Chapter Four

Fred

"Sweets from the trolly, dears?"

The kind older woman waited while Lee pulled a few coins out, then milled over the options on the cart. Fred rolled his eyes. Lee had always been indecisive. "Oi, we haven't got all day," he teased, digging into his pocket and pulling out a few sickles of his own. Might as well treat himself to a Chocolate Frog to celebrate the beginning of his seventh year. No one else was more surprised than him that he'd made it so long in school.

"Just a moment, dear," the woman said to someone outside in the corridor. When Fred stood and strode toward the door with sickles in hand, baby snake came into view. She was fidgeting, clacking coins in her hands in impatience. It didn't seem hostile so much as she came across as anxious.

"Pansy," a boy called from farther down the corridor. Parkinson grimaced, but didn't look down at the voice calling her. Instead she took a step away from the cart and clutched her hand around the coins.

"Never mind," she muttered, then passed the trolly and was off in the direction opposite the voice. Fred was too curious for his own good and squeezed out past the trolly into the corridor, taking a non-committal look toward the voice. Montague was down a few doors, trying to push through a group of younger kids, his eyes glued on what Fred assumed was a retreating Parkinson.

As he thought. The sight of Montague made something in his stomach tighten. He turned his back on the Head Boy and pretended to be looking over the cart, though he took a wide stance and blocked the path where the trolly didn't.

Lee was still milling through all the sweets when he felt Montague try and step past him. Between Fred and the cart, though, he wasn't getting through.

"Oi, there's a line here," Fred said when Montague tried to weasel past. "Wait your turn."

Montague looked in the direction Parkinson had gone, then shot Fred one of the nastiest looks he'd ever seen. At least he was bright enough to realize he wasn't going to get through anytime soon – Lee had picked up both a handful of Pumpkin Pasties and a box of Bertie Bott's and was weighing them in his hands, having some mental debate.

"I'll deal with it later," Montague muttered darkly under his breath, then spun on his heel and went back the way he came.

Fred chanced a look Parkinson's way and felt relieved to see she had vanished into some compartment farther down the train.

"And what about you, dearie?"

It took Fred a moment to realize the trolly lady was speaking to him. When he did, he gave a sharp shake to his head as if knocking sense back into himself. "Right, sorry," he said, looking down at the four sickles in his hand. Just enough for one. "Chocolate Frog, please."

Little blue box in hand, he muttered to George and Lee that he'd be right back and shuffled around the trolly. Merlin, he didn't even know why, but it was obvious he'd gone mad.

Each open curtain earned a peek inside and each closed curtain was interrupted by a knock. When they didn't answer he would poke his head in, which twice resulted in Fred seeing more than he bargained for with young couples.

He was nearing the end of the train when he came across another close-curtained compartment. All he could think was that he was utterly out of his mind as he knocked.

No answer. Well, she had to be behind one of them. As luck would have it, he found as he opened the door, it was that one.

Parkinson looked up at him in alarm, then seeing it was him, a confused look passed over her eyes for a split-second. "Occupied," she said, then turned her attention out the window.

"I know," Fred said, stepping inside. When he closed the door behind him, she gave him a wary look as if he were going to hex her any moment. "I was looking for you."

Parkinson studied him for a moment. Fred assumed she didn't find any immediate reason to go screaming for help when she turned her attention back to the window. "Can't imagine why," she said, a note of disinterest in her voice.

"Peace negotiations," he said with a cheeky grin, tossing the Chocolate Frog and landing it right in her lap. Parkinson looked down at it, then up at him with a tucked brow.

"I wasn't aware we were at war," she said, plucking the sweet from her lap with two fingers and tossing it to the floor as if she were afraid to touch it. The corner of the blue box dented when it hit and, for some reason, it irritated him that she was so careless with something thoughtful. Not that he would admit to using his last sickles to get it for her.

"Not yet," he said, brushing his annoyance aside and allowing his grin to grow. Fred took the seat opposite her and put his back to the wall, stretching his long legs across the bench. Parkinson threw a look at the door, uncertainty sketched in her eyes. "But all bets are off once we get to school."

"Is that a threat?" she spat, ripping her eyes from the door to him. "If you're going to be cryptic, you can just leave. You're only going to cause trouble being here anyway."

Ah, so that's why her eyes kept darting to the door. It wasn't that she was trying to come up with an escape, it was that she was worried Montague would find them there alone.

"Don't worry, I sent your git of a boyfriend the other direction."

"You…what? Why?"

Fred shrugged again. "I got the impression you wanted to be alone. Not to mention he doesn't seem the type to be keen on me hangin' around his girlfriend."

Parkinson stared at him for a moment, then pursed her lips and arched a brow. "Which brings us back to why you're here. If it's only to make idle chat, then you can be on your way. I'll be happier for it."

Oh, she was a little snot, wasn't she? Two-faced, as well. In front of his parents, she'd been polite and docile, but she only offered him venom when alone.

"I told you," he said. "Peace negotiations. You're prefect -," he paused, grin dropping, "- and Georgie and I don't like prefects."

Parkinson cocked her head to the side and eyed him, arms crossing over her chest. "Why do I get the impression that every dumb sentence falling out of your mouth is intended to be a threat? Don't be a puss about it, if you're going to threaten me, then threaten me."

Honestly – and he wasn't sure why – he found her amusing. Maybe it was because her nastiness was so off-set by her small stature. Fred thought of small, short girls as sweet and giggly. Parkinson was neither. And it was hard to picture her ever, at any point in her life, being either of those things.

"Fine," he said with another shrug. "You're part of our game this year."

Parkinson's mouth tightened. "I'm not having anything to do with you lot."

"You don't have a choice," he countered.

At this she sobered, snapping her mouth shut so hard that he heard her teeth clack together.

Fred rolled up on one hip and dug deep into his pocket. After years of being caught with things he ought not to have, he figured out a way to charm his trousers with a hidden compartment. When he pushed his hand to the bottom, the seam would open up, revealing an extra pocket that only let his hand in. A handful of metal trinkets were hidden there and he pulled them out, tossing one over to Parkinson who he was surprised to see catch it with one hand.

"Nice!" he said with a laugh. "You should go for seeker!"

Parkinson stared at him like he had a third eyeball, then shook her head with a sigh and looked down at the metal ring. Of course, Slytherin had never once had a girl play on their team in the entire history of the school, but he thought she had wasted potential.

"Am I supposed to be impressed by a hunk of tin?" she said slowly, turning it over in her hands. Fred plucked up one with his free hand. The metal was thin and formed a hollow tube, the sides no taller than an inch high. Engraved on his was L J 0.

"Find the letters," he told her. "On the side. What's yours say?"

Parkinson was getting irritated, a confused tuck dominating her brow. "F-W-zero," she said in a moody tone, huffing a huge sigh as if this was the biggest waste of her time possible.

"Oh," he said with a grin. "You've got mine."

"What is it?" she asked, holding it up to her face and inspecting it closely. Ah, so she was curious. Of course, if he said as much, she'd clam back up, so he let the comment pass.

"They're enchanted to keep score," he said simply.

Parkinson tore her eyes from the small tube. "Score of what?" she asked, voice apprehensive.

Fred only smiled in reply to her question. When he pulled out his wand, he saw her hand clench and draw toward her waist. Must've been where she kept her wand. Fred filed away that bit of information. You never knew when it might be useful to know something like that about someone.

"It goes on your wand," he explained, slipping the tube around his wand and allowing it to magically shrink and fit itself tight. "Any points you score while it's on will automatically go on your counter."

"Points for what?" she asked sharply.

"The Hunt," he said with a smile. Fred liked being cryptic if only because it was annoying her. It was satisfying to see the irritation cross her eyes.

"And what's the Hunt?"

Again, he only smiled at her question and continued the explanation at his own pace. "Players are only allowed to have their counters when it's lights out. They have to have them back to me or Georgie before curfew breaks in the mornings."

"I still don't see what any of this stupidity has to do with me. I'm not playing some childish game."

At this, Fred laughed.

"No, you're not playing. Snake brats get to be the moving targets. It's an honor, really."

Parkinson glared at him and, for what he assumed was the first time in her life, had nothing to say.

"Any Slytherin is worth 10 points. You and Malfoy are 20. Sixth year prefects are 30. Seventh year prefect is 40 and your boyfriend is 50. Hitting a non-Slytherin is -20. Hitting a teacher is -100."

"Hit us with what?"

"Anything," he said, the cheekiness in his voice only amplifying the darkness of his point. "Jinx, hex, anything. Georgie and I want to test some new products, so we've enchanted the counters to recognize non-wand magic, too. So while you lot are out on your prefect rounds, we're going to blow off some steam. They say N.E.W.T. year is the worst, after all."

A red flush was creeping its way up Parkinson's neck and her eyes gleamed. For a moment she looked crazed. "Do you get negative points when I Crucio your arse so hard you forget your middle name?" she spat, face welling up into a snarl. "I dare you to hit me with a hex. Because the first person to touch a hair on my head will be made example of and, Merlin help me, I really hope it's you."

The intensity of her sudden outburst made his stomach clench. It reminded him of being in trouble with his mum. Except, you know, Parkinson was completely dreadful. But, for what it was worth, he thought she might make a good teacher. No one would disobey because they'd all be terrified of her.

"Well, that's why I'm here," he said, ignoring the feeling that maybe he was pushing her too far. "I've come to broker a deal. I don't think I could hex you since you look about eleven and I don't much like hurting little kids. So you give us information on location and time of after-hours prefect duties and I'll make you worth negative points."

Fred was literally making it up as he went, but it sounded like a fair enough deal to him. If Parkinson was giving them that sort of information, then it would drastically cut down on their time actually looking for a prefect to be target. Apparently, she didn't think it was a fair deal. Maybe it was that he was trying to get her to turn on her own. Maybe it was because he said she looked like a little kid. But it became clear that what he'd said was not the right thing to say. If possible, her neck grew even more red, the flush creeping up over her face. Parkinson's eyes narrowed to slits, her nostrils flaring. She looked fucking evil.

"Get out," she said through clenched teeth.

Fred rolled his eyes, trying to act like she wasn't the scariest fucking thing he'd ever seen. In fact, he was sure the next time he saw a boggart, Pansy Parkinson with that expression was what he'd see. "Think on it," he said, standing. "I'll give you tonight, since I'm charitable. Sleep on it and let me know."

"Out," she said and that time he listened, glad to be out of reach in case she decided to start breathing fire. As he walked out into the corridor, he eyed the Chocolate Frog in its dented box. A flame of victory grew inside because it was going to be stuck there with her, so she'd probably eat it. Wasn't that how this started out? Didn't he feel bad because she didn't have time to get a sweet off the trolly? He could hardly remember anymore, that fact only adding to the undeniable truth that he was going mad.

Man, Parkinson could be wicked scary. But, as he walked back to his compartment, a goofy smile broke out over his face. He didn't know why, but it was really fun picking on her.