"Fucks sake, George. Can't you even walk in a straight line?"
The slightly older (by about two minutes) Weasley twin shuffled himself further against the wall. He kept one arm on the natural bumpy surface, and the other clutched around his stomach. Fresh vomit from his own digestive system lay in a pool around his feet.
"Help me," he groaned, pleading achingly to his twin. "Please."
Fred Weasley marched over to the interior wall of the cave. He tried not to look too concerned for his brother, but failed miserably. And he had been doing such a good job of it, to. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his robes.
"It's getting worse," Fred noticed, stating this fact bluntly to sound as uncaring as he could manage. "Isn't it?"
George nodded his head up and down slowly in silent pain. He had been biting his bottom lip so much to keep himself from crying out, that blood now poured freely from his lip and down onto his chin. Fred hoisted George's arm up and around his shoulder, putting his free arm around the twin's waist.
"C'mon, brother," he sighed, looking ahead into the darkness of the mysterious cave. "Off we go."
George Weasley had been cursed. By whom, he was not quite sure. It had happened, someday, somehow … terribly, one of the symptoms he had been given was memory loss. This came hand-in-hand with crippling stomach pains, vomiting, bleeding and general dizziness. He was tired all the time, the colour had drained from his face so much that you could no longer even see the trademark Weasley freckles, and slowly but surely, his whole body was decaying and slowing down. George Weasley was dying.
Fred Weasley should have been distraught. He should have been crying at his brother's bedside, using each hour of each day to find the cure, or to find who did this to his identical twin. But, he wasn't. Because Fred knew George's secret. And it was a secret that could destroy the Weasley family forever. But George didn't know that Fred knew. What with the constant passing out and wooziness, George was often disorientated. He seemed better today though, as the pair descended into the dark cave.
"So, where is it?" Fred snapped. George's head lolled on his chest and bobbed with Fred's movements. But George didn't reply, didn't even move.
"George," Fred sighed with exasperation, shuffling about so he could grab his twin under the arms and lift him up to eye level. "George!"
Still George said nothing, and his head fell back, eyes encrusted with an unusually glowing fluid, eyelids caked down to his face. His mouth gaped open and his tongue hung out, his breath smelling rotten. Fred reeled back in shock. Had George passed out … or was he…?
"George!" Fred called out, desperate now, shaking his twin's shoulders. "GEORGE!"
George still didn't reply, and he suddenly felt heavy now, his entire body weight resting on Fred's wrists. He had a sudden feeling of something pushing down on his brother, pressure on his shoulders. Almost as if there was a supernatural force that was trying to push George down into the ground. Trying to bury him.
Fred yelped in panic and yanked hard on George's robes, tugging the younger twin back out towards the entrance. George's dirty shoes got even filthier as they were dragged in the dirt of the floor of the cave, through puddles and getting caught on sharp rocks. Much to Fred's relief, George began to groan. In pain or in confusion, he wasn't quite sure, but at least it meant that he wasn't…
Fred gulped. He couldn't even bear to think about it. George carried on groaning, appearing as if he wanted to say something. He even conjured up the strength to lift up an arm and tug at Fred's robes.
"A minute, George, just one minute," Fred promised. "First, I'm going to get you out of here."
George mumbled something incoherent in reply, and Fred carried on, striding urgently through the dirt. He thought he was in heaven when they turned a corner and the blissful sunshine greeted them at the other end. There it was, the exit. They had spent hours getting up here and making their way into the maze of a cave, but no matter that it was wasted. Fred wanted George better, and he wanted him better now.
Outside, the sunlight streamed down on the two, instantly making them feel safer. Fred knelt down on the ground, resting George's head in his lap. He smoothed his hand over George's eyes, loosening his eyelids, and releasing him of the pain. George suddenly spluttered, coughing up blood. He was trying his hardest to talk.
"What is it, George?" Fred asked urgently. "You need to tell me. What is it?"
George croaked, "Harry. Get Harry. Now."