Weasley and Weasley (Deceased)- chapter 5!

Read Chapter 4!
"Fred?"

George stared wildly around the room. He dashed first into the bathroom, then into the kitchen, then back downstairs to double-check the shop.

"What the hell are you doing?" cried Lee as George came bursting through the door. "I can hear you thundering around upstairs like a heard of Hippogriffs!"

"Sorry," George panted, a sickening knot forming in his stomach as he noted that Fred wasn't in the shop either. "I've, er - lost something."

Lee did not looked contented. "Yeah, well, find it soon, will you? They're getting rowdy in here."

George nodded, then spun on one foot and Apparated back upstairs. In his haste, he had not really thought about where he was going, and had wound up in the bathroom instead. He paused, thinking hard, then slumped down to sit on the edge of the bath, holding his head in his hands.

'He had to go sometime,' a very unwelcome voice spoke up from the back of his head. 'It couldn't have lasted forever…'

He had been so pleased to have Fred back and he hadn't even properly realised it. He had kept telling himself that it wasn't real and that Fred didn't really belong here, just to make it easier for the time when Fred, eventually, had to leave. Had he ever really been here at all? He had not been as transparent as a ghost, that was sure, and he certainly hadn't been able to walk through walls. But he had never really looked fully alive, either. There had still been a bit of haziness to his outline, a bit of distance to his voice.

'But why leave now?' George found himself thinking. 'Why come here on Tuesday morning, stay for a couple of days and then disappear again? Fred hadn't known how he'd got here - or so he'd told me, he hadn't seemed too keen to discuss it - so who was the one sending him here and then pulling him back?'

For a daft moment, he thought it actually might have been himself. 'My dreams,' he thought. 'I started having dreams about him again and then he comes back. There has to be a link… But I didn't summon him, I'm pretty sure of that.'

He began thinking over the events of last Monday, running through his head everything that had happened after he had woken up from the dream about Fred stealing stuff from Zonko's again. He stared around the bathroom for inspiration. He had been in a bit of a hurry, so he hadn't washed properly. He had splashed water over his face, he had not looked in the mirror, he had - wait a minute…

His eyes lighted on something lying on the bathroom shelf. It was thin and gold and glittering, dotted with black beads and bits of glass. 'That was the day,' he thought with a sudden shock of realisation, 'that was the day someone sent that back to the shop. That was the day I put it on and didn't realise I was still wearing it until this morning. And Fred came back that night and was gone again after I'd had a shower today - after I'd taken it off again today!'

Without another moment's thought, he leapt up and grabbed the necklace from the shelf. It twinkled mysteriously at him in the morning light, as though hinting that it knew something that George didn't.

"It's worth a try," he muttered. "The worst that'll happen is I look a bit stupid."

He took in a deep breath, and slung the chain around his neck.

~***~

It was bizarre seeing King's Cross this quiet. Fred felt a vague sense of déjà vu as he stared blearily around the platform, watching the smoke overhead drift lazily above him. The train would surely be here any minute, and then he would be back where he belonged…

He slumped down onto the cast-iron bench which sat facing the railway line. The past few days spent with George were already beginning to feel like an odd dream, and he was having a hard time convincing himself that they had been real. It was probably better that way, he decided. Better not to dwell on dreams.

"Back again, so soon?" a familiar voice asked, and Fred became aware that someone was sat next to him. A man with white hair, and a beard which trailed almost to the floor, was peering at him over half-moon spectacles.

"I suppose so," Fred said vaguely. "Doesn't really feel like I ever left, to be honest."

Dumbledore gave him a small and knowing smile. "Time does seem to lose its significance on this side, I'm afraid." He moved his gaze slowly to observe the empty platform.

Fred hoped he wasn't going to say anything about how cruel it was that he and George had been split apart at such a young age. That was what the other one had said - the long-lost relative who had come to collect him the last time. Only, at that moment, confirmation that he was never going to see George again hadn't exactly been what he had wanted to hear.

He looked again at the railway line. "Train's taking a bit longer this time," he commented quietly.

The man next to him nodded. "I think that may be because it knows you aren't going to get on it."

"What?" Fred frowned, wondering if he had misheard what Dumbledore had said. "Not get on it? How else am I going to get back?"

Dumbledore turned to face him properly, and his expression was suddenly rather commanding. "Your friends are on the right track," he said seriously. "But I don't think they, or even you, realise the severity of what you have become involved in. Your brother will need your advice, your help. For your reappearance has a great deal to do with it all."

Fred snorted. "Right. Fat lot of good I am, I can't even leave the shop."

"You can't leave him," Dumbledore corrected. "Your reappearance is connected with your brother, and so to go too far, not from the shop, but from him, would cause you to… well…"

"Go a bit wobbly, yeah," Fred nodded. The man with the half-moon spectacles gave him a warm smile.

"I was going to say 'would cause the connection between you to loosen, and therefore your spectral presence to become weaker'. Although, I rather think your phrase does the trick quite as well." Dumbledore winked at him, and Fred suddenly felt his bewilderment begin to dissipate.

"I must admit," Dumbledore continued, "I never envisaged entrusting such an important task to Hogwarts' most infamous rule-breakers…" He gave Fred a rather shrewd look, and the latter grinned. "But then, I was never really one for the rules myself."

Fred studied the man's face for a moment. "You said my reappearance has something to do with it… What do you mean by that?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You're on the right track," he said. Then, "Good luck, Mr. Weasley."

His brilliant blue eyes twinkled and suddenly Fred felt faintly sick. A moment later, he could see nothing at all.

~***~

"Harry was right - he can't half be confusing sometimes…"

"Fred! Fred, you're back - er, what?"

Fred was gazing past his twin with a dazed look on his face. "Er, nothing… Um - what? What am I doing here, again? Was I asleep or something? I dreamt it, didn't I?"

"No, no - you weren't asleep, you were gone! Just vanished!" George explained hurriedly. "Look - I think I've figured it out -"

"Vanished?" Fred looked bemused. "I thought I was going back."

"Well, you might have been, but -"

"I was on the platform and everything, same as before…"

"Yes, you probably were going back to the other side, or wherever, but the point is -"

"It all felt like a dream, you know? And when I was talking to -"

"It's the necklace!" George shouted, with a triumphant air. "It's this necklace - it must be. This is the reason why you're here!"

He pointed vigorously at the chain around his neck. Fred, alarmed at this sudden outburst, stared at it dubiously. "That's the reason why I'm here?" he said, not bothering to disguise his disbelief. "Looks a bit tacky to me. Isn't it one of those charms that went wrong?"

George shook his head. "I thought so too," he said earnestly, "but it's not. I don't really know what it is, to be honest, but - someone sent it back to the shop on Monday with some other stuff. They sent it in this box all wrapped up and I thought they were just sending it back because it didn't work - remember the ones that turned black during testing?" Fred nodded, and George went on, "Well, I thought it was just one of those. So I put it on and nothing happened, and then - I don't know - I got distracted or something and I didn't realise I still had it on. I only noticed a few hours ago when I took a shower."

"You haven't showered for five days?"

"Shut up - that's not the point -"

"Certainly explains the smell…"

"Look -" George's eyes widened in frustration, "I'm trying to help explain why you're here." He took in a deep breath. "It's got something to do with this, I'm sure of it. When I took it off, you disappeared. And I've just picked it up again and now you're back. See - watch." He lifted the necklace from round his neck and tossed it onto the bed. Fred vanished.

For a moment, George was unsure as to whether he wanted his discovery to be true. That was twice now the timings of Fred's disappearances and reappearances had coincided with him putting on the necklace, which meant it really was him controlling when Fred came back. But how on earth did it work?

He stared at the necklace lying on Fred's bed. It was just a little, slightly garish, broken charm… wasn't it? Why would someone have sent it to him, wrapped-up in a return-to-sender package, if it had the power to bring back the dead?

He took in a deep breath. "I need Fred to think," he murmured, and snatched up the necklace from the bed. In another moment, it was around his neck again.

"Mother of Merlin!" Fred tottered over from the other side of the room, clutching at his stomach. "Don't do that again! I might be dead, but apparently that doesn't stop me feeling sick…" He sat down rather heavily on his bed.

George's face was plastered with a mixture of relief and delight. "That proves it," he said. "It's definitely this - that's twice now your reappearances have been linked to me wearing this thing." He tugged at the necklace.

"Right," said Fred slowly, giving the necklace a very suspicious look. "Well, that would make sense with what Dumbledore said, I suppose. About you having something to do with me being here."

All the relief drained from George's face, which twisted itself back into a frown. "What? Dumbledore - you spoke to Dumbledore?"

"Yeah," his twin nodded. "He was on the platform, while I was waiting to go back. He said something about - er - we're all on the right track, or something. Hard to remember now, actually. He wasn't exactly crystal clear about it. But if it's you wearing that necklace that's bringing me back, well, then that must be it. He said the further I go away from you, the weaker the connection, or something, and that you're going to need my advice."

He stared up at George and shrugged, as though that was a perfectly reasonable amount of explanation. George raised his eyebrows.

"So… I'm the one making you come back. I'm the reason you're here. And it's probably because of this necklace," he was saying the words slowly, almost to himself, as though confirming the thoughts in his head.

Fred nodded. "And, Dumbledore mentioned - well, I think he meant this - the case. Bandersnatch's murder."

George's expression changed instantly. He stared meaningfully at his twin. "The murder?" he asked. "Dumbledore talked about it?"

"Well, not in so many words, I suppose," said Fred, standing up again and removing his hand from his stomach. "He said 'your friends are on the right track', but that we don't know how serious it is. That the whole situation is a bit bigger than we realise."

"Wow." George's eyes widened. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"When am I ever not?"

"Dumbledore is involved, isn't he?" George breathed. "Otherwise, how else would he know the reason behind the murders?"

Fred frowned. "You think he knows who did it?" he asked, and the other nodded. "Well, if that's true - why didn't he just tell me?"

His twin shrugged. "He's Dumbledore, isn't he? That's not really his style. Besides, I was thinking something else as well: if you can go back and talk to Dumbledore, maybe you could find Bandersnatch and -" He stopped, seeing Fred shaking his head.

"No don't do, I'm afraid," Fred sighed. "It doesn't really work that way."

George looked slightly crestfallen at his words, but nodded all the same, and Fred suddenly felt rather deflated. He crossed to the other side of the room, then leaned against the wall opposite George, folding his arms and chewing on his lower lip again. The clock on the wall beside him ticked softly through the ensuing silence. George glanced at the time.

"Nearly half ten," he remarked absently. Then, "Merlin's beard, I left Lee on his own in the shop. I better get back down there. Um -" he looked over at Fred, who was raising an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, don't worry about me," Fred told him. "You go on. I've got plenty to think about up here…"

Weasley and Weasley(deceased)- Chapter 4!

Read Chapter 3!

The summer had been fighting off the clouds for several days, but had finally given in. A series of black and grey brushstrokes now criss-crossed the sky, and the heat that had kept so many holidaymakers outside was fading fast. George shivered as he pulled shut the shop door after another long day, watching the rain clouds sweep their dusty colour over the evening sun.

He moved back into the shop, where Lee was clearing away boxes from under the desk, and his gaze glanced up at the ceiling. Fred would, undoubtedly, still be up there, mulling over the murder case or re-reading Angelina's letters for the hundredth time. He felt something jolt in his stomach. It was wonderful having Fred back; the day of the Battle for Hogwarts he had felt an immeasurable sense of loss - more so, he believed, than anyone else who had lost friends or family during the war. It sounded clichéd even to think it, but George was sure that a whole half of him had gone with Fred, and he had been convinced that he would never feel the same again. Being able to see his brother again was fantastic - to hear him joke and laugh and finish George's sentences…

But there was a part of George - a part he tried very hard to suppress - that felt that maybe Fred wasn't as happy being here as George was to see him again. Fred had never said anything, he had always seemed delighted to be around his twin and loved to reminisce about their glory days of rule-breaking. But that was all that they seemed to do - reminisce. Even though Fred was here, he was never really here - he belonged somewhere else, and George had spent the last year of his life trying to convince himself that Fred was happier there, and that he, George, had a life to keep living alone. Every time he saw the shadow that crossed Fred's face whenever he mentioned the rest of the Weasleys, or Angelina, he felt a pang of guilt - as though it was he, George, who was keeping Fred from moving on, who was forcing him to take a back seat and watch a life play out before him that he could never have.

And there was another curious thing: why was it that no one else could see Fred, only him? If he was truly a ghost, then why wasn't he see-through and why couldn't he float through walls? He had never once, in his life, heard of a ghost that only one person could see. During a few mad moments, George had considered writing to Hermione to ask if she had ever come across such a phenomenon. But then he thought that she might query as to why he was asking her such a question, and to explain that he was having visions of his dead twin could not possibly lead to anything good.

"Hey!" Lee's voice broke into his thoughts. "I just found this under here - d'you want it?" George looked round to see that his friend had emerged from under the desk, and was holding out a battered photograph to him. He took it and stared down at the crumpled image - it was a picture of him and Fred.

Their strange clothes and the sandy background, not to mention how young they looked, told him that this had been taken five years ago during their holiday in Egypt. He and Fred were waving enthusiastically from the front of the picture, each sporting a mischievous grin, whilst Percy was in the background, lingering behind a pillar with a nervous expression on his sunburnt face. The George holding the picture smiled.

"Right," Lee announced, heading for the door. "I'm off, now. Need anything?"

George shook his head, and his friend departed. "See you tomorrow," Lee called back.

"Yeah," George said vaguely. "See you." After a few moments, he tore his eyes away from the picture and Apparated upstairs. He moved over to a jumbled notice-board behind his bed and pinned the crumpled photograph between a couple of tattered newspaper articles. He took a step back to admire the effect, and smiled again.

"Very nice," came a voice from behind him. "Egypt, wasn't it?" Fred had moved to stand beside his twin, and was peering at the photograph with narrowed eyes. "Didn't we lock Percy in a pyramid?"

George smirked. "We tried to, but Mum wouldn't let us," he said with a grin. "Don't you remember?"

Fred said nothing, still staring at the photo. "I don't really remember that holiday at all, to be honest," he muttered. "Seems like a century ago."

"It was only about five years," his twin corrected, frowning at Fred. "It was after Dad won the prize draw at the Ministry. D'you remember - Ron bought a Sneakoscope for Harry and it kept going off at dinner because we put beetles in Bill's soup?"

Fred now had a very strange look on his face, as though he was struggling to picture what George was saying. "I don't remember any of that," he said slowly. Then he moved to sit down on the edge of his bed, a far-away expression in his eyes. "Actually," he began in a subdued voice, "this has been happening quite a lot to me recently. I keep… I keep forgetting things."

He looked up at George, who was looking rather anxious. "Forgetting things?"

"Yeah." Fred stared at the floor. "Like that holiday. I can only remember odd bits of it. And the other day when you were talking about Dumbledore, I was trying to remember what he looked like and I couldn't. Or any of the other teachers. Or our first day there."

"Even the Sorting Hat couldn't tell us apart," George said, but there was no air of nostalgia in his words this time. There was a concern in his face that made him look as though he was on the verge of tears. "But - when you first came back you could remember everything."

"I know," said Fred, somewhat miserably. "It all seemed like it'd only happened a few days ago, but now everything seems a million years away. It's why I've been reading all these letters, looking through all the stuff I left behind. Trying to bring it all back." He shrugged. "I don't know why I can't remember," he added, and his words held a tinge of bitterness. "And that's just top of the list of things I don't know at the moment - like why I'm here, for a start…"

George didn't know what to say. He hovered by the notice-board, occasionally throwing a glance at the photograph of him and Fred in Egypt. The glances seemed to say that he was regretting putting it up there.

Yet another minute of very awkward silence blanketed the room. Then Fred looked up. "Look," he began, with the air of someone making a firm and deliberate change of subject, "I've been thinking about the case - Mr. Bandersnatch's death, you know."

George nodded. "And?"

"And," Fred pulled his scrapbook from his bedside table, upsetting a pile of Wizarding detective novels entitled The Carter Sparks Mysteries, "it just doesn't make sense that it would be the goblins who killed him."

"Why not?"

Fred flipped open the book and his eyes flicked over a scribbled list. "Because if he knew that the goblins were the ones watching him - blackmailing him, even - then why did he need the spying equipment to figure out who was leaving the notes? If it was the goblins, they'd have made it pretty clear: if they wanted their money, they wouldn't have been all secretive about it, they'd've just demanded it from him face to face. No - if someone was sending him anonymous notes it had to be for another reason. Why bother recording a break-in if he knew who did it?"

He stared up at his twin, a rather earnest look on his face. But George shook his head.

"Maybe… maybe he was just recording it for evidence?" he suggested slowly. "Maybe he was afraid the goblins were going to do something to him, and he wanted proof? Maybe it was a cover-up - to make people think he didn't know who was blackmailing him so they wouldn't link it to the goblins?"

It was Fred's turn to shake his head. "Nah, old Banders wasn't that kind of bloke. If that was the case, then why keep the log books, the diaries? I reckon he was the kind of man who'd want the world to know he was in trouble, to prove his paranoia wasn't just madness. He'd have told someone - he did tell someone, but then the evidence was destroyed. Which, again, isn't the sort of thing a goblin would do. I mean, I know they're clever, but would they think to go upstairs? To find his diaries and rip them up, to trash the Sneakoscopes? I reckon they'd've just taken what they wanted and left. It's all too organised, it doesn't make sense…"

He sighed, lying back on the bed and gnawing at his lower lip in a thoughtful manner. "What do you think?" he said eventually.

"I think," said George, "that you have plenty of time on your hands and a lot of thinking to do. Lee saw Angelina yesterday and she said she's coming round tomorrow." He pointed a finger at Fred, and said in a mock serious voice, "And, Carter Sparks, I want a conclusion by then."

~***~


It was Friday morning, and the first time George had properly looked in the mirror for about a week. Since the dreams about Fred had started up again, he had avoided doing so, because the face in the glass looked, obviously, so identical to his twin's that he had imagined it actually was Fred staring back at him. He frowned, and watched thin lines creep across his freckled forehead. His eyes lingered on the place at the side of his head where his ear should have been.

He decided that, in the rules of what was generally socially acceptable, five days was too long to go without having a shower. Especially as he had promised his mother he would go home for the weekend. He wondered vaguely if Fred would want to come back to the Burrow with him as he pulled off his robes, and suddenly became aware of something cold hanging around his neck. He stared up into the mirror.

It was the necklace. The one that so much resembled the Good Vibrations charms sold in the shop, the one with the black beads instead of yellow. His forehead creased even deeper. Had he really been wearing it since Monday? Why hadn't he noticed it was still there?

In an almost irritable manner, he tugged it from around his neck and dropped it onto the bathroom shelf.

Ten minutes later, he stumbled down the stairs, tousle-haired and his eyes still blinking away steam, to see Lee deep in conversation with one of the customers. It was Angelina.

"Hey," she called when she saw him. The shock of her boss' death had evidently gone, and the idiosyncratic briskness had returned to her voice. "I was just telling Lee - I can't believe it - the Ministry aren't going to investigate his death."

"What?" All the morning sleepiness vanished from George's mind in a moment. "They aren't - but - why?"

Angelina shrugged. "I have no idea," she said. "I really don't. This is looking more and more like murder every day. Apparently," she lowered her voice slightly to a conspiratorial level, "Mr. Bandersnatch's solicitor had a word with the goblins at Gringotts and they're refusing to say anything about what Mr. Bandersnatch had been holding for them. They refuse to even acknowledge that they were involved - but it's stirred up quite a lot. The Prophet wrote about it in his obituary, and they sounded like they were pretty keen to know more as well."

"What - about what the goblins had to do with it?" Lee had his head on one side, a dark hand scratching at his jaw thoughtfully.

"Mmh," Angelina nodded. "Them and the rest of Gringotts. No one's saying a word. Rumours are that the Prophet even tried to get at Dumbledore's portrait at Hogwarts, but the staff wouldn't let them in."

"They're still dragging Dumbledore into this?" George asked, looking alarmed. He risked a quick glance around the shop, trying to gauge whether Fred had followed him downstairs. His twin was nowhere to be seen.

"Yep," the girl told him, "they just won't let go of this goblin story. The Ministry are trying their hardest to make it seem like an accident, and the Prophet want to turn it into some sort of huge conspiracy. I don't know who to believe."

George looked back at her. "Well," he said quietly, "we've - I mean, I've - been thinking about it and I don't reckon it's got anything to do with goblins at all."

"How come?" Both Lee and Angelina were now frowning at him. He wished Fred was here to remind him of what he was supposed to say.

"Well," he began tentatively. "It's all to do with the way the murder took place. If goblins had been involved, he would have been torn apart, don't you think? And the goblins wouldn't have bothered to trash the Sneakoscopes and stuff - they would have just taken what they wanted and left. It's all too - organised."

Lee nodded. "Yeah… yeah, you're right. Bloody Ministry - I thought things might've changed since - you know. With Kingsley in charge."

"It's the new head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement," Angelina said gravely. "Wants to hush it all up to stop the public panicking." She scowled, then stared meaningfully from George to Lee. "Look - I'm going back to have a look at the crime scene," she said suddenly. "And I want you two to come with me."

Lee's eyebrows shot right up under his drooping dreadlocks. "You're not serious?" he said in a rather awed voice. "Trespassing on property? Investigating a murder?" He leaned forward, peering at her with a suspicious expression. "Who are you?"

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said playfully. "Besides, it's not their property if they're not investigating his death. It's our shop, for the time being, seeing as Bandersnatch didn't have any family. Until they find his will, it belongs to the other workers. I can come and go as I please." Her voice took on a more serious note as she said, "Now - the Ministry are clearing away their own stuff from the scene this afternoon. So I reckon we go there tonight after everywhere else is closed and have a proper look." She glanced from George to Lee. "What do you think?"

George stared around the shop again, trying to look casual, but really scanning the room for his twin. 'I'll have to tell him when I get back upstairs,' he thought dully. Then said, out loud, "Absolutely. Trespassing, investigation - I'm in."

"Me too," Lee grinned. "So - what's the plan?"

"Right," Angelina began, sounding heartened. "We meet here about ten o'clock, it should be dark enough then to cover us, but still light enough that we won't have to use our wands to see. We'll go over to the shop and take a look around - I know a spell that should -" She stopped short. Three more customers had just come bouncing into the shop.

She turned to go. "Ten o'clock," she mouthed, flashing the two of them a wide smile before she shut the shop door behind her.

George felt slightly dizzied, and for a moment he found his legs were somewhat rooted to the spot. He shook his head, as though trying to clear it of dust. 'I've got to tell Fred,' he thought.

"Give me a minute!" he shouted, seeing Lee's puzzled expression as he raced towards the staircase. He burst into the bedroom, a delighted grin on his face. "Fred! Fred - Angelina wants us to look round the shop tonight - it'll be like old times, you know, sneaking about and -" He stopped. "Fred? Where are you?"

The bedroom before him was empty, and Fred was nowhere to be seen.

And Chapter 5!

Weasley and Weasley(Deceased)-Chapter 3!

Read Chapter-2!
"And things just got interesting…"

George's gaze whipped round to see Fred leaning against the edge of the desk. He ignored him.

"What do you mean, 'he's dead'?" he asked Angelina, who now had tears in her eyes. "Who - your boss?"

The girl nodded. "We found him this morning - well, not me, one of the guys who works there. Said he was just lying splayed out in the middle of the shop floor, surrounded by all the wreckage. It looks like there was a bit of a fight."

"Are the Aurors there?" Lee asked her.

"What? No, I don't think so… not yet, anyway," Angelina pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and began wiping her face. She sniffed. "I'm not even sure if they'll be called in. A lot of people seem to think he just got a bit too upset about someone hanging around the shop or something - they all know how paranoid he is, you see. I mean 'was'." She sniffed again. "Oh, look at me," she said in a clearer voice, shaking her head as though to stop herself crying. "Getting so upset about it, I didn't even really like the guy -" She clapped a hand to her mouth, the tears reappearing. "Oh God, I know that's a terrible thing to say about someone who's just died…"

"Don't worry about it," George said consolingly, putting his arm around her. "He once tried to kill me for accidentally setting free a couple of Snitches." From somewhere behind him came a snort. "I don't think anyone'll really miss him."

"Great," said Angelina sarcastically, frowning at George. "That makes me feel so much better." She sighed. "Do you think that's why no one's taking his death seriously? I mean - nobody I've spoken to seems to want to hear about the stuff that's been stolen."

"Yeah, probably…" said George slowly. Then it was his turn to frown, putting his head on one side and narrowing his eyes. "What about that, anyway? I mean, how do you know the stuff was nicked?"

Angelina blew her nose into the handkerchief. "I saw the journal there just the other day, he was scribbling something into it. And I knew it wasn't the accounts book or the records or anything. Plus," she lowered her voice slightly, the other two leaning closer to hear her. "One of the neighbours said they heard this strange rattling, squeaking sound coming from the house some time this morning - about one or two o'clock. They said it sounded like a load of Sneakoscopes being set off, and, well - I'm willing to bet that that's exactly what it was. He had loads of them, and other Dark Detectors set up around the place." She now had a sort of determined tone in her voice. "It was murder. I'm sure of it. He was paranoid about something, and I think it - or they - finally caught up with him. The only question is," here she looked meaningfully from George to Lee, "who, and why?"

All three of them were quiet for a moment, contemplating Angelina's words and the possibility of such a thing having occurred. A murder? Of the bloke who ran the Quidditch supplies place? Why on earth would anyone want to do that?

With the other two distracted by this thought, George risked a look behind him at Fred. His twin was still leaning against the stand, watching the three of them with an unreadable expression. His eyes were lingering on Angelina. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, George shifted his gaze sideways and noticed what it was that Fred was standing beside - the black and yellow boxes of spy glasses.

A thought struck him. "Um, Angelina?" The girl looked up. "Do you know if he had time to set up those -" he pointed to the spy glasses "- because they would probably tell us something…" He knew the answer before she began her response.

"They smashed them, whoever they were," she said grimly. "Another piece of evidence that this wasn't just an accident. The Ministry've just seen a messed-up shop, they haven't noticed that the only things that were destroyed in his flat are the Dark Detectors and his spying equipment. No one would bother going upstairs to destroy all that stuff if they were just in it for a laugh, or if it was an accident. They wouldn't know it was there in the first place, unless…" she trailed off, a slightly misty look in her eyes. "Unless they worked for him. Or knew him, and had been there before. That's the only way they could know about the spy stuff, or his log books, or anything else." She sighed again, and uttered the question all three (four including Fred) had been thinking. "But why kill him? I mean, I know he annoyed people, but surely there was no motive to murder him?"

Lee shrugged. "Maybe - all his spying and stuff had ticked off the Ministry?" he suggested. "And that's why they're not putting much effort into the case, because it was them who did it?"

"It's possible, I suppose…" breathed Angelina, moving away from the other two. She began chewing her bottom lip in a thoughtful manner. "Or maybe he was caught spying on someone in a higher place?"

The bell behind them jangled into life and several customers rushed into the shop, all of them looking excited and chattering noisily. George blinked himself out of his reverie. "Um, sorry, Angelina," he began feebly. "Work, you know…" The girl nodded resignedly, turning towards the door. She still looked so miserable and confused that George found he didn't want her to leave. "Look -" he called, catching her just before she left the shop. "We'll think about this, ok? Let us know what the Ministry decide, and, you know - we've had experience solving mysteries before," he smiled reassuringly. "Come back and tell us what happens."

The last sentence didn't come out quite as casually as he had wanted it to, and he thought there was something knowing about Angelina's smile as she swept out of the shop. He suddenly cringed, feeling his insides shrivel, and did everything he possibly could not to look at Fred.

Feeling too dizzy to Apparate, he dashed upstairs.

"Hey!" Lee called after him. "You're leaving me with these -"

"Sorry!" George yelled back. "Back in a moment." He hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him to stop Fred following. Too late.

"What was that?" Fred was standing by the sink, his mouth tight, his eyes hard.

George tried to look as though he had no idea why his twin might be so angry. "What?" he asked, though without any conviction.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "What?" he said acidly. "Ignoring me, for one. Putting your arm around her, whispering in her ear. 'Come back and tell us what happens!' Staring after her like some lovesick puppy."

"I really don't know what you're talking about," George replied, and he sounded like he meant it this time. "Angelina and I are old friends - you know that. I didn't treat her any differently than I did at school."

"There's a difference," Fred snapped, and George was alarmed at how annoyed he looked. He didn't think Fred had ever looked so angry with him in his whole life. "Angelina and I weren't as close when we were at school." Fred folded his arms. "What exactly have you two been up to while I've been - you know - dead?"

George now looked something close to horrified. "It's not like that!" he exclaimed. "Really, it's not. The first time I've seen her since - since then, was yesterday. She's my friend and she was upset. What was I supposed to do?" He stared pleadingly at his twin. "I mean it, it wasn't like that. She was your girlfriend."

"Right," said Fred quietly, but he was no longer looking at George. His next words sounded bitter. "Anything else I've missed?" he asked, staring around the tiny bathroom. "Lee going out with a Hungarian Horntail?"

"Percy's getting married," George said quickly. This seemed to instantly lighten Fred's mood.

"No way," he laughed. "Percy?! Since when?"

George grinned. "He's really changed, you wouldn't believe it. It's like the last three years never happened. You remember how hopelessly romantic he was about that Clearwater girl in our fourth year?"

Fred nodded, smirking. "Don't know if you'd exactly describe it as 'romantic'," he said. "More just 'hopeless'."

"Well," George continued, "he met this girl in his new job. Stephanie Millground, I think she's called. He's still at the Ministry, but in a different department," he added, seeing Fred's curious expression. "And he decided he'd be all romantic again, and asked her to marry him after about six weeks."

"Probably knew that if he waited any longer she'd figure out what he was actually like," Fred joked, but it sounded half-hearted. To hide the slight frown creeping across his face, he asked, "When did this happen?"

"About two months ago," George said. "Mum's been a nightmare, as you can imagine." Once again, the mention of Mum had earned Fred an even deeper frown. George bit his lip. "But everyone's mostly really excited. Hey - maybe you could come to the wedding."

Fred laughed, but the sound was a little sour. "Yeah, maybe… Hey, um, how's Verity, by the way? I've noticed she doesn't work here anymore."

"Oh," George looked a little taken aback by the question. "Er, well, I haven't really seen her since before the war ended. After her parents' place was attacked - you remember?" Fred nodded. "Well, after that she sort of just wanted to be with the rest of her family. We never really officially broke up, but… she sent me a few letters, but then stopped replying to mine. It's been a bit difficult catching up with people, you know? Most people -" he stopped, as though only just realising what he was saying. Then he sighed. If he couldn't talk about it to Fred, who could he talk to? "Most people avoid me because of what happened to you," he said quickly.

His twin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know…" George shrugged. "They all just look at me like I might suddenly burst into tears at any minute. Or burst into flame, I don't know. Angelina - when she came in the other day - was exactly the same. She had this really sympathetic look in her eyes and she was asking me how I was feeling and…" he trailed off. "Lee's the only one who's been relatively normal. He came to see me a few weeks after - after it all ended, offered to help me keep the shop going." He suddenly tapped the side of his head, where a dark patch marked the place where his ear should be. "And they all can't keep their eyes off this, either," he groaned. "I'd put a glamour or something on it, if I wasn't so proud." He grinned, and, to his relief, Fred grinned back.

"I think it's very becoming," Fred said. Then, "Well - don't you have work to do? A shop to run? My memory to keep alive?" An accusatory look suddenly crossed his face. "You haven't changed the shop name, have you?"

"No!" George cried, sounding slightly offended. "Of course not."

"Good," said Fred, relieved. "Because 'Weasley and Jordan's Wizard Wheezes' sounds rubbish." He made a shooing gesture. "Right, off you go. Earn us some money."

George's grin widened, then went out of the bathroom and towards the stairs. "Aren't you coming?" he queried, seeing that Fred was now sitting on the end of his bed instead of following him.

"Nah." Fred put his hands behind his head and leant back nonchalantly. "It's a bit boring being invisible. I can't talk to anyone - or you, because people'll think you're a nutter." His green eyes swept over the ceiling.

"What, can't you leave the shop?" George asked him. "I'd've thought being invisible would be your dream power…"

Fred laughed. "Yeah, it probably would be, as well. But no, for some reason I can't go out of the shop. I tried - thought I'd have a wander down Diagon Alley, for old times' sake, you know. But, as I got further away I felt sort of… wobbly."

"Wobbly?" George wrinkled his nose.

"Yeah…" Fred tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Wobbly." He shrugged. "So I think I think I'll just stay up here, if that's alright with you. All my stuff's still here, I'll just stay and - I don’t know - reminisce."

He flashed his twin a mischievous smile, though as George turned to go back downstairs, he had the uncomfortable impression that the smile hadn't quite reached Fred's eyes.

~***~

They still had not heard anything from Angelina two days later, but that didn't stop George and Lee discussing the murder of Mr. Bandersnatch, the Quidditch supplies shop manager, whenever they had a spare moment.

"Do you really think it was murder?"

"Definitely - didn't you hear what Angelina said about the log books?"

"D'you reckon he really was being watched?"

"After all those threatening notes? Blackmailed, more like."

"Do you really think so?"

"Well, he was paranoid about something, wasn't he? And then there were all those rumours about him storing stuff for goblins all those years ago."

"What?" George had slammed his cup down onto the desk in surprise, simultaneously frightening a small girl who had been waiting for Lee to hand over her change. He grinned apologetically at the girl, but this just seemed to make her even more terrified. She grabbed the money from Lee and ran out of the shop.

Lee sat back in his chair. "Yeah, a couple of years back," he told George, with the air of recanting a childhood memory, "there was all this stuff in the Prophet about a local 'broomstick vendor' (it was obviously him, by the way) being asked to hold some important items for Gringotts. I think, but I'm not sure, that Dumbledore was involved. This would have been, oh, right before he - you know - died, I think. Anyway - it wasn't really to do with Dumbledore, I think they just stuck a well-known name in there to make the story seem interesting. Apparently the stuff being held used to belong to him, I don't know. They probably made it up - associating Dumbledore with goblins and other suspicious creatures was something they used to do a lot." Lee took a long gulp of tea and set his empty mug down on the desk. "I mean, it could be that he wouldn't give the stuff back and the goblins got a bit riled. Trashing a shop is exactly the sort of thing they'd do if they were really desperate to find something."

George said nothing, turning over Lee's words in his mind. If there really were goblins involved, then things would certainly become a lot more dangerous if he, Lee and Angelina started trying to dig things up about them. What Angelina had said about the shopkeeper being paranoid about somebody watching him would definitely fit: when the goblins had been tailing Bagman about the Quidditch World Cup money they had followed him everywhere.

He felt a pang as he thought about the Quidditch World Cup - how he and Fred had bet all that money and never got it back. He and Fred.

"I'm, um, going on my lunch break now," he told Lee, standing up.

"Right," the other replied, staring at a group of boys hovering around the Fake Wands. "Do they look suspicious to you?" he asked vaguely. George shrugged, then Apparated upstairs.

Fred was lying on his bed, surrounded by heaps of folded parchment. George didn't have to look any closer to know that they were Angelina's old letters.

"Oi," said his twin roughly. "Knock before entering." He rolled over to look at George and his face split into a grin. "How's business?"

George took in a deep breath, sinking down onto his own bed. "Fine," he replied. "Lee told me something interesting about Mr. Quidditch supplies corpse."

"Oh yeah?" Fred raised an eyebrow, sitting up and pushing the letters aside.

"Yep. Apparently there was all this stuff in the Daily Prophet a couple of years ago about him and some goblins. He was storing stuff for them. Lee reckons they might have wanted it back."

Fred nodded perceptively. "Yeah, well, we know what they're like when they want something, don't we? Remember Bagman?"

"That's exactly what I was thinking," said George. "And Lee says he thinks Dumbledore might have been involved."

"Dumbledore?" Fred was now frowning hard at the floor. Then he got up, moved over to the shelves by his bed and pulled out a large, leather-bound scrapbook. He flipped it open to a page covered in black scribbles and random boxes, grabbed a quill from his bedside table and began writing.

George eyed him curiously. "What's that?"

"It's all the stuff about the murder," Fred replied, still scrawling. He looked up at his brother's raised eyebrows. "What? I need something to do, don't I?"

"Turned private eye, have you?"

Fred laughed. "Well, being that nobody can see or hear me, and I can watch whoever I want," he said, "I think I pretty much embody the title."

And Chapter 4!

Weasley and Weasley(Deceased)- Chapter 2!

Read Chapter 1

"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."

And Chapter-3!

Weasley and Weasley(deceased)-Chapter 1

Credit due to the tv programme 'Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)' for inspiring this fic.

There was a rustling noise at the end of his bed - the same sound that always followed the crack! of Apparition, the sound that indicated someone was trying to find their feet. George pushed the bedclothes back from his sleep-wrapped face and sat up, blinking his eyes back into focus. He peered through the darkness of his bedroom, and grinned at a familiar sight.

"Thought you'd never come back," he said with mock-worry in his voice. "You've been gone for hours!"

A light flickered into life by the other bed. "Yeah - sorry -" Fred was fumbling with something on the floor. After a few seconds, George heard the click of a trunk opening, and then the clunk of something being dropped inside. The trunk lid slammed back down, and he saw his twin straighten up, beaming.

George couldn't help but mimic his expression. "I take it you got it, then?" he asked.

"Yep," replied Fred, gleefully. "Slimy gits thought they could nick our patent - had it hidden in their safe!"

"And you didn’t leave anything that could be traced back to us?" George queried, though he knew the answer before Fred raised his eyebrows.

"'Course not!" he cried, then shrugged. "Well… there might've been some Edible Dark Marks involved, I suppose." He spread his hands, palms up, as though anyone would have done the same. "You didn't think I'd just let them get away with it?"

George tried to look disappointed. It didn't last more than five seconds, before both twins burst out laughing.

"I thought we'd pop round tomorrow," Fred suggested, climbing into bed with a satisfied look on his freckled face.

"Yeah," George agreed, "see if they've…" He trailed off. He was now looking at Fred with an odd expression, his grin faltering, eyes becoming slowly unfocused. Someone was shouting his name, though it sounded miles away.

Fred frowned at him. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Forgotten I was dead?"

"GEORGE!" Lee's yell was accompanied by a series of loud bangs. He was hammering hard on George's bedroom door, evidently annoyed. "Do you know what time it is, you lazy sod! Get up - we've got customers!"

The banging ceased, and George opened his eyes to daylight. The room was exactly as it had been in the dream, only the trunk at the end of Fred's bed was very closed and very dusty, having not been opened for over a year. Sunlight poured through the flat's windows, highlighting the heaps of clothing, boxes of untested items and unopened post lying around the bedroom. In one corner was the door to the kitchen, where George could hear that Lee had set the kettle boiling, and from which came a smell like burnt toast. The door to the bathroom was half-open, chilly light glinting off the dripping cold tap.

George stared at the windowsill, where several more letters had been delivered overnight, and then at the door, still vibrating from Lee's wake-up call. He didn't look at the other bed, knowing it would be just as neat and untouched as it had been since… since…

"George!"

"Alright, alright!" He scrambled out of bed, pushing the dream to the back of his mind and grabbing the nearest clothes to hand. He splashed icy water over his face and avoided glancing in the mirror. The knot in his stomach drove any thought of breakfast right out of his head, so he ignored the whistling kettle, hastily brushed his teeth and dashed downstairs.

There was no one in the shop except Lee.

"I thought you said…" George began, frowning at his friend, who was slouched behind the till as though nothing exceptional had happened.

"Yeah, well," Lee began, shrugging. "When I said 'customers', I really meant 'customer' -" He gestured to a stand near the shop door, where, unnoticed by George, a lone customer was hovering near a table of Fake Wands. It was Angelina Johnson.

She had looked up at the sound of George's voice, and was now walking towards him with a vague smile on her dark face. The smile did not quite reach her eyes, which were swamped with a sympathy that George didn't want to see. "Hi," she said cautiously. "Just thought I'd drop by, you know… How's it going?"

George thought he knew what she meant by 'How's it going', and was not sure he was prepared to give her an answer. The last time he had seen Angelina it had been just over a year ago, when she had been lingering by the door to the Great Hall in Hogwarts, staring at the row of the dead with tears streaming down her cheeks. It had been so crowded, the air so thick with dust and relief that he had barely recognised her, and he had been too overcome by his own grief to comfort anyone else.

She was now only a foot or so from him, the smile becoming even more forced. He knew exactly what she must be thinking - here he was, a living, breathing replica of Fred, standing right in front of her.

"Hi," he said flatly. Then, because he thought she must be expecting it, "I'm fine. How're you?"

"Fine," Angelina replied in a well-rehearsed tone. "Um - I got a job just down the road," she told him, her voice becoming a little more natural now. "The Quidditch supplies place - the one with the crazy manager. That's why I'm here, actually."

George raised an eyebrow at her, and she continued: "Lee told me you've got some products for spying on people. For a joke, you know. Only, my boss wants them for a - well - a more serious reason. He's… been a bit paranoid lately."

She was now staring around at the many shelves and stands piled high with brightly-coloured objects, all whirring and sparking at random intervals. "Business good?" she asked.

"Most of the time," Lee answered her with a nervous look at George. He, too, glanced around at the shop, though he was taking in its lack of customers. "Not this morning, obviously…" he muttered. Angelina nodded.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, before Lee continued, "So - products for spying on people… right this way." He got up, moved around the desk and led Angelina off towards a stack of black and yellow boxes marked with pictures of magnifying glasses. George watched them for a second, then, relieved that he no longer had to pretend to be content, he settled himself into Lee's chair and flipped open a copy of the Daily Prophet that was lying by the till.

His eyes moved over the words without really taking in any of the stories: "New Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement - the Third in a Year"; "Suspected Intruder to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"; "Missing Muggle Found in the Leaky Cauldron". He rubbed a finger against his temple absently, turning the page without any desire to keep reading. Why now? Why now, when he had just started to move on?

The jangle of the shop door announced that Angelina had left, and soon Lee was standing on the other side of the counter, reading the Prophet upside-down.

"What's that about a fire-breathing goat?" he asked, pulling the paper towards him. George made no attempt to retrieve it. "D'you reckon we should get a few for the shop? Be a right attraction…"

The boy with the dreadlocks glanced anxiously at his friend, noting the dark circles around George's eyes. "What's up?" he asked.

George shrugged. "Nothing," he murmured, then saw that Lee was clearly not convinced by his answer. "Really -" he said, "just a stupid dream."

Lee nodded. "Bulbadox powder in your pyjamas again?"

"Something like that…" George said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What did Angelina want?"

"What do you think?" Lee replied, heading towards the door to the flat. "To see if you're alright, of course. Spying on people… you know the guy that runs the Quidditch place - I mean, he's a bit of a maniac, to be sure, but spying on people? It seems we never really had any effect on her ability to tell lies." He put a foot on the bottom step. "Cuppa?"

"Thanks," George told him, and watched his friend disappear up the staircase.

He was being stupid, he told himself. It was just a dream, just a reminder… Fred wouldn't want him to mope around like this.

His thoughts were momentarily distracted by a number of parcels piled on the desk before him, two of which were already emitting puffs of smoke. He dragged the one nearest to him over and flipped open the box. Inside were a few a bits of straw, a rather unpleasant smell, a half-eaten box of Puking Pastels, and a note:

"They made me sick. Money back, please."

There was also an address. George groaned.

He lifted the Pastels out of the box and shoved them to one side, crumpling the note in one hand before tossing it into the bin, which burped obligingly. He was just about to throw the box into the can as well, when he noticed a small bundle of tissue paper sitting underneath the straw. He pulled it out, and as he moved it between his hands the paper became unravelled. Something shiny fell out onto the desk.

It was a thin, gold chain supporting several dark beads and a few shards of polished glass. It looked exactly like the Good Vibrations charms sold in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes - the kind of necklaces that would make the wearer happier if he or she felt a bit under the weather. During the development stage, however, a few had gone wrong and turned black, working to make the wearer even more unhappy rather than reversing their mood. George recalled the very short note: there had been nothing about a charm in there. Perhaps the sender had forgotten to mention it? Perhaps there was nothing wrong with it at all?

He picked up the chain, dangling it before him and watching the garish light of the shop glinting off the pieces of glass. "I may as well test it on myself," he thought dully. "If there was ever a time when I wouldn't be bothered about the change, it would probably be now…"

After only a moment's hesitation, he slung it over his head, letting it settle round his neck. It slipped down under his robes and he felt the cool glass brush against his skin. He stayed very still for a moment, trying to be as aware as possible of his emotions. He didn't feel any different.

There was a thud, as Lee came stomping back downstairs, two cups of tea floating behind him. "Thought I'd better keep them in the air," he told the other. "That step half-way always gets me - we need to get that board fixed."

"Right," noted George, accepting the tea and taking a great swig. The shop door jangled again, and several rather small people crowded inside, chatting and giggling as they pointed to the huge array of products. "Business as usual," he said.


~***~

"Ok, then." Lee trudged back over the desk, clutching a wad of paper in one hand and a small box in the other. "Takings for today," he slapped the paper down in front of George, "and one returned Daydream Charm. Apparently it, er, wasn't to her mother's liking." He grinned. "You alright here, if I -"

"Yeah," said George, a little too quickly. Lee eyed him with an uncertain expression. "You go on home, I'll lock up."

One uneasy second passed, before Lee nodded. "See you tomorrow, then," he said cheerily, flashing a grin as he walked out of the shop. George watched him move off into Diagon Alley, which was now almost empty and hushed with twilight. The street lamps were beginning to glow of their own accord, as fewer and fewer people hurried up and down the road, heading for home or collecting last-minute items. George pulled the shop door shut and sealed the many locks with his wand. The lights overhead flickered off, and he trundled upstairs to the flat.

The knot in his stomach seemed even tighter as he thought of the kitchen, so dinner was now also off the menu. He slipped into his bedroom, and felt his exhaustion from this morning catch up with him in a sudden rush. Dropping down onto his bed, he kicked off his shoes, and fell instantly asleep.

What felt like a split-second later, he was awake again.

It was still dark outside, the lamps having been extinguished in the street below his window, but, he realised with a sickening jolt, there was a light on somewhere in the flat. And not just anywhere - right next to his bed.

"Hey," he heard Fred's voice. "Hey - get up."

George let out a long breath. "Not this again," he groaned, refusing to roll over and look at the dream-Fred who was, undoubtedly, filling his trunk with more salvaged goods.

"No - George, I'm serious - get up!"

"Go away," George muttered, clamping his eyes shut and trying, desperately, to go back to sleep.

"George, you git - wake up!"

"What?" He sat up, spinning round so that he was facing Fred's bed, staring blearily at the figure standing beside it. His heart sank low into his stomach, and he lowered himself back onto the bed. "Leave me alone," he whispered. "Get out of my head, just leave me alone."

"I'm not in your head, you moron!" barked Fred's voice again. "I'm right here!"

"You're a dream," George told him, speaking to himself as much as Fred.

"Why, thank you," replied his twin, "but now really isn't the time for flattery. Look - I don't really know how I got here, so if you wouldn't mind -"

George sat up again. "What are you on about?" he almost shouted. "You're always here, always. Stealing stuff from Zonko's - hiding it in that sodding trunk! You never bloody leave me alone. You won't let me get on with my life even though it's been a whole year since you - and I can't -"

He looked away, staring at the cluttered floor, then he shut his eyes tight to stop the tears that were ready to flow. Fred stood, frozen, on the other side of the room, watching his brother with a pained look on his face. There was silence. Then, without another word, George sank back into his bedclothes and drifted back to sleep.


~***~

The rap of Lee's knocking woke him for the second time in two days, though it was less urgent on this occasion, and was not accompanied by yelling.

"George? Are you alright, mate?"

George let out an unintelligible murmur and rolled over. "What..? What time is it?"

"Half ten," came the reply, muffled by the door. "I wouldn't knock - I mean, I'm not struggling out here, but -"

"Yeah, fine," George said resignedly, pushing himself upright without opening his eyes. "I'll, uh… be down in a minute."

He got shakily to his feet, then heard Lee's footsteps fade as his friend returned to the shop. The daylight gleamed unflinchingly through the windows and the babble of early-morning customers floated up from the room below. George shuffled into the bathroom, washed, and then debated whether or not to stay wearing the same clothes as the day before. After a moment's consideration, and a few hearty sniffs, he decided it was best to change.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, his brain still not fully awake, he groped around for clean clothes amongst the jumble surrounding his bed.

"Here," someone said, as George found himself hunting for socks, and he glanced up to see a pair being held out to him.

He breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he muttered, taking the socks and pulling them onto his feet. He stood up and walked to the door. Then he froze.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned round.

There was someone lying on the other bed. Someone alive and well and grinning and looking very, very much like George. Only, it couldn't be. This person had both ears.

"What?" said Fred, one eyebrow raised. "I told you I wasn't a dream."

*

Read Chapter 2