A/N: Hey guys! Chapters are getting longer and hopefully more upbeat soon, I promise – I realise I'm being very grim in my description of George's situation because I'm operating from the standpoint that duh, of course Fred isn't dead… I hope I can manage to convince you all of the same! Because guys, FRED IS NOT DEAD!!! At least not necessarily! Look at it this way: Jo was prompted to write this story, and all that she knows about the HP universe, she's written down. Fred's death was ambiguous at best. Let's take that as a good sign! We make our own canon now. Thank you so much for your reviews!! It's good to know I'm not alone, and I hope this story will help you!
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Chapter 3: Another
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Fred opened his eyes, and blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, taking in his surroundings. Where the hell am I? he thought. He flexed his fingers, relieved that he was able to move again, but groaning as he tried to sit up. His entire body was aching as though he'd been under the Cruciatus Curse for hours. But why bother torturing if he'd been unconscious? Unless, he thought, he'd been awake, and they'd Obliviated him or something… but again, what would be the point? Fred thought, slightly annoyed, despite his perilous predicament. None of this made any sense!
He heard a shuffling noise and jerked his head around too fast. "Ouch," he grumbled, closing his eyes briefly to block out the pain. And that's when he felt a sharp surge of emotion, a disembodied grief that caught him off guard, he gasped in the intensity of it – and then it was gone, and before he had time to wonder about it, a voice cut through the darkness.
"You're awake," a man mumbled, and Fred felt something cold and wet dab at his forehead. He opened his eyes and came face to face with-
"Florean?" Fred exclaimed in disbelief. The man was thinner, paler and more morose-looking, but there was no mistaking him – it was Florean Fortescue, the very same, the owner of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor in Diagon Alley! Fred and George had spent many a happy moments there… Fred felt a brief pang but put it out of his mind for now – he needed to focus on the situation at hand. "Florean," he continued, "We thought you were dead, mate!" Fred and George had been on very good terms with Florean, having corresponded frequently about how to open an independent business while they were still at Hogwarts – they'd been planning to meet up and look at premises together when Florean had disappeared without a trace. That had been almost two years ago, yet here he was, alive and, seemingly, well.
"It's… complicated," Florean mumbled, lowering the wet cloth and avoiding Fred's eyes. Fred frowned. "Look, are you alright Fred? It is Fred, right? You're the one he… he wanted, but I don't know if they got the right-"
"He?" Fred cut across Florean's nervous ramblings, dread slowly creeping up his spine. "You-Know-Who, you mean?"
Florean frowned. "You-Know… oh, him," he chuckled mirthlessly, which only unsettled Fred more. "You-Know-Who has been vanquished," Florean said matter-of-factly, ignoring Fred's incredulous look. "No, the Dark Lord I speak of…" his voice trailed off, as he glanced towards the door.
Fred's head was spinning, he had so many questions. He followed Florean's gaze, his eyes sweeping over the dimly lit stone room they were occupying, to a simple wooden door directly across from where he was lying.
"Who is out there?" Fred asked quietly.
But before Florean had time to reply, the door swung open and a man entered, his roughened face twisted into a sinister smile, his reddish brown hair and beard as wild as ever, as he regarded the two men on the floor.
"You!" Fred exclaimed, feeling nothing but sheer disbelief. Before him stood Rufus Scrimgeour, former Minister For Magic – not dead in the least.
What was going on here?