"Aren't you going to thank me?" Harry asked sarcastically, hands in his pockets as he led Fred down the corridor and into a room which was probably a lounge. It had been so long since Harry had tidied up or cleaned anything, that all the rooms in the Black house were beginning to look the same.
Fred nervously eyed the sheet pinned up on the wall that appeared to be covering something. He knew what was under there – the portrait of Sirius Black's mother. Crazed, manic, stuck in the form of a painting. Fred fleetingly wondered what Sirius' mother thought of Harry now living in the house, but decided it would be better to not voice this comment. Instead he answered Harry's question.
"I'll thank you as soon as George is better," Fred grunted as he shuffled his sick twin into the room. Harry put out his arm and in one movement cleared the dirty, blackened sofa of all the rubbish and clutter that was on it. Fred raised an eyebrow and placed George down on it, resting his head on a pile of cushions. Fred knelt down beside his brother and glanced around the room.
"This place is a tip, Harry," Fred remarked, crinkling up his nose. Harry chose to ignore this remark and readjusted his glasses, the pair which would enable him to have at least half of his vision. He didn't wear them all the time – usually because he couldn't find them, since they were always buried under a pile of junk – but for what he was about to do, Harry would need to be able to see.
"Who cursed him?" Harry asked casually, doctor-like, but not sounding the slightest bit concerned.
"We don't know," Fred admitted quietly, fondly brushing George's fringe from out of his face. George's skin was still pale and sweaty, blotched red in places. He was passed out, but trembling all over.
"Well, what is it?" Harry continued, pressing the issue as he just observed, arms crossed over his chest.
"We don't know," Fred repeated slowly, becoming annoyed and exasperated.
"But you must have some idea of-" Harry tried, but Fred suddenly leapt to his feet and interrupted the younger man.
"Look, we don't know what it is, we don't know who did it, we don't know why they did it, alright!" Fred shouted.
"Okay, okay," Harry said defensively, raising his palms. Fred sighed and sank back down onto the floor, turning his head to look at his twin brother, who was passed out on the sofa. "I'm at my wits end. I have to save him."
Harry raised an eyebrow at this statement. "You've remained surprisingly loyal to him, considering."
"A brother for a brother," Fred breathed slowly, looking close to tears. "I've spent most of my life with six siblings, Harry. Now it's getting close to only three."
"Alright," Harry said quietly after a short thoughtful pause, and he too knelt down by George's side. "I'll do my best."
He adjusted his glasses one more time and then spread his hands out over George's chest. The buttons of George's shirt slowly began to undo themselves as tiny green sparks played at Harry's fingertips. Fred watched in awe as pure magic surged around Harry's palms, flowing through his fingers and out of the tips, where the green stream washed into George's skin and pulsed through his veins. The ill Weasley twin gave a sudden gasp of life, sucking in the air as though he had just been underwater, and he bolted upright. Then, just as suddenly, he collapsed back down and fell unconscious.
"Harry!" Fred gasped desperately, clutching at his brother. Harry straightened his glasses.
"Don't worry," he told Fred. "He'll be out for a little while yet. But he's healthy. Look."
Harry leant in closer to George's face and gestured to Fred to do the same. The skin was peachy pink; the freckles clear on his cheeks. Harry gently pinched at one of George's eyelids and pushed it upwards, exposing his eyeballs. His eyes were clear, shiny, and -
"Green," Fred breathed in barely a whisper. "His eyes…George's eyes have…"
"Gone green, yes," Harry finished simply, getting to his feet and pacing the room slowly. "But a small price to pay, don't you reckon?"
"But why…?" Fred asked, but he was met with only a shrug. Like his blindness, like his glowing green wand, it was just one of many things that Harry could not explain.
Fred laughed with relief and clutched at his twin brother's quiet form, hugging him tightly.
Harry sadly lifted up a finger to his owl Hedwig's claw as she sat atop her perch, placed high on a bookcase. Seeming to notice the sudden gloomy expression on his face, she hooted slowly and fondly nudged his knuckles with her break. Harry sighed and tried to give her a small smile.
It was ironic, really. In destroying Voldemort, Harry had also destroyed a half of himself – his soul, his being – and became ill, a long-term illness which would surely kill him eventually. Strangely enough, it was at the same time that Harry had gained this sudden power to be able to help people, cure them, with only a simple touch. He didn't know how or why it worked, but it did, and he had only found out by accident when Hedwig had come crashing through a window one night and snapped her fragile wing. Gently scooping her up to tend to his pet, Harry watched (as best he could) in awe, as green magic flew from his very hands and fixed Hedwig's wing in seconds.
News of Harry's ability traveled fast, and it wasn't long before The Boy Who Lived became The Messiah, The Savior – yet another reason why Harry was so withdrawn and lonely as he was. He refused to help people. No more. He'd done enough life saving, enough superheroing to last him a lifetime, thanks very much. The Dark Lord was gone, that should have been enough for them.
Harry supposed that above all, he was bitter. Bitter that he could cure anyone he chose – everyone but himself.
"I can't thank you enough, Harry," Fred breathed, and Harry turned back to see Fred clutching at George's hand and rubbing his shoulder.
"Ginny's news," Harry said bluntly. "Then you can leave."
Fred looked down at his feet then stood up, ready to leave, scooping George up in his arms as he did so.
"I suppose it's not much to you, really," Fred explained as he pulled on his scarf. "But she asked I tell you."
"Yes?" Harry prompted, wishing Fred would just get to the point, as Harry could feel that beating feeling against his chest again.
"Ginny's pregnant."
Harry's heart stopped dead so suddenly, he almost reached to clutch at his chest. A lump rose into his throat, along with a question.
"Is it…" he began, but his voice came out a rasp, then a squeak, and Fred noticed his difficulty.
"What? Yours?" Fred snapped with some disgust. Harry felt his head bobbing itself up and down - yes.
"Don't make me laugh," Fred scoffed. "Not even you're that dim, Harry. As I recall, the last time you saw her was about 18 months ago. Do you remember? Right after you broke her heart."
This stung slightly, but Harry didn't let it show. "But then who-"
"That's not my place to say," Fred cut him off. "You can find that out for yourself."
Harry slowly followed the Weasley twin to the doorway. "So … I guess this makes us even."
"Yes," Fred agreed over his shoulder. "No more favours. Go and see Ginny."
"I will," Harry nodded firmly, and his eyes glanced over at George's now healthy – but unconscious - form. "And maybe now you can find out the truth, Fred."
"Yes," Fred agreed slowly, looking at his brother also. "The truth."
Harry gazed upon George's body as Fred spoke. Had he done the right thing? "The truth, the truth…" Fred kept repeating, as he plodded down the driveway…
"The truth about why George killed Percy."