Pure and Explosive

"Oi! Where'd he go?"

The young boy stared incredulously at the spot where a stocky red-haired man had stood not a second ago. The boy and his sister had been staring at the man for the past few minutes. Dressed in a dapper three-piece emerald suit, the man had been leaning lazily against the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, tapping his feet to an odd beat. The children were observing him with both fear and curiosity, when he caught their eye and grinned at them. And then, the man vanished into nothingness right before their eyes!

George Weasley chuckled to himself as he stepped through the wrought-iron archway of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Perhaps he had given those children too much of a fright. But then he thought of his own hyperactive offspring and decided that those Muggle kids would forget all about the scary disappearing man as soon as they found another distraction.

Considering that it was the 1st of September, the platform was unnaturally quiet, which struck George as a blatant disregard for the sacred tradition of chaos that surrounded this special day. He loved coming here every September to see off his nieces and nephews and watch hundreds of Hogwarts students get lost in a disarray of shouts and hugs and trunks and owls. Parents chasing children and children chasing runaway pets - it had been the same since he had first come to this platform thirty-four years ago when his oldest brother was starting at Hogwarts. He must have been only four then. Yes, he remembered with a grin, he definitely was four. It had been right after the year he and Fred were finally able to escape the otherwise ominous presence of their mother, who was now too busy with the babies to notice that her twin sons were up to no good. Of course, from time to time, she would learn of their antics and they would be separated for the day, one twin put under Charlie's care and the other forced to stay with Percy. It was torture for the little toddlers, but fortunately, did not happen very often. That's probably why they had always been fond of Ginny; she had been excellent at monopolising their mother's attention as a baby.

"Mr Weasley?"

George looked around to see who had broken his train of thought and spotted a little girl with brown pigtails peering up at him with sad eyes. He recognized her round face immediately.

"Oh, hi. Francesca, isn't it?"

The girl simply nodded and continued to stare up at him. George was not used to children being so quiet.

"Er, is there something wrong? Where are your parents?"

"Cahfydadi."

"Come again?"

Francesca looked like she was afraid to speak louder. But George dropped down on his haunches so that his eyes were at level with hers, and that seemed to comfort her. "I can't find Daddy," she said, raising her voice a little this time.

A wave of understanding washed through George's brain. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "He's probably just greeting his students." And gotten lost himself, he added in his head. Francesca still looked worried and quite possibly on the edge of tears.

"Come, let's look around," said George, standing up and taking the child's hand. "I'm sure we'll find him."

They walked down the length of the train, keeping an eye out for Francesca's father. Only someone as absent-minded as him could have managed to lose his own daughter, thought George. He looked down at the top of Francesca's head. She was about the same age as Lily, his eight-year-old niece. He would never let Lily wander around Platform Nine and Three Quarters by herself on September 1st, even if it were as empty as it was right now. A child could easily be trampled by a trolley, or worse, fall off the platform onto the tracks and meet a very painful end under the wheels of the Hogwarts Express. George grimaced at that last thought; no matter how long it had been, his mind still thought of the worst accidents that could occur in any given situation.

As they passed person after person, George seriously began to give up hope. "Is your mum here as well?" he asked.

But the little girl shook her head. "No, she's working. But she'll come to get me later, before Daddy leaves on the train." Her voice was small and quiet again.

Fortunately for Francesca, thought George, she was in the company of a man whose job was to make children laugh. "I think there is only one way to find your dad," he began, reaching into his pocket. "You'll have to put these on." He held a pair of ordinary-looking spectacles. "Go on, then."

Francesca gingerly took the spectacles and put them on, but nothing happened. Momentarily confused, she looked at George's face and immediately started snickering quietly.

"What's so funny?" asked George, pretending to be offended.

The girl looked away from George and directed her gaze towards three Hogwarts students behind him, only to break out into full-fledged laughter.

George tried to stifle his own grin. "What is it? Why are you laughing?"

"Their faces - they're so - and yours -"

"Funny, aren't they?" George finally allowed himself to smile. He didn't need to wear the spectacles to imagine what the child was seeing. "Is mine all wonky with a small forehead and a huge nose?"

Francesca nodded.

"And what about them?" asked George, motioning to the students behind him. "What do their faces look like?"

"Animals," said Francesca, looking at the students gleefully. "That tall boy is an elephant. The other boy is a rabbit. And the girl is a horse." After watching the three students for a few moments, she turned to George. "What is this exactly, Mr Weasley?"

"Silly Specs," he explained with a grin. "Grant the wearer hours of amusement. Just put them on and they distort the face of anyone you look at." Francesca immediately started glancing around at the crowd. "And the best part is," George continued, "they look just like ordinary spectacles. Completely undetectable. A must-have for any Hogwarts student." He chuckled as he realised how easily this had become a sales pitch. But Francesca was too busy with the Silly Specs to notice. George resumed the search for her father and she followed him, trying to look at as many people as possible as they passed carriage after carriage.

They had reached the end of the train and still there was no sign of the irresponsible father in question. George turned to a student next to them, a boy with dirty blond hair who was hanging out of the door of a carriage as though it was the coolest thing to do. "Hey, have you seen Professor-?"

"FRANCESCA!"

Both George and Francesca turned around to see a brown-haired man running towards them, his midnight blue robes billowing madly behind him.

"Francesca!" he repeated, as he caught up to them. "I've been looking all over for you!" The little girl had barely taken off her Silly Specs when he hugged her so tightly that it reminded George of his own mother's rib-breaking embraces.

"Hiya, Neville," said George, beaming at his old schoolmate.

Professor Neville Longbottom finally let go of his daughter, who was now quietly gasping for air, and smiled at the older wizard. "George! How are you?"

"Better than you, mate, considering the fact that I know where my kids are," replied George.

Neville looked sheepish and mumbled something about crowds. He reminded George of the eleven-year-old boy who kept losing his toad in the Gryffindor common room.

"How is Trevor, by the way?"

"Trevor?" Neville looked taken aback. "Why?" he asked, sounding slightly suspicious.

George grinned mischievously. "Oh, come on, Neville, can't a bloke ask an innocent question around here?"

But Neville's reply was drowned out by a piercingly loud whistle from the scarlet train. From the pocket of his emerald waistcoat, George pulled out a silver watch, which cleared its throat dramatically and announced that it was exactly nineteen minutes past ten.

"Pompous piece of metal," muttered George as he put the watch back. "Well, I better go wait at the entrance, or else my kids will be wandering around the platform like your little tyke here." Neville continued to look embarrassed. George decided to take advantage of the opportunity and adopted his best Percy voice. "Responsible parenting is not a joke. You are setting a very bad example for your students."

Neville involuntarily recoiled a little, pulling his daughter closer. But then George laughed loudly. "Don't worry, Neville," he reassured, "I'm not ratting you out to the impressionable minds at Hogwarts anytime soon."

"And, uh, it'd be best if you don't mention it to Hannah either," Neville added quietly so that Francesca couldn't hear him.

"I can't promise that," said George, still grinning, "I tend to spill many secrets when I'm drinking at your wife's pub." But then he saw genuine worry in Neville's eyes and added, "However, I have been known to be uncharacteristically careful when the situation demands it."

"Thanks," mumbled Neville.

"My pleasure, dear Professor," said George. "I'll see you later. Make sure to tell your kids to visit the Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes--"

"I can't advertise for you, George."

"Fine, then I'll just have to owl some Parental Pest Pops to young Francesca here." George winked at the younger Longbottom and started walking back to the entrance. He faintly heard Neville ask his daughter about the Silly Specs. George thought it best not to mention that he had sold several pairs to his students just yesterday.

The platform was much more crowded now. George looked around for the familiar faces of his freckled progeny, but they didn't seem to have arrived yet. Perhaps he shouldn't have trusted Angelina's father to drive them over in his rickety old Muggle car. Desmond Johnson still drove the beige Ford Consul Cortina he had owned as a teenager, which had survived the years only due to his magical wife's careful preservation spells. George trusted that car like he trusted Percy on a broomstick. Had that death-trap finally broken down? Could they have crashed? Surely, someone would have had the courtesy to inform him if both his children had died in a Muggle car crash that morning?

George ground his teeth, trying to replace the picture of his son's and daughter's mangled corpses with something pleasant. He had become used to this exercise. It was like conjuring a mental Patronus every time he imagined the violent death of someone he loved. That was the one wound that still remained, fresh and open, eighteen years after the death of his twin brother.

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Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it. Please leave me some feedback. This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and I'd really appreciate it.

You can find some character "illustrations" on this page: http://lyon5678.deviantart.com/gallery/

Lookout for Chapter 2: Lump.