***
DISCLAIMER: The entire Weasley family belongs to J K Rowlings, & I
make no claim on them. I have merely borrowed them, and will return them
in good condition when finished with.
***
Right. Here goes - and I'm placing my reputation on the line here. Testing,
testing, testing.
My name is George Weasley. It's half past eleven at night on Friday 28
April, and I'm seventeen years old today, as is my twin brother Fred.
That should be enough.
* * *
Well, I've waited an hour, and my deepest, darkest secrets don't appear
to have been emblazoned in daisies on the castle lawn outside, or painted
in green goo across the boys' lavatory ceiling, or anywhere else for that
matter, this book hasn't exploded or changed into a toilet seat. And,
more importantly, nobody's written back. Nothing at all of a magical or
non-magical nature seems to have occurred.
In fact, I do believe that Fred's given me a serious birthday present
for the first time in our lives. Okay, I know he said it was just a lockable
book, but you don't believe
what Fred says, do you?
Why on earth would he want to do that?
In fact, why would he want to give me a blank book in the first place?
It's far too close to a diary for comfort, and I don't like diaries.
It's not like I have any secrets to record, after all. That's what being
a twin is - at any rate that's being Fred's twin. We know each other completely,
because we spend our lives in each others' pockets. I've heard a vile
rumour that some twins are sort of semidetached, and I've sometimes wondered
how exactly they do it. The Patil girls seem to manage it, somehow, but
then they're in different houses, so they can't be that alike.
Oh well... Now I've put quill to parchment, lets talk about something
else. Our seventeenth birthday. According to wizard law we're of age today.
Quelle horreur. Fred and
George Weasley, troublemakers extraordinary, are now legally old enough
to vote, smoke, drink, own houses, get proper jobs, go to Azkaban, place
bets... Actually, I think we'll leave it there. Gambling is a bit of a
sore point at present.
Anyway, we celebrated our birthday in the approved style, by disrupting
completely every lesson we attended today. Charms first, and we levitated
Flitwick's cushions while he was sitting on them. Took both of us to do
it - he's heavier than he looks. He thought it was funny though, he just
carried on teaching as we whizzed him round and round the room. McGonagall
didn't, though, when her desk turned into a sheep when she was writing
on it. We lost twenty points for that.
My potions lesson was the best, thought. I managed to get some canary
cream into every single cauldron in the room, without the Sniper noticing.
Wonderful results - that stuff really shouldn't be added to acne cures.
There were some really strange effects, and that Slytherin, Derrick, looked
quite cute with a beak sticking out of his forehead. That's one up on
Fred. He had Muggle Studies while I was at Potions, and all he did was
pull the old fake wand trick a few times. We both got detention, of course.
Mine was from Sniper (who else?) and I think Fred's was from Filch. He's
only just got back now.
Oh yes, and we sent Percy a thin-bottomed cauldron with a fake letter
of complaint. We've charmed it to turn into a rubber chicken when he measures
the thickness. Annoying Percy is becoming a bit of a tradition as well.
I don't like to admit this, but I do actually feel a bit sorry for Percy.
He's been stuck with the 'good boy' role since we were kids, and now look
what he's turned into. I mean, Bill would probably have been the same,
but for Charlie, but Percy's not really close to any of us, except mum.
Bill's got Charlie, and I've got Fred, and Ron and Ginny are too young
to want to know him. No wonder he's turned out a bit of a sad stick. Obviously
Fred and I didn't play enough jokes on him when he was a kid.
But he's not the only one. Bill's had to spend his life setting us 'good
examples' - no wonder he rebelled when he left Hogwarts. And Ron and Ginny
get fed up of being at the bottom of the pile. I mean, whatever they do,
we did it first. And better, though I say it myself. And Ron goes and
makes friends with the two brightest stars of his year, so he's got them
as competition as well, and poor Ginny is the girl mum's always wanted,
so she's got just as much to live up to as Ron.
But that's just large families for you - people get dumped on. We seem
such a big close family, and I suppose we are, and that's great, but it's
also a real pain in the neck. (Fred would probably have a lower
opinion. Sorry, bad joke.) Like there never being enough money, and having
to show off to get noticed. Like the unspoken agreements that some topics
are off-limits. We have this strange censorship system - there's some
things we don't talk about, and questions we don't ask.
Take that gap for instance.
There's this seven-year age gap between Charlie and Percy that nobody
talks about. Not even Fred knows about this - I think I was the only person
ever tactless or stupid enough to ask about it, and I've never said. Not
that there is much to say. It was the Christmas we were ten, and Percy,
Fred and the younger ones were all outside having this massive snowball
fight. I was indoors with a bad cold, and mum wouldn't let me go out.
Anyway, I was in the kitchen with mum, dad, Bill and Charlie when I asked
about it. I think I said something like "What went wrong?" And Bill and
Charlie both turned and glared
at me, and mum left the room very suddenly. Dad sent me up to our room.
No shouting, no telling off, just "Go to your room." They never did explain,
and I didn't ask again.
But it's weird, that. There's a year between Bill and Charlie, and two
years between us and Percy, and another two between us and Ron. And then
another year, and Ginny comes along. Seven years is a really long time.
I wonder what did happen.
I can't believe I'm writing all this, actually. Especially in a book that
Fred's probably booby-trapped with everything he's got. Not clever, Georgie.
Fred's asleep now. I can always tell, I don't know how. For some reason
I feel more free - no, that's not right - more alive, when he's asleep.
Like I've suddenly become George Weasley, instead of 'one of the Weasley
twins'.
Most of the other kids think Fred and I are one person, with two mouths.
I suppose most of the teachers do, too, not that we've ever tried to disillusion
them. Even mum does, however hard she tries not to. She noticed that I
got one more O.W.L. than Fred did, though. Divination, grade E. Impressive.
But Fred's just more
than me. You know, faster, funnier, wilder. He's the one with the really
lunatic ideas, and I'm the one who works out how to do them. He's the
one who cracks these amazing jokes without pausing to think - I'm the
one who fills in the punchline. I let him take the lead, and follow close
like his shadow. I pick up his cues effortlessly, and we act like we're
a unit, but it's always Fred who takes the lead. Always.
If I thought about it often, it would irritate me, like it's doing now.
It's like I'm his echo, rather than a person in my own right - a shadow
man.
But Fred's really No.
I don't know what Fred is, really. He's just Fred. I mean, what does he
think about in the silence of the night when the jokes aren't enough and
there's nobody to play tricks on? What does he dream about? Maybe he doesn't
need to - maybe it's just me.
Maybe that's why he gave me this book.
George Weasley, shadow man - that sounds so stupid. Fred would be laughing
his guts out if he could read this, he really would.
PERPETRATOR'S NOTE:
Another fic finished! But only a short one. I've left the grammar incorrect
in places as George probably isn't the kind of person to use semicolons
and the like.
The large age gap between Charlie and Percy is hinted at in the books,
but never explicitly stated. (Gryffindor hadn't won the Quidditch cup
since Charlie left, and had lost seven years in a row by the start of
GoF.)
I hope underlining/strikeouts work in html, as WP9 deletes them every
time I open the file. They show up on MS Explorer though. I've used underlining
rather than italics because very few people can actually write in italics.
Oh, and this is dedicated to the memory of my grandpa, George, &
his elder brother, Fred. They were nothing at all like our magical mischief-makers,
but they were pretty cool all the same.
