A/N: Now presenting ... a collaborative effort by Dodger Gilmore and MBP. We've been writing back and forth about doing something like for a year now and finally got around to it. It will be a three-parter. We hope you like it. Please read and REVIEW!!
Zonko's was empty, and Fred looked at George and sighed.
"Well, there goes that idea," he said, gesturing through the window to the empty aisles. "If Dumbledore's holding them all prisoner on the grounds, then there's no point in opening a branch here."
George sighed as well and nodded. "Yeah, I know," he said, but he looked longingly through the window and muttered, "but just imagine …"
"How much we'd make?" Fred finished. He shook his head. "We don't even know when this whole thing will be over. Maybe after Harry kicks the crap out of You Know Who, we can think about it again. Until then, though… we're better off where we are."
George nodded his agreement. "Yeah, and we'll make WWW into a palace." His eyes gleamed, and Fred's expression mirrored his own. They were silent for a moment, each imagining their glorious future.
"Mr. Weasley!"
The voice startled them out of their reveries, and they both turned to see Professor McGonagall hurrying toward them, her robes flapping around her. She looked even more serious than usual, and the twins glanced at one another and shrugged.
"Hello there, Professor," Fred called. "How are things at Hogwarts?
She stared at them gravely for a moment, and George suddenly felt as though a stone had lodged itself in the pit of his stomach. Beside him, Fred stiffened, and he knew that both of them were thinking the same three words: Ron and Ginny.
Professor McGonagall took a deep breath before she said, "Professor Dumbledore sent me to bring you both back to Hogwarts. There's been an – incident. Your brother is in the hospital wing. It seems that Harry stopped the poison before it could spread, but –"
But before she could get any further, George blurted, "Poison?"
Fred glanced at him quickly, and their eyes mirrored the other's thinly disguised fear. Consciously taking a deep breath, they each squared their shoulders.
"Lead on, Professor," Fred said grimly. And with one quick glance to confirm that they were following, Minerva McGonagall began walking quickly back to the castle, filling the twins in on the scant information she had as they went. By the time they reached the hospital wing, Fred's lips were pressed into a grim line, and George hadn't spoken since Hogsmeade.
McGonagall left them in the doorway and said something about seeing to their parents as she hastened away. Fred and George barely heard her as they walked into the room – and stopped short. Ron was lying there so still, so white, so – hurt.
George swallowed hard, and his eyes strayed involuntarily to where Ginny was watching him meditatively, and he knew that she knew. He looked back at Ron. It was better not to look at her right now.
Fred seemed to feel the same way as he began to question Harry and Hermione. George thought he had the right idea. The least amount of contact they had with their sister right now was very much in their best interest (and in the best interest of their reputations as well).
It wasn't until their parents returned that Harry and Hermione left, and Fred and George hopped up to give their seats over. Molly leaned over Ron immediately, smoothing his hair back from his head and commenting critically on the clamminess of his skin.
Fred couldn't help but glance over at Ron when she said this, and he had to bite his lip very hard to keep from shouting for Madame Pomfrey. Clearly, if Ron's skin were clammy, he should have medical assistance? His looked pleadingly at George, hoping to find someone else who would understand how serious this was, but George was staring at his hands, and when Fred looked down, he saw that they were trembling slightly. He turned away quickly. George understood all right. He understood too well.
Arthur was standing behind Molly now, his hand on her shoulder as he gazed at Ron, but his next words were directed at the twins.
"How did you find out the news?" he wanted to know, and Fred recounted the events of McGonagall finding them in Hogsmeade. Molly simply nodded, her eyes fixed on her youngest son, but Arthur turned his head to examine Fred, having heard the unaccustomed note of strain in his voice.
Under his father's penetrating gaze, Fred felt himself flushing uncomfortably, and he looked back at Ron. He knew what Arthur had heard. He just wished he hadn't. He continued to keep his eyes studiously away from Ginny as well. If their father had heard it, Ginny had too, and the last thing he needed now was her understanding. He wished George would speak, get him off the hook, but as they were sitting so close beside each other on the bed, he knew there wasn't much chance of that happening. George was just barely managing not to shake visibly, and Fred knew words were beyond him at the moment. He could hardly blame him.
Just then, Ron moaned and stirred, and all eyes in the room went directly to the bed.
"Ron? Sweetheart? Are you all right? We're all here. Don't trouble yourself." Molly's voice trembled, but she continued to smooth his hair gently as he opened his eyes and focused on her.
"Mum?" he asked in confusion, and then he turned his head, wincing as he spotted his father, Ginny and the twins. "What are you all doing here?" His voice was weak, and from the way he held his head so gingerly, it was clear to all of them that he was in pain.
"Ron, darling, you were poisoned," Molly said, and she pressed gently on his shoulders as he tried to sit up. He fell back against his pillows, a gasp of pain bursting from his mouth before he could stop it. He flushed scarlet and closed his eyes briefly, and Molly glanced at the twins sternly as if to prevent them from saying anything, but then her own mouth fell open slightly when she saw that this wouldn't be necessary.
They seemed to be completely absorbed in Ron's plight, and without saying a word, George leaned forward and gently arranged the pillows so Ron could sit up more easily. Once he was better situated, he managed a smiled and asked, "So when do I get out of here? And where – where are Hermione and – and Harry?"
While Molly and Arthur explained that Ron wouldn't be able to leave immediately, Ginny finally managed to catch her brothers' eyes and motioned that perhaps they should leave. Neither Fred nor George relished being alone with their most perceptive sibling at the moment, but one glance at the bed was all it took for them to know that Ron would be asleep again inside of two minutes, so Fred grudgingly said, "We'll be going now. We'll stop by to see you tomorrow, though."
Ron's answering smile, though weak and pained, was enough to make both Fred and George try to smile back.
The three of them walked in silence towards the front doors. When Ginny didn't appear to be on her way up to Gryffindor tower, Fred threw her a questioning look, but she didn't meet it. Her eyes were still fixed on George, who barely seemed aware that his feet were moving, let alone the way he was being closely examined. Fred knew better than to comment or ask questions about his sister's presence, though, as this could be one of those occasions when arguing with Ginny would mean to risk some serious hexing.
Pushing open the front doors, Ginny stopped to let the twins out and then broke the silence. "You guys going home?" she questioned, directing it to George, clearly hoping to get him to speak. But it took Fred only one glance at the pale shade of his brother's face to know not to expect any response from him yet.
So he stepped in, despite not being sure of the answer himself. "Yeah, I think so," he replied to Ginny, but his eyes searched George's. He had looked up at Fred's slight hesitation and gave a short nod. "Home it is, then," Fred concluded, pulling his hand through his hair and feeling his sister's penetrating gaze change its focus to himself.
"You don't have to come back tomorrow, you know. If you're busy at the shop, I mean," Ginny said, her hidden meaning clear – if it's too hard on you. "I could always just owl you and let you know how he is."
"We'll come," George interjected hoarsely, making Ginny and Fred turn to him sharply, both seeing the determination in his eyes.
"All right," Ginny nodded slowly. "I'm sure he'll be glad for the company, anyway. So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?" she offered, and Fred let out a breath of relief. He knew that George wouldn't be able to hold himself up here much longer, and he suspected that he would soon be having trouble keeping the conversation going, himself.
"Yeah. Now – you take care, sis, okay?" Fred said, hearing himself how the joking note in his voice got lost somewhere on the way. He meant it, though. They couldn't take any more incidents now.
Ginny managed a tired smile, then went and put her arms around her brother. Immediately, she felt Fred's shoulders tensing with the effort to keep his breathing under control. She knew better than to say anything right then, better than to force him to open his mouth and actually speak.
Turning to George, she made out a shiver in him that she with a jolt realized had nothing to do with the chilliness of the evening. Despite a slight worry that he might shake her off, she took her chances and gently embraced him as well. She knew he might need it, and she just couldn't not. As it turned out, he did nothing to protest, even if he hardly hugged her back either. But he allowed himself to be enveloped by her warm arms, allowed her to feel his increasing trembling. Before she knew it, it was time to let go if he was ever going to be able to make it back to Diagon Alley in one piece.
"See you guys tomorrow," she said with a strained smile. Fred could see her swallowing tightly and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging look. He then turned back to George, who, after making sure that Fred was behind him, started walking in a quick pace towards Hogsmeade. Fred, after one last glance at Ginny, followed him.
Finally back in the sanctuary of their flat, George stumbled half-blindly to the couch, sinking down heavily and hiding his face in his hands. With a sigh, Fred slumped down beside him, inwardly wishing he could just go to bed and forget this day had ever happened. But, right now, it didn't look as if he had that choice.
Putting a hand on George's shoulder, he spoke quietly, "He'll be all right, you know. Didn't you hear Madame Pomfrey?" He honestly did find it quite possible that George hadn't managed to grasp every part of their conversation, with the state he had been in, even if he did doubt that anyone could have missed that particular assurance, as it had been asked for such a number of times.
"Yeah. I know," George answered shortly. His voice was lower than usual, but at least he was using it. That was progress.
"So?" Fred questioned, trying to remain patient while still getting somewhere.
With a wry smile that more resembled a grimace, George removed his hands. "Do you really think this will be the last time someone in our family gets in a near-fatal accident? Remember the Chamber of Secrets? Dad and the snake? The giant chess table? The damn Department of Mysteries?" he recounted lividly. Then it was like someone had pulled the plug out of him. After a beat, he continued in a different, shakier voice. "I just – next time… how good do you honestly think the chances are we'll keep getting lucky?"
For a moment, Fred gaped at him. "You shouldn't think like that," he mumbled in the end, having to shake his head a little to rid it of all the repressed images that had returned at their mentioning.
"I can't help it, can I? And you know I'm right," George said mercilessly, his eyes hard again.
Realizing that he was unable to disagree, Fred tried the only thing he had left, being on the verge of desperation to just make George stop saying these things. A joke. "Well, if I'll be the one to go, I solemnly swear to haunt you forever."
It was weak-sounding, and not a very good one, but it was a joke. George turned to his twin in disbelief. "You're joking? About this? Seriously?"
"Well, what else am I supposed to do?" Fred replied, his exasperation slipping through.
"I don't know!" George bellowed. "Just not that. Not about that. How'd you feel if it was me who had almost died today, who was hurting and…" He had to stop, closing his eyes for a second, but then shook himself, back to glaring at Fred. "Would you be joking then? Or if it'll be me who's the one to go? Would you think that was funny?"
Fred wasn't even sure how it happened, himself. At George's words, the image of his twin's cold, pale body flashed before his eyes and then, his struggle was lost. Unable to stop them, he felt the tears burning in his eyes, the tremble of his lower lip, the hitch of breath in his throat. Too shocked to attempt hiding it – this was only George, after all – he met his brother's wide-eyed, worried gaze.
"I – I'm sorry," George stuttered, looking thoroughly shaken as he cautiously watched Fred's struggle to at least bite back full-on sobs.
But Fred shook his head. No. This wasn't okay. It just wasn't.
George felt his own eyes start filling, but he blinked furiously. This was not the time. "I really – I really am sorry," he forced himself to continue. "I – I know that you didn't mean – of course I know. I was just… you can't joke about that. You just can't."
Tentatively, he put his arm around his brother, wincing as he felt just how violently he was trembling. "C'mon, Fred. It won't be me next. Don't… don't think like that. We can't," he tried, his voice higher than it should be.
"That's – that's what I was trying to – to tell you," Fred choked, frowning at his twin, a slight sparkle now returned to his red eyes.
"I know, mate, I should've listened. I was just…"
"I know," Fred sighed, impatiently brushing a hand across his face.
"You okay now?" George questioned quietly after a few moments of listening to his brother taking deep, calming breaths.
"I guess," Fred shrugged. "Yeah."
"Good. Because I am taking you out for some good old strong Firewhiskey. What do you say, bro?" George asked, standing up and offering his hand to his still sitting twin.
"You know, that might just be the best idea you've had all day," Fred said, a ghost of a grin finding its way back into his features as he allowed his brother to pull him to a standing position.
"Well, yeah. Sometimes…"
"Your brain cells do remember to get their asses to work? Yeah. Sometimes," Fred finished, his smile broadening. "Only very rarely, though," he couldn't help adding, earning a sharp glare that didn't quite hide the grin that was lurking behind it.