George Weasley had once made a vow that he would never become one of those “boring� people who sat on their porch all day, doing nothing but watching the clouds roll by. Yet here he was, in a rickety rocking chair, doing exactly what he had promised never would. However, he reasoned that since he hadn’t been out here all day, he hadn’t broken his promise entirely.

The sun was setting in the sky above George’s little cottage. Birds were beginning to return to their nests for the night, and the fireflies were starting to come out. Unseen crickets chirped loudly, conversing with each other in their own language. George took a large puff from his pipe, exhaling billows of smoke. How he loved the summertime.

Absentmindedly, George ran a calloused hand over the cover of the book that lay closed in his lap. Gold letters on the front spelled out a single word: Memories. Bits and pieces of George’s life had been amassed and put into this book—a portal to the past.

With his free hand, George opened the album, the soft, brown leather cover sliding pleasantly under his fingertips. On the first page, there were two photographs; each picture showed a newborn baby wrapped in a blue hospital blanket. The baby on the left had a huge head of vibrant red hair and appeared to be screaming at the top of his lungs. The baby in the second picture was identical to his brother, but instead of crying, he was busy trying to free himself from his own blanket. Below the photographs, in George’s mother’s loopy script, a caption in scarlet ink read:

Frederick Gideon Weasley & George Fabian Weasley
April 1, 1978
The corners of George’s mouth turned up into a slight smile and he took another puff from his pipe. Fred always was the louder twin…

Carefully turning the page of thin parchment, George’s eyes fell upon another photograph. This time, the brothers from the previous pictures were older—one year older, according to the caption below it—and were toddling toward their beaming father, a wiry man with horn-rimmed glasses and red hair. One of the twins—Fred, to be exact—seemed to be having more trouble at walking than the other. One-year-old George would run into his father’s arms, while one-year-old Fred would fall repeatedly on his rear end. All the same, he continued to get up and try again.

George chuckled softly and turned his gaze to the next picture on the page. It had been taken on his and Fred’s second birthday. Each twin sat in a high chair in their kitchen and wore a brightly colored party hat. Two-year-old George waved happily at the camera, his face soiled with chocolate cake. Fred, too, was wearing more of his cake than he was eating, but he was throwing pieces of it at the camera. His harried-looking mother made attempts to stop him, but her efforts were to no avail. Seven-year-old Charlie was doubled over with laughter in the background.

George continued to flip through the pages of photographs. All were of him and Fred, and almost all of them showed the twins doing something ridiculous. There was the picture of them chasing poor little two-year-old Ron around the backyard, brandishing sticks like swords, and, of course, the hilarious picture of their mother running after the two stark-naked five-year-olds, with their discarded clothes in her hands.

Turning the page that contained pictures of the twins “fixing� seven-year-old Ginny’s hair, George came upon a photograph of him and Fred on their first day at Hogwarts. They were dressed in their school robes, holding wands, and wearing identical devious grins. George remembered that day as if it were yesterday…

“Aw, cut it out, Mum!�

“Yeah, you’re only going to put more wrinkles in our robes.�

Molly Weasley quickly drew back from her twin boys, emotion welling up in her eyes as she looked at them. All morning she had been fussing over them, about everything from the state of their hair to the folding of their clothes. For two eleven-year-old boys, this could not have been more annoying.

“I’m sorry, boys,� she apologized tearfully, wringing her hands. “You’re just growing up so fast and…� She trailed off, and her husband put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Molly gazed up at Arthur gratefully.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Here come the waterworks,� he muttered under his breath, so only George could hear.

George snickered behind his hand and looked around Platform nine and three-quarters. Feathers from owls and pieces of parchment littered the pavement. Parents were struggling to keep their smaller children under control. Students were reuniting with their school friends, recounting tales of their summer excursions. One little girl with a long plait down her back was chasing after her escaped cat. George knew immediately that he was going to love Hogwarts.

“Hey,� whispered Fred to his twin and partner-in-crime, “when d’you reckon we’ll be able to see Filch?�

Bill, Charlie, and Percy had come home year after year with all kinds of stories about Hogwarts, but their mischievous younger brothers had always loved the ones about the caretaker best of all. All summer, Fred and George had been creating plans for pranking their first victim at school, and they could not contain their excitement much longer.

“Pretty soon, I expect,� George hissed back to his brother, keeping one eye on their mother, who was rearranging the items in Percy’s trolley. “Once we get to Hogwarts, of course.�

Fred and George plotted some more, their voices covered up by Ginny’s anguished cries of, “I have to go to the bathroom, Mum!� They were suddenly interrupted by their mother, who immediately became suspicious of their abrupt end in conversation.

Narrowing her eyes at them, Molly shook her head, muttering, “I don’t even want to know.� The twins exchanged impish grins before their mother spoke again. “Well, don’t just stand there! I want to take your picture.�

“Mum…�

“Do you really have to?�

“Listen to your mother,� said Arthur sternly, fiddling with the lens of the camera he held in his hands. Putting the camera up to his eye, he said, “All right, smile!�

Putting their arms around each other’s shoulders and grasping their wands tightly in their hands, Fred and George posed for the camera.

“George, a real smile, please,� chastised Molly tiredly.

Click.

George was jolted rudely back to the present by the loud bark of a dog across the street. Taking one more look at Fred’s wide smile in the photograph, he buried his face in his hands. The photo album fell to the ground, along with his extinguished pipe. George sobbed quietly and his fingers ran over the hole in the side of his head—a remembrance of the costliness of war.

The Second War had cost George more than his ear, though. He had lost his business partner, his best friend…his brother, in what seemed like the blink of an eye. As tears flowed freely down George’s cheeks, he thought of everything that Fred could have been. He could have been married, with children of his own; he had always wanted children. He could have been here to see the business that he had shared with his twin flourish magnificently. He could have met his nieces and nephews, and they would have adored him. All this was ripped away from Fred as his life was ripped from his body. Seven years later, the pain of his death still remained.

The screen door leading to the porch swung open and a woman stepped outside, balancing a small child on her hip. George realized that the sun had set entirely, and stars twinkled in the deep blue night sky.

“George?� the woman questioned. “George, are you all right?� She set the child down on the ground, conjured some toys for him, and approached her husband. Sitting at his feet, she gently touched the hands that covered his tear-stained face. “Are you all right?� she repeated concernedly.

George lifted his head up and looked at his wife with tear-filled brown eyes. He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and mumbled an apology.

“What are you apologizing for?� she asked with a small smile, taking his hands in her own tiny ones.

“I shouldn’t have let you catch me like this, Hope,� he replied, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. “I need to be strong for you and the baby.�

Hope Weasley caught sight of the leather album lying face-down, open, on the ground. She picked it up and turned it over. A picture of Fred and George outside Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes lay on the page, each young man grinning from ear to ear in robes of the most horrendous shade of magenta. “Oh…�

She set the book down next to her and looked back up at George, the tinge of green in her blue eyes becoming more pronounced than ever. “George, I know you miss him,� said Hope quietly. “It’s certainly nothing to be ashamed of.�

The little boy gurgled contentedly nearby and waddled unsteadily over to his father and mother. George and Hope smiled lovingly at their son, and Hope pulled him into her lap, where he proceeded to tug on her black curls. She kissed the baby on both of his chubby cheeks and lifted him into George’s lap.

“We’re a family, George,� she said, reaching up to brush some of her husband’s hair out of his eyes, as the child in his lap ran his pudgy hands over his father’s face. “We’re supposed to help each other, especially through all the tough spots in life. You don’t have to go through anything alone.� Hope’s mouth curled up into a grin. “And that’s the probably cheesiest thing I’ve ever said, but it’s true.�

George smiled at his wife and reached down to give her hand a gentle squeeze, as if to say, “Thank you.� Repositioning his son so the boy was facing him, George ruffled little Fred’s curls; they were the same ginger color of his own hair. The toddler giggled, his brown eyes sparkling brightly. He struggled to break free from his father’s grasp; George obligingly set him down on the ground again. Teetering slightly, Fred fell flat on his rear end.

You are exactly like him.