"Bit slow on the uptake, aren't you?"
George gaped at him. "No…" he murmured. "No, you're not… you can't be…" He rubbed his eyes vigorously and shook his head, then stared back at the figure stretched out on the bed. "That's it," he said loudly to the room at large. "It's finally happened - I've finally cracked."
Fred groaned. "You're not mad," he told his twin. "Come on, George, it's me! I'm right here! Inexplicable though it may be…"
"Inexplicable's the word, alright," George muttered. "And fat lot of help it is you telling me I'm not mad. This is just -" he broke off, rubbing his eyes again, then ran into the bathroom and threw handfuls of water over his face repeatedly. He blinked at himself in the mirror, seeing his blurry reflection stare back. "I'm definitely awake," he said slowly.
He forced his eyes open as wide as they would go, splashed another lot of water onto his face, then moved, hesitantly, back into the bedroom. Fred was still there - and was now grinning at him even more broadly, which did nothing to help matters.
The noise in the shop below was growing louder, and George heard Lee shouting something above the rabble. "I don't have time for this," he said shortly, turning to leave the room.
"What?!" Fred leapt up from the bed and followed him, leaning over his shoulder as George made his way down the narrow staircase to the shop. "I don't believe this…" he was muttering indignantly. "My own brother - ignoring me, thinking I'm a figment of his imagination -"
George paused at the bottom of the staircase, spinning round once he reached the door to the shop. He stared straight at the figment who looked so very much like himself.
"You're not real," he said simply. "You're dead. Fred's dead. You can't be here because Fred wouldn't have come back as a ghost, and if he had -" he took in a deep breath, the next words requiring more strength than he had expected. "If he had, he would have come to see me by now. He wouldn't have let me mourn him for a year, he wouldn't have left me on my own -"
"But, I -"
George did not listen to another word of what the dream-Fred was trying to say. Instead, he banged open the door and practically ran into the shop, flustered and upset and out of breath when he finally reached Lee, who was being bombarded by yelling children.
"Alright, alright! Calm down! Merlin's beard - just one minute, madam -" he spun away from the crowd, fighting his way out to George. "I've no idea what they're all doing here," he panted. "Some sort of exchange trip or something, most of them don't speak English."
It took a good twenty minutes to serve every one of the rowdy Spanish babble filling the shop to over-flowing. By the time the crowd had receded into Diagon Alley, their supervisor pointing emphatically in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, Lee and George had collapsed behind the desk, exhausted.
"It appears," Lee observed, "that we've become a main tourist attraction." He got shakily to his feet, glancing around at the few customers left in the shop. "I think tea is in order, or maybe something stronger..." He gave George a weak grin, and headed for the stairs.
Someone snorted from a nearby stand. "Business still good, I see," said Fred, who moved to lean against the desk. "Although you two aren't half rubbish without me."
George let out a low groan. "I told you -"
"I know, I know, you've flipped, you're barking…" Fred rolled his eyes. "Well, this isn't exactly a barrel full of monkeys for me, either. I'm the one who has no ready excuse for why I'm here. And I am here," he said loudly. "I'm going to prove it to you." He turned away from his twin, examining the customers beadily. George watched him with a defeated expression on his face.
There was a short crack! behind them, and Lee reappeared, holding two Butterbeer bottles in his hands. "Couldn't be bothered with the stairs," he said lazily. "And I don't think it's too early for these, either." He handed one of the bottles to George, whose gaze had snapped round to his twin. Fred was now standing right in front of Lee, waving in his face.
"Hey! Lee! Hey - I'm here! Look at me, you great git - I'm standing right here!" Fred began prancing around his oblivious friend, waving his arms above his head and singing commands at Lee.
George grinned, working to suppress a laugh. Then he remembered that this ludicrous display was merely clinching proof that he was actually losing his mind. "Cut it out," he hissed.
"What?" Lee frowned at him.
"Er - nothing," George replied hastily, glancing at Fred, who had ceased trying to get Lee's attention. His twin was now simply stood staring at Lee with a very confused look on his face.
"Right," said Lee slowly, clearly unconvinced. He looked up at the short queue that had formed on the other side of the till. "Can you deal with these? I'm just going to check up on the Pygmy Puffs."
George nodded, and took the first customer's products from his outstretched hand, shoving them into a bag and running up the price. In order not to see Fred, who was still lingering by the desk, George avoided looking up at the people he was serving. All until one of them said, rather shortly, "Aren't you even going to say hello to your sister?"
His gaze flew upwards. "What? Oh - hi, Ginny."
Ginny's face wrinkled into an expression which showed that she was clearly not impressed. It reminded George so much of his mother's classic look of disapproval that he winced. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Fred still lingering by the desk, and so he forced himself to stay looking at Ginny, no matter how repellent her expression might be.
"Well," he said, trying to look cheerful, "what brings you to this neck of the woods?"
"Food," Ginny replied. "For Arnold."
"Still going strong, eh?"
"And - Mum's worried."
"Ah." George lowered his eyes to the desk again, packaging the Pygmy Puff's food into a brightly-coloured paper bag. "Well, things are just too busy around here for me to leave," he said lamely, still not looking at her.
Ginny watched him with concern in her eyes. "You know she's too busy to come here," she told him. "What with Percy's wedding and everything. I don't see why you can't just stay over for an evening. Everyone has to pitch in helping - she's even got Harry and Hermione to join in."
"Is Harry staying with us, then?" George was still avoiding looking anywhere but at the till. "Separate bedrooms, I hope."
"Yes," Ginny sighed. "And Hermione's sleeping in my room, so you don't have to worry about her and Ron, either."
George nodded approvingly, half-smiling at her.
There was a pause, in which Ginny drew in a deep breath. "Look, George," she began, "I know - I mean - just come home for a bit, won't you? Mum's already got enough on her plate with Percy, she doesn't need to be worrying about you as well. I mean, it's not like you can't - what on earth?"
George stared up from counting out her change, to see Ginny gazing, wide-eyed, at a stack of Headless Hats that appeared to be floating several inches off their stand.
"Is that you?" Ginny asked, still gazing at the hats.
"Er -" George hastily snatched up his wand from the desk, pointing it vaguely at the hats. He knew very well, however, that that would make little difference. He glared at Fred, who, unseen by Ginny, was the reason the hats were bobbing around in mid-air. "What are you doing?" he mouthed.
Fred had now placed one of the hats onto his own head, and was waving the others around at arm's length. "Proving that I exist!" he shouted back.
"George, what are you -?" Ginny turned back to her brother, who pointed his wand more purposefully at the hats.
"I - er -" he searched wildly for an excuse. "Just - just a bit of healthy levitation before lunch, Ginny…" He waved his wand emphatically towards the stand of hats, where Fred was now doubled-up, laughing at him. The hats had, mercifully, been returned to their place.
Ginny now had her hands on her hips. "Really, George, I can see why Mum's -"
"Don't start that again." George looked away from her, lifting the package off the desk with her change. "Here." He handed it to her. She didn't move. "Look," he began, with a defeated expression, "just tell Mum I'm fine, ok? I'll - I'll come home next week and help her sort out Percy's flower arrangements or something…"
Ginny beamed at him. "Alright," she said, taking the paper bag. "See you then." And she turned away, moving out of the shop into the bright Summer air outside.
There was a moment of odd silence. Fred had stopped laughing and was now leaning against the stand of Headless Hats, staring fixedly at his twin. George was staring right back.
"Er - Lee," he said suddenly. "I'm going for lunch now."
The boy with the dreadlocks peered out from behind a tottering pile of Canary Creams. "Bit early, isn’t it?"
"Yeah, I suppose," said George from the door to the flat. "But I didn't have any breakfast, so…"
"Fine," Lee called, but his reply was not heard by George, who merely dashed up the staircase, halted when he reached the bedroom and then spun around to face the figure behind him.
"Alright," he said, with something like fear in his voice. "What are you?"
Fred folded his arms. "Fine way to treat your long lost brother."
"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly sure that you are that," George replied, now holding out his wand. "So I'll be as rude as I like for now."
The figure who so much resembled Fred sighed. "Lovely. I come all the way back from the dead, and am greeted with nothing but interrogation." He paused, head on one side, thinking. "Alright," he drawled in a resigned tone. "Ask me something."
"What?"
"Ask me something. You know - they were obsessed with it when everyone was being Imperiused left, right and centre. To prove that I'm your brother - ask me something only I, being Fred, would know."
George frowned. His head was suddenly teeming with memories, most of which involving mischief of some variety. All of which, he realised with a lurch in his stomach, were memories of him and Fred. "Right," he said eventually. "Er, ok, here's one: how many O.W.L.s did we get overall?"
"Three each," the other replied instantly. "Satisfied?"
"No," George said. "You could have asked anyone that."
"Right," said Fred, with a heavy weight of sarcasm. "Because the other side is just full of people who know all about the O.W.L. results of Fred and George Weasley…"
"Shut up," George replied irritably, though he could feel himself start to laugh. "You know what I mean - I need something more personal. How about… what did we change Percy's Head Boy badge to?"
"Bighead Boy," said Fred, picking some dust off his robes. "And I changed his Prefect badge to Pinhead in our fourth year. At least try and make them difficult, then…"
George narrowed his eyes. "Ok. Why do you reckon your left buttock will never be the same?"
"Ha!" Fred laughed. "Because we tried to get Ron to make an Unbreakable Vow when he was little." His freckled face was split by a wide grin. "And Dad went mental…" he finished reminiscently.
"Yeah," said George, caught up in the same memory. "Alright, but I'm still not convinced. How did we steal the Marauder's Map from Filch's office?"
"You dropped a Dungbomb and I grabbed it out of the filing cabinet."
"What did you want to be called on Potterwatch?"
"Rapier."
"But what did Lee call you?"
"Rodent."
"What did you call me when I lost my ear?"
"So many names, so little time…"
"Alright, alright - why did Kenneth Towler -"
"- come out in boils in our fifth year?"
"Er - yeah..."
"Because I put Bulbadox Powder in his pyjamas."
"I had a dream about that recently."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah… except it was my pyjamas. Lee thought it was hilarious."
For a moment, the two of them simply stood grinning at each other across the room, neither one really wanting to say anything that might ruin the moment. The misery of the past few days - the past year, in fact - had vanished within a few minutes' nostalgia, and it was because of this that George did not want to ask the question waving frantically at him from inside his mind.
"Why are you here?" he said, finally. "I mean - how are you here?"
"Ah," said Fred. "That's the one I can’t answer, I'm afraid. I thought that might have something to do with you."
"Me?"
"Yeah, maybe a summoning or something," he began, then found himself unable to continue. He shrugged. "So… tried summoning anything lately?"
George raised an eyebrow. "Not that I'm aware of," he said slowly.
"Right, well…" Fred shrugged again, apparently content without an explanation. "Fact is - I'm here, aren't I?" He grinned across the room at George, who managed a half-hearted smile back.
"Thing is," George said hesitantly, "if you were a ghost, then other people could see you as well. Which, it seems… they can't."
"Mmh," said Fred, unconcerned. "Funny, that… Maybe you should ask someone."
George snorted. "Yeah, right. Like who? Mum already thinks I'm barking enough as it is!" He half-laughed at his words, but then noticed that a shadow had crossed Fred's face at the word "Mum". His smile evaporated.
As though to avoid discussing the awkward lapse in mood, Fred moved over to a set of shelves by his bed and began peering into boxes and books arranged there, various expressions flicking across his face.
"You kept all my letters!" he exclaimed, pointing to the contents of a shoebox. "All the ones from Angelina…" He pulled out a few faded pieces of parchment and his eyes swept rapidly over the words. A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he reached the bottom of one page and turned to the next. He looked up at George. "How is she, nowadays?" he asked, and the shadow that had appeared at the mention of his mother still lingered in his eyes.
George shrugged, finding himself suddenly unable to meet his brother's gaze. "Um… fine," he managed feebly. "Yeah, she's got a job near here, actually."
"Oh yeah?" Fred raised his eyebrows.
"Working in that Quidditch supplies place with old Bandersnatch," George continued, a little more casually. Then he frowned. "She came in here the other day - something about her boss being a bit paranoid…"
Fred laughed, placing the letters carefully back into the shoebox. "Doesn't surprise me," he said with a reminiscent air. "Do you remember when he chased us out of the shop with an army of angry Bludgers, just because we set all those Snitches loose by accident?"
"Ha - I'd forgotten that…" George muttered. Then, louder, "It wasn't by accident! You wanted to see how many we could get into the air before they all started bumping into each other!"
Fred's face split into a wide grin. "Oh yeah - how many was that, anyway?"
"Twenty-six, at the last count."
"Right… so why did we keep going up to seventy-eight?"
"Don't know. Just to annoy him, I think."
Fred's grin grew even wider. "And that would be the reason why my right buttock will never be the same."
"George?" Lee was banging on the door again, a mildly confused tone to his words. "Who're you talking to, mate?"
George's grin vanished. "Erm, no one…" he cast around for an excuse. Fred's almighty shrug did not help. "I was just, er - I was -"
"Doesn't matter," Lee interrupted. "Look, Angelina's here again. And I'm pretty sure she's not just after Decoy Detonators, seeing as I already gave her some ten minutes ago and she still hasn't left."
"Er - right…" George replied, staring everywhere to avoid looking at Fred. "I'll be right down."
He spun round on the spot and vanished, Apparating right behind the desk downstairs and, it transpired, only inches from Angelina. She looked distraught.
"George! I'm so sorry, I wouldn't bother you, but -" she began, her dark eyes wide and her face stricken.
"Um, it's no problem," George mumbled, his gaze flicking madly around the room, watching for the possible appearance of Fred. His twin had not followed him into the shop yet. "What's the matter? You look really -"
"George, look -" Angelina began, speaking almost unintelligibly fast. "You know when I came in the other day to buy those spy glasses? Well, it turns out, he wasn't just being paranoid - my boss, that is - and he really wanted them to watch the person who's been leaving all those threatening notes (they weren't using owls in case they were traced). And I think he must have found out about them, because there was a break-in last night, and -"
"Whoa, slow down!" Lee had just come back down the stairs, and was walking towards Angelina, frowning intensely. "There was a break-in? At the Quidditch store?"
"Yes," said Angelina desperately. "They took his notes, his diary, the letters - everything. Completely trashed the place, and that's not even the worst thing…" For once, she seemed unable to say any more, but instead twisted her fingers together, her eyes moving from George to Lee in rapid succession.
George had a funny feeling that he really didn't want to know the answer to his next question. "What is the worst thing, Angelina?"
The girl stared at him. "He's dead."