Sunday, Aug 1 - the fields behind the Burrow
It wasn't as if he was trying to avoid his brothers, or anything. Not really. But the one place he could almost always be sure of not running into anyone was here. What he'd grown to think of as Fred's place, and beyond, where even if anyone saw him heading down the path, no one followed.
George picked his way through overgrown vines that threatened the path, cutting a few aside with offhand flicks of his wand, pushing through the undergrowth and following the coppery smell of water. The pond. He and his brothers had spent entire days here. Bill had taught them to hunt for treasure along the banks. Charlie had taught them to swim. Percy had taught them the fine art of avoiding a brother. Not that he'd meant to teach them.
"Remember that? He never could figure out where we'd gone."
His voice rang through the clearing and he paused, startled by the sound of it, then continued toward the bank. The water lapped at his shoes and he hesitated only a moment before toeing off trainers, stripping off jeans and t-shirt. A sprint down the dock and a clean dive into the icy water.
It was always cold... He emerged with a splash and a doglike shake of ginger hair.