few nights and you think you can just run into me whenever you like. Tsk, tsk, Fitz..."

I rolled my eyes dramatically at him. "C'mon, let's go help the other two with these boxes. George seems like he need a hand—"

"Oh shut it, fourth year," George called from the top of the staircase. "Bet you couldn't do it any better..."

"C'mon, Fred," I beckoned as I ascended the stairs. "I want to hear more about your Extendable Ears."

"Oi, Fitz—you are going to love what Georgey and I have created this month," Fred assured me, following me to the second level. "Extendable Ears, Nifty Noses—and we're working on something that has to do with eyes...possibly Guiding Goggles..."

A few hours later, the four of us found ourselves standing on the front porch of the vacant home, staring into it for the last time.

"Even though this is the house that Dad died in, it's also the house where all of our memories with him are," Lyle said thoughtfully. "This really sucks."

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Life sucks, Lyle."

He glanced over at me with one eyebrow raised. "Melody quote?"

I pressed my lips together, contemplating. "Mm, probably."

Closing the door to our old home should have also closed the door to the pain and grieving behind us, but it didn't really change anything at all. We'd still be mourning the death of our father; we'd still be reminded of the fact that our father had forever left this earth. Even if we changed locations a thousand times, nothing would ever change the overbearing sensation of loss.

∆

We spent the next day unpacking our belongings into our new, small apartment. There was only one tiny bedroom—in which I knew my brothers would probably destroy each other—and when I was home, I'd sleep on the couch in the living room. Though, I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to call this crammed, foreign place "home." "What is this?" George questioned as he held up an old jar full of rotting pickles. George, Fred, Lyle, and I were currently in the bedroom unloading boxes of junk as Lupin continued to Apparate our belongings into the apartment.

I gazed dully at the jar of pickles as I took it in my hands. "This is Evan's precious pickle jar," I replied sarcastically. "This jar of pickles was the only thing in our fridge on the day that Evan met Astoria. He thinks it has some kind of magical love powers."

"I think it's rancid," Lyle said, his nose scrunched. "We should just say it got lost in the old house."

"Or we should just open it on his bed," Fred suggested as he took the jar from my hands. "Oh look—he even wrote her name on it. Seems as though he spelled it wrong."

I glanced sideways at the jar to see that Evan had indeed wrote "Astorea" in permanent marker, though his handwriting was barely legible. 

"Did he write this when he was five?" George scoffed as he attempted to read "Astorea."