The Unusual Case of George Weasley
a george weasley story, clearly.

-

He had been mulling about it for awhile, that crumpled, worn-out piece of newspaper dated nearly a week ago. It lay quietly in his desk drawer, but the article still seemed to scream loudly in his mind. Even during meals, the words would twist indelibly through his head, echoing and encouraging. George had always been quiet at supper – after the war, in any case – but tonight it was unusually so.

Mrs. Weasley, trading a glance with her husband, looked at her son with a concern that was permanently etched to her motherly face. "George?" Everyone paused eating and silently looked at George, even Harry. If even Harry was treated like a normal human being, why couldn't he? He briefly noticed that only Percy hadn't stopped eating and was fixating specifically on his mashed potatoes. George sighed inwardly, playing absent-mindedly with the loose piece of yarn on the blue sweater he was wearing. It was his favourite; one emblazoned with a large, gold "F."

"Perfectly fine, Mum. Just thinking," he answered with a slightly strained smile. She nodded unsurely before turning back to eat. George, brows furrowed, shoved the peas around his plate with his fork, as if willing them to disappear.

-

Percy, visiting home, was studying a fascinating Ministry report regarding experiments that would regenerate magic in war victims, or StemSpell research. Sprawled across his old bed in an uncharacteristic fashion, he pored over the small text with interest only Percy Weasley could muster.

That was until George came in, almost hesitantly. "Perce?"

The older Weasley jumped, sending his spectacles askew. "Er, yes, George?" George shifted from foot-to-foot, looking a bit awkward. Percy frowned, his specs sliding down his thin nose. He pushed them back up and gestured to a spot on his bed. "Sit?" His brother acquiesced, but still looked rather uncomfortable. "What can I do for you, George? Do you need to… talk?" Percy asked the question with reluctance; not because he didn't care for his brother, but because he was one of the few who understood that concern could often be stifling.

George shook his head.

"Then what?"

"Could I, err…"

"Yes? Just get on with it, George."

"Promise not to tease me."

Percy internally raised an eyebrow. George, the epitome of a teasing brother, was asking for mercy. Breaking all laws of proper brotherhood, he sighed and replied, "I promise."

"If you still have them, may I please borrow your seventh-year textbooks?"

Silence.

Percy, rather shocked, gave George one long, hard look. "Are you planning on…"

He didn't even have to finish the sentence, for George quickly interrupted, "No, not planning on getting my NEWTs." Was Percy wrong or was George sounding a bit rueful? "Just…" the twin paused, "I was getting a little bored. You know Mum won't let me out of the house by myself." George gave an indifferent shrug. "Besides, if anyone has forgotten, I do own a store and the Wheezes don't usually create themselves." He gave Percy a half-smile at this point. Somehow, they both knew the last reason was a lie; after all, Fred wasn't there.

Percy went to his closet and brought out a stack of slightly dusty books from the top shelf. "These were Bill and Charlie's, too," he said a bit off-handedly, a bit nostalgically. George accepted them wordlessly, but there was something like gratitude in his eyes.

The older Weasley surprised himself by giving George a sudden, large hug. "Good luck with whatever it is that has convinced you to willingly ask for textbooks." He shook his head with a smile. "If you ever need any help…"

"Just bother you, I know," George grinned, looking a bit like his old self as he slipped out of the room.

Percy stared at the closed door for a moment, before flopping onto his bed and continuing to read.

-

He woke up with a crick in his neck and pages sticking to his cheek.

It was barely his second hour of studying and George's head felt as though a Bludger had thoroughly bludgeoned it and then had been stuffed with wool. It didn't help particularly that The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7 (Goshawk, Miranda) was not a particularly fascinating piece of literature; rather, it seemed to have a soporific effect on Weasley. The overload of spells and other information confounded him. In reality, George really did not regret quitting Hogwarts.

Well, maybe he was exaggerating… a little.

George recognized many of the spells and their application. After all, he and his twin did attend Hogwarts for most of their seventh year. The problem lay in the last few sections of the book, where the spells were a bit more complicated and in there application. He hadn't considered how he would actually practice the spells. The twin sighed and ruffled his gingery hair absent-mindedly. For now, only rote memorisation would have to suffice. This, however, meant that he would have to read twice as carefully.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stoically ignoring his headache, George Weasley turned to Chapter Seven: Useful Healing Charms. With some surprise he noted at first glance that they had used many of the spells during the war. Somewhat encouraged, he began reading.

-

"Mum, something is wrong with George," Ginny declared. She spooned a large bite of her cinnamon-pear tart into her mouth before continuing. "He's quieter."

Mrs. Weasley, washing the dishes, sent a purposely neutral glance in her daughter's direction. "Ginny, you know full well that he hasn't been talkative since… since…" Mrs. Weasley couldn't finish the sentence; sometimes, it felt as if the grief was slowly and painstakingly crushing her heart. Percy, who had been towelling dry the clean dishes, wrapped an arm around his mother and squeezed her shoulder tenderly.

Ginny looked down at her plate. "Well, something is off. He always has dark circles under his eyes now and he locks himself up in his room more. D'ya think he's hiding something from us?" She glanced up at the other two, expectantly.

There was a brief moment of silence while Mrs. Weasley and Percy finished washing the dishes. Percy placed the last piece of chipped china in the cupboard and fixed Ginny with a sad, strangely weary look. "We all have our secrets, Gin," he said gently.

George, listening to the conversation from the stairs, mused that Percy, too, had a burden to bear.

-

That night, Ginny excused herself from dinner early, claiming a headache. She slipped up the stairs, still convinced that her older brother was hiding something. Was it something important? It honestly didn't matter, but Ginny still was curious. Gingerly, the youngest Weasley turned the doorknob and slid into the room, sending a glance backwards to confirm that no one had followed.

George's room was surprisingly plain, now. She could see the various marks on the wall where colourful posters had been. The corner where Fred and George always experimented was thick with dust. Both beds, on opposite sides of the room were neatly made and two desks were pushed next to each other against the central wall. Again, bare. There wasn't much to sift through, Ginny thought, striding to the desks.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. The first desk was completely empty, making her wonder what George did with Fred's things. Very abruptly, before she could get caught up in her own thoughts, Ginny moved to the next desk. A bit of string, a few ratty quills, a fresh bottle of ink. Nothing indicated things were out of the ordinary. Perhaps she would have to think like George.

She began tapping the inside perimeter of the drawers. Solid. Solid. Thunk. Hollow. Delicately, she pried open the bottom of the drawer. There were only two things there; a small leather-bound book and a few crumpled pieces of paper. Ginny tried to open the book, but the pages wouldn't budge. Frowning, she checked the time on her watch. She didn't have enough time to work any spells. Disappointedly, she returned the book and instead smoothed the crumpled pieces of paper. The first was a newspaper clipping from about a month previous.

-

"News: Respected Professor, Charms Researcher, and recent recipient of the Order of Merlin (First Class), Filius Flitwick, has announced his retirement from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, where he has held the position of Charms Professor for countless years. 'I hope to continue my work with spells after some relaxation,' Flitwick informs. 'Some of my best and most formative years were spent at Hogwarts, but after this past year, I feel I am in need of a slight break.'

'Filius is not only a wizard of superb skill, he is a man of compassion and strength. His presence will truly be missed by all,' commented Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, upon interview. 'We are, however, grateful that Filius will remain at Hogwarts until late July, when we will begin interviewing for a suitable replacement.'

The Prophet would like to remind the populace of Flitwick's extraordinary service to the Wizarding World during the War. Not only did he stand against the dictatorial Hogwarts regime of Death Eater Severus Snape, Flitwick also constructed complex magical defences to protect the school. In the Final Battle, Professor Flitwick again showed his exemplary Charms skill while defending Hogwarts and notably bringing Death Eater Charles Yaxley to justice. As a result, Minister Shacklebolt recently awarded the illustrious Flitwick the Order of Merlin, First Class.

The Prophet would like to wish Professor Flitwick the best of luck in his retirement."

-

Ginny frowned again. Why did George keep this? She turned the clipping and then sighed inwardly. It was the list of the recipients of the Order of Merlin, Second Class. A single phrase seemed to shout at her. Fred Weasley, posthumous. It was heavily underlined. That made sense. She moved on to the next piece of paper.

It was clearly ripped out of the journal, with several sentences scratched out.

I miss him—

--couldn't have taken us both?

WHY FRED WHY FRED WHY FRED he promised

The other few sentences were blotted by tears. Biting her lip, Ginny willed herself not to cry and put the papers back. She rushed out of the room, nearly running over Ron and George. George looked at her strangely and Ron suddenly looked worried. Ginny didn't care that he knew she had been in his room, now. She crashed into her own mattress, shoulders heaving – not from exertion, but with sobs. Not for herself, not for her own grief, but for the brother that was both living and dead.

-

The next time Ginny pried open the panel in the drawer, it was empty.

-

George studied his reflection carefully, following the smattering of freckles across his nose to the dark hole at the side of his head, up across his shock of brilliantly red hair and again down the bridge of the nose to his caramel-coloured eyes. If he squinted just so he could imagine that it was Fred on the other side of the mirror. Still, it wasn't the same and George averted his eyes from the mirror.

He was in his best dress robes, a set of emerald green ones that didn't seem to clash with his hair. Awkwardly, George smoothed down his hair. Was there a charm to do that? He was sure there was, but suddenly the words escaped him.

"George, are you in there?" It was his mother, and there was no way he would be able to leave the house under her watch.

"Yes," he mumbled, opening the bathroom door.

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth, furrowing her brow slightly. "Are you going somewhere?"

His quick ability with words also left him; George was feeling terribly nervous. "Err—date."

"Date?" Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline and there was a dangerously bright, curious glint in her eye. George couldn't tell if it was tears that made her eyes so bright. Mrs. Weasley, however, was in a whirlwind of thoughts. Could it be that Angelina girl? Or perhaps Alicia? "Who, may I ask?" Anyone to make her poor darling happy, she prayed mentally.

"Oh, look, I am going to be late!" George looked at the imaginary watch on his wrist and quickly swept out of the bathroom, down the stairs and to the fireplace. He was not very good with Apparition anymore, since Fred's passing. He threw in some Floo powder.

Mrs. Weasley had followed her son down the stairs, only to catch the last syllable of his destination. Her eyes widened slightly. What in the world was George doing going there?

-

"Thank you. We will notify you on our decision with the next week," Professor McGonagall commented brusquely, with a quick nod to the somewhat trembling wizard in front of her. The wizard in question shook her hand weakly before leaving the room. McGonagall exhaled deeply, massaging her temples. "Filius, if the poor boy can't even talk to us without stammering in fear, what will he do with a group of feisty, trouble-making seventh-years? There has not been a single person yet that I feel that can handle a group of post-war children."

Professor Flitwick, from on top of his pile of cushions, merely smiled at his colleague. "Ah, Minerva," he began in his characteristically squeaky voice, "If I recall correctly, I said the same thing to Albus when he became Headmaster and an especially nervous young witch interviewed for the Transfiguration position. And if I recall correctly, Albus didn't listen to me and hired her, Minerva." The former Charms Professor continued to smile benevolently at the Headmistress. "Look, you didn't turn out too badly." He dodged a miffed swat from McGonagall. "Just attempt to keep an open mind, Minerva – that is all that I am saying," Flitwick uttered sagely. After a brief moment, the frustrated Headmistress reluctantly nodded. "Shall we continue with the next candidate?" Flitwick, with his wand, gestured to the sound-proof door, opening it. "Next, please!"

A gangly figure stepped through the doorway, a bit uncertainly. McGonagall shouldered herself for another meek, shaking candidate. "Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Flitwick." The voice was polite, yet terribly familiar. It was…

Oh my. McGonagall merely gaped, speechless. It was Flitwick who cleared his throat and invited the candidate in. "Come in, Mr. Weasley."

-

George swept into the room, hoping to convey an almost Dumbledore-esque sort of grace without revealing he was simply a bundle of nerves. Quickly taking a seat across from McGonagall and Flitwick, he could see the very bewildered emotions crossing the faces of his former professors. "Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Flitwick," he repeated, "I hope this afternoon finds you well. It's rather charming to back at Hogwarts." George cracked a traditional, charismatic smile. McGonagall raised a brow and Flitwick smiled. The Weasley twin vowed not to wilt under the gaze he had seen a million times in the past.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, just charming. Now, down to business. Why do you wish to be a Charms professor? Your own business was going so well."

George hesitated. "Without—Without Fred, running a joke shop really isn't the same. I just wanted a change of pace and I thought since I was fairly good with charms because of WWW, I might prove to be a suitable candidate for the position." He tilted his head to the side and thought a little harder. "And… I guess I want to show everyone that I am capable of something more. I know I don't know everything, but I'm willing to learn and look up things I don't know – yeah, bit of surprise, isn't it? Also, if I throw myself into teaching, maybe I won't hurt as much." The words came out his mouth before he could stop himself. Again, George was awkward. He didn't feel as charismatic without his other half.

McGonagall wanted to just give the poor boy a hug, but brusquely reminded herself that this candidate should be treated the same ways as the others. "Mr. Weasley, you do not even have your NEWTs and your OWLs are rather, ah, sparse," McGonagall stated plainly. "That being said, how are you qualified to teach all levels of Charms? I am sure that you would not have come here without a proper reason."

George had prepared for this moment. A photograph of the swamp, a Canary Cream, a shield hat, a WonderWitch product. One by one George produced the items. "Here are some examples of my charmwork. I can't say that I'm as well-versed as Professor Flitwick with spells, but I most certainly know how to research them and adapt them for my own purposes. As you can see, the products here represent different aspects of the types of charmwork I have worked with. First is the swamp, from the year I left Hogwarts. This required extensive and special Sticking Charms. The swamp represents how spells can work with nature." George took a deep breath and continued with his semi-rehearsed speech, "The Canary Cream shows the innovative, pleasure aspect of Charms but also shows how Charms can work with Transfiguration among other subjects.

The shield hat, of course, represents how Charms if used correctly, are integral in defence and the like. Finally, this WonderWitch product – a pimple-zapper, so to speak – displays the practical use of charms in daily life." There was an awkward pause as George finished.

Flitwick was nodding appreciatively and made a note on his sheet, which automatically transferred to McGonagall's paper. He is most certainly innovative. And many of those spells are nothing to sneeze at, Minerva!

McGonagall, in turn, made a note. I just don't know how responsible he is, Filius. You know what a trouble-maker he was. You think he can manage a room full of seventh-years? "George, if I understand correctly, you and your brother collaborated on these products. Therefore, isn't this more a display of your combined talents rather than your own?"

George nodded slightly. "Well, yes, in a way. We," his voice got much quieter, a bit sadder, "came up with the ideas together, but I specifically made the three products before I came so you both can know that it was me, not my brother, whose talent is currently displayed on this table." He felt his words were a bit egotistical, but he most certainly didn't mean in that way. A little ashamed, George studied his shoes and the patterns on the soft rug.

"I see," McGonagall said, sounding a bit gentler.

Flitwick quickly carried the conversation in another direction. "Do you have any ideas of how to improve the class? How do you think you will make sure your students pay attention?"

"You know, Fred and I really learned how to mess around with Charms and adapt spells through experimentation. If I were to ever be the Professor, I would add a mandatory "laboratory session" two times a week. To, you know, kind of have the children get used to thinking outside of the box. And they can be guided labs – things where I would already know the result but the children would have to discover it themselves. As they get older, by maybe sixth or seventh year, they can do some of their own innovating," George answered earnestly. "I would think that would be pretty brill." Flitwick looked very interested.

"Headmistress always said that Fred and I outdid the Marauders," George pointed out. "If I can outsmart my professors, I can outsmart a group of tykes." He grinned brightly at his former Head of House.

"Thank you. We will notify you on our decision with the next week," Professor McGonagall commented thoughtfully, with a quick nod to George. Flitwick was beaming and could hardly contain himself. George, somewhat relieved, nodded in return and retreated out of the room and nudged the next candidate a wispy, misty-eyed woman into the room who reminded him of Trelawney.

He only hoped McGonagall thought the same. And everyone knew what McGonagall thought of Trelawney.

-

It was about time. For the last few days, George paced furiously in front of the window, simply watching for the Hogwarts owl. Occasionally, he would sit in front of the window with a book, but not really reading. (Not that he would read if he wasn't preoccupied.) At night, he would finally give up his look out and give into the persuasions of his mother's cooking.

No one in the Weasley household was quite sure what George was waiting for.

"Are you looking for something?" Mr. Weasley asked on the second day of sitting in front of the window.

"I just like the view," George replied plainly and evasively.

On day three, Ron asked, "Is someone going to owl you?"

"You're getting warmer," George answered.

"A girl?"

"A woman, perhaps." George knew this would throw Ron off.

"You have a girlfriend?"

"Colder, Ron."

"Did you have a…" Ron lowered his voice, "one-night stand?"

The twin could hardly hide his amusement and laughed. "Perhaps," he said with a sideways glance and a wink. He had forgotten in the last year how fun it was to mess with his younger brother's head. Ron gaped at George for a minute before walking away. George snickered and sat back.

-

The Hogwarts owl arrived on Day Five of Pacing, promptly dropping a letter in his lap and Ginny's. It was only breakfast, but a Sunday breakfast; thus, the whole family (including Harry and Hermione) stared at him curiously. George, however, was always used to strange stares. He slipped the envelope in the pocket of his corduroys and continued to eat his oatmeal and raisins in peace. George looked up from his food. "What? It's probably a notice that I still have to serve detention now that the war is over," he said, rather bemused by the perplexed expressions on their faces.

Ginny grinned and opened her letter. "Seventh-year, excellent," she commented off-handedly, just to fill in the space. Harry craned over her shoulder to read, but she swatted him away.

"Any new professors?" Of course, Hermione asked the question.

Ginny skimmed the list casually. "Almost everyone, seems like. Let's see—" She stopped sharply and looked at George. The youngest Weasley suddenly realised that she had looked at the wrong side of George's paper weeks ago. "George, what does your letter say?" George shrugged, but brought it out. Hands trembling imperceptibly, he opened the seal and read the words carefully. Keeping his face neutral, George said idly, "I think I can actually give detentions now."

-

Dear Mr. Weasley,

Professor Flitwick and I were both terribly impressed with your refreshing ideas and your determination. You allayed our fears about your own inadequate Hogwarts experience with concrete examples of your capabilities. This willingness to work and listen to others is especially important as a professor; too often, professors believe they are the epitome of perfection and have no room for improvement. I understand that this last year has been especially difficult for you, but in some ways, I must admit, you have changed for the better.

I always recognised you and your brother Fred as two very bright, however cheeky, students with limitless potential. (I hope you realise, George, that I do not say this every day.) Filius and I both know that you can and will bring a refreshing, inventive perspective into the classroom.

Thus, it is with great pleasure I invite you to take the position of Charms Professor at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress

By the way – yes, you can give detentions. However, Weasley, that privilege will be monitored closely.

-

Percy stared at him, eyes wide. "Are you really— Is that why you borrowed—" It was not every day Percy Weasley was tongue-tied. George merely nodded with a small smile.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" Mrs. Weasley cried out. "Why are we all being kept in the dark? George?"

"I didn't want to say anything, you see," George explained. "One, you lot would tease me incessantly and I just didn't know if I could do it…"

"Do what?" Ron demanded impatiently.

"Don't use that tone with me, Ronald, I can dock points," George replied with a grin. "You are talking to the new Charms Professor, you know." He chuckled at their shocked expressions and turned back to his oatmeal.

Thus, as quietly as it began, the Unusual Case of George Weasley was solved.

--

Author's Note: I really enjoyed writing this story. George-sans-Fred is my favourite character right now, as evidenced by my other stories, so I do hope you all enjoy. Leave your thoughts and other various comments; I would love it! (And if you like this, do check out my other pieces, hint, hint!)