CHAPTER TWENTY
REGROUP
Note from author: Sorry guys. It's been a long while since my last update, so you get no less than four long, long, long, probably too long chapters. Yippee. My only concern now is that no one will remember what's going on. Um… I don't have the talent JK has for recapping, so you're on your own. Good luck. Oh yeah, nobody sue me, and review. Thanks.
Charlie had certainly been perfecting his Curse. Remus and Bill returned to Charlie's very early the next morning, Remus a bit hung-over, (Sirius insisted he stay and "celebrate," celebrate what, he didn't know) and Bill, stiff, weak, and feeling his first waves of pain. It was as if a dragon had broken loose and thundered merrily up to the top floor, perhaps to dance a jig in the front room. Everywhere- broken dishes, bent silverware, spilt over beer bottles. There was deep-fried, smoky smell, and a nil amount of light from the drawn windows shone eerily on a lingering cloud of the Death Curse.
Sean, like an overripe and battered blueberry , sat on the sofa with an cold pack over one eye.
"Remus? Is it you?" he said, smiling crookedly, as his lip was split and fat.
"It is," Bill leaned heavily on Remus as they staggered to the sofa and sat. "Where's Charlie?"
"Dragon feeding."
"The eye's swollen shut, I see," Remus said.
"Yes, sir," Sean said sheepishly, keeping his good eye on the book.
Remus patted him on the shoulder and tried not to smile.
A sweaty and panting Ian fell in the door, pale sticks of straw poking out of his hair. "Good Lord, are those dragons foul-tempered today!" he told them tiredly, removing his shoes and tossing them on the pile near the door. "Nobody fed those goddamn pigs for a week! Thin as fucking house cats, they were! Some of them were dead. Dragons like their prey alive. Bloody Christ, are they mad! Even
after we gave them a second helping."
"Where's Charlie?"
"The Black Shack."
"The what?"
"The burn room."
Remus stiffened. "Is he… alright?"
"Oh yes. He'll be nice and golden brown, though. Elsie -that horrid grumpy bitch, one of our Horntails- sick all over him. All over him."
"Gross," Sean offered, closing his book and standing so Bill could put his feet up.
"Dragon puke is warm but not enough for serious injuries. Scott's down there hosing him off right now."
Bill laughed a hoarse laugh.
There was a mighty pounding on the door. Fitzie barged in, holding a Fitzie-sized goblet. He looked as if he'd been doing some heavy brewing. His front was splattered with liquids of all colors, some of them flashing and dripping the wrong direction down his robes. What appeared to be the tail of a small lizard dangled from on of his sleeves.
Sean cowered behind Remus.
"Ah! Welcome back!" Fitzie slurred loudly. He winked at Sean. "How's it going, Kitten?"
"Fine, thank you," said Sean contemptuously.
"How's my Billy-boy and my rapturous Remus and my insatiable Ian?"
"What, Fitz?" asked Ian.
"What you mean 'what?' Darling," Fitzie called again to Sean, "What's he mean by 'what?'"
"What do you want, Michael?" Ian repeated a little louder. "Aren't you on Ash Duty?"
Fitzie looked hurt. "Rear Gate, not that it's any of your goddamn business. Got someone to watch it for me. I've brought Bill a little something."
"No, thank you," Bill said.
"Thank you, Fitzie," Remus agreed, "but he shouldn't drink alcohol."
"It's not booze!" Fitzie said, looking ever more hurt. "Do you think I'm stupid? Is that what you think? Ask my Princess over there. Sean, on the contrary, I'm a clever one, aren't I?"
"Clever," muttered Sean, "Why do you keep calling me girly names?"
Fitzie smiled. "Silly question, Love. You're covered head to toe in my weeeee fist marks."
"So?"
"So now you're his bitch." Ian explained.
"I am not your…" Sean began, but the next sound was that of his jaw snapping shut. He retreated a little into the kitchen.
"Nah," Fitzie disagreed, "I've too much regard for my women to use that ugly word. You're my Satisfying Morning Piss, Sean, but no comparison, mind you, to Darla, my Radiant Burst of Sunlight." Fitzie's eyes grew dreamy.
"Wee fist marks, eh?" Sean blurted before he could stop himself, "That how you got her to marry you, is it?" He whimpered as Fitzie advanced on him.
"Aaah!" Fitzie growled as he charged toward the boy, "Darla isn't a whining wad of unjustifiably complacent shit. You want some more lovin', do you, Darling?"
"You're a fucking liar!" Ian burst forth suddenly, intercepting Fitzie with a hand that spanned his entire chest. "You're not Rear Gate. You had Slop Duty all last week, didn't you? That's why the pigs were starved!"
Fitzie ignored him, eyes narrowing to fiery slits, burning into Sean.
"I'm sorry," Sean muttered.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm sorry, sir," Sean mumbled, his swollen face twisted with hate.
The little man was satisfied. He indignantly shook Ian off and headed in the other direction, to kneel on the floor beside Bill.
"This is for you," he said quietly, looking very serious, "Don't be afraid to drink it- I'll tell you this so you'll understand. When a leprechaun loses his gold- and I'm not talking about that disappearing rubbish we give you people, I'm talking the real gold- what happens is not unlike the rage of a werewolf. I'm sure you know that when a werewolf has no Wolfsbane, and no human around to bite, it will take to gnawing on itself-"
"WHAT?" Sean shrieked.
Remus slapped his forehead.
"Okay, so that's not true!" Fitzie said, shrugging it quickly away. "It was for the dramatics of the story! Don't flip out, my Jewel, it was only an exaggeration."
Remus mouthed the words Thank You to the little man.
Fitzie nodded quickly. "Anyway… everyone underestimates a leprechaun's magical powers. Cheerleading at Quidditch matches, that's all we're good for; our tempers our only personality trait. Maybe so. But that temper is detrimental to our health when we lose our gold, and so when one of us does, the others will scatter! Run for the hills as fast as your short little legs will carry you, because when a leprechaun becomes goldless, they seek blood. They want to hurt and destroy everyone and everything, and with no one else around, they hurt themselves. It's like they're possessed- my half brother Cillian, he's a full-blood , took his wife's head right off. Littlest man in Azkaban!"
"Sam had you on Slop and you didn't do it, did you?" Ian persisted.
"You talk to Charlie about that," Fitzie replied, "Four bloody years I've work in this shithole! Let someone newer feed the hogs! I told him! I'm too small to be lugging around great heaping barrels of slop, anyway."
Ian looked murderous. "Ah! But you're big enough to knock the snot out of someone twice your size, aren't you?"
Sean slumped, his pulpy face reddening.
"Where was I?" Fitzie said to Bill, "What was I talking about?"
"You were talking about violent leprechauns," Bill reminded him.
"Those dragons could have died, you lazy bastard!" Ian roared.
"Oh yes," Fitzie said, "Violent leprechauns. Because this horrible reaction to stolen gold, at the risk of extinction, we became excellent healers. How many of your knew that?"
"GET ON WITH IT!"
"Ian!" Fitzie exclaimed mockingly, "People in the room are ill. You should have some respect." Ian shook, breathing hard through flared nostrils. He turned and left quickly, probably to explode in private.
Fitzie pretended as if Ian had never been there. "And so Bill, I've gotten inexcusably drunk and made you this potion. It'll give you a bit of energy. Relieve any pain. For a while."
Bill's eyes widened as he sipped. "It tastes good."
"Of course it tastes good," Fitzie sniffed, crossing his arms. "And you can bring the goblet back to me where you're finished. Goodbye, all. Goodbye, my Sweet!"
Blowing Sean a kiss, he pranced off.
A while later all could here Charlie's footsteps far down the corridor. He aimed to take the building down with that walk. The front door nearly came off its hinges and there he stood, looking around at everyone as if for a victim. He was still drenched and wore only a towel around his waist, covered in head to toe with dark clusters of freckles. He marched immediately to the fridge, curling his lip at Bill. "I'm having a stiff drink, and then I'm going to be sick, again, and you've got nothing to say about it!"
"Charles-"
"DON'T YOU 'CHARLES' ME!" Charlie roared. "Try having a dragon spew GALLONS of half- digested pig guts all over you!"
"Can no one else bother to clean up around here?" Scott bellowed directly at Sean, kicking someone's laundry off the end table. He disappeared into the pantry.
"What the hell are you drinking then, grape juice?" Charlie snarled, seeing Bill's goblet. "Hypocrite."
"Fitzie made it," Remus told him, "For his health."
"Fitz?" Charlie said, the anger gone for a moment. "And you're actually drinking it?"
"What is that suppose to mean?" Bill asked, taking another sip.
"He's part leprechaun!" Charlie exclaimed, "And part Squib. I've known him for a long time, but I wouldn't trust any of the little buggers to hang my hat."
"I agree. And you should never have a werewolf in your home," said Remus gently, "In case a full moon should suddenly appear."
Bill snorted. "Who puts this rubbish in your head, Charlie? It's as if you were raised by bigots."
Charlie was suddenly timid. "I'm… going to have a drink, Bill."
"Are you asking my permission?"
Charlie grabbed a few bottles and stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
"Hell," Bill muttered into the goblet.
Within the hour Bill was amazed to find that not only was he feeling well enough to stand, he appetite returned with a painful, snarling vengeance. Charlie burst out of his bedroom every ten minutes or so to vomit rather dramatically in the toilet.
"Good Lord," Sean cried around the third time Charlie was doing just that, "Let me out of here!"
"I could heat the soup," said Remus to Bill.
"Soup?" said Bill, "I could eat a steak."
"You'll make yourself ill on steak," said Remus with a smile, waving at the cupboard, "And we've only one toilet."
"Always babying," Sean grumbled.
The cupboards, the icebox, and every drawer were barren of anything edible, save a tub of melted butter with bits of jam and crackers floating around in it, like crumbly driftwood in a greasy yellow sea.
"Guess I'd better brave the Mess Hall." Remus said.
"While you're doing that," said Bill, "I'm going to take Fitz his goblet back."
Remus had gone and Bill set to reacquainting himself with the act of standing. Scott had knocked a few more things over and was grumbling inside the pantry about the shambled state of the house, all the while flinging empty boxes of food over his shoulder and onto an ever growing refuse pile that was the kitchen floor.
"What the hell is this?" he griped, and a box of cereal flew out, spewing little red and blue pebbles from between its cardboard flaps. "Who's been eating Muggle food? We could all drop dead in this bloody trough and no one would smell the difference! This flat isn't-" a stew pot hit the icebox- "big enough for the million and five of us. I swear to fucking-"
Pop!
Scott screamed over a rumbling crash from inside the pantry. Several boxes rolled out from behind the door in a great wave. There was a grotesque thud that sounded far too much like someone's head cracking on the ground.
Sean fled to the front door, his hand poised and ready to twist the knob and run for his life.
"Shit… Charlie come here!" Bill, still considerably weak, approached the pantry, using what he could to support himself. "Scott? Are you alright?"
There was no answer.
"Scott?"
Something rustled inside. Bill was almost there now, inch along the side of the wall.
There was Fred, his face still puffy with sleep, eyes fierce with anger, wide and glassy, red and reminiscent of the Dark Lord himself. He hardly looked like Fred at all.
"I knocked him over Apparating," Fred told his brother in a dead sort of way. "I think he fainted."
"Freds!" Bill exclaimed, "You scared me to death."
"Tell me what you did with him," Fred whispered.
"Did with whom?"
Fred seized Bill by his collar, shook him, and pushed him to the floor. "Tell me what you did with him!!"
Bill was too startled to be angry. "With whom?"
"WITH GEORGE!"
Bill's face set into a hard stare. "George is dead."
"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" Fred was purple with fury, his limbs shaking. Tears spilled down his cheeks very suddenly, and he sank down to be at eye level with Bill. "Why… why would you do it? I was almost happy. I was almost happy and you took him away."
"I did absolutely nothing with that-"
"DON'T TRY TO PRETEND! It's perfectly obvious- I wake up, you're gone, George is gone- nothing left but your fucking blood on the pillow you slept with last night. Or was it George's blood, Bill? What did you do, Bill? What did you do?"
"Of course it was my blood. I'm telling you have no idea where that… thing went," Bill spat.
"How can you call him a thing? He was your brother for fuck's sake!"
Bill shifted uncomfortably as his stomach grumbled. "He was not my brother. My brother died several years ago."
"I feel like my head is trying to come apart," Fred cried, tugging, tugging at his short hair. "This is a bad time, Bill. This is a fucking bad time to pull this shit. Tell me where he is!"
"I'M TELLING YOU I DON'T KNOW!"
Fred moaned pitifully. He jumped up and barreled toward Charlie's bedroom door, screaming all the while. He did not have a chance to bang against it because Charlie appeared, looking very tired and green.
"Where is he?"
"Who?" said Charlie weakly.
"YOU KNOW WHO GODDAMNIT!"
"What are you talking about?"
"How could you make me go through this again?" Fred pressed his hands to the sides of his head, would have yanked at his hair but it was too short, and wailed through his teeth. "You'll be sorry for this. YOU ARE ALL GOING TO BE REALLY FUCKING SORRY FOR THIS!"
For a moment it looked like he might beat his head against the wall, but he disappeared.
The room was dead silent. It was minutes before anyone moved.
"What was he on about?" Charlie asked Bill, holding out a hand .
"That boy. I guess he's gone."
"Good riddance."