One Young Heart

Chapter 26: The Next Day

Harry lay, eyes squeezed tightly shut as Madame Pomfrey shooed the last of his visitors from the room. Now Dumbledore will come, he thought wearily. Now Dumbledore will come and tell me what a fool I am.

But he did not come.

Ron lay in a bed on the opposite side of the room, grateful for once that he was not Harry. Looking over at the curtained bed where his older brother lay, his ravings suppressed under a drugged sleep, he thought of the story he had forced out of Hermione the day after George had been found, and of the details she refused to tell. Motionless, he wondered what has happened to my family? How can we ever survive this war?

---

In the night, long after the two boys had fallen asleep, George Weasly awoke, pulled on his slippers, and wandered dazedly through the halls of the school, down to the dungeons where Hermione Granger organized the papers she had neglected during the boys' absence, and down, beneath the school, where a single man sat in his dark room, Lord Voldemort's cat at his feet, and a single flicker of joy in his heart.

---

Severus sat before his fire, idly petting Zaire and staring into the flames as he waited for the effects of the Cruciatus to subside.

A sudden thud, a slam of the door.

Severus got slowly to his feet, watching George Weasly, as he swayed on his feet. Silence stretched between two men with no words to describe that which they had both experienced.

Without moving, Severus whispered, He won't come back. He can never come back. George's wearied air of serenity faltered. He is dead. Your curiosity killed him. Do not look to me for comfort or revenge. Go back to your bed. You will find no redemption here.

---

All that George could see was his brother, dead. All he could hear was Fred's voice, casual, indifferent to his brother's concern about the potion they had found. He had listened to George arguing for taking it to a potion expert, instinctively guessing that it was dangerous. Fine. If its so dangerous, we'll just memorize it, then recite it to an expert. But be quick about it, I want to get back to Hogsmede before the pubs close. Fred had grabbed it, and reeled off the last half of the instructions, flaunting his talent for effortless memorization. George had shrugged it off, and eventually forgotten about the potion. One rarely found academic experts in Hogsmede to bother with irrelevant questions.

He stumbled off, and leaned wearily against the wall in the hallway. Burying his face in his hands, he gave up altogether and slumped down to the ground.

Draco Malfoy left his common room, headed for his usual nocturnal walks, the places he could forget his name, his father, and his enemies. Ten minuets later, he stepped right on George Weasly, and found that he could never escape his father.