JK Rowling is nowhere to be found. No money. Do not sue. Thanks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HOME
Remus crossed his legs and assumed the meditative position. He had acted as a monster but now, goddamn it, he would die like a man.
Fred held his wand high over his head. It was stained a rusting cranberry color, dead blood. His hands were brown with it, soon to be vibrant again with the spillage of Remus when he transfigured his wand into something sharp, something silver, silver and sharp and stabbing, stabbing, stabbing, stab-
"Let me in." The words fell heavily from Fred's mouth, laying there between him and the werewolf. Fred's insanity seemed to follow it, if only for a second, and his eyes were on Remus, actually seeing him, perhaps even recognizing him.
"What did you say, Fred?" said Remus urgently.
But Fred did not hear. His arm dropped. Something had happened. Something inside of him felt different. He had been, for years, so many years, like an empty cauldron- not anymore. Something warm. Something- something- he couldn't describe it. And it was time- for what he didn't know but he wanted to run. Run for as long as it took. Run to, not from.
Brother. What did that word mean anymore? Something old and gone. Something new. Something that had never truly left. Something dried up, withered like Mum's Muggle plants that were so dependant on humans to keep them alive- delicate and broken by a strong wind, like the brown crispiness of an expired leaf- shiny, green, grown plump and fat and alive again.
Remus gave up his die-with-dignity stance, conscious of his nakedness, and drew up his bony knees.
And relief. It inexplicably washed over Fred, over his cheeks in aqua tears. Something in him was full, warm, and complete-
"Fred-er-rick," someone sang.
Fred heard the werewolf gasp but didn't look to see who was calling his name. His nose itched. He scratched it and smelt George's blood.
George's blood, reddish-brown and common, like the blood of any dead man, common and useless and gone.
That feeling.
A lie.
It all had to be a fucking lie.
"Oh Merlin, no…" said Remus under his breath, frozen.
Fred looked at his wand, muttered, willing its transformation into a long and vicious silver blade. His eyes flashed again, they were insane and dead.
Someone behind him laughed.
It was Voldemort, coming up behind Fred, creeping up on him, pleased and jovial, virtually drooling with hunger for Fred, glistening drops of searing evil.
"Kill him," Voldemort chuckled. "He killed your twin, Fred."
"Oliver? Voldemort- how- how did you get that body?" Remus said, "Do you hear me?"
"Kill him, Fred." Voldemort hissed.
"Voldemort," Remus held out his naked arm. "You've always wanted me. Take me. Give me the Mark right now."
It was no use. The flesh where the Mark would go was shingled and black from the night before.
"Kill the werewolf, Fred. He tore your brother to shreds."
"You don't want Fred," Remus said, "You've destroyed him. His mind is gone forever."
"Listen to me!" Fred called out. He stood over Remus but was looking through him; he spoke these words to no one. It was as if he couldn't hear them himself.
The blade was poised and trembling.
"Easy now," Remus said, as if Fred were at the same time a small child and vicious dog, "Come here. G-give me your hand."
Fred choked on something- words, trying to come. "T-Take Remus' hand, Fred," he said. "Do it."
But there was no determination in his voice. The voice was not his.
The wall, trying to come down. Begging to crumble.
"Ignore the voice," said Voldemort, "It lies. Kill the werewolf like he killed George."
George.
Fred's arm fell to his side, the blade bouncing twice in the hay and settling there, pointing, accusing Remus of some unknown offense. Remus dared not take his eyes off Fred, but stared at him while reaching for a scrap of cloth to tie around his waist.
"Take his hand, Fred," Fred said again, his eyes blank, shiny, lifeless. "Now. TAKE HIS HAND!"
Remus couldn't hesitate. He threw himself forward, encircling Fred's knees.
They were gone, Apparated away with a small pop!
* * * * * * * *
In the dank cells, Sean raised his eyebrow. "What did you say?"
"What?" George said, shaking the dead out of his expression. "Oh. I wasn't talking to you."
"Well sorry."
"Shut up. Let me think."
"Ah, so you're going to be a prick now that I've freed you,? You don't look like a ghost. You don't look very dead, either. So what you're telling me is that even though you choked to death-"
"Shut it." The man raised himself to his knees, wobbled, fell down again. "I didn't choke on anything."
"So Charlie and Bill were lying?"
George took Sean's arm for support, engaging a handful of scab instead. Sean's howl echoed every which way.
"ARE YOU TRYING TO FUCKING KILL ME?"
"Good lord shut up," George whispered, dimming the torch. "Shut up!"
"Trying to take my fucking arm off!"
"What's going on in there?" said a stern voice from outside.
Torch light, a stepping stool scraping across the floor.
"Get back to your cell!" George said.
Cradling his arm, Sean ungracefully squeezed himself ass-first through the hole. There he lay on his back, trying not to breathe, trying not to think.
"What are you doing in there, twin?" The dungeon elf called into the darkness.
"Let me dance, please!" George whined, "Water! You have to let me shave my stockings!"
The dungeon elf chuckled. "Completely out of your mind, aren't you? Quiet, now." And his footsteps faded down the corridor.
Dark and silence for long minutes, and then George burst out laughing. "Alright?"
"Leave me alone."
"Listen-"
"I don't want to listen, you depraved lying bastard."
"You want to sit and rot, do you?"
Sean sniffed. "My older brother's an auror. He'll rescue me."
Again, George roared with laughter. "Do you have any idea where you are? You're several stories underground, where your family clock has already declared you dead."
"How do you know all this, lunatic?" Sean said, curling up and hugging his knees. "Besides, our family clock reads deceased."
George laughed throatily until he was choking. "Oh, you kill me."
"Fuck off."
"What year is it?"
"Why?"
"Never mind. I don't want to know," George said, "I've been here long enough to have hundreds of neighbors in that cell of yours. I reckon You-Know-Who doesn't know that I'm next to a temporary holding cell. He wouldn't like it at all."
However uselessly- he couldn't see George anyway- Sean turned sharply around. "What do you mean, 'temporary holding cell?'"
"You're waiting to be executed. In front of The Dark Lord's new inductees," George laughed through his nose, "You'll be used to strike fear into the hearts of future Death Eaters."
"I'll what?"
"I don't know what you did, but you must have really, really, really pissed him off."
"And you think that's funny?"
"That you had no idea, yes. Yes I do."
"Haha." Sean found himself curling up tighter. Cold swept his shoulder blades. "I'll tell you what I did… if you tell me how the hell you're the dead George."
"No deal. We're escaping now, remember?"
"Likely," Sean said with a snort, "I'm stiff as a broomstick, and you can't walk."
"I will. I'm gathering my strength. Any second now."
"Weren't you just ranting about how impossible escape is?"
George giggled.
"What are you so damned happy about?"
"We're in dreadful shape, aren't we?"
"Christ."
"I didn't say escape was impossible. It's already half done."
"How about," Sean said, peeling angrily at one scabby arm, "While you're gathering your strength, you explain. Because I'm not moving until then."
Silence for a while, then a deep sigh. "Are you sure?"
"Sure of what?"
"I guess not."
"What?"
More laughter.
"What-"
"Okay, sorry- sorry. I'll tell you. You know about Bill and the gum. Harry gave us a thousand
Galleons but that autumn we spent the lot on new-"
"Are you lying? Harry Potter? You really expect me to believe that the Harry Potter gave you a THOUSAND galleons?"
"Yes, lying through my fucking teeth," George said, "considering how profitable it will be to do so."
"Fine. Go one."
"Learn to shut your face once in a while and you'll be a great deal more popular, I promise you."
"Fuck off!"
"Bring yourself over here. I'm talking too loud."
Sean fell across the hole. He and George looked each other in the eyes- moist, glinting curves in the distance, shining among the wet and the dark and the stench. Sean's eyes vibrated with irritation, George's breath pitched and started: the laughter escaping, running a cup stubbornly along the bars of its prison. The situation reminded Sean of the only time he'd ever been to a Muggle village- guess he'd been outside Outer Hogsmeade after all- there was a homeless man in a black overcoat, with bright crevices suggesting the coat had once been yellow, and he stood in a mud puddle laughing and cajoling with a street sign.
Who's he talking to, dad?
The street sign, son.
"I can tell whose brother you are." Sean said without humor.
"We spent all the money experimenting with new merchandise," George went on, "one being the product that made Bill sick. So the rest of the money went to his care. We were at St. Mungo's- Fred was off paying the bill- and I met a boy in the waiting room. The same boy who gave me the idea for the gum that made Bill sick, but I thought all of that was my fault then. It was the ingredients, after all, not the idea. He told me he had a pitch for a new product-"
"Let me guess," Sean said, pressing his fingertips together, "You followed him back to his house, which actually turned out to be this dungeon in Voldemort's fortress!"
"No, but you're pretty hilarious," George replied flatly. "He bashed me over the head in the washroom. Then I'm here, chained to the wall. After a few days they took me to the room with the nasty ceiling, and there's Voldemort standing over me, laughing. 'Tell me where Harry Potter is,' he kept asking. And every so often I'm dragged up to that room and he asks me if I'm done rotting yet."
"And you never are?"
"Ha-ha," George said, looking as if he wanted to belt Sean in the nose, "Don't be stupid. I have no idea where Harry is. Nobody would trust Fred or me with a bloody grocery list, let alone a Secret. That's not what he wants from me anyway."
"What does he want?"
George had another go at sitting. Not yet.
"My copies, for one," he said, "It was a copy of me that choked to death, just like the one You-Know-Who sent to Fred this year."
"Why would You-Know-Who bother?"
"Fred was always the crazy one. Very passionate. Capable of powerful magic, especially when he's angry. But he's unstable without me. After a long enough separation, Fred would be just the insane, heartless, powerful Death Eater that You-Know-Who needs. And loyal, especially after his twin is returned for the second time."
"You?"
"No- Christ you're dull." George was on his knees now, using the wall to trick his feet into supporting his weight. "A slightly more aware copy of me. And then You-Know-Who won't need me anymore and I'll be killed."
"How do you know all this, when you've been locked down here for so long?"
"I've had nothing to do all this time but break my way into Fred's mind. Me, Fred, copies, it's like we all share a thought stream. I don't like to do it- he just makes him more insane. The more I speak the more he blocks me. Me and everything else."
Behind the two wizards, little pebbles fell from the adjoining walls and where George had been chained, fell and clicked dully on the wet floor. The quiet squeakings and scrapings of rats made Sean's skin ripple in hot waves.
George closed his eyes, raised his face to the ceiling. "But you can hear me now, can't you Fred? You keep telling yourself it's isn't, but you know it's me, don't you? Let me in, Fred. It would be easier than escaping with this fool."
Sean lay there, trying to let all this sink in, taking care to ignore the insane man's last comment because the dolt was going to help him escape. How he wanted to go home. All because of his stupid monthly problem. If it hadn't been for that, he would be hiding safely somewhere with his family.
Without warning, George seized Sean and, turning him round and covering his mouth, yanked a large clump of hair right out the top of his skull.
"Whathefuck-"
"BAT WINGS!" George roared over Sean's muffled protest, "THE TIME OF MERLIN IS UPON THE KITCHEN SINK!"
"I'LL HAVE YOU FLOGGED AGAIN IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP DOWN THERE, YOU DEMENTED TWIT!" The dungeon elf called back.
George moaned submissively for the elf, but on his face was a wide smile. His energy spent, he let himself fall to the floor.
Sean slunk away from him, rubbing furiously at his scalp. "What the fuck did you do that for?"
George reached for the torch and grossly began to use his teeth and fingers to pry it apart. "A wizard can't use a regular stick or twig for magic is because it's a horrible conductor of magical energy. The non-magical wood overheats and we burn the fuck out of our hands."
"Yes," Sean smirked, thinking of Remus, "So?"
"So the wood is merely a casing for the magical core. Magical cores can include a lot of things- dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, giant squid tentacle, house elf finger…"
"…or werewolf hair." Sean said, blinking in disbelief.
"Exactly." George brandished the torch and the clump of blond hair, obviously very pleased with himself. "Fur would be better, but this'll have to do."
"Brilliant." Sean whispered.
"Go back to your cell for now."
Just before Sean reached the hole there was a sudden, quiet rumbling. The wall crumbled away to a fine gray dust and the two cells were one.
George laughed with that certain madness only a free man dares experience.
First of all I would like to express my disappointment that no one took my challenge. Not one person. I'll have you all know that I cried myself to sleep for WEEKS!!!
No, I didn't really. But someone really should try out the challenge. Email it to me, if you're afraid to post it.
Once again, sorry it took so long. My interest in this fic peaks and dives. It should be over soon enough though. At least before the new book comes out. I hope. I admit, I've been working on a new one. It's called The Shame of Cain. While Fred and George are in it, Harry is the main character. Actually, it might turn out to be a sequel to this one. Maybe.
By the way (shameless plug), if anyone is confused about Voldemort's bodysnatching abilities in stories by Rose Rovente, see the fic Undone.