Chapter 8 - Found You

The woods were eerily silent. His ears seemed muted. Nothing moved or made a noise out in the darkness. Then a branch snapped. A bird cried out and disturbed the silence with its wings. Another creature rustled the leaves of a bush as it dove after its prey. An ever so slight dribble of ash had fallen out of the fireplace, dragged out by an unseen shoe.

Fred took a deep breath. He held his shoes in his hands, his heart pounding faster by the second. He didn't want to make noise so he'd removed his shoes. He saw he was in the same livingroom area he'd been in when they'd captured him last week. Nothing had changed. Fred released his breath softly and began to walk. The carpet in the livingroom was quickly replaced by cold hardwood floors. A draft from somewhere ran across Fred's feet, and he had to suppress a shiver.

He passed by the wall that always kept him from seeing the rest of the house. He found himself at another wall. So all the bottom floor had was the livingroom and kitchen? Oh well. Less to search through. Fred began his accent up the stairs. He found that if he walked on the completely left side of the stairs, they didn't creak. So that's how everyone did it?

The stairs felt almost wet under his bare feet. He grimaced at the thought of all the fungus he was probably standing above. Fred got to the top of the stairs and stopped to catch his breath. He was so tense and nervous. He had to calm down, or he may have a heart attack mid-search.

Fred didn't know which room was George's. That was his only issue. He stared down the hall at each room's door without moving from his spot at the top of the stairs. The one directly at the end was just a little different. It was made of finer wood and had what appeared to be a wide peep hole. That was either a meeting room, or it belonged to Malachite. If Malachite brainwashed George, he would probably keep a close eye on him. So maybe George was in the same room as Malachite?

That would explain how Malachite found out so quickly that George wasn't in bed but was, instead, downstairs talking with Fred. Oh, but they better ONLY be sleeping in that room... apart from each other. If he walked in and found them in the same bed or in some suggestive position... he'd rip Malachite's throat out right then and there.

In his excitement, Fred hadn't noticed himself walking closer to the door. Now he stood before it and didn't know what to do. He reached for the doorknob and was about to grab it when another door opened. Someone coughed as they entered the hall. Fred pressed himself into the corner of the hall between Malachite's suspected room and the adjacent room.

The one who'd entered the hallway was unfamiliar and left his door open as he trudged downstairs. Fred peered inside the room and saw three beds in there. Two were empty, one of them ruffled from where that wizard had just left it. Draco was laying in the other bed, sleeping.

Fred took a step toward the room, curious. Draco? Maybe he could ask Draco which room George was in... just to make sure. Right? Someone moved in the room, and Fred froze. He could not afford to be caught just to go see Draco. He took a half step back when he stopped again. The person who had moved was... George! Fred quickly slid into the room and stood against the wall, his heart beating quickly.

George was dressed the same clothes Fred had seen him in that day in the livingroom. He seemed detached, like he was thinking too deeply. George walked to the door that had been left open and shut it quietly. He paused with his hand on the closed door as if considering something. Then he turned and walked toward the window where moonlight was pouring in.

Fred inched over to his brother until he was standing right behind him. His shoes were now sitting at the foot of Draco's bed. He glanced back at the platinum blonde male before focusing all his attention on George. With a deep breath to solidify his confidence, Fred reached out his arms and grabbed George, one hand over his brother's mouth and one around the waist. George gasped and grabbed both of Fred's wrists but couldn't pry him off. The invisibility cloak fluttered to the floor.

"George... You don't understand right now, but this is for your own good," Fred whispered into George's ear. He felt George trembling and wondered if he had scared him that much.

George looked to their left where a full length mirror was. His eyes widened when he saw who was holding him. Somehow, Fred believed George already knew who it was. He leaned his head on George's shoulder. The scent of George filled his senses. What a lovely scent. He'd missed it so much.

"If I let go of your mouth, will you keep quiet? Or do I have to charm you into silence?" Fred asked. George shook his head. Fred slowly removed his hand from George's mouth but kept his brother pulled securely to his chest. George didn't make a sound. He just shivered.

Fred picked Harry's cloak up with his toes and transferred it to his fingers. He tossed the cloak over both George and himself. It probably wouldn't cover their feet now. They were too tall. Next, Fred moved them over to Draco's bed, where he slipped on his shoes. He stumbled a little, but his hold on George kept him steady.

"Just remember, George... You aren't a prisoner," Fred spoke it like a promise. Then Fred closed his eyes and whisked them away.

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

A little boy sat, wrapped up in a blanket, in a large garden. He was shivering while snow fell all around him. He was hiding under a large oak tree, in a little nook that had been naturally created. His cheeks were red from the cold, and he pulled his blanket closer around him. The blanket fell over his head, completely covering him.

"Fred!" a voice called out. The bundle of blankets flinched.

"Fred!?" the voice was closer. The bundle continued to shiver and hugged itself.

"Fred?...," the voice was right in front of him, and he knew it. The crunch of snow was a dead give away.

"Fred... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to yell. I'm not mad at you, really. And I don't really want you to die... Fred?" a young George Weasley spoke, kneeling in front of his brother. They were only about 7, and they'd had their first big fight.

George lifted the blanket off his brother's head and smiled. Fred was huddled, hugging his legs and trembling. Fred didn't look up at him.

"Fred... You're cold...," George said obviously. He leaned in and hugged his little brother. Fred bit his lip before sliding his arms up and around his brother's back. George smiled and held Fred close to him for warmth. He hooked his fingers around the blanket.

"Come on, Fred... Let's go inside. Mum's aged ten years while looking for you," George joked lightly. Fred snickered and stood up with George, still attached to him. George laughed and held the blanket over them both with one arm around Fred. Together, they slowly walked back to their house, their first argument over and forgotten.