Fic - "Woe-Be-Gone"
Title: Woe-Be-Gone
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, ensemble. Harry Potter.
Word Count: 2,929
Rating: PG
Summary: The Weasley Woe-Be-Gone can only be used once, and only when it is truly needed.
Warnings: Shamelessness. Total major spoilers for everything.
Notes: A gift for the lovely Lily, from one old softie to another. Inspired by her charming piece of art "Mischief Managed." Because some wounds deserve to be healed!
It was Fred’s idea, so of course it was George who had to do most of the work.
“You’ve got the easy part,” he grumbled one afternoon, as they endlessly rehearsed the rapid Apparition-switch-Disapparition that would be required for the task. “You’re the rabbit going into the bloody hat. I’m the Muggle magician that’s got to convince them you’ve disappeared.”
Although he originally claimed it had come to him out of the blue, Fred would later admit that he got the idea when they helped Dad Transfigure the house ghoul to resemble a seriously spattergoited Ron. They had done it so they would have a body to present to anyone who came looking for their little brother. Oh, sure, that body had to be living and breathing, so they had to Transfigure a living subject. A dead body, on the other hand, you could probably Transfigure out of just about anything...
The rise of Lord Voldemort tended to make most people pretty gloomy. The Weasley twins had officially vowed at the age of twelve to dedicate their lives to bringing joy and mayhem to this world, and the ascension of a murderous tyrant was no excuse to quit trying--- it was a challenge to try harder. They pushed the boundaries till they broke, then pushed against the boundaries they found beyond. The swamp and fireworks-crammed finale of their Hogwarts career had been a no-brainer. No amount of censorship could keep them from plastering the words U-NO-POO on their storefront. Anything to make people laugh, especially in these days when laughter was so rare.
This one, however, took the cake for completely crazy stunts. It took the whole damn bakery.
They fought about it endlessly, huge fights, knock-down drag-outs in the staff rooms after the employees had gone home for the night. First it was George who was furious at just the suggestion of what he initially saw as nothing more than a cruel trick. Then by the time he talked himself into it Fred had talked himself out of it and they fought some more. Then they brawled over who got to be the rabbit in the hat. Fred won that role on two counts: first and most importantly, it had been his idea. Second and more theatrically, George had already gone and gotten his ear blown off and it was Fred’s turn to do the Heroic Sacrifice bit. Complaints about vast discrepancies in the level of Heroism being assigned to each twin were answered with the suggestion that maybe someone shouldn’t have squandered his Heroic Sacrifice on a stupid ear. Black eyes were dealt and hands were shaken. The deal was set.
Between the two of them and their knack for creative magic, they managed to put together a really smashing corpse. George named him Fraud. They spent weeks perfecting his weight, his structure, his feel. It had to be perfect--- there was no doubt that Mum would be all over the thing. It made them both a little sick to think about.
In the end, Fraud was so flawless that when Fred lay down beside him, George could hardly tell them apart. There was a moment just then--- when his brother was lying there at his feet, silent and unmoving--- that George nearly lost his nerve. That was the first time in a great while that he had said I love you, and it reminded him that he should have been saying it every day, ever since he learned the words to tell him so.
After that it was just a question of waiting.
When Ginny got the message that Harry Potter had returned to Hogwarts, they both knew that it was now or never. They quickly dressed Fraud to match Fred, then shrank him down till he fit in George’s pocket. They’d worked out their own patented charm to return such a thing instantaneously to its proper size--- it had been perfected on a full-size snowman that they had shrunk to the size of an ice cube, rigged to regain its generous proportions the moment it landed in an unsuspecting beverage. Fraud felt like an uncomfortably large ring of keys against George’s hip. The two of them exchanged so many nervous glances in the Room of Requirement that they were both amazed no one caught on.
The really tricky part was tailing Fred all the way through the battle. The switch had to happen at just the right moment--- they had agreed that an explosion or collapse would be best. George threw as many helpful spells as he could without giving away his position. Fred had met up with Percy and the two of them were acquitting themselves quite well. Then Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived, and George had barely a moment to be glad to see them before the world came down. Instinct and adrenaline took over--- he was there in the rubble before he knew it, dumping Fraud in a heap while grabbing onto his twin, whisking them away again before they could even draw breath--- and as they panted and leaned against the wall of their hiding place, they heard Percy scream.
“Let’s get out of here,” Fred whispered hoarsely, and George saw that he was shaking.
He didn’t pity him. Fred didn’t have to come back.
The grief was real. George didn’t even have to act--- the moment he saw his family in mourning, his heart split open and he fell sobbing into their arms. Mum contributed more to the prank than she would ever realize. By throwing herself over Fraud’s lifeless form in anguish, she prevented anyone from getting a really good look at the thing. As George crouched protectively over the false face that looked so much like his own, he bit his tongue to bleeding to hold back his pleas for forgiveness.
It was a long, hard week. Perhaps because they were intimidated by the force of his genuine misery, his family respected the claim that George preferred to be left alone in the days leading up to his twin’s funeral. He spent the time alternately beating Fred senseless and crowding him with affection. They had never been so close. Touch was essential, hands laid on shoulders, backs leaned together, feet nudging feet under the breakfast table. Yes. There you are. Somewhere in those endless, aching hours, they put their heads together and composed the Speech.
Fred’s greatest regret was that he couldn’t pay his respects at the many funerals that occurred before his own. Remus and Tonks and Severus Snape--- George was an ambassador for both of the twins, and it was on behalf of them both that he slipped a chocolate bar into Lupin’s coffin for him. They both suspected that Remus would be quite pleased.
The morning of Fred’s funeral was warm and bright. Fred was extremely disappointed.
“Aw, come on,” he grumbled. “I was really hoping for rain.”
“There’ll be plenty of that coming from Mum,” George muttered, adjusting his solemn black robes. “She’ll be crying so loud they won’t be able to hear you sniggering, you cheeky bastard.”
Fred winked and saluted. They were almost finished, and it was going to be beautiful. They Disapparated simultaneously--- George went home to meet the family, and Fred went ahead to find a good vantage point from which to watch his own funeral. Tom Sawyer, eat your Yankee heart out. The Weasley boys will show you how it’s done.
The first to speak was Harry Potter, bless his heart. The poor little git was shaking like a leaf as he explained that he wanted to speak first because he wanted to be the first to personally thank Fred for his brave sacrifice. They’d been friends for so long--- always making people smile--- the heart of a champion--- safe in the rafters, Fred beamed and beamed. Then Potter said something about someone who knew Fred much better than he did, and then there was Dad coming to the podium, and bloody hell but Fred was already misty-eyed.
Dad really nailed it, too. Charming anecdotes of Fred as a baby. Recollection of meaningful conversation when Fred was grown. Wistful projections of the future they would never have. The hall rang with sniffles and sobs. Fred looked down on his father with new eyes, and he realized: My entire life fits inside of his. I’ve never known a world without him in it. It took every ounce of self-control to fight the urge to run down and embrace him on the spot.
Okay, it looked like Potter spoke on behalf of the friends and Dad spoke on behalf of the parents--- Mum didn’t seem to be in any kind of shape to give a speech, anyway. Fred had spent all week pestering his brother for the details of the funeral, but George insisted that he didn’t want to ruin the surprise.
The siblings were next, each relating a brief memory of their dearly departed brother. Charlie and Bill both told worn-out old stories about Fred getting into mischief--- the subject of their eulogies rolled his eyes, unimpressed. Ron’s voice broke more than once as he recalled an evening together practicing Quidditch--- much better. Then Ginny whispered her way through an account of helping Fred break into Mum’s bedroom for an early peek at Christmas presents while George kept watch. Fred had forgotten about that day completely, and he felt a bit ashamed for taking the memory for granted when Ginny clearly cherished it so dearly. Of course, leave it to Percy to be the one who totally lost it halfway through an anecdote about Fred vandalizing his prefect’s badge.
George took the podium last, and a reverent hush fell over the assembly. He stared at his shoes as though overwhelmed with emotion. What a bloody ham.
“Fred,” he said at last, in a voice that trembled with either tears or laughter. “You are a magnificent bastard. Nothing will ever change that. And I know for a fact that you are looking down on us right now, and you’re probably laughing your ass off. I love you, you git.”
He turned away so quickly that Fred knew at once: it was laughter. Sodding little prat, couldn’t even make it through his precious twin’s funeral without cracking up royally.
Tears were shed, goodbyes were said, and Fraud was laid in the earth and buried under a cheerful sunny sky.
George took great care to let the reception go on for a while. He knew that Fred was rambling about in the curtains, eavesdropping on emotional conversations about how amazing he was, how dear, how cherished, how very, very missed. He even managed to sneak him a few paper plates of gherkins and cheese cubes, while they gawked and giggled at each other that everything was going so well. They had questioned the plan so many times, agonizing over every moment of it, but now it had never seemed more right.
Finally, the moment of truth.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” George called from the stage at one end of the banquet hall. “May I have your attention, please? A moment, please?”
The crowd gradually fell silent, and they gathered around the remaining twin as he beckoned them in. All eyes were on George. In the wings, Fred held his breath. It was time for the Speech.
“Friends, family members,” George said. “I think it’s safe to say that these are some of the worst days we’ve ever lived through. We’ve lost so many that we loved so much. They died in a battle that we all knew was coming, because we all knew it was the only way that we could be done with all this. Me and Fred both knew it was gonna be a long, dark haul for all of us. We knew that it was gonna be so bad that it might seem like we could never smile or laugh again, and with that in mind, we went to work on our greatest magical creation yet: the Weasley Woe-Be-Gone.”
With his natural showman’s flair, George produced a small, bright yellow sphere from his sleeve. It fit snugly in the palm of his hand.
“Behold--- the cure for your rainiest day. The Weasley Woe-Be-Gone is guaranteed to lift your spirits. No matter how dark the hour, it will make it seem brighter. No matter how large your grief may be, it will make it feel smaller. And no matter how many losses you’ve suffered, it will make it feel like one less.” His voice caught with emotion, but he pressed through. “Now, this one’s a bit tricky. It might take you a moment to understand what’s happened. When you do, we hope you enjoy it. Remember, all me and Fred ever wanted to do was make you smile.”
There were heavy coughs and sniffs from the audience--- people were weeping at the truth of his words, at the memory of the twins’s enduring legacy of laughter. Many of them were no doubt wondering if it could ever continue with one of them gone.
“Pay close attention,” George said dramatically. “The Weasley Woe-Be-Gone can only be used once, and only when it is truly needed.”
He counted aloud to three, then threw the smoke bomb onto the marked white X on the stage. It went up in a plume of violent magenta, dense and smelling of sugar. Right on cue, Fred Apparated into the midst of the sweet purple-pink fog, and as it faded away into mist he was revealed in his flashiest dragon-skin jacket. He feigned surprise at finding himself there, then turned to smile at his brother.
The hall was completely silent as George tossed off his funeral robes to reveal his matching garish green blazer.
The twins shook hands and said in perfect unison: “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes! Guaranteed to lift your spirits!”
Then, with identical triumphant grins, they presented themselves to the crowd--- and waited.
First came Mum’s piercing scream of total shock.
Another awkward pause.
Then Ginny was staggering towards them, was clambering up onto the stage and grabbing hold of him, trembling like a bird as she gasped, “Is it you, is it really you?”
“In the flesh,” he grinned, and she threw her arms around his neck with a sob.
The hall erupted into hysteria. People were screaming, people were laughing in amazement, people were howling with delight and disbelief as they flooded the stage and dragged the brothers into their midst. They were shoved, they were slapped, they were kissed a hundred times. Ron fainted. Harry Potter sank to his knees, pale and shaking with laughter, while Hermione shrieked and pummeled Fred’s chest with her cute little fists and swore that she would never forgive him. Dad was white as a ghost but he held onto Fred with a grip like iron. Mum bawled herself blue in the face and swung wildly between wanting to kill the twins and to kiss them as they breathlessly explained what they had done.
As the story was passed around and disbelief turned into understanding, the true plan began to unfold exactly as they’d hoped it would. Joy raced through the hall like wildfire. People were turning to each other and embracing in sheer happiness. The Woe-Be-Gone had worked just as they’d promised--- the grief finally felt a tiny bit lighter. The world was already looking brighter.
While Fred was being thoroughly manhandled by a blubbering Percy, George separated himself from the crowd for a bit of fresh air. A certain distance away he saw Ron sitting between Harry and Hermione, his head in his hands, clearly rattled. Harry spotted George and waved, then flashed a very enthusiastic thumbs-up. George grinned and mirrored the gesture.
“Well done, Mr. Weasley.”
He jumped. The words had come from Professor McGonagall. She was standing just behind him and tracing the end of her wand along the border of her robes, giving the somber black material a festive new silver trim. George was incredibly impressed that Fred had managed to score McGonagall as a funeral guest.
“Thanks, Professor.” He nodded to her.
“I mean it most emphatically,” she said briskly. “Your speech was correct: it did seem as though we might never be able to laugh again. Now look what you’ve done.” She gestured at the assembly that rang with merriment, then finished in a tone of genuine affection. “I am proud to have had the both of you in my House.”
“Ah, Professor,” George, although quite thrilled, had to feign indifference. “We knew you loved us ever since we dumped that swamp on Umbridge.”
She did not dignify that accusation with a spoken response, but her eyes twinkled merrily as she bustled off to console Hagrid, who was gleefully sobbing into an enormous polka-dot handkerchief.
Somehow, despite all of the people in between, George managed to catch Fred’s eye, just for a moment. He mouthed to him soundlessly: mischief managed.
And Fred smiled.
___________end.
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, ensemble. Harry Potter.
Word Count: 2,929
Rating: PG
Summary: The Weasley Woe-Be-Gone can only be used once, and only when it is truly needed.
Warnings: Shamelessness. Total major spoilers for everything.
Notes: A gift for the lovely Lily, from one old softie to another. Inspired by her charming piece of art "Mischief Managed." Because some wounds deserve to be healed!
It was Fred’s idea, so of course it was George who had to do most of the work.
“You’ve got the easy part,” he grumbled one afternoon, as they endlessly rehearsed the rapid Apparition-switch-Disapparition that would be required for the task. “You’re the rabbit going into the bloody hat. I’m the Muggle magician that’s got to convince them you’ve disappeared.”
Although he originally claimed it had come to him out of the blue, Fred would later admit that he got the idea when they helped Dad Transfigure the house ghoul to resemble a seriously spattergoited Ron. They had done it so they would have a body to present to anyone who came looking for their little brother. Oh, sure, that body had to be living and breathing, so they had to Transfigure a living subject. A dead body, on the other hand, you could probably Transfigure out of just about anything...
The rise of Lord Voldemort tended to make most people pretty gloomy. The Weasley twins had officially vowed at the age of twelve to dedicate their lives to bringing joy and mayhem to this world, and the ascension of a murderous tyrant was no excuse to quit trying--- it was a challenge to try harder. They pushed the boundaries till they broke, then pushed against the boundaries they found beyond. The swamp and fireworks-crammed finale of their Hogwarts career had been a no-brainer. No amount of censorship could keep them from plastering the words U-NO-POO on their storefront. Anything to make people laugh, especially in these days when laughter was so rare.
This one, however, took the cake for completely crazy stunts. It took the whole damn bakery.
They fought about it endlessly, huge fights, knock-down drag-outs in the staff rooms after the employees had gone home for the night. First it was George who was furious at just the suggestion of what he initially saw as nothing more than a cruel trick. Then by the time he talked himself into it Fred had talked himself out of it and they fought some more. Then they brawled over who got to be the rabbit in the hat. Fred won that role on two counts: first and most importantly, it had been his idea. Second and more theatrically, George had already gone and gotten his ear blown off and it was Fred’s turn to do the Heroic Sacrifice bit. Complaints about vast discrepancies in the level of Heroism being assigned to each twin were answered with the suggestion that maybe someone shouldn’t have squandered his Heroic Sacrifice on a stupid ear. Black eyes were dealt and hands were shaken. The deal was set.
Between the two of them and their knack for creative magic, they managed to put together a really smashing corpse. George named him Fraud. They spent weeks perfecting his weight, his structure, his feel. It had to be perfect--- there was no doubt that Mum would be all over the thing. It made them both a little sick to think about.
In the end, Fraud was so flawless that when Fred lay down beside him, George could hardly tell them apart. There was a moment just then--- when his brother was lying there at his feet, silent and unmoving--- that George nearly lost his nerve. That was the first time in a great while that he had said I love you, and it reminded him that he should have been saying it every day, ever since he learned the words to tell him so.
After that it was just a question of waiting.
When Ginny got the message that Harry Potter had returned to Hogwarts, they both knew that it was now or never. They quickly dressed Fraud to match Fred, then shrank him down till he fit in George’s pocket. They’d worked out their own patented charm to return such a thing instantaneously to its proper size--- it had been perfected on a full-size snowman that they had shrunk to the size of an ice cube, rigged to regain its generous proportions the moment it landed in an unsuspecting beverage. Fraud felt like an uncomfortably large ring of keys against George’s hip. The two of them exchanged so many nervous glances in the Room of Requirement that they were both amazed no one caught on.
The really tricky part was tailing Fred all the way through the battle. The switch had to happen at just the right moment--- they had agreed that an explosion or collapse would be best. George threw as many helpful spells as he could without giving away his position. Fred had met up with Percy and the two of them were acquitting themselves quite well. Then Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived, and George had barely a moment to be glad to see them before the world came down. Instinct and adrenaline took over--- he was there in the rubble before he knew it, dumping Fraud in a heap while grabbing onto his twin, whisking them away again before they could even draw breath--- and as they panted and leaned against the wall of their hiding place, they heard Percy scream.
“Let’s get out of here,” Fred whispered hoarsely, and George saw that he was shaking.
He didn’t pity him. Fred didn’t have to come back.
The grief was real. George didn’t even have to act--- the moment he saw his family in mourning, his heart split open and he fell sobbing into their arms. Mum contributed more to the prank than she would ever realize. By throwing herself over Fraud’s lifeless form in anguish, she prevented anyone from getting a really good look at the thing. As George crouched protectively over the false face that looked so much like his own, he bit his tongue to bleeding to hold back his pleas for forgiveness.
It was a long, hard week. Perhaps because they were intimidated by the force of his genuine misery, his family respected the claim that George preferred to be left alone in the days leading up to his twin’s funeral. He spent the time alternately beating Fred senseless and crowding him with affection. They had never been so close. Touch was essential, hands laid on shoulders, backs leaned together, feet nudging feet under the breakfast table. Yes. There you are. Somewhere in those endless, aching hours, they put their heads together and composed the Speech.
Fred’s greatest regret was that he couldn’t pay his respects at the many funerals that occurred before his own. Remus and Tonks and Severus Snape--- George was an ambassador for both of the twins, and it was on behalf of them both that he slipped a chocolate bar into Lupin’s coffin for him. They both suspected that Remus would be quite pleased.
The morning of Fred’s funeral was warm and bright. Fred was extremely disappointed.
“Aw, come on,” he grumbled. “I was really hoping for rain.”
“There’ll be plenty of that coming from Mum,” George muttered, adjusting his solemn black robes. “She’ll be crying so loud they won’t be able to hear you sniggering, you cheeky bastard.”
Fred winked and saluted. They were almost finished, and it was going to be beautiful. They Disapparated simultaneously--- George went home to meet the family, and Fred went ahead to find a good vantage point from which to watch his own funeral. Tom Sawyer, eat your Yankee heart out. The Weasley boys will show you how it’s done.
The first to speak was Harry Potter, bless his heart. The poor little git was shaking like a leaf as he explained that he wanted to speak first because he wanted to be the first to personally thank Fred for his brave sacrifice. They’d been friends for so long--- always making people smile--- the heart of a champion--- safe in the rafters, Fred beamed and beamed. Then Potter said something about someone who knew Fred much better than he did, and then there was Dad coming to the podium, and bloody hell but Fred was already misty-eyed.
Dad really nailed it, too. Charming anecdotes of Fred as a baby. Recollection of meaningful conversation when Fred was grown. Wistful projections of the future they would never have. The hall rang with sniffles and sobs. Fred looked down on his father with new eyes, and he realized: My entire life fits inside of his. I’ve never known a world without him in it. It took every ounce of self-control to fight the urge to run down and embrace him on the spot.
Okay, it looked like Potter spoke on behalf of the friends and Dad spoke on behalf of the parents--- Mum didn’t seem to be in any kind of shape to give a speech, anyway. Fred had spent all week pestering his brother for the details of the funeral, but George insisted that he didn’t want to ruin the surprise.
The siblings were next, each relating a brief memory of their dearly departed brother. Charlie and Bill both told worn-out old stories about Fred getting into mischief--- the subject of their eulogies rolled his eyes, unimpressed. Ron’s voice broke more than once as he recalled an evening together practicing Quidditch--- much better. Then Ginny whispered her way through an account of helping Fred break into Mum’s bedroom for an early peek at Christmas presents while George kept watch. Fred had forgotten about that day completely, and he felt a bit ashamed for taking the memory for granted when Ginny clearly cherished it so dearly. Of course, leave it to Percy to be the one who totally lost it halfway through an anecdote about Fred vandalizing his prefect’s badge.
George took the podium last, and a reverent hush fell over the assembly. He stared at his shoes as though overwhelmed with emotion. What a bloody ham.
“Fred,” he said at last, in a voice that trembled with either tears or laughter. “You are a magnificent bastard. Nothing will ever change that. And I know for a fact that you are looking down on us right now, and you’re probably laughing your ass off. I love you, you git.”
He turned away so quickly that Fred knew at once: it was laughter. Sodding little prat, couldn’t even make it through his precious twin’s funeral without cracking up royally.
Tears were shed, goodbyes were said, and Fraud was laid in the earth and buried under a cheerful sunny sky.
George took great care to let the reception go on for a while. He knew that Fred was rambling about in the curtains, eavesdropping on emotional conversations about how amazing he was, how dear, how cherished, how very, very missed. He even managed to sneak him a few paper plates of gherkins and cheese cubes, while they gawked and giggled at each other that everything was going so well. They had questioned the plan so many times, agonizing over every moment of it, but now it had never seemed more right.
Finally, the moment of truth.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” George called from the stage at one end of the banquet hall. “May I have your attention, please? A moment, please?”
The crowd gradually fell silent, and they gathered around the remaining twin as he beckoned them in. All eyes were on George. In the wings, Fred held his breath. It was time for the Speech.
“Friends, family members,” George said. “I think it’s safe to say that these are some of the worst days we’ve ever lived through. We’ve lost so many that we loved so much. They died in a battle that we all knew was coming, because we all knew it was the only way that we could be done with all this. Me and Fred both knew it was gonna be a long, dark haul for all of us. We knew that it was gonna be so bad that it might seem like we could never smile or laugh again, and with that in mind, we went to work on our greatest magical creation yet: the Weasley Woe-Be-Gone.”
With his natural showman’s flair, George produced a small, bright yellow sphere from his sleeve. It fit snugly in the palm of his hand.
“Behold--- the cure for your rainiest day. The Weasley Woe-Be-Gone is guaranteed to lift your spirits. No matter how dark the hour, it will make it seem brighter. No matter how large your grief may be, it will make it feel smaller. And no matter how many losses you’ve suffered, it will make it feel like one less.” His voice caught with emotion, but he pressed through. “Now, this one’s a bit tricky. It might take you a moment to understand what’s happened. When you do, we hope you enjoy it. Remember, all me and Fred ever wanted to do was make you smile.”
There were heavy coughs and sniffs from the audience--- people were weeping at the truth of his words, at the memory of the twins’s enduring legacy of laughter. Many of them were no doubt wondering if it could ever continue with one of them gone.
“Pay close attention,” George said dramatically. “The Weasley Woe-Be-Gone can only be used once, and only when it is truly needed.”
He counted aloud to three, then threw the smoke bomb onto the marked white X on the stage. It went up in a plume of violent magenta, dense and smelling of sugar. Right on cue, Fred Apparated into the midst of the sweet purple-pink fog, and as it faded away into mist he was revealed in his flashiest dragon-skin jacket. He feigned surprise at finding himself there, then turned to smile at his brother.
The hall was completely silent as George tossed off his funeral robes to reveal his matching garish green blazer.
The twins shook hands and said in perfect unison: “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes! Guaranteed to lift your spirits!”
Then, with identical triumphant grins, they presented themselves to the crowd--- and waited.
First came Mum’s piercing scream of total shock.
Another awkward pause.
Then Ginny was staggering towards them, was clambering up onto the stage and grabbing hold of him, trembling like a bird as she gasped, “Is it you, is it really you?”
“In the flesh,” he grinned, and she threw her arms around his neck with a sob.
The hall erupted into hysteria. People were screaming, people were laughing in amazement, people were howling with delight and disbelief as they flooded the stage and dragged the brothers into their midst. They were shoved, they were slapped, they were kissed a hundred times. Ron fainted. Harry Potter sank to his knees, pale and shaking with laughter, while Hermione shrieked and pummeled Fred’s chest with her cute little fists and swore that she would never forgive him. Dad was white as a ghost but he held onto Fred with a grip like iron. Mum bawled herself blue in the face and swung wildly between wanting to kill the twins and to kiss them as they breathlessly explained what they had done.
As the story was passed around and disbelief turned into understanding, the true plan began to unfold exactly as they’d hoped it would. Joy raced through the hall like wildfire. People were turning to each other and embracing in sheer happiness. The Woe-Be-Gone had worked just as they’d promised--- the grief finally felt a tiny bit lighter. The world was already looking brighter.
While Fred was being thoroughly manhandled by a blubbering Percy, George separated himself from the crowd for a bit of fresh air. A certain distance away he saw Ron sitting between Harry and Hermione, his head in his hands, clearly rattled. Harry spotted George and waved, then flashed a very enthusiastic thumbs-up. George grinned and mirrored the gesture.
“Well done, Mr. Weasley.”
He jumped. The words had come from Professor McGonagall. She was standing just behind him and tracing the end of her wand along the border of her robes, giving the somber black material a festive new silver trim. George was incredibly impressed that Fred had managed to score McGonagall as a funeral guest.
“Thanks, Professor.” He nodded to her.
“I mean it most emphatically,” she said briskly. “Your speech was correct: it did seem as though we might never be able to laugh again. Now look what you’ve done.” She gestured at the assembly that rang with merriment, then finished in a tone of genuine affection. “I am proud to have had the both of you in my House.”
“Ah, Professor,” George, although quite thrilled, had to feign indifference. “We knew you loved us ever since we dumped that swamp on Umbridge.”
She did not dignify that accusation with a spoken response, but her eyes twinkled merrily as she bustled off to console Hagrid, who was gleefully sobbing into an enormous polka-dot handkerchief.
Somehow, despite all of the people in between, George managed to catch Fred’s eye, just for a moment. He mouthed to him soundlessly: mischief managed.
And Fred smiled.
___________end.