Bygones

Chapter 48: Bygones

Fall 2000 – Spring 2001

August 11, 2000

A shaft of sunlight illuminated the long table around which a dozen people were arranged, laughing and joking with each other. Plates and pint glasses littered the table's surface. The party made up the majority of the occupants of the dim tavern, and the cool darkness was a welcome respite from the blazing heat awaiting them outside. No one was in any hurry to leave.

"Happy birthday, brat," said George, tossing a small package across the table. It landed on the empty but dirty dish in front of his sister, knocking the fork to the floor with a clatter.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him in response and gingerly picked the present up between two fingers.

"Are you just gonna take that from him, then?" asked Harry, teasing her.

"Nose out, Potter. You're not family yet," warned George playfully.

"You're just jealous because Mum likes Harry better than she likes you," laughed Ron.

"And she likes strangers better than you, git," George retorted.

"She's always liked me best," boasted Percy.

"Small wonder, the way you kiss her arse all the time," muttered George.

"Mama's boy," added Bill, smirking in agreement. He high-fived George as they laughed together.

"Isn't every boy a mama's boy?" asked Art from his perch on his mother's lap.

"Technically, yes," Annie agreed with a smile, giving his curly hair a tousle. "But that's not precisely what Uncle Bill means."

"No, son, you give your mother far too much trouble to qualify as a mama's boy. You are what's called a hellion," corrected his father.

"Am I a hellion too, Dad?" asked Fred.

"Absolutely," George assured him.

A round of gentle laughter echoed through the room as Percy smugly added, "Like father, like son."

Several eyes glanced up in casual curiosity as emerald flames flared in the fireplace nearby. The laughter around the table died awkwardly a moment later.

Annie looked up as four people she had never seen before emerged from the fireplace. Three of them were tall, blond, aristocratic sorts: an older couple, perhaps slightly younger than her mother- and father-in-law, with what was unquestionably their son. The other was a pale, raven-haired girl, clearly unrelated but with a similar demeanor, who linked her arm possessively around the younger man's.

The people looked about themselves at their surroundings, their noses wrinkled in obvious distaste. Annie wondered if they had perhaps never been to the Leaky Cauldron before and had not known what to expect. Maybe they were foreigners? She granted that the dingy little tavern took a bit of getting used to, certainly, but it wasn't really all that bad.

The tall, haughty man's gaze fell onto the occupants of her table. His expression instantly turned into one of utter contempt.

Annie glanced around her in alarm. The feeling only intensified as she discovered every single one of the Weasleys was glaring back at the newcomers with loathing. What on earth is going on?

"Well, well. I see how the Weasleys are moving up in the world. And dragging the usual shameful assortment of half-breeds and Mudbloods along with them," the man's icy voice sneered.

Annie's jaw dropped, shocked by his vicious rudeness. She had certainly endured her share of nasty behavior from the ignorant boors at school, but this was her first face-to-face encounter with the wizard-variety, pure-blooded bigotry she had only heard about up until now.

The situation disintegrated in an instant. Seven chairs simultaneously scraped the floor as everyone bolted up from the table. Bill, Ginny, and George had drawn their wands, glaring hatefully at the insulting man. To her dread, Annie saw the stranger had done the same. She stood as well and grabbed hold of the twins' hands, pulling them behind her.

"No!" cried the blonde woman, grabbing for her husband's wand arm. She was weakly tugging on the man's arm to no effect. The younger man and his girlfriend took several steps backward, distancing themselves from the pending fracas.

In the same moment, Fleur rushed up to Bill. "He is not worth it!" she cried, succeeding in pushing a snarling Bill a few steps away from the confrontation while begging him to back down.

Tom the barman added his own shouts from behind the bar. "No wands drawn in my inn! I'll have no wands now! Put them away or take it outside!"

Harry had dashed from his seat and was now standing between the Weasleys and their pale assailant, arms braced outward to keep the factions separated. "It's over now! Stop it! It's over!" he bellowed.

Percy was standing behind Bill and George, urging them to calm down and listen to Harry. Ron and Hermione were struggling to subdue Ginny, who was attempting to charge forward and perhaps tackle the other family by brute force if necessary.

But George slowly shook his head in response to Harry, Percy, and Tom, his wand still aimed directly at the enemy's nose. His mind was filled with the innumerable insults, the unforgivable attacks over the years: what happened to Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, the torture of his father at the Burrow, the melee of the night of Bill's wedding. It is not over. It is far from over, in fact. This slimy, slithering son of a bitch doesn't deserve to draw a free breath, no matter what Harry says to the contrary. Azkaban is too good for him....

"Not in front of your children, George," Annie begged quietly.

His wife's voice broke into the vengeance-fueled storm that was taking over George's mind. He looked at her, saw his twin sons peeking out at him from behind her legs. The worry, shock, and fear on their faces sapped his anger, and he slowly let his wand fall.

The pale man's eyes narrowed with understanding as he watched George, then looked at Annie, taking in her rounded, pregnant belly. "She's a clever one, your wife," he sneered, as if the idea was disgusting to him. "For a Muggle, that is," he added. Annie could see by the look in his eyes he was daring George to retaliate, that he considered the word "Muggle" to be an insult of the highest degree.

George slowly turned his head back toward the man, eyes narrowed in suspicion, a new understanding beginning to dawn. For a moment, Annie saw the man's expression falter, as if he recognized that he had perhaps said something he shouldn't have. Then the over-confident sneer returned in the next instant.

"Come on, Father," the younger blond man urged him, speaking for the first time. "Let's get out of this place." He gave his father's shoulder a gentle but firm tug toward the rear door that led to Diagon Alley.

Annie noticed the young man had never drawn a wand, hadn't participated in the exchange, though his haughty expression plainly demonstrated how he felt about the relative worth of the Weasleys. He clearly agreed with his father's assessment but was too cowardly to challenge the family, fully assembled as they were.

The father snatched his arm away from his son with a glare, and with a flourish of his voluminous robes, threw back his head and marched out the door. The rest of his family walked quickly after him. The Weasleys remained standing, poised for battle, as they watched them leave.

The pub fell quiet once more. Percy walked over toward the bar and spoke with Tom. Annie presumed he was apologizing for the scene, probably offering a few galleons for the man's trouble. Ever the placator, Annie thought, then scolded herself. He was only trying to do what was right, after all.

"What was all that, Mummy?" asked Art. Both boys looked at her with curiosity.

"I don't know, exactly," Annie said honestly. "Why don't you take Victoire over to Tom and ask him to give you some more pumpkin juice?" she suggested, handing them several coins. They eagerly agreed, and Annie was grateful they were still young enough to be so easily distracted. She watched them for a few moments as they took their little cousin's hand and dashed over toward the bar with her.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione had just succeeded in marching a still-irate Ginny out the front door onto the Muggle street, intending to keep her there until she calmed down. Bill and Fleur were talking quietly but animatedly, their heads together, sitting at the end of the table.

Annie returned her gaze to George, who was the only one left standing at this point besides herself. She noticed the small movements in his jaw as he ground his teeth, attempting to dissipate the tension. She reached out and took his hand, and he turned toward her.

"How did he know about you?" he whispered under his breath, his brow furrowed as his mind raced with thought.

For a moment, she wondered if it was a rhetorical question. Was he referring to their marriage? Or her status as a non-magical person? "It's not exactly a secret anymore," she replied, answering both questions at once.

Ever since the war was over, George had never hesitated to introduce her as his wife to anyone they'd ever met. And frequently, the fact she was a Muggle would come up in the introductory conversations. It never bothered her, at any rate. In most cases, people would take it in stride. Many appeared genuinely interested. At worst, she sometimes noticed a few wizards had seemed slightly uncomfortable with the fact. She always gave them the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was because they had never had much prior interaction with non-magical folk. Today was the first instance of anyone in the wizarding world becoming nasty regarding her heritage.

"Yeah, I suppose so," he said, not really convinced by her argument.

Something she did not understand was bothering him, but she sensed this was not the time or place to pursue it. She would ask him about it later. One question would not wait, however. "Who was that?" she asked, still reeling from the bizarre confrontation.

"Lucius fucking Malfoy," he muttered, glancing back toward the door his nemesis had left from.

*

January 1, 2001

Dr. Walsh strolled down the hallway of the ER. He had just been joking around with the nurses in the lounge, sharing stories of their craziest nights on shift. This one promised to be hairier than most, they assured him: a full moon coincided with New Year's Eve. They were bracing themselves for babies and drunks galore tonight.

He paused outside a curtained-off bed and grabbed the appropriate chart. It informed him here was a woman claiming to be in labor inside. Probably eager to be the first baby of the new year, he mused. According to the intake papers, she'd only been feeling contractions for a couple of hours at most. He glanced at the clock – 12:50 a.m. She'd likely missed the first baby boat already.

A voice from behind the curtain caught his attention and made him look up. The curtain was parted just enough for him to see a young, ginger-haired man – the father, he presumed – holding the woman's hand while rubbing her lower back. Either the fellow has excellent instincts, or this isn't his first go. Dr. Walsh looked back down at the chart for a few more moments, searching for any obvious red flags in the mother's medical history.

"Why do you keep doing this? Waiting until the last minute to tell me you're in labor?" he heard the man tease the woman in a warm, relaxed voice.

"Perverse sense of humor, I suppose," the laboring woman answered, sounding tired but also calm.

Walsh was encouraged by their banter, thankful he wouldn't be dealing with frantic new parents, even though the fellow did look awfully young.

"And anyway, I did tell you as soon as it started. It's just going much faster this time." She stopped talking then – Walsh assumed another contraction had occupied her focus.

He was just finishing up reading the chart, signing all the necessary paperwork to transfer the patient out of the ER and upstairs into Maternity, when he heard something that caused him a great deal of alarm.

"Breathe it out, love," the presumed husband urged. "The nurse said not to push yet."

"IhavetopushIhavetopushIhaveto," she answered, undeterred and determined.

Dr. Walsh threw open the curtain at that moment. In a commanding voice, he addressed the woman. "Mrs. Weasley, DO NOT PUSH!"

The pregnant woman on the gurney looked up at him, startled.

Walsh would've recognized those violet eyes anywhere. "My God! Annie!?"

An equally shocked look of recognition met his own. "Andy!?" she gasped.

"And I'm George," added the husband, curious but amused. "I take it you two have met?"

Walsh noticed Annie was panting now as the last of the contraction spent itself. "A long time ago," she explained, turning away from him to look at her husband once more and smile weakly.

The young man glanced at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Did you go to school together, then?" he asked his wife.

She shook her head, and immediately her husband looked relieved for some strange reason. Apparently, a positive answer to that question would not have boded well for him, Walsh realized.

Dr. Andy Walsh felt embarrassed by his unprofessional behavior and rapidly collected himself. "May I examine you now, Mrs. Weasley, or would you prefer me to call someone else?"

The couple glanced at each other, clearly amused by their predicament. "We are in a bit of a rush, actually," answered her husband as Annie nodded sheepishly.

The awkwardness of the examination only lasted two seconds. "Good Lord – you're crowning!" Walsh exclaimed as soon as he lifted the sheet, his eyes taking in the top of an infant's head in an instant. He realized there was no time to get Annie out of here and up to the maternity ward. The baby would be born in the lift if he tried.

"Please may I push NOW?" she cried as another contraction gripped her.

"Erm – yes, of course," he replied, reaching down to support the head as it rapidly emerged with Annie's efficient work. He called out for a nurse to bring the emergency delivery supplies.

He glanced up to see Annie's husband tenderly supporting her as she curled her body around her belly, eyes closed, face calm but determined, bearing down. Andy could see the fellow's lips were moving against her ear but couldn't hear the words.

"This is not your first, I take it?" he asked after the contraction passed. He had just turned the head and begun clearing the baby's mouth.

"Our third, actually," the husband replied with a proud smile, while Annie gasped to catch her breath. "We've got two-year-old twins at home," he continued absentmindedly as his focus returned to his wife.

Andy couldn't have asked for an easier birth. A baby girl was born after two more contractions, just a few minutes after one a.m. Mother and daughter were perfectly healthy and doing well, so he sent his patient up to Maternity as soon as possible to recover, then spent the rest of the night patching up drunken revelers.

Andy Walsh strolled down the hallway of the maternity ward after his shift, far too curious to leave without saying a proper hello at the very least. It was midmorning, getting on toward noon, and he told himself it would be unprofessional of him not to check that they were still doing well.

To his relief, he saw that Annie was awake as he peeked around the doorway. Annie's husband was dozing in a chair next to the bed. She held her new baby in her arms, a broad, tired smile lighting up her face.

"Hello," he said softly, glancing around the room. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she answered genially. She didn't appear to feel any lasting discomfort from the awkwardness of their reunion a few hours previously.

"What did you name her?" Walsh asked politely, unsure of what else to say.

"Molly Meredith. For George's mother and my Gran," she replied.

"It's very pretty," he said. "And very fitting for a pretty little girl."

After a few moments passed while he paid proper tribute by gazing admiringly at the little infant, he continued. "You never called me," he said teasingly, speaking just above a whisper. "I suppose this is why?" he asked, indicating her husband and child with a wave of his hand.

Annie blushed as she nodded slightly. "It's good to see you again," she offered. "How have you been?"

Andy was surprised by her abashed reaction. "Good. Busy. I've even got a semblance of a life now that I'm out of school," he replied lightly, testing her memory.

"Did you take up skydiving, then?" she said, giggling quietly.

It pleased him that she remembered their conversation from so long ago. He hadn't really thought of her all that much since that night at the bar in Plymouth, but she had made enough of an impression that he had thought of her occasionally through the years, wondering what had happened to her. Especially on nights like last night, on the rare occasion whenever he covered shifts for a mate here at the Ottery St. Catchpole hospital. Just idle curiosity, really.

"Not hardly. I did manage to find someone who's willing to put up with doctor's hours, though. We're getting married this summer." He wanted to assure her she was off the hook. He didn't want her to feel awkward or think he was holding a candle or any other such idiotic notion.

"Congratulations!" she said sincerely. "Jane will be thrilled! She always thought very highly of you," she added kindly. "I'll be sure to tell her when I see her."

"I knew you were only sixteen, you know. Your medical chart now proves it," he continued in a joking manner, trying to let her know there were no hard feelings. It was years ago now, and after all, they had only spent a few hours together that night. He had never really expected her to call.

"Guilty as charged," she admitted with a giggle.

"You still look it, by the way," he added. It was true: she'd hardly changed a fraction since he had met her that night of her birthday. In fact, Annie looked far too young to have three children already. What an interesting tale that must be, he thought.

"Yes, she does," a voice spoke softly from beside them.

Andy turned to see Annie's husband gazing calmly at them both, curiosity in his eyes.

"Good morning, George," she greeted him softly, her voice filled with confidence and unmistakable adoration. "You remember Dr. Walsh from a few hours ago, don't you?"

"I do," he said, rising and shaking Andy's hand. "Thank you for delivering our daughter," he added sincerely. After a moment's pause, he continued. "And you remember my wife from...?" he asked expectantly.

Andy glanced at Annie, silently asking her what to do.

Annie giggled in response. "Go ahead and tell him, Andy," she said. "He revels in anything that embarrasses me."

"I was a party to sneaking this one into a bar on her sixteenth birthday," he confessed with a smile, nodding toward her, adding the emphasis on her age for her husband's sake.

"Why am I not surprised? My wife has quite a rap sheet when it comes to juvenile criminal exploits," George replied with a light-hearted laugh.

"I was not the only criminal that night! Jane was responsible for providing me with the illegal means to get in," she added defensively.

"So I have Jane to blame for corrupting you?" he teased in a voice that clearly enjoyed the irony of the statement.

"You know the blame for that falls squarely on your own shoulders, git," she retorted.

Andy smiled at the exchange. Annie had clearly found an excellent match for herself. He decided it might be safe to add a bit of fuel to the fire. "You should've seen the pile of phone numbers your then-underage wife collected that night."

"Oh, really?" George replied in mockingly disturbed voice, turning to level a dramatically shocked look at Annie. "And did you ever contact any of these gentlemen with such questionable morals?"

"Not a one of them," Andy answered for her with a wink. "I confiscated every number."

Annie huffed at his historical revision of the facts.

"Thank goodness someone was behaving responsibly that night," laughed George.

"Like you'd know responsible behavior if it bit you in the arse," Annie quipped sassily.

"Please, dear! I'll thank you to watch your language in front of the baby," George teased. "Or are you trying to corrupt her as well?"

"Troll," she muttered, smiling at him. Then the baby in her arms began to fuss a bit, probably ready to nurse.

Andy took that as his cue to leave. "It was very nice to meet you, George," he said, offering his hand to shake once more. "And congratulations on a lovely family," he added.

"Thank you, Dr. Walsh, for taking such good care of them," George replied warmly.

"Good to see you again, Annie," Andy said as he moved toward the door.

"Take care, Andy."

*

April 1, 2001

Transcript: River & Wrackspurt Episode #68

RIVER: Welcome once again to River and Wrackspurt, the show committed to introducing wizard folk to the wonderful world of Muggle music. In today's episode, children, we'll be featuring some oldies but goodies. Today's eclectic collection is dedicated to an old mate who, accidentally and through no fault of his own, had semi-reasonable taste in music.

[song plays]

"Fred and Annie used to scream this song together whenever they heard it," George said with a soft, sad smile. "He used to play along on air guitar, not knowing what the hell he was doing, and Annie would laugh at him until she cried."

"He was a pisser, for sure," Lee chuckled. "Remember when he pinched all of Umbridge's knickers from the elves, enlarged 'em with an Engorgio, and replaced the Great Hall banners with 'em? I thought that cow was gonna have a conniption! For sure her head was gonna explode or somethin', I reckoned."

George guffawed with the memory. "She had to know it was one of us, and I thought he'd really done it, that time. She was gonna hang him or me for certain, maybe both. But then he just kept makin' eyes at her all day, blowin' her little air kisses... remember? Like those hideous girdles were the sexiest things he'd ever seen, just turnin' him on no end. She didn't know what the hell to make of it. I still can't believe we got nothin' for it. Not even a line!"

The song ended, and Lee took the microphone once again, nearly gasping for breath from laughing.

RIVER: Now here's a treat for you, dear ones. "Blister in the Sun" is a lovely little ditty by those irrepressible Yanks, the Violent Femmes. I dare you to be in the throes of puberty and not adore this band.

[song plays]

"How did we survive it?" George asked his friend. "All that misery?"

Lee was quiet for a few moments, staring at his fists in his lap. "I wanted to kill him, you know. When he took Ange to the Yule Ball...."

"You should have asked her first instead of being such a chicken-shit," George needled him. They'd had this conversation more than once before.

"I knew she'd say no," Lee argued.

"You knew no such thing!" George protested.

Lee smirked dubiously.

"You forgave him, though," George said a few moments later.

Lee snorted. "What else could I do? He was just Fred being Fred. Can't blame a dragon for breathin' fire, can you?"

"And she ended up with the one she belongs with," George added after a minute had passed.

Lee smiled. "Yeah. That's true."

RIVER: Now we come to a band that, if you've been paying the slightest bit of attention to this program at all over the past year and a half....

[song plays]

"Art loves this song – squeals when the siren comes on," George chuckled. "And little Fred jumps around, crashing into stuff just like he knew what slam dancing was."

"Annie's raisin' 'em right, then. Every child of the realm should listen to The Clash from birth. Oughta be a law, I reckon. Maybe even before birth," Lee argued. "I used to set the speaker right next to Ange's belly so Roxy could hear it."

"Fred worshipped them, remember?" George asked after another chuckle. Then he paused, staring off into space a bit. "I think that's why Annie does it: so they'll share something with him."

A long pause followed while they listened to the song.

"I hate that they'll never know him. That he never got to meet them," George whispered.

"You can't dwell on stuff like that, George," Lee insisted.

"How am I supposed to ignore it?" George pleaded. "Tell me, please, because I'd fuckin' love to know."

"I don't know, mate," Lee mumbled apologetically.

George threw his head back, staring at the ceiling, blinking furiously. "Sorry I'm being such a jerk."

"You're not being anything," Lee interrupted, reassuring him. "Today is a sad day. I understand, mate. Frankly, you've done better than anyone could ever have expected. Plenty of people who didn't lose anything near what you did are still wallowing in it."

George bowed his head as Lee was speaking. "Ah, shit," he mumbled, then pinched bridge of nose as a tear rolled down.

Lee grabbed the microphone after two seconds of dead air.

RIVER: Here's the Dead Milkmen with "Punk Rock Girl."

[song plays]

George sniffed and shook his head vigorously in an attempt to dispel the grief. "Other days – even holidays and anniversaries – are fine. Christmas is no big deal: the kids are the focus then, you know? Not even May Second – all those bloody memorials – 'cause it's for everybody, right? Nothing else hits like today."

A choked sob escaped his throat, and George pressed his palms against his eyes. "For chrissake, Annie can't even make me a goddamn birthday cake anymore because I start to fucking cry when it's just my name on the thing!"

"Why don't you take a break, man? I can finish up here," Lee urged him.

"No!" George nearly shouted. A deep breath and a few moments later, he continued with more composure. "I have to do this. It's like an exorcism, you know? It helps... I think."

A quiet minute passed.

"You know, I can't help thinking," Lee said with a small smile, "that Fred would've been takin' the bloody mickey out of you right now. 'Pansy-arse baby girl,' he'd call you. He'd punch you in the face without a moment's hesitation and give you somethin' to really cry about."

George laughed despite the tears. "I know. He was a prick with the emotional range of a flobberworm," he said, drying his face. "Maybe that's just what I need, though," he said with a sigh. "A good kick in the arse."

"It would've killed him to go on, but he would have. Just like you are," Lee said quietly. He pressed another button on the console, and the next song on the list began to play without being introduced. Slow guitar and drums rang through the little room they used as a broadcast booth, and Mick Jagger began singing, "I'll never be... your beast of burden...."

"You think?" George asked, knowing Lee was probably right.

"Well, he'd be burying his sorrows in a parade of bimbos, make no mistake. But yeah, he would," Lee argued.

They paused for a few moments, listening to the music.

"I could probably name ten girls listening to this song right now, each of them remembering spending the night with him. He used to call this his 'sex anthem,'" George said, rolling his eyes. "'Nothin' drops the knickers faster than the Stones, George,' he'd say."

Lee shook his head ruefully. "He wasn't even that good lookin'!"

"Thanks a lot, arsehole," George chuckled. "You're not exactly Witch Weekly's Sexiest Wizard Alive, yourself."

"I'm serious!" Lee laughed, amused by his unintended joke, as well. "How'd the bastard get so much tail?"

George shrugged. "How the hell should I know? I wasn't even gonna play the Stones this year, but Verity requested it."

"Verity Parson!?" Lee cried, incredulous. "Your shop girl!?"

George cringed. "Shit... it's supposed to be a secret, okay? Forget I ever said anything, would you?"

"She told you?" Lee hissed, further astonished.

George shook his head vigorously. "Don't be stupid! Of course not! Annie guessed a while ago, but I wasn't convinced until this week, when Verity told me she knew how much Fred liked this song and how I should maybe play it today."

Lee started laughing. "The man is legend! I'm surprised there isn't a venereal disease named after him!"

"Seriously, Lee, keep your damn mouth shut about this," George threatened, trying to remain stern but having difficulty stifling a chuckle. "I don't think she knows I know."

"How many do you think...?" Lee asked, marveling.

"Even if I had a clue, I wouldn't effing tell you, Lee!" George barked.

Lee chuckled wickedly all the same.

George couldn't help himself; a smile spread across his face. "You know how much he was prone to exaggerate, anyway."

Several quiet moments passed after their laughter died away.

"Do you think he ever...?" Lee asked, unable to put the rest of his thought into words.

George shook his head, understanding his friend's meaning immediately. "You know Ange better than that, mate."

Lee nodded to himself. "Right."

The song wound to a close, and Lee took the microphone once more.

RIVER: That was.... Well, for Merlin's sake, you all ought to know who that was, shouldn't you?

[song plays]

"Before I forget... Annie wanted me to invite you lot for dinner tonight," George said.

"Sure, if you want," Lee replied. "What's she making?"

George shrugged. "Dunno. Come over around six?"

Lee nodded. "I'm bringing a cake with your name on it," he said without looking at his friend, pretending to examine a new CD case George had brought along with him today.

"I'll shove it in your fuckin' face, I swear," George warned him.

"I want some goddamn birthday cake, git," Lee teased, smiling. "So get your shit together and smile while we all eat it."

"You're a right prick, you know that?" George retorted, laughing.

RIVER: Wrackspurt, why don't you introduce this one? I find I cannot bring myself to do it justice.

[song plays]

"I hated this song before I ever even heard it for real," Lee groaned, turning down the volume in the room. "Where did he even hear it?"

"Blame Annie for that one," George chuckled. "She bought it that summer before the Triwizard Tournament, figuring Fred and I would like it. I did at first, but I admit Fred ruined it that year at school."

"It was cool for one week, how every time he walked into the common room he screamed, 'Listen all y'all: it's a sab-o-tage!' Then it was just kinda funny for a few more days. By Halloween, I swore if he did it again I was gonna bind his effing tongue."

"If Fred had a fault, it was that he never did develop a good sense of when enough was enough," George agreed.

"That was part of his genius, though," Lee argued. "Pushing a joke from funny, to old, to annoying, to really fuckin' annoying, then to hilarious again. Like when he bewitched the blokes in Ron's autographed Cannons team photo to start makin' out with each other whenever anyone walked into the room, then stuck it damn near permanently in that frame."

"Oh, God," laughed George, remembering Ron's furiously red and pouting face at the time. He could be a bit oversensitive when it came to the Cannons, to be sure.

"First it was a riot, then mildly amusing, then kinda sick, then so effing funny I couldn't even look at it anymore without nearly pissin' myself," Lee laughed.

George snickered and dabbed his eyes. At least these tears were from laughter, this time.

"You almost started to feel sorry for the poor guy," Lee continued through his laughter, "'cause Ron was livid as hell about it. But then it was just too damn funny and you laughed, which only served to piss him off further. How was it Fred got the soundtrack to stick so well? Never heard such loud, sloppy snoggin' sounds."

"I did that bit. I'll show you, sometime," George confessed.

RIVER: Children, there is a magical place across the ocean, over the mountains, and through the desert called southern California, USA. There on the shore of the Pacific Ocean is a city of angels that calls to all thespians, musicians, and beach bums the world over.

[song plays]

"A bit racy for the WWN airwaves, this one. You're ponying up the galleons for the fine this time," Lee warned him. "I can't remember – when did this one come out?"

"Summer of ninety-seven," George replied, instantly recalling the pub in Bantham where he had heard it first. Fred had hooked a tarty raven-haired university coed that night and had received what was, for all intents and purposes, a lap dance to the tune. Fred and the girl had left the pub as soon as the song was over; George and Annie hadn't seen nor heard from him for two days afterward.

"Liliana's got a pretty little roommate, George," Fred had eagerly shared with him when he had finally stumbled into the Wheezes shop the following Monday morning just after they had opened the doors for the day's business.

"And I care why?" he had replied testily, himself having just stumbled back from Annie's a mere twenty minutes before.

"They're both very liberated, open-minded girls," Fred had chuckled conspiratorially. "And they both fancy ginger fellas, if you read me."

"Are you attempting to set me up or merely boasting again?" George had asked with no small amount of exasperation.

"Either way suits me fine," Fred had said with a shrug. "Come on... live a little!"

"Annie's right: you are a pig," George had snapped, unamused. "I'll pass."

"That's right. Be a good little girl," Fred had needled him, rolling his eyes.

Lee's voice brought George back to the present. "Ninety-seven? Just before...."

"The shit hit the fan at Bills' wedding. Yeah," George replied. "Let's just say Fred certainly believed in making hay while the sun shined that summer and leave it at that."

RIVER: Ladies and gents, our time together is once more nearly at an end. As we mentioned at the beginning of the program, today's music is dedicated to the memory of someone very near and dear to your hosts' hearts. Sadly, he has gone to his reward, as they say.

[song plays]

Author's Note: I can't imagine Potterwatch would ever end; instead, it evolved into River & Wrackspurt. I think each of the songs on this show have something to say about Fred – and George as well. I strongly believe Fred would've had a deep and abiding love for punk music (any excuse to thumb his nose at authority), a healthy respect for grunge, and would've been eager to exploit a sexy song for seduction purposes (smile and wink). Here are the requisite links....

Blitzkrieg Bop by The Ramones.

Blister in the Sun by Violent Femmes.

White Riot by The Clash.

Punk Rock Girl by Dead Milkmen.

Beast of Burden by The Rolling Stones.

Come As You Are by Nirvana.

Sabotage by Beastie Boys.

What I Got by Sublime (apologies for the commercial at the beginning). This is the "clean" version rather than the one aired on the show. George isn't much for censorship. :)

Gone Away by The Offspring.