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."