As George had predicted, Fred was in the bathroom.
"I saw her come up the stairs, looking furious," Fred told his twin in a mildly scared voice, "so I ran for it. Instinct, I suppose."
George gave him an understanding nod and began splashing water over his face. When he spoke, it was in an undertone, as he was well aware that doors were not soundproof. After the incident with Ginny finding the letters, he did not want his sister to think he was any more mad by letting her hear him talking to himself.
"Going home today," he said quietly. "I suppose you'll have to come with me. Might be nice, you know, seeing the place again?"
"Yeah," said Fred, though he did not sound as though he meant it. He looked away from his twin and began examining the bathtub. "Do you ever clean this anymore…?"
George threw a towel at him, and Fred caught it just before it hit his face. "Weird, isn't it?" Fred commented vaguely, looking at the towel. "How stuff doesn't go through me, like it does with ghosts… And how I can't go through walls or doors or anything."
"Very weird," said George thickly, removing a toothbrush from his mouth and spitting into the sink. He turned to face Fred, his chin covered in white foam. "Right," he began in a business-like tone, "how is this going to work? I mean, if Ginny and I Apparate, how are you going to come with us?"
Fred shrugged. "Same as last time?" he suggested. "Or, maybe I could try holding on to you - like side-along Apparition?"
"Yeah, we could try that -" George stopped as he heard someone knocking on the door. "I'll be there in a minute, Ginny." He splashed water over his face to wash off the foam, then turned back to Fred. "Oh yeah - could you tidy up some of your stuff, please?"
"Sorry, Mother."
"I mean it," George grimaced. "Ginny found the letters all over your bed, and now she thinks I'm trying to - I don't know - pretend you still live here or something." He glared at Fred, who was hiding a smirk. "You know what I mean: now she thinks I'm completely off my rocker, and it's only a matter of time before Mum finds out." He sighed, then threw a last glance at the mirror and walked back into the bedroom.
Ginny was standing in the middle of the room, a small rucksack in her right hand. Both beds were made, and most of the clothes and other objects littering the floor had been brushed into a corner. "I put some clothes in here," she tapped the rucksack, "and tidied the room up a bit. Is there anything else you want?"
George heard Fred come out of the bathroom, and saw his twin point at his bedside table. The little scorch-marked book was lying there next to Fred's scrapbook. "Er, yeah," he said, moving over to the table. "I'll just grab some - er - work stuff." He picked up the books and stuffed them into his bag. "Ok, let's go."
His sister gave him a quick smile, then spun on her heel and vanished. As soon as she had gone, George turned to Fred.
"Quick." He stuck out his free arm. "Hold on. Before she realises I'm not with her and comes back."
"Right." Fred hurried across the room and clasped George's outstretched arm tightly. "What happens if it doesn't work?" he asked.
His twin shook his head. "I don't know - you'll just come along anyway, like last time."
"Great," said Fred sarcastically. "Glad to see my well-being is top of the list of priorities."
"Look," began George exasperatedly, "if we don't hurry up, Ginny'll be back and she'll think I'm deliberately not coming."
"Alright, alright. Pirouette away..."
George's eyes were still closed when he heard someone very close to him cry out, "George! Oh, welcome home, dear!"
"Mum -" he began, but every other word in his sentence was muffled as his mother pulled him into a tight hug. He blinked open his eyes to find his vision obscured by a large quantity of ginger hair, beyond which he could vaguely see the wall of the Burrow's kitchen.
"Oh, George, it's so good to see you, dear." His mother finally released him and stood back, peering from his dazed expression to his feet which, George suddenly realised, were only encased in socks.
Mrs. Weasley frowned. "George, where on earth are your shoes?"
"Um…" George looked around the floor, noting that his rucksack had dropped from his grip and was now lying next to his feet. He looked up and saw that Ginny, standing just next to him, was pointing at it. "In there," he said hurriedly, gesturing to the bag. "I didn't have time to put them on, sort of slept in…"
"Oh, never mind," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "At least you're not getting mud on my nice clean floor." She gestured around the kitchen, and George saw that it was, indeed, cleaner than he had ever seen it. Ginny flashed him a quick smile before disappearing through the door to the lounge, and Mrs. Weasley pointed after her, saying, "Go on through and say hello. Your father's not here, he's had to take a Saturday shift due to a bout of Dragon Pox in the office, but Harry and Hermione are in there with Ron, and Charlie's just outside finishing off the de-gnoming."
She flicked her wand at the kettle and it began to whistle. "Help yourself to tea," she told him. "I've got to be getting along to Madam Malkin's, but I'll be back around two o'clock for lunch." She beamed at her son, waved a hand in the direction of the living room, and then bustled out of another door.
George felt a stone sink to the bottom of his stomach as he watched her leave; her evident happiness at his return made him feel extremely guilty for delaying coming home for so long. The last time he had been home was Christmas, and even then it had only been for a few days. He had barely spoken to anyone, and had spent most of the time on his own. Staying at the shop meant keeping busy, and keeping busy had been his way of coping.
"Hasn't changed a bit," said a voice near him. He whirled round to see Fred standing by the scrubbed kitchen table, which was now sporting a freshly-pressed white tablecloth. Although Fred was smiling, the shadow was back in his eyes as he stared around the place that had, formerly, been his home. "Is Percy back living here now?"
"No," said George. "At least, I don't think so. He's gone back to his flat in some part of London somewhere - I've never been, actually." This sent another surge of guilt running through him, though it was remarkably less than the feeling instigated by his mother. "I think he's coming to stay in a couple of weeks, though - before the wedding, you know."
Fred nodded, then threw a fleeting glance at the door to the hall. "You going to go in and see that lot, then?" It was obvious that he had tried to sound casual, but George thought there was something rather expectant in Fred's tone.
"Er, yeah," he said. "Hang on a second, while I just put this stuff upstairs - actually, I don't know where I'm sleeping, yet. I think Harry and Charlie might be in our room." He paused. 'Our room' - their room. It sounded so much more normal that way.
He hoisted his rucksack onto the kitchen table, wary of creasing the impeccable tablecloth, and dug inside it until he found a pair of shoes. "It must have worked, then," he said vaguely, pulling on a shoe. "If you're here?"
"Yeah, must've done," said Fred. "I don't feel quite as ill as last time, anyway." He glanced at the door again.
"Ok," said George, taking in a deep breath, "let's go."
Both he and Fred strode across to the door, pushed it open and walked into the sitting room.
That afternoon proved to be the most fun George had had for ages. Despite the odd anxious glance from either Harry, Hermione, or his own siblings, the knowledge that Fred was sitting only a few feet from him meant that their looks had little significance. Even though Fred could say nothing that would be heard by anyone else, the sole fact that he was there, with them, gave George the feeling that everything was back to normal, the way it should be.
Together, he, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny spent the afternoon laughing and joking about Percy, speculating on what Stephanie Millground might be like (apparently none of them had met her yet), and eventually having to help Charlie with the de-gnoming, as most of the little creatures had decided to gang-up on him.
By the time dinner came around, George was feeling happy and relaxed and like his old self again, and the memory of the night before had been pushed right to the back of his mind. When he eventually clambered into bed (his own, as Harry was sharing with Ron), it was with a feeling of utter contentment.
"Hey," whispered a voice near to him, and George rolled over to see Fred crouched down next to him.
"Watch it," George hissed, nodding towards the bed next to him. "Charlie might be -"
"He's asleep," Fred told him. "I checked." He sat down on the floor between the two beds, so that his head was almost level with George's. "So - I was thinking I could have a look around, you know, at some of the books downstairs? Maybe sneak into Hermione's room and have a flick through some of hers - look up this strange phenomenon that is me."
George frowned. "Do you think that's a good idea? What if you get caught?"
"Get caught?" Fred laughed under his breath. "George - no one can see me! Besides, even if someone did happen to see a floating book, they'd probably just think it was the book itself getting a bit of an attitude problem, or something. Or a ghost mucking around - which it sort of is, I suppose." He grinned. George did not look quite so pleased.
"I don't know," he said. "If Mum thinks we've got a ghost in the house, this close to the wedding, she'll do her nut. She'd probably banish all spirits from the place, or something - and that would mean you, too."
"Nonsense," said Fred, standing up. "I'll be really quiet. Promise." And he grinned again, before tip-toeing out of the room.
George watched him tug the bedroom door shut with half-open eyes, then, the warmth of the afternoon washing back over him, he fell straight to sleep.
"Hey! George!" What felt like a millisecond later, someone was stamping around the bedroom, pulling on various bits of clothing and then heading for the door. It was Charlie. "Mum says breakfast's on the table - get up!"
Before George even had time to register these words, Charlie had already closed the door behind him and headed off downstairs. The room was still after he had left. George felt too tired and too comfortable to get up, so he simply lay there in the glow of the morning sunlight, feeling warm and sleepy and perfectly content. For one small moment, he could remember nothing - nothing from the past few days, or weeks, or months. All he knew was that he didn't want to get out of bed.
Then someone sat down on his feet.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry -" Fred jerked back up again, staring down dubiously at the spot where he had just been sitting. "Thought that bit looked safe." He smiled down at George. "And how are you this fine morning?"
George grimaced. "I take it you found something? Something good?" He sat shakily upright, blinking in the light shining behind Fred's head. It made him look like he had a halo.
"I think so. I'm not sure," Fred told him. "I checked the books downstairs - not much. Then I managed to get into Ginny's room where Hermione's sleeping - don't worry, I didn't wake anyone up! - and I found something a bit weird." He held up a battered old book, falling apart at the seams, its faded front cover depicting a pleasant countryside setting.
George stared at it. "The Tales of Beedle the Bard," he read, frowning. Then he looked back at Fred. "Don't we have that?"
"Yeah, this is ours," Fred said, flipping open the book. "Hermione had the runic version, so I went and got our old children's one from downstairs."
"Er, sorry," George was blinking blearily at his twin, his frown deepening. "Am I just not getting something: what on earth have The Tales of Beedle the Bard got to do with you? And why did Hermione have a copy of them, anyway?"
"I don't know," the other replied. "I thought she must just be using it for rune translation practise or something. But that doesn't matter. George -" he held open the book and pointed to a page entitled The Tale of the Three Brothers, "- don't you remember? This story. We must've heard it a million times when we were growing up and I never even thought - I couldn't remember it properly at first, but seeing the book, it nagged me. I had to read it through again to remind myself -" He leaned forward, thrusting the book into George's hands. "The Three Brothers, remember? One asked for the power of invisibility, one asked for that amazing wand, and the third one -"
"- asked for the power to bring back the dead."
George stared at the book, his mouth going slack. When he looked up at Fred it was with an expression of confused disbelief. "It can't be… it just can't, that's mad. Besides, in the story he has a stone - a Resurrection Stone - but I don't have… It can't be the same thing."
Fred rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying it's the same thing," he said, taking the book back from George. "But - it's the same kind of idea, right? This brother has a rock that lets him see the dead. And they look sort of realistic, like me - but they're not really there, also like me." He closed the book and looked meaningfully at his brother. "I'm not a ghost, and neither were the dead people in this story. It's the only time I've ever heard of anything like this - that I can remember. There has to be a link. There must be something else that does the same thing as this stone and, whatever it is, it's in that necklace."
He pointed to the chain around George's neck, and George's hand flew to it instantly. His fingers slipped over the oddly-shaped black beads and bits of glass, reforming the picture in his mind of what it looked like. A strange little charm sent to him with a half-eaten packet of Puking Pastilles… it was hardly the stuff of fairy tales.
"It's just a story, Fred," he said, shrugging. "Yeah, it's a bit similar, but… there never was a Resurrection Stone, was there?"
"No," said Fred, now standing up and beginning to pace heavily about the room. "But someone might have got an idea from this story, might've developed one of their own. I mean, it might sound impossible now, I wouldn't know where to begin, but these stories have been around - what - six, seven centuries? If someone had enough time and patience they could probably do it."
He looked down at the book, and just as he stopped walking backwards and forwards across the room, someone from two floors below shouted, "George! Breakfast! And stop stomping around like that, we can hear you down here!"
It was Sunday evening, the summer sun was a scarlet glow on the horizon and there was a pleasant coolness in the air, as George stood in the yard outside the Burrow, saying goodbye to his family.
He felt a knot form in his stomach as Mrs. Weasley hugged him, then whispered in his ear that he was to come back soon. Being at home again had felt so secure and right that he found himself very unwilling to leave, and delayed his departure for as long as possible. He said a lengthy goodbye to Harry and Hermione, urging them to come and visit him in Diagon Alley; he shook hands very stiffly with Ron and then pulled him into a tight hug; and finally he ruffled Ginny's hair and repeated his instruction that she was never to be left alone with Harry.
After saying his farewells to Charlie and his father, he turned his attention to Percy, who had dropped by that evening for dinner.
George grinned at him. "Congratulations, Perce," he said, shaking his brother's hand. "I never thought you had it in you."
Percy smiled weakly, his horn-rimmed spectacles slipping slightly down his nose. Then, after muttering a small "Thanks", he suddenly seemed unable to look at George.
"What's the matter?" George peered at him, and when Percy looked back, he seemed rather troubled.
"Oh, nothing, nothing really." The ghost of a smile flickered on Percy's face again. "I don't know… I mean, obviously you look like him, I suppose I just wasn't prepared…"
Realisation slipped sickeningly into George's stomach. Percy was talking about Fred. Looking at him, George, reminded Percy of Fred, and Percy was looking very teary-eyed about it.
For a moment, George didn't quite know what to do. Then, breathing out a long sigh, he said softly, "Oh, Perce," and pulled his brother into a one-armed hug.
Percy turned his face into George's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice muffled by his brother's robes. "I don't know what it is… seeing you again has just - just brought it all back -"
George heaved another sigh, his spirits dampening with every one of his brother's words. Percy had been there when Fred had died - when George had been on the other side of the castle, when he had felt that stab of unexplainable pain in his chest and known that something was wrong. Percy had seen it happen, had tried to stop it, had joked and laughed with Fred right until the end. And in that moment, standing in the yard on Sunday evening, George felt closer to his bespectacled, stiff-upper-lipped, temporarily-estranged brother than he had ever felt in his life.
"I know," he said quietly. "It's alright."
Mrs. Weasley bustled over to them. "Come here, Percy, dear," she said, extracting Percy from under George's arm.
"I'm alright, mother," Percy said in a watery voice. He sniffed. "I'm alright. I'm sorry, George."
George smiled at him. "It's nothing," he said, and meant it. He looked nervously around for Fred, and saw his twin standing on the other side of the yard, watching Percy with a rather forlorn expression, his mouth twitching slightly. It looked as though Fred wanted to say something, but couldn't quite get the words out.
"I - time to go, I think," George said quickly, patting Percy on the arm before moving across to Fred.
"Oh, you will come back soon, won't you, dear?" Mrs. Weasley called from where she still had an arm around Percy. "The wedding's only two weeks away - you will be there, won't you?"
"Of course," George told her, picking up his rucksack. Fred clung on to his twin's arm, with a rather weaker grasp than before, and nodded at him. "Right, well - see you all." George gave a fleeting smile to his family and friends, tried not to think about how much he would miss them all, and Disapparated from the yard.
His last few words with Percy were still in his mind as he spun homeward, and this slight lapse in concentration meant that he Apparated into the darkness of the shop downstairs rather than into his flat. He heard a scuffle nearby that told him Fred had got home safely as well, then waved his wand towards the ceiling and illuminated the room. His mouth dropped open.
They had landed in utter chaos.
NB: There is a moment in this where Fred says something that doesn't correspond with book 7. Don't worry - this is deliberate, and it is corrected in the next chapter when Fred realises his mistake.