Before the Dawn | George Weasley

68

Remus was away when I returned home, and so the news of the Elder Wand would have to wait until he got back. I kicked off my boots frustratedly.

I wandered into the parlour to find Fred and George sitting on the sofa, snickering about something. They fell silent as I walked in, George's grin slipping away. Fred, on the other hand, was delighted to see me.

"Welcome home, Madame Death Eater!" He gave a little bow.

I shook my head at him. "Thanks, Fred."

I settled into an armchair across from them and spared a glance at George, who stared at the floor. Fred elbowed his brother. "Don't be rude, Georgie, we're guests in her house. Say hello."

"Hello," George said, meeting my eyes briefly.

"Not my house," I corrected Fred. "Jamie's house."

"Ah, yes." Fred brightened. "Where is the lovely Miss McDowell? I'm sure she misses me something awful."

"She's at one of her family's other houses." I shrugged. "The one near Birmingham, I think." 

Fred whistled. "Imagine owning more than one house."

I snorted. "Imagine owning a house."

Fred laughed. George gave a grudging smile, though he still didn't speak.

I found it difficult to tear my gaze from George, even as his smile faded. He looked so different from how I remembered him at Bill's wedding. He was thinner, the angles of his face sharper, and his golden eyes were tired. His rust-coloured hair fell flatly around his missing ear, and his mouth seemed to be set in a permanent line, his former glow of energy dimmed.

Looking at Fred, I realised he was the same. The war had taken its toll on the two normally lively brothers—though it was less noticeable on Fred. He seemed to resist its hold on him, forcing smiles at every turn and making the effort to keep up his usual good humour. Now George seemed more like Fred's weary shadow.

George met my eyes, then, and I tried a smile. "How've you been, George?"

He didn't smile back. "Fine."

"Good," I said quietly, and fiddled with a string on the sleeve of my cloak, wanting to say something more but not sure of quite what. 

Fred groaned. "Riveting conversation, you two. Eloquent."

I yanked on the string and snapped it off. "I'm knackered. Might report to Remus and then turn in for the night."

"It's not even dark out!" Fred protested, glancing out the window to where the last wisps of daylight still hung stubbornly in the sky. 

"Yes, well," I gave him a dry smile, running my fingers over the stitches on my cheek. "Still recovering. From the, you know, torture."

Fred was unfazed. "Remus won't be back for another hour, and Mum's cooking dinner. She'll be miffed if you don't eat something."

Instinctively I looked to the drink cart in the corner, only to realise it was empty, the usual bottle of whisky nowhere in sight. My eye twitched.

"I'm going to pop to the cellar—" I started, rising to my feet, but Fred interrupted.

"Mum and Remus threw it all in the bin." He wasn't smiling. "They caught onto your little habit."

"Then I'm going to the bins," I retorted, feeling a hot pulse of irritation.

"Just stay here with us, Doylie," Fred urged.

"Why, so he can keep ignoring me?" I snapped, jabbing a finger at George. "And you can keep pretending like everything is normal? Does that sound like fun to you?"