Chapter Eight

Fred

Sending the Chocolate Frog back to Parkinson ended up being a lot more lackluster than he thought. From across the Great Hall, his eyes would flicker to her at every chance. Parkinson seemed deflated, not really talking to anyone around her. Even though she and Montague sat side-by-side, there might as well been leagues between them. The two sat with shoulders angled away from each other and Parkinson looked downright sullen while Montague joked with his buddies.

Was she that angry over her wand? Merlin, it's not like he wasn't going to give it back. What good would someone else's wand do him?

"Mate, what're you starin' at?"

The voice had a sleepy tug to it that was distinctive of Lee. Fred gave a lazy turn of his head, eyes finding both his twin and Lee staring at him. A smirk grew across his face.

"Last night I nicked Parkinson's wand. She knows I took it, too. I'm just wondering if she'll make a scene now or track me down later."

Lee snorted and then tipped back his goblet for a long chug of pumpkin juice. George's eyes shot across the room to Parkinson and then he looked back with a grin, but said nothing.

From above, there was a series of loud screeches and the flapping of wings. Fred's eyes flicked back over to Parkinson. From the top of his vision, he spotted the blue box falling and watched it hit her shoulder and then bounce into her lap. Parkinson looked down at it, as did Montague. The Head Boy leaned over with a sneer and said something close to her ear, then looked up and made direct eye contact with Fred.

A chill shot up his spine, but he never looked away from Montague's cool gaze. In fact, the Head Boy turned away first with an incredulous shake to his head. Fred's eyes darted back to Parkinson, who still just stared at the box. Then she stowed it away in her bag and went on being sullen as if it never happened.

Fred felt a pang of disappointment. She hadn't even bothered to look up. Montague on the other hand…

"Montague didn't look happy, mate," George said, throwing him a dark look. Fred shrugged.

"What's it to me?" he said with a grin. George offered a smile in reply, but again said nothing.

"What're you gonna do with her wand?" Lee asked between bites. Fred took a moment to stuff a forkful of eggs in his mouth before answering.

"She'll come for it eventually," he finally said. "What's she going to do, go to class all day without a wand?"

Apparently, that was precisely what she planned to do. Fred and George caught a glimpse of her while they were on free period, but never paid it much thought. When she didn't show up for Herbology, Fred felt that same pang of disappointment that he'd had when the owls delivered post that morning.

He'd assumed when they saw her walking toward the Forbidden Forest that she was going to Care of Magical Creatures, but maybe that was wrong. Fred wondered where else she could have been going – to the point that not one word of Sprout's lecture was heard to him. He was far too preoccupied with the image of her retreating back and what Montague had spat at her at breakfast.

The disappointment only grew at lunch, when Parkinson didn't show up. Montague seemed irritated, which made Fred wonder if they were having a row. Her absence at dinner had Montague watching the doors like a hawk.

Fred cupped the outside of his canvas bag, feeling the hilt of her wand inside. Well, she needed it back, didn't she? That was what he told himself after he broke away from his friends after dinner, but he knew it was only to quell his curiosity.

Outside, the sun was still resting on the horizon over the lake and he figured he had enough light to do a quick check around the edges of the forest before it grew dark.

They'd spotted her walking alongside the lake. Now that he thought about it, Care of Magical Creatures made no sense. It was in the opposite direction.

Fred had never paid much attention to this bit of forest, but he was clearly walking on a dirt path that wound alongside the lake, passing the dock, and disappearing into the thick brush. It seemed strange that he and Georgie had never discovered the path before, but it likely didn't lead anywhere interesting enough to merit inspection. It was more a pain in the arse than anything – the brush grew wild and he had to stop every few steps to untangle his trouser legs. Despite that, he continued his search.

There was still plenty of light when he found her. Parkinson was perched on a low tree branch, thick enough that it didn't look uncomfortable. Her back rested against the trunk and her legs were hanging to either side of the branch. Parkinson's heavy robes had been thrown to the ground, the sleeves of her white blouse pushed up to her elbows in attempt to deflect the muggy air.

At first it seemed she was staring of in thought, but the closer he came, he realized her eyes were closed. Another few steps and he could hear her chest rising and falling slowly. Honestly, who ditched class to nap in a tree?

"Oi," he said loudly. Parkinson didn't stir, but a few birds in higher branches took flight. Fred rolled his eyes and took another step closer to shake her arm. Hand mid-air, he stopped. It was the purple blotches he saw first, scattered around her wrist and up her forearm. They were small, only about the size of a sickle each.

'Or the size of a fingertip,' he thought darkly.

In the rusty light of the fading sun, he hadn't noticed at first, but splotches of her skin were blood red, rubbed raw and swollen.

Fred wasn't the brightest, but it didn't take a seer to put the pieces together. He'd already suspected Montague of being not-so-nice to Parkinson after the picture in the Daily Prophet, but he didn't think it was anything like this.

"Oi," he said louder. Parkinson jerked awake and nearly fell off the opposite side, but Fred had quidditch reflexes and caught her ankle on the fly. Parkinson steadied herself and looked up at him with a befuddled expression, eyes puffy from sleep.

"Every time I see you, you're sleeping," he said, cracking a grin.

Parkinson blinked a few times and looked around, a small tuck in her brow. "You never let me sleep," she said, grog in her voice, but no venom. A waking Parkinson was already proving to be more pleasant than a fully awake one.

"You've slept through every class."

Parkinson shrugged. "I didn't feel like going." And then, as the fuzziness of sleep wore off, she must've realized who she was talking to. Her sharp eyes assessed him, lips drawing tight. "And what are you doing out here?"

Fred's grin grew, though the anger at seeing her arm was still burning in his stomach. He wouldn't embarrass her, though. Fred would pretend he didn't see. "I brought you back your wand."

"Why?"

The word was quick and cutting, causing him to falter. That was a good question. Luckily, Fred was good at thinking on his feet. "Because I don't want to be blamed when you flunk all your classes. Of course, you're already headed that direction after today."

Parkinson looked him over carefully and then shook her ankle out of his grip. Fred hadn't realized he was still holding it.

"Here," he said, backing away a few steps to dig through his bag. After a moment, he produced her wand.

"What have you done to it?" she asked. He might have been angry if she'd said it in her usual snotty tone, but only wariness crept into her voice. She was more frightened of him than she let on.

"Nothing," he said, holding the wand out toward her. Parkinson arched an eyebrow in a way he thought only she was capable of. It went high and arched sharp, plastering some smart disbelief on her face.

"And you expect me to believe that?" she said, the pitch of her voice rising in disbelief.

"Why wouldn't you?" he countered, rubbing his free hand through his hair. This was getting irritating.

"Because you're a bully."

At this, Fred's mouth gaped open. "I'm a bully?"

"Yes."

Parkinson didn't offer him a chance to reply, instead striking toward him at unbelievable speed and swiping her wand clean from his hand. For a moment he stared at his empty palm and then looked up to her with a grin.

"Like I said before, you'd make a wicked seeker."

Parkinson cocked her head to the side, eying him. Then she let out a scoff and turned her attention to her wand.

"Right," she said, "So what's wrong with it?"

Fred gave an irritated huff. "Nothing!" he argued.

"And I'm the Minister of Magic," she said in a dry tone. "Let's see here. You have made my life an absolute living hell since the school year started. I'm stuck next to you in Herbology for an entire year and already you've doodled all over me and caused me to ruin half my notes. My back is still aching from being stuck like that last night. It took ages for Graham to find me. And speaking of Graham, you are really causing me some problems for me. So no, I don't exactly believe you when you say nothing is wrong with my wand since you seem so dead set on wrecking my life. I mean, switch the roles. If you were Pansy and I was Fred, you wouldn't exactly trust my word after the past few days."

After all that, her face had grown quite red. Parkinson gave a huff to try and quell the irritation she'd released during her rant. Fred, however, cocked his head to the side with a grin. "I'm George," he said.

"And I'm not an idiot," she retorted.

"No really," he said, grin growing. "I'm George!"

Parkinson clacked her tongue and looked a tad disappointed. "You're Fred," she said. "And you lack any cunning whatsoever."

"What makes you think I'm Fred?" he asked, grin growing.

"You're the annoying one."

At this Fred laughed. "We're both the annoying one. Go on, then, you've got me. How'd you know I was Fred?"

Parkinson stared at him like he was the most stupid person she'd ever seen. "You gave yourself away with the quidditch comment."

Fred thought on that for a moment. She was right. But, still…

"How'd you know it wasn't George on the train?"

Now she sighed, giving one of the most dramatic eye rolls he'd ever seen. "You really aren't bright, are you?"

Curiosity was flooding through him. "Go on, tell me," he said. "Most of our friends can't even tell us apart."

"I can't help it if your friends are unintelligent swine."

Fred only gave her an expectant look in reply, to which she sighed again.

"You mentioned George a few times on the train," she said. "And I had your counter thing, remember? It had your initials on it."

"I'm impressed," he admitted. Parkinson only sighed a third time and gave a dismissive shake to her head.

"Turn around," she ordered. "I'm hopping down and the last thing I need is you getting a glimpse up my skirt."

Fred did as he was told, turning his back to her. He was only turned around for a few seconds when he felt his legs lock together. "Oi!" he cried, trying to balance and failing miserably. At least he fell backward and not on his face.

"You lack cunning and you're far too trustworthy," she said, walking into his sight. Her robes were draped over her arm and she held her wand in one hand with her bag in the other. Fred tried to get out his wand, but she quickly disarmed him and sent it flying into the brush.

"Now you just sit tight," she said with a smirk, digging through her bag. After a moment, she pulled out the Chocolate Frog and dropped it at his feet. Then she walked out of sight. Fred heard the rustling of leaves and he struggled, trying to get back on his feet before she got to his wand. But after just a moment, she returned to his sight, twirling his wand between her fingers before putting it in her bag.

"Oh, almost forgot," she said, flicking her wand. Fred's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. "I might come back for you in a few hours if I feel like it," she said, then turned on her heel and was headed for Hogwarts before he could blink.