Chapter 7
When George got back to his tent, he had long since run out of tears. He packed his tent away and set off further north; he did not need any muggle navigation or even any magic to know which way he had to go- in the far distance he could see that the snow laying on top of the trees was getting thicker. That was the way he had to go- to the coldest regions of Scotland, in the far north.
"Don't worry, Fred," he said, his voice shaking with the cold. "I will find a way soon, I promise."
He battled against the icy wind and the snow for hours until he realised it was approaching dusk. He once again found the most sheltered spot possible and set his tent up. He crawled inside, grateful for the shelter from the hostile climate outside. This time, he knew what to do. He conjured a fire in the air, carefully keeping it away from the edges of the tent, until he was warmer than he had been for days. He extinguished the floating flame and thankfully drifted to sleep.
George suddenly awoke to hear a shuffling outside his tent. He sat bolt upright, his heart hammering; a person who was shifting around in the forest in Scotland, in the middle of the night, in the bitter cold, was surely up to no good. He realised with horror that he had not protected his tent with enchantments and spells- he was perfectly visible to the wanderer outside. He cursed under his breath- he had no option but to get out of the tent and protect himself.
He was not scared. Who even cared if something happened to him? Ever since Fred's death, it wasn't as if he had been funny, and interesting, like he had used to be. At least if something happened to him, he would be with Fred again.
He climbed outside as quietly as he could.
"Protego," he whispered. Something moved a few feet ahead of him from the depths of the trees. A twig snapped. George barely even dared to breathe. He stayed still and silent, but he could now identify a dark shape moving out of the trees.
"Stupefy!" he shouted, but at the same time he heard the figure shouting "Expelliamus!" He felt his wand whipped out of his hand. He didn't even bother to put up a fight, and simply let his hands fall down by his side.
"Who are you?" the person asked, in a strong Scottish accent, slow and deep.
"Ill tell you if you show yourself," George said, sounding braver than he felt.
"Okay then, but stay back!" the figure warned, and he said "Lumos."
One of the wands the stranger was holding blazed a white light; it was unlike any Lumos spell he had seen before, and the wizard's Expelliamus had got through George's shield. Maybe the magic here was different, maybe even stronger.
The face now illuminated was smudged with dirt; he had straggly brown hair that was matted with leaves- he looked almost wild- and his eyes were a shocking electric blue that shone out from his otherwise dark and dirty appearance. He wore a long brown robe that had leaves and twigs entwined amongst it, which George presumed was used for camouflage, although he didn't understand why they would need it since he doubted there were many travellers who ventured all the way up to the north of Scotland.
"So! Who are you?" the wizard barked. George decided not to argue as the strength of this wizard's spells made him nervous.
"I'm called George, I came up to the far north to find a Gaelic Tribe of witches and wizards. I...I want to find out some information from them."
The stranger's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Swear you have good intentions, that you aren't here to attack them."
"I swear, I only come to ask for help."
The man beckoned to George. "Follow me. My name's Eideard."
Hermione appeared back in her parent's kitchen with a loud crack. Ron Apparated behind her moments later, after a long drawn out goodbye to his mother, who had been truing to delay their leaving by inventing jobs that needed doing.
Ron knew that his mother wasn't coping with an empty house. Now that George had left, she was alone when Mr Weasley went to work. After well over twenty years of caring for her children, the loneliness was really getting to her, especially since the death of Fred. Ron felt terrible for leaving her, but he couldn't go every day to keep her company. In the end, every parent has to let go of their children.
Ron and Hermione sat at the kitchen table and looked at each other, Ron with a look of worry and Hermione with one of terror.
"You know, don't you Ron?" she said fearfully. "You must understand that George has gone mad?"
Ron nodded grimly. "I understand it. I should have known, really. Alone in that room for a month. He had never been alone, never in his life before Fred died. It would send anyone mad." He shook his head, eyes closed. "Please, Hermione, tell me it's possible to save him."
Hermione did not smile, but nor did she frown.
"Who know? We have no idea how far he's gone. He could just be on the brink. But... I believe no one is ever beyond saving. With any damaged mind, there is always a bit of the person they were before left in there. There is always hope. I think George has the strength to keep going. We just need to help him."
Ron sighed. "I really hope you're right. I cant give up on him, not after Fred. The last thing Fred would want would be for George to be lost."
"Well, the first thing we need to do is to check out who we're dealing with. I'll check the books and research this Gaelic tribe. If we are going to find him, we need to know everything we can about their magic."
Oddly, Ron agreed. "You're right, we can't go looking for George unprepared. Meanwhile, I'd better get back to work and make up a fabulous excuse as to why you aren't there."
Hermione grinned as Ron turned on the spot. He's really got the hang of Apparation now, she thought, and with a twirl of her wand she summoned a box about a foot in width and from it withdrew an enormous pile of books. Now she was back doing what she was best at.
Ron walked up to Kingsley's office, and knocked, slowly and deliberately, on his door.
"Enter," said the person in question's deep booming voice, and Ron obliged.
"Sorry to disturb you, Minister.." Kingsley rolled his eyes. "Come on Weasley, there's no need to call me Minister. I'm still a wizard like you, just with a fancy title."
Ron grinned. "Very sorry, Kingsley."
Kingsley almost smiled, but managed to keep his naturally stern expression. "So, proceed."
"Hermione sends her apologies, she has a terrible bout of Dragon Pox."
"Wow, it's come on so quickly? I only saw her this morning."
Ron turned pink. "Well, it is a particular bad attack."
Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't seem very prudent then, does it, for you to be in the Ministry, you could only be spreading the disease? You'd better get off."
Ron nodded thankfully. "Very Sorry Minis... I mean Kingsley. I will get off right away."
Kingsley smiled. "I hope you find him, Weasley." he said as Ron left the room. Ron opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but the door shut behind him. It seemed Kingsley wasn't Minister for Magic for nothing.
A/N: Sorry it's taken a few days to update, been very busy! I've had to consider my options for A Levels recently, if anyone has any pointers, please review and tell me! I'm really not sure if I should take English or not, so any opinions would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading :D
