Chapter 3 - Betrayal

Splat!

Another white ball of slushy water connected with the teacher's head. The stuttering man spun around like he'd been bitten.

"S-S-Stop th-that, you! Wh-whoever's d-doing that, s-stop it now!" Professor Quirrell ordered, making sure his turban was on properly.

Two first years were hiding behind a bush that had become a big white rock now that it was covered in snow. They were pressing hands over each other's mouths in the attempt not to laugh. Brown eyes sparkled with glee and stared into equally bright brown eyes. Smiles hid behind the hands. Fred and George Weasley could almost telepathically celebrate this amazing way to annoy their teacher.

'This is awesome!'

'I know!'

'Okay... Without laughing, drop your hand and grab some more snow. Ready?'

And both twins lowered their hands. As if they'd already planned it all out, they both snatched up some snow, balled it up, and hurled it over their bush covering. Two thuds later, they silently cheered. Quirrell was down for the count, hollering about some phantom chasing him.

The twins chuckled together for a while when two hands suddenly grabbed their ears. Yelps escaped their throats as they were pulled to their feet. Oh darn! They'd been caught! Turned to their captor, both boys groaned when they saw it was Snape who'd caught them.

"You boys have been causing trouble...," Snape sneered. The boys pouted and then adopted indignant looks.

"How dare he accuse us of such a horrible idea," George said.

"Quite. It's upsetting. Sir, you will take that back," Fred said, knocking Snape's hand away from him. George grinned. Snape looked a little shocked. The professor adopted a glower.

"You're act doesn't fool me, Weasley. I know what you've been up to. I'm keeping my eye on you... both of you," Snape said, looking at George in warning before turning and leaving them both.

"Yeah, he better," George snickered, and Fred nearly snorted.

– – – – – – –

Fred groaned as he opened his eyes. Every time... Every time he closed his eyes it was an endless flood of memories. Every dream was a precious moment he'd experienced with George. Fred tried to stretch his arms, to relieve them of their lingering cramp, but he couldn't. His hands were still bound. The younger twin(1) sighed. He was still having a hard time taking in the fact that his brother was evil.

Around him he saw a fireplace for transportation usage and a counter that divided where he was being held from what appeared to be a kitchen. He must be in a livingroom type area. He was on a couch, that's for sure. It wasn't all too comfortable, but he wasn't a guest either. He was a prisoner - bait.

A creak in the floor boards caught his attention, and he looked toward the entrance to the livingroom. He didn't know what was past that wall. He'd been unconscious when they'd finally brought him into the house... or whatever this place was.

Around the corner popped a familiar head. George was watching him, much as he had at the river. Fred stared right back, surprise in his eyes. George made his way into the room and crouched in the middle of it, right in front of Fred but a safe distance away. Right, like Fred was a real threat to anyone.

"What? Why are you staring at me?" Fred asked. "Is there something on my face?" he joked a little, hoping to get a reaction from George. He got nothing. George just tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in apparent confusion.

"Not really," he said. Fred knew he must have dirt on his face, which the George he used to know would have teased him about. "I was just wondering... why you have that face at all."

"Huh?" Fred asked, doing his best to sit up. The fire on the side lit up both their faces but caused one side to seemed unusually dark. It made it hard to read George's expression.

"Your face. What charm did you put on it?" George asked, motioning toward Fred.

"What are you talking about? I haven't done anything to my face," Fred replied. He was so confused.

"But the way you look... You look...," George trailed off. He seemed to be finding it hard to think of the proper word. Realization dawned on Fred.

"Oh. I grew my hair out. You kept yours shorter, and it's been a rough year. I probably do look different now. Sorry," Fred murmured the last word, looking away from his brother.

"Hm," George said. The older twin sank onto the floor completely and crossed his legs. Fred watched out of the corner of his eye as his brother stared at the fire.

"George," Fred called out. George didn't move his head but did shift his eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?"George asked.

"Why are you after Harry? Why are you attacking innocent people?" Fred asked, trying to keep any accusing tones out of his voice. He didn't want to make George angry at him... No... He didn't want that.

"That's an odd question," George replied, turning his head to look at Fred. "I guess it's because... I hate Harry Potter and everything he stands for. I have for as long as I can remember."

Fred's eyes widened. What? There was no hesitation, no second guessing, no hints in George's expression or posture to say he was lying in the slightest. But George- George always loved Harry like family! They'd always talked about how great it would be if Harry became headmaster of Hogwarts or the Minister of Magic! How could George hate Harry and his ideas? It wasn't possible. George wouldn't.

"Wh-what?" Fred stuttered out. "What do you mean... 'for as long as you can remember'?"

Had George been planning this evil betrayal for that long? If so, how had Fred missed it? He thought he knew George better than anyone. Had he been tricked as well? Across from him, George just blinked and watched him. Fred must look horrible right now - so upset and shocked.

"George," another voice spoke up. A man was barely in view by the wall. "You shouldn't be down here. We're all supposed to be resting. Get back up to bed."

"Right. Sorry, Malachite," George said and nodded. The man known as Malachite backed out of view, and Fred could hear stairs creaking in the distance. George walked to the wall and paused. With one last look at Fred, he disappeared behind that wall.

Fred could feel himself shaking. He clenched his fists and tugged against his bonds. He could feel... his chest. It hurt. It hurt so much he wanted to claw into it with his own fingernails. Maybe it was a good thing his hands were bound. Was this his heart aching? George had been planning this for... so long. Everything Fred knew was a lie?

"G-George...," Fred could hardly even whisper. He found it a little hard to breathe. "George."

Here they were again - hot tears, sliding down Fred's face and unable to be wiped away. Fred grit his teeth and begged himself to stop, but he couldn't. This was worse than George dying. Why couldn't that clock hand just drop down to the 'injured' section? Why? Why did George have to be perfectly fine and healthy? Why did George have to be a bad guy?!

"George!" Fred hissed out. God, why did George have to be at all? It hurt... so much!

(1) - I based which Weasley twin was younger on which Phelps twin was younger. James is 13 minutes younger than Oliver, so Fred is 13 minutes younger than George. The Phelps twins play the Weasley twins - in case you didn't know that.