Fred may not have been assigned to Ravenclaw, but that didn't mean he was stupid. He knew full well that it was no coincidence that he'd picked up a message in Morse code and then found a luminous book in the library—which was, even more troublesome, in the Restricted Section.
So no, he was not stupid.
But he was curious. And reckless too.
And perhaps also a little... self-satisfied with his discovery. In any case, he didn't feel like opening the tome in his room, where one of his roommates would notice it. It felt like this book was meant for him.
It was called, after all, "The Secrets of the Greatest Master of Strokes Who Ever Lived". Who else would be interested in it?
George. He used to be. Now, he preferred to stick his tongue down Aryss' throat. Or other places. A shiver ran down his spine. Yeah, that's too gross.
He hoisted himself into an alcove, checked the Marauder's Map t to see if Filch was nearby, then opened the book. Dust swirled up, tickling his nose and making him sneeze. He rubbed his face and looked again at the thick, yellowed pages.
They were inscribed with runes—runes he did not know. Fred heaved a sigh. What was that supposed to mean? Why was there an English title on the cover? He flicked further through the creaking pages. Frowning, he realized that different runes had been used.
Suddenly, a soft chuckle sounded. "You really think I would give away my secrets so easily?"
Distraught, Fred looked around. The corridor was empty.
The voice was dark and sounded amused.
"A talking book..." Fred muttered, scratching the back of his head. "Well, I've already come across screeching and monstrous books, so why not a talking book too."
Already on his first day at Hogwarts, he'd seen a talking hat, so after seven years a talking book didn't really surprise him.
"I'm more than a book, though."
"Oh." Fred didn't really know what to reply and turned over the pages. His hand stilled when he came to a page depicting a well. On its edge were skull-shaped candles. Was he imagining things or... no, tiny orange dots ignited. The candles lit up, flickering in the wind. They were shaped into flames, flames too big for the wicks. Suddenly, a shadow passed by—smoke; it stung his eyes, penetrated his nostrils. The book in his lap suddenly became scorching hot; flames danced across the pages. An intense rage shot into his chest like an arrow, devouring his flesh, making all his muscles spasm. He wanted to smash something, rip something, rip someone apart. Fred was startled by the wild hatred that suddenly flamed through him. With a cry that was a sickening mixture of hatred and fear, he shoved the book away. With a thud, it fell on the ground, closed.
An icy caress moved along his neck, like a breath.
"Don't abandon me."
The desperate whisper caused a stab in his stomach. The anger drained from his chest, leaving a yearning emptiness. He rubbed his skin as if it could return the warmth.
"What the hell," Fred uttered, completely dazed. "What was all that about?"
He got no answer. The book lay motionless on the floor, its green glow extinguished. In doubt, Fred kept looking at it.
Those flames, that sudden rage... that was surely a clear sign that he'd better return that book. What the location of that book already should have told you, idiot.
But still... that desperate whisper; it felt like the magical smoke had guided it into his head.
He wanted to know what secrets this book held, he wasn't going to give that up after the first setback, was he? The book had gotten just a little warm, it wasn't a big deal. Fred picked up the book, flicking through it. The tome no longer radiated a magical glow, and after going through the twice, he concluded that the image of the well had disappeared.
"That's weird," he muttered to himself.
He stood up and pressed the book against his chest. At a later time, he would re-examine it. Maybe the magic had gone back to sleep; it couldn't always be there, for someone else surely would have noticed it. Or maybe it's broken because you threw it on the floor.
Lost in thought, Fred walked back to his bedroom. There, he first checked whether the others were awake. When they weren't, he lifted the edge of his mattress and tucked the book under it.
Once in bed, he lay staring at the ceiling for a long time.
Why was a book about the life of a prankster located in the Restricted Section? Where did that voice come from and why had it sounded so desperate when Fred closed the book? Had he silenced that voice forever now?
All night he kept tossing and turning. Again and again, he saw the flames that seemed to consume the pages, without a single letter getting charred. Caused by drawn candles, which then disappeared. Magic... he didn't think anyone could ever fully fathom it.
It was only at sunrise that a plausible explanation occurred to him. It had been an illusion, a prank by the Master of Mischief. His very first attempt to fool someone... and Fred had walked right into it.
With a sheepish grin, he dressed.
However, the cry for help still echoed through his head.
