Stay A Day in My Coffin

Chapter Ten

The Middle


"This book thing, it's not so bad," Fred supposed. He'd gone into Percy's room and picked up a book almost automatically off the shelf and started sitting and reading it. He didn't know that words could be… you know, interesting before. He just thought that it was just a bunch of boring text that went on forever without any point. He always supposed if you've read one book, you've had to have read them all, right? But Percy obviously didn't agree. "I mean it's not completely boring," he corrected himself because he still had a reputation to maintain thank you.

Audrey's smile was small, but it was familiar to Percy. He knew that it was a happy one.

"We used to read a lot together," she explained. "I read a lot of historical things. A lot of Charms books. Percy read a lot of fantasy. And comic books. He liked those. He used to sneak them into work and fold them into a massive instruction manual and pretend he was reading that when he couldn't be arsed to do any reports."

Fred liked the idea of that. He couldn't imagine Percy not being arsed to do any reports, but that made it better.

"So, you mean this isn't Ron and Harry's autobiography?" Fred asked. "I mean flying cars isn't exactly 'fantasy'."

"He has more outlandish books than that," Audrey explained. "He reads about vanishing Kneazles and little children solving crimes with no more clues than a handful of paper notes." Fred didn't think that was a fantasy. It sounded like a regular year for Harry, Ron and Hermione, but he supposed that their regular year wasn't anything like anyone else's year. And Audrey, he guessed lived with her muggleborn parents. Their lives were different.

"You're not convinced," she noticed. Fred just smiled in confirmation. "Well, I've heard your family is a little outlandish, so I suppose maybe it's not so much of a fantasy to you."

"Your husband used to race broomsticks. He is pretty outlandish himself," Fred told her.

"I know," Audrey didn't seem surprised. She probably knew everything that there was ever to know about Percy. She probably really missed him. She placed her hand on his chest, affectionately. Fred felt his heart flutter a little in his chest. "I miss him all the time," she admitted. "It wasn't all bad, you know."

"What was?"

"Percy's life. He had some really nice moments there too. Even he'd say so himself," she explained. "And before—before you died, he really was getting better. When he was at the battle, he was all kinds of daring. Like himself."

Like himself. Fred thought that Percy was absolutely mental when he was at the battle. In the best way possible.

"Wish I could've met him, you know. Instead of the git version."

"He is the git version too, you know," she smiled a little, just thinking about it. "I think he was just caught at such a bad time. I don't know why—how—he's ended up being the one that was organising that funeral. When he should've been the last person. Felt like I was losing him every day that he came back home. It's so hard to watch someone that you really love, that you know everything about, just slip away from underneath you."

"Yeah," Fred's mind flickered back to George. "My twin isn't like himself anymore."

"Percy told me."

"I wish we could both be alive," Fred felt tears well up in his eyes, but he pushed them away. "It's not fair."

Audrey said nothing, but she did look a little paler.

"You have to promise me something," Fred finally said. "You have to promise me that-that when I'm really gone, you'd make sure that this stupid prat would help George knock out a few joke products. For me. And that he'd at least stick his head around the shop a few times after. Maybe blow up something."

He could feel tears running down his cheeks. He was terrified of what this was going to come to.

After a while, Fred decided to face his demons once and for all. He walked out of Percy's bedroom and straight into his and George's room. When he'd walked in, he thought that George might actually be asleep, but he was wide awake and staring at the ceiling. His eyes were still bloodshot, so he supposed that George hadn't exactly been any better. George looked up and saw Fred stood by the doorway, but the expression on his face was unreadable.

"Hey, mate," Fred walked over to him and sat at the edge of his bed. Everything looked so empty with all his stuff pushed aside. He'd placed a hand on George's knee almost to console him. He didn't know how people thought they looked the same. They might have the same features, but never in Fred's life had he made that expression.

"Hey," George didn't sound as emotionally confused as his new usual. Fred would take that.

"So, I've been gone, you know," Fred decided to say. "Figuring things out."

"Yeah… me too." He didn't want to know what George had been trying to figure out.

"You're going to make it out, George," Fred finally said, and he believed that. "You know, I've figured out that I've been back just to…you know…to tell you that." He'd looked up to meet George's eyes. "But you can't do this to yourself, mate. Whatever this is. It's not like you."

"I know," George replied back in a hoarse voice. He didn't sound like he wanted to be wherever he was.

"But you can't do it alone, mate," Fred looked back at him with a serious expression. He didn't think he'd even recognise the expression that was on his face. "You've got to talk to mum and dad. You can't just lay here all day long, you know. You're not a fucking vegetable." He'd grabbed George's hand by then, squeezing it so tightly he thought he might've ruptured a blood vessel or something. He didn't exactly know the science behind that. "You need each other. You and Percy."

"Yeah," George looked like he'd had to come to that conclusion a long time ago too.

"I need someone to look after the shop for me after all," Fred smirked at him.

"Arsehole." There was a hint of a smile in George's face, a vestige of his old George back there. "I'm sat here in fucking emotional turmoil and all you care about is your dumb shop. And then they call Perce a workaholic."

"Yeah, maybe I'm more like him than I thought," Fred answered.

George's smile disappeared and he looked down at his lap. "The possibilities," his eyes were glowing a little. Fred realised that George may have lost him, but they've truly—really—gained Percy back in ways that they didn't even know. He really thought that if they helped Percy, he might actually recover from his own personal demons too. He didn't think that Percy's future was looking out to be so bleak. Worst case scenario, he had a pretty level-headed bird too. "You really think that he does all that stuff that mum says that he does?"

"Mate, I've been remembering that stuff," Fred reminded him. "It's real as anything."

"You've been remembering all that bad stuff about him, you know, throwing himself off a broom."

"Yeah."

"Is there any good stuff?"

When George asked that, Fred found himself feeling rather warm. He remembered that Audrey had said the same thing, that even Percy himself would've said that he'd had some really good moments. And he'd just been hit over the head with them, like he'd been thrown out of his broomstick.

"Yeah, there were a lot," Fred replied, in almost a stunned, surprised tone.

He was transported back to the days of eleven-year-old Percy in the clinic, after he'd been stripped and made to wee again. That was when he was starting to nod off near Molly because he'd been having such sleepless spells.

"Percy," Molly nudged him awake a little. "You've not been sleeping, have you?" Percy shook his head rather tiredly. He'd been too terrified to sleep these days. He'd been keeping himself awake as long as possible at night. Not that he needed to. Even when he slept, the nightmares left him restless and weary most of the time.

"Oh, love," the way that she said that made him feel fuzzy inside. "You shouldn't be afraid to sleep."

"I wet the bed," Percy replied drowsily.

"It's not important."

"It's not?"

"Not important," she said very firmly. "You can't be making yourself ill like this."

"Oh," there was a relief in his voice, as he dropped his shoulders.

"Come on," she helped him up on the examination bed in the healer's office when he slept. He was out in seconds. He remembered it was quite a nice, restful sleep too. She'd helped him up, but she and Arthur were practically carrying him outside because he was still half-asleep. He wasn't sure what the healers had said that day, but there was such a difference at home afterwards.

Every night when his mum tucked him into bed and she stayed with him on the floor, knitting until the wee hours of the night. There were times where his father would stay there, still in his threadbare work uniform, his face tinged with worry as Percy tried to sleep. Even with his bedwetting, neither of his parents told him off anymore. But he could very vividly recall waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in his own sweat, with his absolutely exhausted father sat beside him with his furrowed eyebrows. "What do you dream about?"

Percy had never answered him, not even once. But he always had this feeling that his father knew.

"Had anyone ever hurt you?"

"What do you think about when you're sleeping?"

"Are you scared?"

"Percy?"

"Do you want to drink some water? Do you want a hot chocolate?" Percy found it funny he'd ask because the first healers had told him not to drink anything during the night so he didn't wee on his bed.

"Did anyone lay a hand on you, Percy? Why won't you tell me?" he'd keep asking. Percy just stared back at him blankly, his face damp with sweat and his heart beating very fast. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

A week afterwards, Percy realised why they felt that way because they'd taken him to an entirely different healer, once that kept asking him questions about how he felt and if he thought about hurting himself. They'd went away with potions that his parents were apprehensive about but made him drink every night before he went to sleep. They asked him a lot of questions too.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us?" he could remember his father asking very clearly when they'd left that healer. "Is anyone bothering you at Hogwarts? Are you being picked on? Is anyone hurting you?"

Percy's ears just went red, because why did his father just assume someone was picking on him? "No."

"You can come to us with anything, you know," his mum crooned affectionately.

But as time went on, they just felt a little cheated at this one-sided communication.

"You don't talk to us, Percy, how are we supposed to know?" he recalled his father saying at a one-off occasion. He really did look weary. And Percy just never felt comfortable enough to tell him what he was thinking about.

Percy felt like it was so out of the blue and he was uncomfortable with how they were walking on eggshells around him. Every time he was involved in one of the twins' pranks, then his mum went off at them, shrieking at them like they'd just murdered someone. It just made them do it more because their mum's reaction was so gratifying.

But every time he did feel a little wave of sadness crushing him, he felt a little lighter knowing that if he were to tell any of his parents how he felt, that they'd listen to him. They'd been asking him all this time. He didn't want to, and he didn't know how to, but that was okay. Just because he knew he could talk to anyone he'd like didn't make him want to talk anymore, not to them, not to the healers that they'd taken him to. Every session was very long-winded, and it had resorted with the healer asking him more about what he liked and didn't like just to get some kind of conversation out of him. Even then, the conversation was sparse and weak. His parents had come in with some of the sessions, trying to plump up the experiences. Their father's Ministry insurance covered most of it, but Percy still knew that they were paying some of it out of pocket. They'd never said anything about how much that was, never made it an issue.

He could tell that they were exceptionally worried about him. They've kept on owling relatives, asking for their opinion, wondering if they were doing enough.

A couple of weeks after starting the potions from the second healer, Percy's bed was dry as anything. He slept through the night seamlessly, without a single nightmare to plague him, but his parents hadn't stopped lying by his bed. Something that the twins hadn't let him forget. They teased him mercilessly about needing a 'bodyguard' at night.

In fact, they continued to join him on his until Percy was fourteen. That was when Percy practically forced them out of his room, telling them off for—well, essentially being worried about him. He didn't need his parents when he was due to take his O.W.L's any minute. He also didn't need any potions to wet the bed. He'd stopped having nightmares. He didn't have to take them every day—but when he'd told his parents this, they looked even more apprehensive. They didn't trust his judgment because he'd never told him how he felt. They'd kept on trying to ask him why he didn't want to talk about what was going on his mind. Every night, one of his parents had to sit and watch him swallow his potions because they were afraid that he'd just stop taking it by himself.

But when the nightmares had started to come back again, Percy didn't say anything. What was he going to say? Tell his parents, who were already worried about him, that there was something wrong with him? Tell them that he'd started to think of really dark things all of the time? That he'd come to disdain the amount of attention that he was being paid to? He was withdrawing away so fast that they didn't have time to register. Fifteen years old, and all he did was sit in his room. Penelope was the only person that he talked to, and he didn't know why he felt like it was so easy to confide in how he felt. He was terrified that if they knew how he was really like, they'd have him committed, or tell everyone else. He couldn't bear the idea of being teased by any of his siblings over the fact that their mum had to sit by his bedside every day, watching him drink some medication that Percy wasn't even sure he needed anymore.

But the older that Percy got, the worse it seemed to get. He woke up wanting to die and fell asleep wanting to die. The thoughts plagued him constantly, from everything that he did. Every minuscule comment that was made to him made him feel smaller and smaller, like he was being eaten from the inside and nobody else could see it. Percy must've been studying for his N.E.W.T's by the time that he'd started to be unable to cope with his thoughts. He swallowed his potions religiously, almost praying to Merlin himself that they'd work. He was crippled by his mind, by the images that came into his mind, but the expectations that loomed over him were so daunting. They were so heavy and so real they crushed him and made it impossible for him to even get out of bed. It was like a dark cloud was constantly with him.

The day that seventeen-year-old Percy came back home for his Christmas holidays, he'd been priming himself to open up for months. He'd written a letter, rehearsed it, thought about the things that he'd needed. He didn't even care if he was going to be committed, or if everyone else knew that he was mental. He just wanted to be able to go through a day without ending up in such debilitating agony. Every small criticism that had ever been made to him felt personal. He almost hated his siblings, for bothering him, for not leaving him alone, for not letting him be by himself. But at the same time, the loneliness left him open to all of his mental critiques.

Percy could very vividly remember that Christmas. On the outside, he'd never looked any better. He was rosy-cheeked, engaging and quite pleasantly normal. He ate his dinner without any fuss. He'd weighed heavier than he had in years—enough that the jumper that his mum had knitted him had been a little snug much to his mum's elation. All his grades were wonderful. He'd had mates. He'd had Penelope, then as well. It seemed like everything was so perfect on the outside. When on the inside, Percy was at the worst state he'd ever been in his entire life. But it was like the worse he felt, the more he'd tried to maintain the air that he was completely fine. Just so he didn't completely crack.

He'd gone to his parents right after their Christmas Eve supper, when they were full of roast beef, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire puddings and his mum's sticky date pudding,. He had planned to tell them everything from start to finish. He'd planned to tell them how it had started, why he felt the way that he did, what was going on in his mind constantly, but instead, his father grabbed him by his shoulder and hugged him so tightly that Percy's breath had been jammed in his throat. Percy remembered feeling hot tears burn into his eyes. Please help me was all he thought. Please.

"Dad…"

"No, let me say this," Arthur's voice was warm, reassuring. "Percy, you've really made a come around, haven't you? We've been really worried about you. About what this disease has done to you. We thought we might even lose you." There was a fear in his voice still. "But you've really come around. Really. Been taking your medications by yourself. Going about this O.W.L and N.E.W.T business in a way that Bill would've been jealous of. Taking care of your brothers." There was something in his voice that Percy had never heard, but it broke him down like nothing.

"Dad…" Percy was cut off again.

"I am so proud of you," Arthur squeezed his shoulder again as tightly as he could.

Percy had never felt so conflicted in his life. He'd been waiting to hear those words all his life that he was almost stunned that they'd been said out loud. But his father wasn't proud at him for all the subjects that he'd passed, all the grades that he'd gotten, all the badges that he'd collected, all of the debate trophies that he'd won. No, he was proud of him for beating his depression. Now, what was he supposed to say to that? Was he supposed to disappoint his father?

It was the most miserable holiday, but it was also the most rewarding because he'd never believed that his father could really be proud of him. And who said that he couldn't beat his depression? He just hadn't tried hard enough.

The next few months had passed by in a blur. Percy tried his best, but it felt like it was never enough. Every day, hour, week was repetitive and monotone. He woke up, projected the image of what he felt like everyone else expected of him and at night, he laid by himself, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he couldn't be normal. Why he needed someone to reassure him at every step of the way. Why he felt like nobody ever really liked him or would miss him. The cycle continued on and on, and every time that the wheel turned, it was getting harder and harder to turn it. Percy's hands were calloused and bruised and swollen but it felt like nobody else wanted to help him turn it either.

When he'd come back home after graduating from Hogwarts, his parents were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

He could feel the guilt and shame burn through him as they took him to his last psychiatric healer's appointment. They ate cake and ice-cream, and Percy smiled and lied through his whole assessment. He'd drunken so many calming draughts before that he couldn't muster up a nervous energy if he'd tried.

When they took him off his medication, his father had slapped his shoulder and hugged him. His mum had made him his favourite dinner and shot down every complaint from Ron and Ginny that nobody liked what Percy did.

He withdrew from his family so much that he was sure that they'd even forgotten about him. When he got top marks on his N.E.W.T's, he felt indifferent. He felt like if he gloated about it enough, his accomplishments would sink in. He should be proud of himself because it wasn't like anyone else was going to be? It wasn't like anyone cared what grades he came home with, so he was the only one that could pat himself on the back. When he'd gotten a job straight out of Hogwarts, he'd immersed himself into it wholeheartedly. It wasn't too long before it became all-consuming. When he was so busy, it was hard to remember how bad he felt like. When he was busy, everything was okay.

Until, of course, it wasn't and Percy and the whole department was under investigation. Percy could remember where he'd been when the Daily Prophet article broke out—he'd been in the shops, buying himself the first pair of good robes he'd had in years. And he had felt so unworthy of them, as the Prophet dwindled down their accomplishments as if they could do better in knowing what really had been going around Crouch.

In his mind, he suddenly felt very unworthy of his job. He was so low for weeks afterwards, not interested in the least bit about living. His new robes were unworn, his room looked sterile because there was nothing in there that he wanted, and he spent most of his time sleeping or going to work to be interrogated. He'd had many episodes of sheer panic, where he felt like he might die on the spot. Like he was having a real coronary. His whole day was encumbered purely by dark thoughts and darker images; with very little light shining through. The only streak of light that had managed to get through was when Fudge extended his hand and asked him personally to be his junior assistant.

"Me?" Percy recalled, staring back at Fudge.

"Oh, yes, well," Fudge just shrugged easily. "You're a good lad. Made a mistake—plenty of people have. But I see a lot of promise in you. Twelve O.W.L's. Top marks in N.E.W.T's. Managed to hold down a whole department at your age…really striking stuff." Percy lapped up the compliments like a dying fish lapped for water. "There are few very people like you—and I mean in it a good way, of course. In fact…I mean it in the best way possible."

"Oh," Percy replied. On the inside, he was flattered and embarrassed. Really?

He had come home on Cloud Nine that day. And even if it were momentary, that feeling that he had, it was raw and real. It made him feel like he could face anything. It made him really believe that he could be someone worth something—

"That's you remembering," George broke him out of his thoughts. "You know, you looked like you were drugged."

"Did not."

"Did too."

Fred smiled a little. He did feel more relaxed than usual. "He was going to tell mum and dad about how shit he felt like when it was getting bad, but he didn't because he thought that dad would be upset with him." George, sat on the other side of him, frowned because he didn't seem to understand it either. "Disappointed I mean."

"Oh," George's voice was a little lower. "Mum and dad…"

"They really cared about him," Fred didn't even know how much they'd done for him. "They really tried."

"Yeah," George didn't seem surprised. "I can't imagine how bad they feel."

Fred felt a swell of pain, trying to imagine what his poor parents must be going through. This was their worst fear come to life, someone that they loved that they thought had beat his depression… dying because of suicide? Because no matter how much they've told him, Percy didn't feel comfortable enough to talk to them. Or anyone else.

"I don't think that Percy was going to kill himself," Fred finally voiced out. "I think he really did do it for me."

"Because of me," George cracked. "Because I said he doesn't care."

Fred didn't know how the funeral really went, and he was too petrified to know. Even as George was telling him this, Percy's mind did find those words familiar. The situation too. "Yeah," Fred's voice was soft and small. Then Fred turned to George and for the first time in a while, he felt like they were on the same page, reading the same book, holding their breaths at the same time. "Do you think you'll be okay if I go?"

George didn't even look guilty when he said, "I think so." He didn't sound like he was sure.

Fred grabbed his hand and squeezed it as tight as he could. "You better," he warned.

George had a small smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. He still looked rather dull and lifeless. "I don't think I'll be the same as I was before," Fred could feel that. He didn't think he was the same person that he was when he'd died. When he'd been brought back, he was angry and confused, and a little hostile. Now, after spending days talking with Angelina, he really did feel like it was a stroke of luck that he was back. "But I can give it a go. I guess. You know."

Fred didn't want to think about what would happen if the swap didn't happen and he was stuck in Percy's body forever. He really felt like he was nearing the end. "Scoot over," he wasn't sure how he was going to fit Percy's body into his and George's tiny bed, but he could try.

"Don't hog all of my pillows, mate."

"Arsehole."

As Fred slept, his thoughts became coherent. He felt like he must've been asleep for a decade. When he'd gotten up, everything felt quiet and cosy for the first time in months. He didn't even know if the Burrow could really be cosy again. As he got up, he wiped off the drool from his mouth. He went to the bathroom to take a shower and took a good look at Percy's face. He'd gotten used to seeing it back into the mirror. He'd gotten used to his freakish height, his weirdly thin hands and his very colourful wardrobe. Percy probably owned more pink suspenders than Ginny.

Audrey came back from behind him, stroking his hand. Fred didn't say anything, because he bet that she'd rather imagine that it was really the bloke that she'd married stood there before her.

But he had to break the spell sometime. "How did you and Percy meet?"

"I'm not really sure," Audrey cocked her head. "I think I've forgotten. Why? Is it important?"

Was it important to know when this woman was so infatuated with his brother? No. "I guess not," Fred shook his head. "When did you figure out that you really like him?"

Audrey was really smiling just thinking about that. "Are you sure you want to hear about that?"

"I guess not," Fred really didn't want to hear Audrey going about how in love with Percy she was. She'd made it plenty obvious. He looked down at her abdomen, seeing how big and swollen it was. She looked like she was due any day now. "Did you and Percy ever think of having kids?'

She looked a little unhappy with that. "I think we can do without," she said.

"But you like getting knocked up."

"That I do," she laughed. "But you see, after this is all over with, I produce this beautiful baby boy, and the parents are the one that are going to clothe him, hold his hand when it's dark outside, take him to school, feed him, love him. I think I just like…" she twisted a strand of dark hair into her finger.

"And not you?"

"Not me."

"Can't cope with a few tiny Percy sprogs running around, can you?"

"I have pictures." Audrey disappeared for a few moments and came back after about a few minutes. Fred was stood over the sink, hadn't even bothered to wash his face when Percy would've showered and changed into some flamboyant getup by now. Something with floral vests and pinstriped trousers probably. "Here," she'd shown Fred the photos and even he, whose heart was made entirely out of stone, chocolate frogs and joke products, felt his heart warm a little. "This is what I like. Seeing the parents receive the baby they've been waiting for all this time. After, you know, after hysterectomies and cancer therapies and…just not being able to."

"That's a pretty nice reason to do it," Fred concluded.

"The money isn't bad either."

"Well, that's an even better reason to do it." Fred would've rent his assets too if they'd get him money. He was definitely one of those people that wanked into a cup for a couple of extra sickles. There were probably some sprogs out there with a little prankster gene in them, ready to unleash havoc amongst an unsuspecting public.

"You're really like each other, you know," Audrey decided to mention. "You and Percy."

"He's wanked into a cup for a couple of sickles, you reckon?" then Fred flushed. "Sorry. I mean, you're this professor and I'm…"

"I work at Durmstrang," Audrey reminded him. "Where most of the population are blokes that think that their willies are worth looking at, so I've heard quite a few unsavoury things." She leaned back against the door, and he realised how strange it was that he, technically Percy's brother, was talking to Percy's wife in the Burrow bathroom. But certainly not the strangest thing to ever happen, he supposed. "Percy took one of my positive pregnancy tests to work with him once, dropped it in the bathroom on purpose and managed to cause more ruckus than a circus with absolutely no effort."

Fred's ears perked up. "Yeah?"

Audrey nodded her head. "He's a mischievous little crook," she finally said. "You know once he's gotten into a disagreement with my mum and couldn't let go of it. My mum's a muggleborn, hates absolutely all kinds of purebloods than there ever was—and he'd decided to send her an anonymous cryptic owl written in "code", saying that they're pureblood secrets. She's still trying to crack them, you know. And I know for a fact that Percy wrote them in a language he'd invited by himself after a few rounds of firewhiskey."

"Oh, we'd do something like that," Fred bet that Percy was skilled enough to even make it look authentic. "He's circled things off our catalogue before. I've seen it around in the office when I was working with Angelina."

"Mmhmm." Audrey nodded her head. "He orders things off your catalogue and sends them to people he doesn't like."

"You're kidding." Fred couldn't imagine anything more representative of their products than arriving at someone's doorstep and it just exploding in their face or being put in as a gift and then one day, it just wreaking havoc upon the populace. "Because we were getting really high orders sometimes."

"He still does like all the stuff you think he does," Audrey just wanted to tell him. "He loves reading books. He's very much involved in reading about all that lawful stuff. He goes over department policies and tries to make sure they're implemented. Those sorts of things are important to him, but he's also a smarmy little prat."

"Yeah," Fred just wished that there was a chance that he and that Percy would've grown up together. It sounded like such a wasted opportunity. But at least, George would be able to experience that. "I just never got it."

"Got what?"

"Why was he so ashamed of that? The fact that he liked that stuff?" he remembered the way that Percy talked down to himself when he broke the laws. He really didn't like that he was that way. He couldn't help himself but break a few rules here and there it looked like. "Why did he have to be such a fucking jerk when he was talking to us? Like we're morons for doing what we've always wanted to do? When he was like this? I just don't get it. Is there a reason?"

"Percy was sick," Audrey reminded him. "He didn't know what he was sometimes."

"I guess that's right."

But of course, there was more to the story, and Fred was going to find out very, very soon.