An Ironic Title

Chapter 4: Twice As Bad

We've always thought alike, George and I, people always said that we could read each other's minds. Maybe it's one of the added benefits of being a twin, I'm not sure, I haven't really experienced it any other way. But now I know that everyone's thinking the same thing and you don't need to be a twin to know. They're all thinking that Harry's gone. He's gone and he's not coming back . . . ever.

George and I had been looking forward to showing him our shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes over the summer, funded on his Triwizard winnings that he had given us and he refused to take no for an answer. In fact, I believe he said that he'd hex us, if we didn't take it. Harry was always persuasive in that way. Of course, once we opened the shop, George and I decided that we'd give him everything that he wanted (or needed in the case of Snape or the Toad Lady) free of charge! It would help pay him back for everything he had given us - money and a new Weasley brother.

For Harry had certainly wormed his way into our family, Mum had taken him in like a lost kitten and nurtured him, until he had begun to rely on us as family and all of us Weasley kids as brothers and a sister (well, Ginny, more than a sister, I suppose). And George and I - we had loved him like a brother, playing pranks on him and teasing him just as lightheartedly as we did with Ron. Why, I remember the time that we picked him up from that Privet Drive place - Mum still talks about us 'hijacking' the car as if we were terrorists - and driven him to the Burrow, his rescuers. Mum had been terrifying when we'd landed of course, but, as I've said before, accepted Harry right into the Weasley fold as if he'd been one of her own.

However, Mum's reaction isn't what we expected. We're so used to her screaming and yelling when anything doesn't go the way she had planned and I guess Harry's death doesn't exactly fit into her schedule of events. Therefore, we both expected her to start screaming and raging at You-Know-Who, Death Eaters, Dumbledore, and the Earth in general. But she didn't, that was Remus's job this time, I suppose. Now he's just walking around, looking lost, though, his eyes blank and expressionless.

George seems to read my mind (yet again), and says, "It's funny, Mum isn't yelling."

"Yeah," I agree and I nod toward Mum where she's talking to Ginny. It's still hard to believe that Harry loved her and if he'd married her, well . . . that would have made him a real Weasley brother.

"Or crying."

I nod, it's true. If Mum doesn't yell, crying is always the second-in-command. "She always tries to be brave for us."

It's George's turn to nod. "Yeah. She'll cry when we're not around though."

"Yup." There was an awkward silence between us, which I can't ever remember happening before, punctuated only by the Toad Lady's scream as the teacup she is drinking from bites her nose - hard. Dad asked us to put out refreshments for the Ministry officials who were coming, as if it were some sort of party. It wasn't like she cared about Harry anyway, all they cared about was the publicity and all the other parties that they could attend about You-Know-Who's, oh, alright . . . Voldemort's downfall and act as if it were all the Ministry's job that he was vanquished.

Dad, who was sitting near the toad, turned to us and gave us a glance - not stern, in fact, he looks somewhat happy that we did it. George and I grin back at him, if half-heartedly (a funeral doesn't really sound like a place to grin, does it?). All we had been doing was honoring Harry's final request and giving Umbridge what she richly deserved (of course she deserved more than that, but we're trying to have a bit of fun, not go to Azkaban).

I guess that Umbridge's reaction helped break the ice, because George says, "He's not coming back, is he?"

"No," I answer simply. "No, he's not."

"It's hard to believe."

"I know." It is hard to believe that Harry won't be coming over the Burrow anymore and Mum giving him second (and third and fourth) helpings of everything there.

"But it was nice of him to give us some money before he left." George talks about it as if Harry just went on a trip and he kind of did, according to Dumbledore, anyway; for, in an effort to calm us after the will was read, he said that death was 'nothing but the next, great adventure.' That really got Remus started.

"Well, who else would he have given it to?" I ask.

"Well . . . Remus."

"He gave Remus the money in Sirius's vault." George nods, acknowledging this.

"Or Dumbledore."

I stare at him, thinking that that was the stupidest thing my twin has ever said. Harry hates Dumbledore! We usually think alike, but this . . . this is the most different thing ever!

George seems to read my mind again, for he changes the topic, saying, "Do you think that Mum and Dad will give us some money? You know, for the shop?"

"Yeah. Harry would want that."

"Yeah." George nods and then says, "I'm going to go say. . . ." He trails off and wipes something from his eye? George is crying?!

"Goodbye?" I finish gently, wiping something wet from my own eye. Not me, too!

George nods again, we've been doing that a lot lately, and he walks up the aisle to the casket. I look after him, thinking of what he said, "Or Dumbledore." Harry hates Dumbledore; it is quite obvious in what Harry said to the old wizard. Why, he even said that he would perform the Killing Curse and the Cruciatus Curse - two of the three Unforgivables right there, on the headmaster! There is no doubt that Harry hates him.

Or Dumbledore. Yeah, right, Harry wouldn't give Dumbledore anything, after what the old wizard said to him. I can't really blame him for being angry, but this . . . he's hurt everyone, including Dumbledore.

Or Dumbledore. Harry told Dumbledore to keep away from his funeral, and the old man has honored Harry's request - as we all have honored his requests.

Or Dumbledore. A bee buzzes by my ear and I swat at it. That's what I hate about the summer, all these infernal bugs.

Or Dumbledore. A breeze tickles my ear ever so gently and whispers something. What is it? That bee is buzzing so loud, I can't hear. I swat at it again.

Or Dumbledore. The breeze whispers again and I hear what it says this time, the bee has stopped buzzing. It says, "I don't," ever so quietly.

Or Dumbledore. "Don't what?" I feel like asking. The breeze doesn't answer, or at least doesn't seem too, instead it says cryptically, "I'm sorry," and goes off.

Or Dumbledore, I think again. But Harry doesn't hate him? What does it mean? I don't understand, yet I don't think I need to. That's up to Harry. And Harry has forgiven Dumbledore, but now needs to work on forgiving himself.

George comes back up, wiping a bunch of wet things from his cheeks. He's crying again. "Hey," he says.

"Hey," I say back. And, although we're twins, George doesn't read my mind this time, nor can he. No one can understand that I've had an encounter.