Falling For

Time passed and George grew used to the idea of having one ear. For a while there it bothered him; living a somewhat decline in his hearing that giving him strange headaches and a certain off kilter walking stance left him a little frazzled when the day ended. But as I mentioned, he grew used to the idea of being the odd twin, the still-as-charming-but-sort-of-lopsided twin. I loved him all the same, one ear and all.

Business was beginning to die down as the war around us grew harsher. People began to disappear and some turned up dead. Those who were said to have disappeared were the likes of my old Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Burbage and the Golden Trio of sorts. Both disappearing only weeks apart, I clued together that the Dark Lord was getting stronger.

The twins didn’t tell me much anyway. I’m sure they thought that I was better off being oblivious to all that was around me, like the rest of the general wizarding public. After leaving the Order when I was 18 (due to the break up with George), I had never really ‘re-joined’. I really had no want to, either. I wanted to be the normalcy the boys would return to each night, someone that wasn’t openly concerned about the future and still baked cakes and did their laundry.

I had quit my job at the ministry a week or so before that day. Arthur had been hinting to me that it was not a great idea to be hanging around while the Death Eaters had taken over control. They didn’t mind losing a small office worker and with that I was able to leave with a simple heritage check (or whether I was a pureblood, rather). I was living off the money my mother sent me every week – 50 galleons. Not much but it wasn’t like I was living the high life all night.

George lay in bed, letting me run my fingers from his crown down to the nape of neck, twirling the longing strands of ginger between my new fingers. His eyes scanned over my face lazily, devoid of any emotion while he took in all my details like a muggle robot; analysing my moves and my unusual soft looks.

“Are you ready for today?” I whispered to him and he snapped out of his small façade. His face fell into something of a downtrodden mess and he rolled onto his back, spare hand scratching his freckled chest. I chewed on my nails, watching him exhale loudly before throwing himself up into a sitting position.

“I suppose it had to happen some time or another.” He turned his head to me and I smiled awkwardly, pulling myself out of bed and ditching the shirt I had worn to bed and replacing it with a light dress and sweater. It was pulling into Autumn and I was still not ready to accept it.

“It will be fine.” I reassured, changing my underwear and fluffing my hair. He watched me blankly, running his hands through his messed-up hair. “My father isn’t that daunting.”

I had been dating George Weasley for nearly four years and he still hadn’t properly met my father. Not that anyone really wanted to meet my father; he was a stoic old man who slept in dress-robes and lived the expensive life. As a member of the Wizengamont, my father was a prim and proper man who really didn’t see the need to talk to me. How he and my mother ever got together still confuses me to this day.

“I don’t know, Min. I can’t really understand a man that still can’t find time for his only child.”

I paused to look at him and he rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean.” He pulled himself out of bed and picked up a fresh towel from the laundry pile. “It just really confuses me how people can’t find time for family.”

“That’s because your family is huge.” I told him. “My family is really just my mother and I. They divorced when I was five and he got promoted. Really quite suspicious but I’m sure he meant well.” Standing with my hands in my underwear drawer, I watched his shoulders sag like they had been doing as of late.

“Lucky you have my massive family to love you, huh?” He told me, finally grinning. “And besides, when we get around to children I promise I’ll never get rid of you for a promotion.”

“I’m going to ignore the sly dig at my father and further the conversation about children.” I snorted at him, taking my wand to apply some makeup. “Kids, huh?”

“I want seven.” He stated simply and I spluttered, sending a line of eyeliner across my nose. I spun around and he laughed at me, causing a very unimpressed look to cross my face.

“Well you can have them.” I told him, erasing the line with my own fingers. “You’ll have to live on Polyjuice potion for a good nine months at a time but it will be worth it for your very own Weasley empire.”

“They’ll all be named George Jr. and we’ll give them nicknames of where they were first created.”

“Like ‘Kitchen George’?” I folded my arms, slightly amused. He was already grinning, leaning against the wall; towel draped over his thin shoulders.

“Well, I was thinking ‘Shower George’.” He cocked his thumb towards the door. “I bet Fred’s still asleep.”

My eyes evened and my mouth pulled into a cheeky grin, leaving my wand on the bench and slipping through the doorway before he could say anymore.




We ended up in my father’s study, George wandering around the large room to look over the stacks of books he had accumulated over the years. Why we had ended up in the study of all places led me to believe that Father had seriously re-decorated.

I had refused to apparate, seeing as the last time I did I ended up losing my hand, so floo powder it was. Letting George have his way with a few of the books, I stared at my father’s library with tired eyes.

“What is this?” George pointed up to a large, brass instrument and I laughed at him, taking his hand.

“Didn’t you listen in Muggle Studies? This is a trumpet.” I told him. “A muggle one, anyway. You play music with it.”

“Well I can see where you get your weird obsession from.” He teased, staring up at it with curious eyes. “Should have taken Muggle Music, it looks ten times more fun than the actual studies class.”

“Oh just think of all the time we wouldn’t have spent together.” I snorted, leaving him to fold his arms and roll his eyes.

“Where’s your father?” He asked and I shrugged, heading towards the library door and pushing myself out.

“Derrick?” I called around the large house. “Derrick! Are you home?”

No one answered and I pressed my palm to my face, sighing loudly. My father had a tendency to overlook my visits, usually ending up with me going to the Ministry and telling him off for forgetting me once again. Toddling down the corridors, I headed towards the sitting room, tiredly opening all the doors with a flick of my wand.

It was such a horrible thing to do, I thought to myself as I stormed through the house. Why would he do this to me, after all that harking to get me to bring my boyfriend over? My father was such a busy man, but he had cleared his schedule to spend a little time with me. For the first time in my life I didn’t hate him as much as I usually did.

Reaching the sitting room, which is where he generally decided to stay, I burst through the door with such rigidity it must have caused havoc with my blood flow.

“Father! Where are you?” I spun around to look at George. The look on my face must have scared him because he reeled back.

“Honestly Min, it’s not that much of a big deal if he had to go into work.” He took in my stormy demeanour and offered his hand. “C’mon, I’ll take us—wait.”

“Wait?” I questioned him and he pointed over my shoulder.

“Was there always a gigantic hole in the side of his house?”

I turned on my heel to notice the gaping hole in the side of the room, the trees from his garden seeping in and rustling the small chunks of foundation that had fallen off in the supposed explosion. I must have missed it in my first look due to the shuddered thoughts of hatred towards my father. But the chunk of the house that had gone missing made my blood run cold.

“Dad? Are you home?” I stepped back into the room, looking around and noticing the torn up pillows and burnt patches off wallpaper. My stomach turned and I looked up at my boyfriend. “Where is he?!”

“We should go, Mignon, before anyone comes back.” George said, reaching out to grab her bicep. “C’mon. I’ll take you to the Burrow and we can tell my dad.”

The state of the room told me there was a struggle. As the feathers that had escaped the pillows rolled around the room, dancing in the soft wind that crept through the gaping hole in the wall, my bottom lip jutted out and took my boyfriend’s hand, taking one last look before I was sucked into nowhere.




Sitting at the kitchen table in the Burrow, I watched as Molly fluttered around the kettle to wait for the water to boil. Arthur was pacing the length of the table, having just sent a patronus to Kingsley Shacklebolt to further investigate. Meanwhile, I sat shaking my head at the Weasley’s patterned tablecloth.

“He could be fine, Min.” George comforted. “Maybe he escaped and is in hiding.”

I stayed silent and studied the cloth as my mind drifted to other things, such as where my father could have actually gone. I hoped and wished that it wasn’t something to do with the Death Eaters, but as soon as I connected the state of his house and Amelia Bones’ death in 1996 I winced openly.

“I doubt it.” I mumbled. “I hate him so much.” I basically growled at my boyfriend, earning me a shocked look from his mother. “Why in all earth did he decide to get himself killed?” I recoiled into a ball, resting the balls of my feet on the wearing edge of the chair. My shoes sat lonely on the kitchen floor.

My hand found my face and I started to cry, completely confused as to why I was crying in the first place. “I didn’t even completely know him. Why am I crying?” I wiped my eyes with my free hand. “I’m so sorry, Molly, every time you see me lately I seem to be crying.”

“But every time there’s a reason.” She appeared by my side; forcing me up into one of her Molly hugs. George sat timidly at the table, not really knowing what to do. “We don’t know where he is yet, Mignon. Like George said, he could be in hiding.”

“But what if he’s not?” I sniffled into her blouse, which smelt of home. “I mean, that Bones woman and now him. It’s like they’re picking off each Wizengamot member one-by-one.”

Molly opened her mouth to speak, pulling me back to probably give me a stern talking too about my apparent pessimism, but there was a hiss of smoke; a blue mist slinking under the back door. It formed at Arthur’s feet, making him stop his rampant pacing. A large cat now sat in the Weasley’s kitchen, it’s fluffed ears twitching irritably.

“Derrick Fidere has been found in the woods near his house. Deceased. Possible attack. Will send further information when found.” Shaklebolt’s voice sounded tired, almost apathetic in his words.

Molly’s grip froze on my biceps and I choked out a sob, everyone in the kitchen but me staying silent as I began to hiccup with tears. They started out soft but evolved into large, drawn-out wails. I barely knew the man but something inside of me broke, my chest heaving and crumbling under the pressure of loss.

I think what hurt me the most was that I would never see him again.

George, who was probably glued to his chair with awkwardness, stared at me. He never exactly knew how to treat me when death occurred. It was the same with Cedric, something that drove us apart for a good few weeks until I decided to open the happiness curtains once again. This, however, was not like Cedric.

Finally gaining the strength, he pulled himself up and took me away from his mother, wrapping his long arms around my back and pulled me into him. I gripped his shirt and shook there for a while, not concerned with the way I was but only concerned with the noise I was making. If anything, I was disturbing the whole house. I quietened myself but still stay there, refusing to let him let me go.

Something broke inside me and I fought my voice out of my throat with harsh coughs.

“Can someone go get my mother, please? If that’s okay. I understand if its not.” My eyes were stuck shut in the cotton of his shirt. “Wait, no, I’ll go get her.” Wheezing, I pushed myself away and stood there for a moment, contemplating apparition. “Hang on. Where’s she live?”

The thought of it made me sick and my fingers ached; sweat beading from my hairline. Everything hurt and I was somewhat delirious, trying to grip the fact that he was dead. Maybe he wasn’t, I argued, maybe it was a decoy. But maybe he was.

“George will go get her.” Molly told me, taking my shoulders and sitting me down, waving her wand to poor the hot water into the cup that had been waiting for me. Tears continued to streak down my face, black lines marked my already pale cheeks. My head began to throb and I placed my face in the palm of my right hand, balancing my sinking dread.

A crack told me that he was gone, returning ten minutes later with my distraught mother. My tea went cold as she sat down next of me, muttering her hellos to the two redheaded elders before taking me into her arms. Her tears fell on my crown and we sat there, George hovering around us like a nervous bird. His mother took him out of the room though, sitting him in the lounge, letting him watch from afar.

Curled in my mothers lap, I felt in vivo. Her body held mine so carefully, her motherly love protecting me from my thoughts. Her fingers ran through my hair and muttered tiny things, keeping me quiet as I cried for the rest of the night in that kitchen chair; sobbing for a father I never really knew.