A/N: Hey guys – back with a new chapter. This one is quite a lot smaller than my usual chapters – it's in Fred's POV, but really just a quick glimpse inside his head. And also, if you've recently left a review for me, know that I've reread it about thirty times since I saw it and that I love you eternally for taking the time to let me know you're enjoying the story!

Hope you enjoy!

"And you need to remember, focus on keeping their Keeper distracted – the girls can handle their Beaters themselves, you just need to give them the best shot at scoring and-"

Wood continued to rant, hands waving about in the air, a wild look in his eyes. George listened halfheartedly, but Fred had long since stopped paying attention. Without even realising he was doing it, his eyes restlessly scanned the Pitch.

"She probably just got caught up," George whispered to Fred, almost reading his mind, but he needn't have worried. Wood was so far gone he wouldn't have noticed an Erumpant if it charged across the field and exploded right in front of him. "You know what she's like."

And Fred did know what she was like; head perpetually up in clouds the same colour as her stormy eyes. But she never missed a game – and she certainly never missed the minutes before the game, when she'd smack ridiculous, dramatic kisses onto their cheeks for luck.

It was something of a tradition by this point, and while Fred knew it wasn't likely they'd lose the whole match just because they hadn't completed their silly little ritual, something in the back of his brain was itching at him. Telling him that he couldn't play today – not even just because she wasn't here to complete tradition, but because something was wrong.

"I've got a bad feeling," Fred told his brother, eyes still scanning the crowd. He wondered if she was here after all, but he'd done something to tick her off. He couldn't remember doing anything, but as much as he understood and adored his best friend – she was still a girl. In his experience, girls got angry about little things, and Fred knew he could be oblivious to those sorts of things.

But really, who could blame him?

"I'm sure she's fine," George insisted. "Get your head in the match. This is the big one."

Fred didn't answer, turning back to the nearly-empty Pitch and the stands beyond, scanning and scanning and scanning for a face he knew he wouldn't find.

The game was just about to begin when Fred caught sight of Harry – arriving a little late, but still on time enough for the match. By now Fred's gut was twisted up into knots, the sense that something wasn't right laying heavily on his chest. He left George's side, his brother shouting something after him, but he just waved his hand back dismissively.

"Harry," he said, and the Seeker looked up, brow pinched above his green eyes. He remembered a few nights ago, sitting by the fire with Winnie as she sketched. She'd been complaining about Harry's eyes – she couldn't find the right mixture of paints of get the colour just right. The memory sent a pang through him, and he scowled.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, somewhat put off by the twist of Fred's mouth.

"Have you seen Win?" he asked without preamble.

Harry looked confused. "No?" he said, but it sounded like a question. "I thought she'd come down with you, or the girls," he added, nodding his head to where Katie, Angelina and Alicia were standing, still held captive by Wood maniacal ranting. "Do you think something's wrong?" Harry asked warily.

Fred didn't want to say yes, but he also didn't really want to lie. "Unclear," he settled for instead.

Harry's face scrunched, and for a brief moment he reminded Fred of Winnie. She made the same expression, usually in the same circumstances, too – whenever he made a bad joke or perplexing comment.

The resemblance made him blink, and just like that it was gone, Harry back in his place, staring at him expectantly. "S'just, we have this tradition…" he began to say, only to trail off when he realised how stupid he sounded. Now he was the one acting like a girl.

Harry looked vaguely amused. "I know."

Fred decided he wanted this conversation to end very much indeed. "Well, good luck up there," he said, a tad awkward. "How about we go win ourselves a Cup, eh?"

Harry laughed once, nodding in agreement, and Fred slapped him kindly on the shoulder. He'd just turned back to where George was standing – Wood having finally finished his rant and the girls beginning to take to the air – when he saw something barrelling across the pitch.

His insides leapt, but as he turned to get a better look he saw it was just McGonagall, he looked away disinterestedly – only to do a double take. Hermione was rushing along after her, and both looked rather stressed. McGonagall held a giant megaphone in her hand, and that feeling that something terrible was about to happen swooped through Fred again.

"This match has been canceled," McGonagall called through the megaphone, to immediate boos and hisses from the crowd. She couldn't have cared less for their reaction, and if Fred weren't so filled with terror, he might have been impressed. "All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!"

The rest of the team was gathered on the pitch now, and they watched as McGonagall lowered the megaphone and turned to look at them all. Fred could practically see the cogs turning in her head, like she was trying to make a decision. He didn't know what that decision might be, but he hoped it wasn't anything bad.

"Weasley and Weasley," their teacher finally said, looking more severe than Fred had ever seen her – which was certainly saying something, "you'd best come with me." Her dark eyes flickered with indecision before focusing in on Harry too, and Fred wondered if that was sympathy he saw in those eyes. "You too, Potter."

There was only one reason that combination of students would be necessary, and Fred stopped breathing completely. Hermione was stood behind her, eyes glittering with tears, and Fred could swear he was about to pass out.

"Is she alive?"

He didn't realise it was him who had spoken until everyone in their small group turned to stare. McGonagall's eyebrows climbed her forehead, surprised maybe that he knew, or maybe just that he was so blunt about it.

He watched her debate with herself for a few moments before finally nodding her head. "Yes, Weasley," she assured him, sympathy in the words potent. "She's alive."

Like he were under a curse, Fred could only blindly follow the others up the hill back towards the castle. As they walked, Hermione began to talk, and it was like he were hearing it all from underwater.

"She just appeared from nowhere and told me to run – to get Professor McGonagall for help. I shouldn't have left her alone, but I was scared, and she's older so I thought she'd be okay. And she said she already knew what it was, because she'd had a vision about it," Hermione blurted.

Out of more instinct than purposeful thought, Fred glanced worriedly to McGonagall. The older witch didn't look in any way surprised to hear that Winnie experienced visions of any kind, and Fred knew he should have known Dumbledore would tell the Deputy Head Mistress. He rather got the sense that McGonagall was his Winnie. Thinking that, he found he couldn't blame him.

They reached the Hospital Wing and McGonagall led them inside. Laying eyes on a cold, frozen Winnie, Fred's first thought was that this was the last place she would want to be. He wondered – distantly, in the way someone wonders about what they might have for dinner – whether he could convince Dumbledore to move her somewhere else.

But then he wondered where that somewhere might be, and he couldn't think of a single place in the whole castle that would make this any better. The only thing that would fix any of this was to have her back, awake and in one piece.

She was laid on her back on one of the beds, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling, neck strained and expression echoing with terror. It made Fred's insides tighten and twist, and he looked away, out the nearest window. He could see the mountains in the distance; they didn't entrance him like they always seemed to entrance her, but it was easier to look at them than to look at Winnie.

Fred realised belatedly that George was already at her side, sat in the seat on her right, one hand held against her frozen hand, pain pinching his brow. Harry was stood on her left, hand resting on her shoulder like he didn't know where else to put it. Fred was left standing at the foot of her bed, hands tucked under his armpits, staring at it all without expression.

The Headmaster swept into the room, took one look at the scene, then went straight for Hermione. The girl looked so tired and stunned from the morning's events that she didn't even seem shy speaking directly with the most powerful man in the castle.

Dumbledore led Hermione over to the corner of the room where they could speak with a hint more privacy. Harry cast Winnie a final, despondent stare before following, and nobody tried to stop him.

"I know this must be quite a shock," said McGonagall, and Fred hadn't even realised she'd been standing there, watching them. He didn't look up at her, didn't want to see any pity. He wasn't in the mood. "I know how close the three of you are," their Transfiguration teacher continued, sad and sympathetic.

"How long until the Mandrakes are ready?" Fred demanded. He knew he was being rude, but honestly, when had that ever bothered him before?

"She'll be up and about in no time, Mr Weasley," McGonagall told him in an attempt to be reassuring. Fred didn't look up from Winnie's face. "Miss Granger said she seemed to know something?" she pressed delicately.

"If she did, Dumbledore would know it too," Fred said callously. "Why don't you ask him?"

McGonagall's lips pursed like she wanted to scold him for his tone, but she held back. "If she knew something was going to happen, why not tell a teacher?" she wondered, staring down at Winnie too, thoughtful.

"What she does doesn't always make sense," George spoke up. There was a warmth in his voice, hand still holding hers, squeezing tight even though she couldn't squeeze back. "But it's always for the right reasons."

"She did what she had to do to preserve the future," said Fred.

McGonagall looked taken aback. "What makes you say that, Mr Weasley?"

He could only shrug. "It's exactly the sort of thing she'd say."

"I need to go address the rest of your House about this matter," McGonagall continued. "I'll escort you back to Gryffindor Tower."

"I think we'll stay here," said Fred, short and uncompromising.

McGonagall raised her eyebrows, surprised but not angry. "I can guess how much you would prefer to stay with Miss Andrews, but I'm afraid it wasn't a request."

And Fred found he couldn't be bothered arguing the point. He'd just go back to the tower, stay for an hour to shake off any suspicion, then borrow Harry's cloak and sneak back when everyone had gone.

Dumbledore approached, a concerned looking Hermione and a resolute Harry following in his wake. "Mr Potter and Miss Granger are coming with me, professor," he told McGonagall in a rumbling, matter-of-fact voice. "We still have much to discuss."

Fred wondered what, exactly, it was they had to discuss, but he didn't have the energy to argue it now. He'd find out later. For now he just stared at Winnie's frozen body. He wondered if she were conscious, if she could hear everything happening around her. He wanted to say something – anything that might comfort her, but before he could conjure the words McGonagall's hand came down on his shoulder, urging him out.

"Come along, Weasley," she said quietly.

"Let's go, Fred," said George when he didn't move. "The others will wanna know what happened."

The mention of their friends was enough to get Fred moving. He followed George and their Head of House through the empty corridors of the castle they called home. Slowly, as they walked, the shock began to bleed away, turning into something much darker.

Anger gathered in his gut. Anger at the monster for attacking his best friend. Anger at Dumbledore for allowing the monster to remain in the school. Anger at Winona herself, fo walking knowingly into such a dangerous situation. The feeling coiled deep within him like the serpentine body of a snake, tension building as it threatened to strike. At what, he wasn't sure.

They arrived at the common room, and the twins were met with hurried questions that promptly fell away into nothing as McGonagall appeared through the portrait hole after them.

"If you'll all gather round," she called, pulling a roll of parchment from her robes and unwinding it as the Gryffindors nervously did as they were told. "From this point onwards, there are new rules in place in this castle," she began sternly. "They are to be followed by each and every student. There are no exceptions."

"Has there been another attack, Professor?" called Lee. Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd, and for once McGonagall's glare wasn't enough to silence them alone.

"Quiet, please," their teacher ordered them, and slowly the murmurs petered off into nothing. The Gryffindors stared at her, holding their collective breath. The delicate lines on McGonagall's face deepened, and for a moment Fred thought he saw grief shine in her eyes. "I'm afraid there has been another attack," she told them briskly. "I'm sorry to say that two of our own – Penelope Clearwater and Winona Andrews – have joined the other petrification victims."

There was no stopping the outcry that rang throughout the tower, gasps and cries of horror from the two's friends. Lee went chalky and tears appeared in Alicia and Katie's eyes. Angelina dropped her head into her hands, and Ron, who stood directly across from Fred, had gone very still.

"This is most unfortunate," said McGonagall after a minute of allowing the students their reactions. "But keep in mind that this is temporary. Professor Sprout assures us the Mandrakes will be ready in only a handful of weeks. Those fallen prey to these attacks will be back with us soon."

With those words of comfort said, she turned her attention back to the parchment held in her white-knuckled hands.

"The new rules are as follows," she began. "All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

With that said, she rolled the parchment back up and cleared her throat.

"I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward," she finished briskly.

She climbed from the portrait hole and the moment the door had swung shut after her the room broke out in chatter. Fred and George were swarmed immediately, their peers eager to speak to the victim's partner in crime.

Fred's ears were deaf to all the questions thrown his way. George fielded them with ease, but all Fred could do was shove his way through the gathered crowd, making a beeline for the dorms. Before he could even reach the stairs, somebody stepped into his path.

"Where are Harry and Hermione?" Ron demanded.

"With Dumbledore," Fred told his brother quickly. "They'll probably be back soon."

"Dumbledore?" Ron echoed, not seeming to pick up on Fred's agitation. "Why?"

"Ask them yourself."

With that he shoved past his brother and took the stairs two at a time. He reached the dorm, using the moment alone to breathe deeply and remind himself that Winnie was fine. She was petrified, not dead. A few days – weeks at the most – and she'd be back to her usual self; paint stains and nicknames and secrets and all.

The door burst open and he knew his moment alone was over. His friends poured into the room. For the girls, it was their first time up in the boys' dorm. They weren't technically allowed, and while that had never stopped Winnie, none of them had ever had reason enough to break the rule.

George must have answered their more immediate questions, because they weren't hounding him for answers of his own. The girls still looked teary-eyed, but there was a strange shadow over Lee's face.

"Do you think they'll let us go see her?" Alicia was asking quietly.

"Maybe tomorrow," George said, patting her gently on the back as she rubbed at her eyes, smudging the makeup there.

"It's just so surreal," said Lee, leaning against the poster of his bed, arms crossed over his chest, a frown on his face. "One moment she's there, walking down to the pitch with us, and now she's frozen."

Something about what he'd said flipped a switch deep in Fred's chest. "What do you mean, she was with you?" he demanded.

Lee seemed surprised by the vehemence with which he spoke, but he didn't hesitate to answer. "Me and Hope were walking down to the pitch with her, like usual. She stopped as we were leaving the castle, said she'd meet us there and disappeared off in the direction of the library."

The anger reappeared, surging in Fred's chest like a flash of Fiendfyre. "And you let her go?!" he snarled, crossing the space between them, footsteps heavy on the wood.

Lee's eyes went wide and he took a hurried step backwards, hands held up in surrender. George stepped in Fred's path, palms braced against his chest, stopping his approach. Fred met his twin's eyes, seeing his unspoken plea as if it were written on his skin.

"This isn't Lee's fault, Fred, and you know it," George said aloud, using the same soothing voice he as when Winnie had a particularly bad vision. It worked better than he'd expected it to.

Sense came back to him, the roar of fiery anger fading to a dull, flickering flame somewhere in his chest. "Yeah," he said, but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears. "I know. Sorry, mate," he aimed the words in Lee's general direction.

His friend didn't seem angry, he just seemed understanding, maybe even a little pitying. Somehow that was even more exhausting to deal with than the alternative. Fred suddenly hoped they'd all just leave so he could go to sleep.

"W-what are we going to do without her?" asked Katie after a few long moments of silence. The words were like a nasty jinx to Fred's system, and his throat suddenly felt tight.

"She's not dead, Katie," George reminded her, just a little bit sharp. "She's only petrified. She'll be up and about in no time, along with everyone else who was attacked."

If the news hadn't made Katie so pale, she might have blushed. "Yeah, I know," she said quickly. "S'just hard, is all."

George's stern expression melted, and he stepped closer, wrapping an arm around the younger girl's shoulders and pulling her into a warm side hug. Fred watched his friends as they came to terms with the fact that Winnie had been attacked right from under their noses.

The atmosphere was tense and sombre, and for once Fred didn't feel the unrelenting urge to break the ice. Instead all he felt was useless and tired, and he knew one thing for certain. It was going to be a terribly long few weeks.

A/N: Like I said, much shorter than usual, but don't worry, I'll be back really soon with the final chapter set in the Chamber of Secrets book. That will be a lot longer to make it up to you. I hope you enjoyed!

And also, just because I'm curious, I've had a few messages with people inquiring about specific fandoms they wanted me to write for. So, out of curiosity, if you would want to read an OC story much like the others I've done in the past, for which fandom/character would you want it to be?

Don't worry, I'm still working tirelessly on this piece and my Heart of the Storm sequel. But I have a few others in the works, and I'm intrigued to know if any of my side projects are things any of you are interested in. Thanks again, and I'll see you soon with another chapter! xx