Chapter 8

Sometimes, trying to get through the doorway of WWW is like trying to hold your own breath until you suffocate: Bad for your health, stupid, and generally impossible. But that morning, it was fairly slow. I even got in without having to threaten anybody and without putting myself through more bodily harm.

I proclaimed it a good day right as I walked through the door, ignoring the U-No-Poo sign. I swear, Alicia, that thing lost it's novelty a few months ago.

Although it was muggy outside, WWW was comfortably cool. A few people were milling about inside, I'm sure they were happy to be able to take life lightly for a bit. You know how it is anymore.

I ignored the whines of children and the shouts of excitement and headed straight back to the front desk. Normally, when it's bustling and busy and there's hardly any room in which to move about, Fred and George strut about self-importantly and demonstrate their products. I took a wild guess and figured that they weren't today; it was too empty and too early.

Bingo. The first head of flaming-red hair that I saw was lounging behind the counter. Fred, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, was leaning over the counter ever so casually. With his cheek resting in his palm, his bright-brown eyes slid over everyone in the store, passing right over me. And then doing a double-take.

If I wasn't still in a foul mood, Alicia, I might have laughed. Fred's mouth dropped open, and he straightened up rather quickly, hitting himself on the door of the open cabinet above him. We both winced, (I must have felt the pain vicariously, you see) and he hunkered down once again, slapping a hand on top of his head.

"I always knew that you were the graceful one, Fred", I rasped, forcing myself to walk closer. My feet didn't want to; I was exhausted, in pain, and starving. Bloody Jonathan for being so good looking.

Fred attempted a wisecrack, what the Weasleys were known for after all, "Thinking of joining the ballet, I--", but dropped the effort as he slammed shut the cabinet with an angry open palm. "What did you do? Run into a bludger?" He narrowed his eyes. "It was Thompson, wasn't it, Kate? Say the word, and he'll--" I didn't let him finish.

As it was, Alicia, he was grinding his teeth. Another trait that sets the twins apart, but one that I'm sure that you've noticed. Seeing as it's always Angelina and the two of us restraining them in some way when they get angry.

Instead, I held up a hand and told Fred firmly that I did not want to hear it. "I do not want revenge. All I want to do is get rid of it." I looked hopefully up at him. "Do you know how to get rid of it?" You can't blame me for trying, Alicia. After all, the twins have done some amazing things in their nineteen years.

Fred rolled his eyes to the ceiling (Why do people do that so often when they're around me?), and muttered, "Ask George, he's in the far back.". Wondering what had caused him to lose interest so fast; I looked around to see a small girl clutching a Pigmy Puff rather tightly. She had toddled up to the counter and with her other hand was grasping a few coins. Her mother, harried in appearance, looked on without comment.

"Don't startle him, though.", Fred added, as I made my way past the many whirring, blinking, walking, and generally distracting objects. Behind me, I heard Fred trying to persuade the girl to let him put the suffering Pigmy Puff in a cage: "But I think you might be hugging him too hard" to the titchy girl's protests of, "Fluff doesn't like cages. He's afraid of them."

I tried hard not to laugh at his obviously hopeless attempts as I forced myself to walk steadily though the card room with it's shelves stacked with numerous objects charmed in one way or another. As I drew closer to the door leading to the back room, I rummaged through my bag and pulled out my wand. I don't think that I need to explain why I did, Alicia. Entering rooms never used to frighten me; but that was before.

Pushing open the door with my hip, I peeked my head inside first and let out the breath that I didn't know that I had been holding. The only person there was George, wand in one hand, coffee in the other, stacking and rearranging boxes neatly.

I swung the door open the rest of the way and dropped my bag on the floor to the side. George visibly jumped at the noise, nearly dropping his coffee. I cringed inwardly and felt terrible for not listening to Fred. "Morning George", I said in a scratchy voice.

George turned on his heel immediately and surveyed my bruises with a suspicious eye. I gave him my most angelic smile and spun in place so that he could see my entire appearance.

Even though there are many things that set the twins apart, I think the biggest ones are their attitudes and senses of humor. George fully proved this to me, Alicia, when he didn't say anything, but handed me his coffee cup for the second time. Possibly a hint that I didn't look my best.

He turned back to the, of course, pressing and important job of stacking those boxes before I could even thank him. He didn't even let me raise my glass with a, 'Ta ever so', as was all of our custom. Being George, and it being about nine-thirty in the morning, he was just silent as he waited for me to say something.

"I provoked him", I told George, matter-of-factly. "More like I jumped him first. But he asked for it, you know." George, who had opened a box and was stacking something on the floor beside him just said, "I'm not surprised."

Which confused me for a second. I mean, Alicia. Am I really that predictable? "About what? That I jumped him first, or that he asked for it?", I admonished in an offended voice.

George had to think about that for a second as he closed the box back up again. "Both, I guess", He looked my way and shrugged, before levitating the box onto the top of the pile.

I don't know why that insulted me so much, thinking back on it. I mean, I've never been prefect material. My butt was almost as permanently affixed to detention chairs as the Weasleys' and Lee's. But even knowing this, I was a bit taken aback. "Well, you're not exactly a study in patience either, Weasley", was what I huffed at him, crossing my arms.

I was going to help him with the boxes up until this point, Alicia. I honestly was.

George considered this for no more than a moment before answering, quite efficiently, I might add, "Yes. But I never let anyone try to strangle me." His tone was a bit condescending and I bristled. No one talked to me like that.

"Who says that he tried to strangle me?" I attempted this in an angry, even voice, but instead it came out squeaky and rough. Maybe that was a clue for him, but how else could he have known?

George turned around and looked at me in a startled way. Raising an eyebrow he just gestured toward a small mirror on the wall and said slowly and cautiously, "Because you have bruises on your neck."

I gasped. I mean, how was I supposed to know that it leaves bruises when people try to kill you? Usually when I got into fights, people did the normal thing and threw punches. No one ever meant to do serious bodily harm.

Except that one time. With that Slytherin, you remember? Before the final in my 6th year? That anti-vigilante Umbridge-League still gives me nightmares.

Hurrying to the mirror, and placing the coffee cup on the desk, I saw that there were indeed thumbprints that crossed across the front of my throat. I pulled back the hair from the nape of my neck, and there were a couple more. I gaped in horror and dropped my hair back to its normal place.

Paying no attention to my obvious trauma, George had changed pace once more and was going though a drawer in the small desk. "Here", He told me, speech muffled by the thick wood of the desk in question. Finally standing straight, he tossed me a tube. "You can have that one. Guessing you'll be needing it."

I caught it with ease, but wrinkled my nose as I read the label. "'WWW Bruise Remover'". I sneered and tossed it back to the twin. "Clever. Good try, too." George gave me another one of his patented eyebrow raises. How does he do it?

I sneered. "Yes. It will remove my bruises, probably. But what else will it do? Cause me to grow a horn in the middle of my forehead? Turn me into a canary?" I pretended to be deep in thought for a moment, before adding in an extremely bitchy voice (Even for me, Alicia, even for me): "Oh wait. I know. It will make me bleed until I'm almost dead and one of you has to carry me to the Hospital Wing."

It was probably that the fact that I almost died at the hands of a psychopath that made me say it. I must have been traumatized. I don't know why else, Alicia. I've never brought it up before. After all, I trust Fred and George with my life.

George visibly blanched and narrowed his eyes. "That's not fair, Katie. We would never have done that on purpose, Fred just gave you the wrong end is all." I was about to argue the point that they didn't have to give me anything at all (Which would have just been rounded about to the fact that I didn't have to take it), when you burst in.

I envy your work clothes, Alicia. I really, really do. Just because you're Madam Malkin's apprentice, you get to dress up in stunning robes with stylish bangles on your wrists and neck. You can even do your hair in cute, inventive ways. I'm not the kind to dress like that ever, and I've always been jealous.

You grimaced when you first saw me. "Good morning, George. Katie, you look wretched dearie. Absolutely wretched." You grabbed me underneath my chin and tilted my face into the light from the nearby window. "Wretched", you muttered once more, and I yanked my face away.

"Thank you", I spat, running a hand over my face. You reached for the tube in George's hand and, after checking the title, passed it towards me. "That's the stuff, Katie. It's brilliant. Marks will be gone within the hour."

I tried to ignore George's told-you-so grin, slipped the tube in my pocket and pulled you by the arm toward the door. "Have you got the rest of the day off?" You shrugged and answered, "Well, business has been slow lately."

"Good". I kicked open the door as I always did and turned back to George, grabbing my bag. "Say goodbye to Fred, won't you?", I asked him, towing you out the door. George grinned and replied with a cheeky, "Bye to you, too, Katie".

You slammed the door, and then it was just the two of us, arms linked together, just like it used to be. "Ice cream?", you asked, and I nodded in affirmation. We walked to the parlor farther than the boarded-up ghost of Florean Fortescue's old place, and sat and ate ice cream, and had a proper girls' chat about important topics such as dress robes, hair, and the extremely good-looking Jonathan Lowe.

I think that, above the coffee, and the promise of vanished bruises within the hour, was really my saving grace.