Part VII

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George knew from the moment he caught sight of the bloodied handle from his peripheral vision that something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He did not even need to eliminate whose blood it could be because there was only one person in the equation: Percy. An icy hand tore through his spine and crawled down the rest of his body, its tendrils twisting around every crevice and squeezing tightly, imprinting its cold impression on his flesh and ensnaring him in its terrible and suffocating grasp, choking him, feeding off his body warmth. The spinal fingers tightened their grip and held him down, welding his feet firmly to the ground and rending him useless, unable to move. He could only watch the image of himself rushing forward, not the slightest bit fazed by the bloodied mark on the handle, and forcing the door open. The terror that shone in his eyes at that moment scared him. Never had he witnessed those blue eyes clouded with such raw fear and panic. The emotion overwhelmed him, leaving him windless.

He was alone. Oliver had followed Fred into the bathroom, not pausing for one moment to shoot a glance in George's direction, silently demanding to know why he had yet to move. The simple answer was that he couldn't.

He was afraid.

Deathly afraid at what he would see on the other side of that door.

Seeing the blood on the handle and knowing it was Percy's was enough. It was too much for him. If he didn't go into the bathroom then he couldn't see Percy. He could, for one moment, pretend this wasn't real. It was a silly childish notion but it was one he clung to, tightly holding it in his grip and refusing to let anyone take it from him. Nothing bad could ever happen to Percy because he was far too careful, too vigilant and too sensible to let anything happen. Percy was safe. While the others were off breaking bones from outrageous accidents, Percy would be receiving paper cuts from reading too many books. Everyone would flaunt their injury like it was a grand trophy while Percy would briefly mutter something under his breath. Everyone would tease Percy about this while he would simply roll his eyes and walk away, as if he was better than such childishness.

George simply did not want to believe anything could happen to his older brother. Not to Percy.

He would not go into that room.

He refused…

"George…"he heard himself calling from the other room, desperation filling his voice.

No, not his voice – Fred's.

Please don't make me, Fred, he pleaded because he knew that the only person who could get him inside that room was his twin. If Fred wanted him – needed him – he would drop everything and comply, regardless of emotion involved. If anyone could make him do anything, it was Fred. Always Fred. Only Fred. He wished he could selfishly turn and leave, returning to his dormitory and sleeping the day away, awaking the next morning to find that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. However, he couldn't – wouldn't – do this. Not if-

"…please…" it was a barely heard whisper but it spoke volumes.

George rushed forward and came to an immediate halt when he entered the bathroom, his eyes automatically drawn towards the vibrant pallet of colour against the pristine white. The stark contrast between the white and red was overbearing, breathtakingly haunting. The steady drip of water from the faucet failed to wash away anything, instead decorating the corners of the basin with splashes of diluted red. Dotted fingerprints adorned the porcelain rim, painting a grotesque picture that snaked down the mount and abruptly ended with a distorted handprint. A gargled noise brought George back into the plain of reality and his head snapped to where the sound originated. Three figures were huddled on the ground. George dropped to his knees and placed a firm, reassuring hand on his twin's shoulder as he took in the sight before him. Percy lay motionless on the ground, head resting at an angle on Fred's legs. The only sign of life that came from him was the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he took sharp, pain-filled breaths. He swiftly looked around, eyes urgently searching the room for the glasses that Percy was not wearing. He was not sure why, but the fact that they were absent from Percy's face bothered him. Another gargled sound drew his attention back. He watched, eyes wide with fear, as Percy's body convulsed and blood poured from his mouth, staining Fred's lightly coloured trousers. Fred lifted his head slightly to keep him from choking furthermore on the blood that rose from his throat.

"We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey," George said, not taking his eyes away from the sight of his twin gently cradling Percy, gloved fingers caressing his head.

"Aye, I agree," replied Oliver.

George looked up, having almost forgotten about Oliver's presence in the room. Like Fred, Oliver's clothes were speckled with deep blotches, his pants soaking up the puddle of blood he was kneeling in, and his gloveless hands were tinted red. It made George wonder of the sight that must have greeted both boys as they rushed into the room and whether Percy was worse before, compared to how he is now.

"What do you think caused this?" he asked.

Oliver shook his head. "I don't know," he sighed heavily. "I cannae see anything…"

George nodded and looked towards his brothers, knowing that Oliver was doing the very same thing. "Fred…" he began.

Fred exhaled loudly, the sound matching Percy's breaths, and moved his head firmly up and down. "I know."

Oliver edged closer as he slipped one arm under Percy's legs and wrapped the other securely behind his back, lifting the weight and bringing him to his chest. Fred watched carefully. He knew that having Oliver carry him this way would be a lot easier and faster than conjuring a stretcher, though he was not looking forward to the lecture that he was sure they would all receive once Madam Pomfrey caught wind of their rough treatment of her soon-to-be patient. No, he was not looking forward to being on the receiving end of Madam Pomfrey's wrath…

Fred felt himself being pulled to his feet. He stood, confused. Where was Oliver and Percy?

"You okay?" George asked, concern and worry etched across his features.

Knowing that there was no point in attempted to evade the truth, Fred answered honestly. "No."

"Neither am I."

….

Oliver dashed through the castle, bumping into various people, who gasped and stared open-mouthed at what transpired before them. Oliver did not care thought - not about the pointed looks or the students behind them. Nothing mattered to him bar getting Percy to the infirmary as quick as he could. Nothing else mattered. He subconsciously pulled Percy closer as flecks of their argument last night invaded his mind. He was reminded of something he was told countless times as a child, and numerous times as a teenager, by his Gram.

"Give your tongue more holidays than your head, Oliver," she would say, a newspaper in one hand and ball of wool in the other. "Think before you speak." She would then proceed to tie a piece of wool around his finger to remind him of her words, which would do very little but it kept her happy knowing he had a constant reminder attached to him.

"'m sorry, mate…"he muttered quickly under his breath, though he was certain that the words would be illegible if Percy could actually hear them.

At that moment Percy groaned, eyes fluttering slightly. His vision was blurred, unfocused. His head throbbed. His throat burned. He opened his mouth, hoping to rid himself of the metallic taste that filled his mouth, lingered on his tongue and coated his teeth. However, doing so had the exact opposite effect and the blood that was constantly flowing down his gullet escaped from his mouth, burning his throat furthermore. His head fell forward, resting against something soft. Red covered his vision. He panicked. Why was blood covering his eyes? He groaned once again, eyes fluttering closed as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

Oliver picked up his pace, not stopping before he reached the infirmary. He was surprised when he saw Fred and George standing outside.

"How did you?" he said, confusion written across his face. It was impossible!

"No time for that," they said, pushing the doors open.

Oliver nodded and rushed inside, the twins directly behind him.

To be continued...

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