Banish Misfortune

Banish Misfortune

"C'mon George," said Bill as he held the baby at arm's length. "You know you want to."

"I don't really," sighed George, but he took the boy anyway, sitting him on his knee.

"Tea, George?" He began opening cabinet doors in search of cups without waiting for an answer.

George sighed and stared at the child. The whispy hair on his head was already a brilliant shade of orange, but his irises were far darker than Bill's own pale, watery blue ones.

"He's got his mother's eyes," said Bill as he put a kettle of water on the stove. George shuddered. He and Fred had done that often- made a remark only to find that the other had been thinking the same thing; it was almost telepathic. This, however, was nothing. Only coincidence. Only chance. Only another painful reminder.

The baby began to fuss. Bill went to the refrigerator and fished out a bottle. He tapped his wand to it to warm it.

"Here," he said, handing it to George, "feed him this."

"I'm not stupid, you know."

"Feed the baby before he starts crying."

"You still haven't named him yet."

"Feed him quick. I'm not messing about."

George grunted and put the bottle to the baby's mouth. "I'm not stupid. What does Molly want?"

"Here's your tea."

"She told you to invite me over. I'm not stupid."

Bill smirked and sat down opposite him. "Then why did you come?"

George shifted in his seat. "You have to name this kid. You can't keep calling him 'the baby.'"

"Her last suggestion was Michel. You can't expect me to agree to that."

"Yeah, but suggesting Aubrey was pretty pathetic on your part."

"You never did muggle studies, did you?"

"Nah. You did though I remember."

"Yeah. It was crap. But I ended up with this book once. It was about muggle art."

"Does this have anything to do with where you got Aubrey from?"

"Stop interrupting. Anyway, it was pretty interesting when I didn't read too much of the words. There was this artist who did a lot of illustrative type stuff in the 1890s, kind of a weird guy. And it mentioned something about him getting in trouble a lot for his art being too erotic."

"Don't tell me his name was Aubrey, Bill."

"I told you, don't interrupt. I was thirteen, and, of course, after that I had to find more of his art. So that summer we went into Diagon Alley to get school supplies- mum, Charlie, and me- and I got Charlie to distract her while I snuck off into muggle London. I found a bookshop, looked the guy up, and found a book about him."

"You didn't steal it, did you?"

"Don't be dumb. I traded a muggle-born friend at school for muggle money before I came home that summer. So I bought the book, hid it under my jumper, and found mum and Charlie."

"Where the hell is this going, Bill?"

"Why are you so impatient? I stayed up all night reading it. There were a lot of pictures, so I finished it early in the morning."

George now smirked. "Were you disappointed then?"

"No. Plenty of nudity. Exactly what I was looking for. But it was pretty funny as well. This artist, he was weird, but interesting-weird, not creepy-weird, and he was damn funny as well. He died really young of a muggle illness. But before he died, people kept shunting him about to different places that they thought would make him better. They made him stay at this one house called 'Muriel,' and he wrote to a friend about how the house made him feel shy in the way 'a boy at school is of his Christian name when it is Ebenezer or Aubrey.'"

"And his name was Aubrey, thus making it funny beyond all comprehension."

"Don't be so sarcastic. Yes, his name was Aubrey, and that's exactly why I wanted to name the baby that."

"Did you tell her all that then?"

"Oh, that'd go over well. 'I want to name him Aubrey because it was the name of an artist who drew pictures that I found very amusing when I was thirteen because they were very nearly pornographic.'"

"Nah, she'd think it was funny. I think it's funny at least, wanting to name your kid after a pervert."

"He wasn't a pervert. He was challenging the prudishness of Victorian England."

"Whatever. He still made nudie pictures." George smiled wanly and shifted the weight in his arms. "He's kind of scrawny looking, this one."

"No, he's not."

"Yeah he is. He's already going all gangling like you were."

"A baby can't be gangling."

"This one is."

"Oh hell, George."

"Shh...virgin ears are present." He smirked broadly.

"You seem to be in a better mood."

"No I'm not. I'm pissed beyond all reason, and I plan on remaining pissed for all eternity. I'm only smiling for Aubrey's benefit."

"I thought you said Aubrey was a pathetic name."

"It is. But it's better than 'the baby' and definitely better than Michel."

"She wants you to clean out his stuff. She thinks it'll be cathartic."

"Like hell it'll be. I knew she asked you to have me over."

"What are you going to do with it all?"

"Personally, I'm keen on just burning the lot of it and becoming a hermit."

"So why haven't you?"

"I think the landlord'd be a bit miffed to see the place go up in flames. Besides, someone has to defend Aubrey here from the evils of parents with creative naming ideas."

"You need to clean it out. I don't want to jump on you about it George, but-"

"Then shut the hell up. And take him back. He's a bit squishy now." He held the baby at arm's length.

"Change it yourself."

"Change what?"

"His nappy. It probably needs a change."

"Since when am I his nurse?"

"I changed plenty of your nappies back in the day."

"Oh yeah. I forgot you were so old."

"Shut up, you prat and change the bloody nappy."

"His first word'll be 'bugger,' I bet."

"Only if you teach it to him."

"I might just."

"But you're going to go off and be a hermit."

"Well, I'll be a hermit, but I'll come and visit Aubrey here to teach him nasty things when you're not looking."

"She'll hate you for it."

"I don't think she really liked any of us but you to begin with. Besides, you and Charlie did the same for...for us." He faltered and turned his eyes back to the baby. "Where are the clean ones then?"

"On the table there."

"That thing with all the lace? I thought it was her desk."

"Don't be dumb."

George crossed to the table and laid the baby down. He fumbled with the fastenings at first, but soon the dirty one was off and a new one nearly on.

"He's crying now."

"And?"

"Make him stop."

"Do it yourself."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"I dunno. Sing to him. She's always singing to him in French."

"Sorry, my French is a bit rusty," he muttered sarcastically.

"Sing in English, you prat."

"You're setting a bad example now. And anyway, I don't know any songs. Not any that I'd sing to a baby at least." The corner of his mouth twitched.

"And you accuse me of being lewd."

"I don't know any songs."

"Didn't mum ever sing to you? She sang to us plenty."

"Yeah she did, but I don't remember."

"Yes you do."

"There was one...."

"Go on then."

"No."

"If he dies of over exhaustion because he cried too long, I'm telling her it's your fault."

"Oh, bugger off. Everything's my fault."

"Just do something."

"You're the father."

"C'mon George."

"Fine. Fine." He muttered incoherently. Slowly he began,

"In form and feature, face and limb,

I grew so like my brother,

That folks got taking me for him,

And each for one another.

It puzzled all our kith and kin,

It reached an awful pitch;

For one of us was born a twin,

Yet not a soul knew which."

He paused, but then, possessed by some strange force, he sighed and carried on,

"One day (to make the matter worse),

Before our names were fixed,

As we were being washed by nurse

We got completely mixed;

And thus, you see, by Fate's decree,

(Or rather nurse's whim),

My brother John got christened me,

And I got christened him.

The fatal likeness ever dogged

My footsteps when at school,

And I was always getting flogged,

For John turned out a fool.

I put this question hopelessly

To everyone I knew-

What would you do, if you were me,

To prove that you were you?"

The baby no longer cried, but he could not stop. He was tumbling down a hill, chanting words he no longer though he knew.

"Our close resemblance turned the tide

Or my domestic life;

For somehow my intended bride

Became my brother's wife.

In short, year after year the same

Absurd mistakes went on;

And when I died- the neighbors came

And buried brother John!"

"I'm sorry George. I didn't mean-"

"Like hell you're sorry. Everyone's sorry, but sorry doesn't mean crap."

"George-"

"No. No George. Not anymore. That's what happened, you know. Just like in the bloody song."

"George-"

"It's true. He didn't die. I did. I felt it. I felt it all go away, but he's the one in the ground."

"I know you're upset-"

"I'm not upset. I'm fucking angry. I hate him. I hate them for burying him. I should have buried myself. I should burn myself. I should burn him."

"Don't be an ass, George."

"Who's being an ass? It's all my fault, isn't it?"

"You're not a damn martyr, George."

"What if I am? What if I'm nothing? What if I'm just a walking corpse that should be six feet under while he's down there when he's meant to be living."

"You can't bring him back."

"Like hell. I'm digging him up. He'll be back."

"George-"

"I don't care anymore! I don't feel anymore! People keep telling me I'll be sad for a while, but I'm not sad at all. I'm just nothing."

"Drink your tea."

"It'll go right through. I'm a ghost, I swear. I'm a ghost. There's nothing here. You can put your hand right through me."

"I knew it would be this way. I knew when you were still in nappies it would be like this if one of you...."

"You should have done it then. You should have killed both of us then."

"Listen to yourself, George."

"I can't. I'm a ghost, remember? I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm mad."

"George, calm down."

"I'm calm. Oh, I'm calm. It's you that's not. Put your hand through me, Bill. See for yourself."

"The baby, George."

"Oh hallo, Aubrey. I forgot you were here. It's a helluva world, Aubrey Ebenezer Weasley. And it's especially good for you since your name's so loverly and you've got such a wonderful uncle. I'm a ghost, you know. I'm already dead, so I know all about life."

"You'll wake him."

"Then he'll wake."

"George-"

"It's a helluva world, Aubrey."

"Mum told me. About you, I mean. And about how you've been going out every night."

"And who told her? Has she been sending perfect Percy around after me?"

"Lee told her. Everyone's worried."

"Why worry? I'm already dead. What can happen?"

"You've got to stop drinking like that. They won't even let you back in the Leaky Cauldron if you don't stop."

"So? There are other pubs. And I'm dead anyway. You can’t stop a ghost. I can walk through walls, you know."

Bill sighed. "I'll take him if you want."

"No. I want to hold the little bugger now. He's growing on me. I think I'm getting attached."

"Drink your tea, George."

"Bill?"

"Yes?"

"Where am I? I mean really? I can't remember."

"You never were serious."

"I am now. I swear. You can't take the mickey when you're dead."

"George-"

"Little Aubrey'll be the only boy in school with a ghost for an uncle."

"You're not the ghost, George."

"Shut it, Bill."

"He is. You won't let him go."

"Shut it."

"He was happy. You were happy. But you won't let him go."

"You know, she came by the other day. I was passed out on the floor, but she undid the locking charms and made me get up. Even got me to change my underwear. She made me tea, Bill, and then she kissed me."

"George, who're you talking about?"

"She kissed me! She's his girlfriend!"

"She's confused, George, just like you are."

"Worst part was I liked it. I kissed her back, and I liked it," he gasped for air. "She's his girlfriend!"

"Do you want to spend the night?"

"She hates me. You know she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you."

"No. She only ever liked you. She only pretends sometimes."

"C'mon George. She's working the late shift, so you won't even have to see her. The sofa's not bad."

"He was wearing my sweater when it happened. We were feeling nostalgic so we put on each other's again. What the hell are you supposed to do then?"

"I don't know, George."

"All his clothes. What the hell am I supposed to do with his clothes?"

"I can clean his room out for you, George."

"And then what? It'll still be there. Better to burn it all. Better to burn myself. Only ghosts can't burn."

"George-"

"Not George. Not anymore." He looked down at the baby and smiled. "Just like in the bloody song, Aubrey, just like in the song."