To Love a Twin

Chapter 18: Resurrection

George sat on the floor in his and Fred's old bedroom at the Burrow, the ever-present weight of dread lay buried in the pit of his stomach. He barely registered the fact that the door had opened and Ron and Harry had come in. They sat on the bed, looking at him. There had been no ransom-owl, not a sign of Kira except for the bloodied, bullet-holed jumper she'd had on the day she'd been taken. Merkel, Sam, Harry and Luke kept saying that if she were still alive, they'd find her, eventually.

Eventually. That was the problem. They didn't have forever, Kira and the babies. They only had to the last of January, early February at the latest, before the twins would be born, assuming they were still alive. Six weeks. He had only six weeks, at best, to find her, probably only four. If she were alive, you could be sure the kidnapper wasn't allowing her to have medical care.

"Um..George?" said Harry.

George blinked and looked up. He'd forgotten they had even entered the room.

"We've been thinking," Harry continued. "There is one way of finding out, for certain, if Kira is dead or alive. And, if she has been killed, we can find out who did it and how."

George looked up at them. "For certain," he repeated. A noise came from his throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Do I want to know?"

"George," said Ron. "If she's gone, if whoever took her killed her. Then, you'll be able to move on. You have to move on. You can't sit here banging your head against the wall for the rest of your life. It'll be hard, it'll hurt, but..."

"What if it was Hermione?" he screamed. "Would you be so bloody willing to 'move on?'"

"Yes, because she'd want me to. Look at you. She's been gone almost two months and you've given up. You don't care about yourself, the stores, nothing. If she is alive, what'll be left of you to come back to?"

George was silent a few moments. The words ran through his brain over and over. If Kira is dead, if Kira is dead, Kira dead, dead Kira, dead. His parents and Kira's mother kept telling him to not abandon hope. But, George knew, all hope had died the minute he saw that jumper. If she had not died from that bullet, then, most likely, she'd died shortly after. He wondered what she'd had to endure before she was killed. Was she tortured, raped? How had it happened? Another bullet? A knife? Strangled? It was the not knowing, he realized, that was the worst part of this Hell.

"What's your plan?" he asked.

"Well," began Harry, "this can never leave this room. Only Ron, Hermione, and I know about this. During the Battle of Hogwarts, I was, briefly, the master of the Deathly Hallows. All three of them."

"The Deathly Hallows. That old fairy tale?"

"It's not a fairy tale, Mate," said Ron. "It's true. Harry's Invisibility Cloak is one. The fabled Elder Wand, the Death Stick, is another. And the Resurrection Stone. Harry lost it in the Forbidden Forest. If we can find it, we can use it to..."

"To call Kira back," said George, completing the thought. He thought of the fable of the Resurrection Stone. The original owner had called back his love and then, when the situation proved intolerable, he'd chosen to join her. George would be a liar if he didn't admit he'd thought of it.

"I have a pretty good idea of where it is," said Harry. "I figure the three of us can go look for it."

George looked at the hand Harry was extending toward him. He reached out and grasped it. Harry pulled him to his feet.

"Let's go," said George.

Harry, Ron, and George went downstairs, telling Mrs.Weasley only that they would be gone for a while and not to worry. Then, they walked outside and Disapparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

* * * * *

Kira sat at the table in her cell, knitting. She was making blankets for the babies. She had so hoped that the items she had sent Whack-job out to buy would tip off someone, a cashier at the store, the chemist at Boots, somebody, that he had her.

Why would a single, male librarian need prenatal vitamins, pickles, and strawberry ice cream? She didn't really have any cravings for pickles and ice cream, but Whack-Job didn't know that. It had simply been the most stereotypically pregnant thing she could think of. She was beginning to believe the magical world was right. Most Muggles were oblivious to everything that didn't immediately concern them.

She glanced up and saw him, sitting there, outside the cell, just staring at her, watching her. Sundays were the worst. The library was closed and he had nothing to do but sit and watch her, all day.

Each day, he came and demanded she approach the cell door and accept his disgusting kiss. But, on Sundays, he would get bored and demand one over and over. He disgusted her. The feel of his mouth on hers, his hands that, in recent days, had begun to grope her body. He was slowly becoming bolder and bolder, and she had to stand there and let him maul her, pretending she welcomed his touch. She knew it was only a matter of time before he began making other demands. She felt the simmering sense of panic well up in her and worked to squelch it. She had to, somehow, get a message out, and get him to unwittingly carry the message.

She looked down at the blanket she was fashioning. It was a mess. She sighed in dismay and began to pull out the entire last row, remembering the blanket she had fashioned from Fred's jumpers, how happy she'd been while making it, how perfect it had come out, the bright yellow letter F's on the blue background, and the carefully embroidered heart and scroll pattern that wove in and out between them in bright scarlet.

Nathan heard the sigh. "What is wrong, Kira? Do you need anything?"

She looked at Nathan. She blinked. The blanket. She felt hope well up in her for the first time in weeks.

"No, Nate," she said sweetly. "You know that I need nothing so long as I have you. I am just so bored making things for the babies. I've already made booties, caps, jumpers, leggings. I want to knit something for you. How about if I make you a jumper?"

"But you need to make the blankets so when I take them away, they'll stay warm until someone comes along and finds them. It'll be easier if I take them as soon as they come. I cannot let you get attached to them. You haven't much time left."

"You can always buy a few blankets and things for them," she said. "Please, Nate, I want to know that you have something of me with you when you can't be here with me. I get so worried that some other woman will come into the library and you'll stop loving me. But, if I know that you're wearing something I made you, you'll never be unfaithful." Kira allowed the tears that she always had to control begin to flow.

"Kira, I'd never...Kira, don't be upset. All right. If you want to make me a jumper, go ahead. Just make a list of what you want me to buy. Just stop crying, please?" Nathan stood up. He realized why she was so unsure of his love. He walked toward the cell door and began fumbling for the key.

Kira jumped up. "What are you doing?" she asked. She saw him stick the key inside the old lock that kept the old door closed. "Why are you opening the door?"

"I don't want you to be upset anymore. I don't want you to doubt my love. I've decided not to wait anymore. Tonight, I will prove my love for you. I will share your bed."

Kira panicked. She'd obviously gone too far, was too good an actress. "No," she yelled. "Nate, no, you can't."

Nate looked at her. She saw suspicion and doubt cloud his eyes. "You're...refusing me?" he asked.

Kira began to scramble. "Nate, you must know how unworthy and dirty I feel, having another man's babies inside of me. When we finally come together, I want to be pure. Please. You have been right all along. I want to be pure, and beautiful again, for you. Our first time has to be pure, with no reminders of the past. I can't bear for you to see me looking as I do."

Nathan nodded and removed the key from the padlock. "Yes, you're right," he said. "We must be strong and show restraint. Our first time must be pure." He sat back down on his chair and resumed staring at her.

Kira released the breath she'd been holding. Her hand shook as she lifted her purple pen and began her shopping list.

* * * * *

Madelaine sat at the table in the small cubicle in the police station. She took a sip of the mug of coffee and grimaced. She hadn't realized that she'd let it grow cold. She looked at the calendar on the wall. December nineteenth. Kira had been gone for fifty-one days. She closed her eyes, trying to draw her close in her mind. Kira was still alive. Madelaine knew it. She was her mother. She'd know if her child were dead. She'd feel it.

She had been released from the jail a week after Kira's disappearance. After a couple weeks, the news crews had packed up and gone home, the posters on the lampposts had grown tattered and faded, the hundreds of searchers had given up, and the calls to the Find Kira hotline had grown fewer and further between. Now, only Molly and Arthur, George, and herself showed up to answer the single phone line that remained committed to Kira.

Upon her release, Madelaine could not stand the thought of living in her old flat over the butcher shop, so she moved into a small studio apartment in Jack's building. Within a few days, a real estate agent from Exeter had sought her out with an offer to buy the shop. It seemed that her client, a butcher, wanted to expand his business by opening a location in Ottery St. Catchpole. His offer had been more than fair.

Then, at the bank, she ran into old Mrs. Terrence, who owned Threads n' Needles. She was also selling her shop so that she could retire and move closer to London, where her son lived. It seemed that her son was not thrilled with the idea that an Ottery St. Catchpole shopkeeper could be murdered and the killer remained at large.

Madelaine had made her an offer and had taken possession of the shop just two weeks ago. She had closed the store while she had reorganized it and ordered some new, updated stock. Jack, Arthur, and Molly had shown up and pitched in, washing windows and putting a fresh coat of paint on the walls. Threads n' Needles would reopen tomorrow, under new ownership.

Jack Townsend popped his head around the opening to the cubicle. "How about if we go get some lunch?" he asked.

Madelaine glanced at the telephone that hadn't rung for days. "No, I can't. Arthur won't be here until six," she said.

Jack shook his head. As much as he hated to admit it, the trail had grown cold, if it had ever been warm to begin with. His theory had been that Buford Benning had been killed simply to bring Kira back to town. The real target, all along, had been Kira. He was sure the killer was local, a man who had nurtured a secret obsession for her. Her marriage and move to London had sent the man off the deep end. When she'd returned, pregnant, the kidnapper had, most likely, become enraged. Jack was fairly sure that she was dead. He'd probably lured or forced her into his vehicle and disposed of her some distance away. He'd left her jumper behind her parents' shop just to taunt all of them.

"I can forward the calls to the reception desk," he said. "That telephone hasn't rung in days. Madelaine, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but the Board of Councilors is having the line shut down first thing tomorrow morning. I'm sorry."

Madelaine's face fell. "She's alive, Jack. I know it."

Who the hell was he to tell her any different? People needed to believe what they needed to believe to get them through the day. All he had was his theory. Heaven knows, he'd been wrong before. "I hope she is," he said. He picked up the phone and dialed a couple numbers and spoke into the receiver. "Paul? I'm forwarding all calls to the Kira line over to you."

He drove Madelaine out to a quaint country inn for lunch, stopping on the way to tell the Weasleys that the Find Kira line had been discontinued. Mrs. Weasley had simply hugged Madelaine. She asked them to wait a moment and gone inside, returning with a blanket over her arm. "Kira made this, for the baby," she said. "She'd been planning on naming the first for my son, Fred, who'd died last May. She did all this embroidery herself. She told us that you taught her. It's the last thing she ever made. I thought...I thought maybe you'd like to have it."

"Thank you, Molly. She used the design that was carved into my mother's wedding ring," she said, smiling sadly. She spent the ride back into town tracing the heart and scroll design with her finger.

* * * * *

George, Ron, and Harry wandered through the forest, toward the former lair of the Acromantula. Although, so far, the snow had held off, the icy air and the crunch of the nearly frozen ground promised that soon the area would be covered with white. The forest became darker and darker as the branches formed a thick canopy high over their heads, casting them into what seemed an eternal dusk.

"Harry," said Ron, his voice nervous, "you Aurors are sure, aren't you, that you got 'em all, right?"

Harry was lost in thought as he mentally reviewed his previous visits to this place of shadows, the first with Ron when they were but twelve. Only sheer, dumb luck and the timely arrival of Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia had saved them that night. Then his second visit to Aragog's web, just this past May, as he had walked this same path with the spirits of his parents, Sirius, and Remus Lupin. He had prepared himself to die, to walk boldly into Vol...Tom Riddle's clutches and allow himself to be killed. In the first weeks after the battle, all the Ministry employees who had been placed under the Imperius Curse had recovered and were appalled at their actions. Those who had gone into hiding had returned. They all joined forces with Kingsley to hunt down the Acromantula, the Dementors, and the Giants.

Harry, newly sworn in as an Auror, though 'officially' a trainee, helped lead the team to this place, where they had wiped out the species. Kingsley himself supervised the harvesting of the Acromantula venom, which was used in several rather arcane, dark potions and usually sold on the black market. Kingsley had feared that someone else might come to gather the substance. As they neared the site, they had to brush the remaining strands of web away from their faces. The normally fecund smell of the forest was replaced by the smell of decay as they neared the area where the rotting carcasses of the Acromantula lay, their skeletal legs, stiffened by the hand of death, rising like a forest of burned trees ahead.

"Harry?" Ron repeated. "You did get them all, right?"

Roused from his memories, Harry said, "Oh, sorry, yes, we're sure, Ron. There are no more Acromantula, at least not in England."

Finally, they reached the clearing. Harry drew his wand. "Accio Resurrection Stone," he called. From just behind, he heard the frosted ground begin to crack. As he turned to watch, a cloud of dirt began to swirl, like a tornado, rising upward. Then, the Resurrection Stone broke free of the grave where it had lain all these months, after having been repeatedly trampled upon by Acromantula, Centaurs, and Wizards during the final confrontation and its aftermath. It flew toward Harry, and he caught it easily in his hand.

Harry turned and handed it to George. "You need only hold it and call her name," he said. "We will neither see nor hear anything."

George looked down at the stone. His hands were shaking. If Kira answered the summons, it would be the last time he'd ever see her, hear her voice. Would she forgive him for disturbing her peace? The thought brought him to his knees on the cold ground. His breathing was ragged; he had trouble filling his lungs. He closed his eyes. His vocal chords barely cooperated as he rasped out, "Kira Weasley."

His eyes still closed, he waited. Then, he opened them, hoping that he would see only Harry and Ron. Both were standing a little way off, watching him. Kira was not there. Regaining use of his voice, he tried again, calling her name more strongly. He was rewarded with only the sounds of the forest. She did not come. He began to laugh as tears of relief ran down his face. "She's alive," he said as his soul was filled, once more, with hope.

Harry held out his hand and George grasped it. Harry pulled George to his feet, his fingers grasping the Resurrection Stone, removing it from George's hand. He removed his wand from his pocket. "I'm going to destroy it," he said. "It is too powerful and dangerous to be left behind. It may fall into the wrong hands."

"Harry," said Ron, "Wait. Can't we use it, just once more, to call Fred? Please? To see him just once more."

Harry was at a loss. He didn't want to do it, but he hated denying Ron this one request. He looked down at the stone in his fingers, understanding the temptation Ron was feeling. He looked at George to see what his reaction would be. If George agreed, Harry would let them do it.

For a moment, George felt the temptation to see his twin once more. But then, he realized that he would not want to be called back if he had been the one killed. He wouldn't want his brothers to see him less than he had been. He had attempted to call Kira forth only because they all needed to know, for certain, that she still lived. With Fred, they had no excuse other than to appease their own selfishness. "No," he said. "Leave him in peace."

"But you could tell him about...about Kira. And...and the twins. He'd want to know," said Ron.

George put his hands on Ron's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Fred already knows, Ron; he already knows."

Harry dropped the stone on the ground and took a step back. He pointed his wand at it and said, "Confringo."

The blasting curse turned the stone into rubble and dust.