Part VIII

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Fred cracked his head from side to side; a small grin creasing his face as he pressed his back firmly against the wall, shifting his right leg close to his chest and bringing his hand closer to conceal the cards he held. He fanned them between his fingers, eyes lingering on the symbols for a moment before choosing a card and throwing it facedown onto the growing pile on the floor.

Nothing happened.

"Your turn," he said, lazily casting his eyes to the left.

George nodded as stared at his own cards, eyes lifting for a mere moment to look at the others, before dramatically drawing a card and placing it down. He hunched forward, eyes widening in delight as he watched a spectral figure, which had the resembling of a mermaid, energetically leap from the card, droplets of water cascading down the pile and staining the stone floor below. Soft, childlike laughter escaped from the figure's lips as she summoned three balls of shimmering blue light and held them in the palm of her hand before bringing it close to her face and blowing. The bubbles of light wisped forward and encircled George, playfully dancing in the air and evading his attempts at touching them. Their dance soon turned into a sprint, which quickly transpired into a marathon. He tried to keep his eyes on the balls but they spun so quickly that he all he could see was a river of light. He could feel the cold droplets of water spraying against his face and dampening his hair. The matched cards must have equalled a low number if all he was receiving was a light shower. As if sensing the thoughts that were travelling around the others head, the balls of light suddenly stopped and rushed forward, exploding in a rush of water. The figure laughed once again and flipped in the air before darting back into the card.

"Wicked," he laughed, running a hand through his sodden hair and flicking water in several directions.

"Let's see," Oliver murmured, gazing at his cards and absently licking his thumb and trapping the cindering edge between his fingers, exhuming the smoulder with a sizzling hiss. At least his robes were no longer alight, which he took as a positive sign. However, it did little to help the decision in which card to part with. There were only three remaining – how hard could it be?

"Here goes nothing," he said, bunching the cards together and swiftly shuffling them before throwing the middle card down.

The moment the card hit the pile, a dense cloud of smoke erupted and several angry popping sounds cracked off the walls, followed by high-pitched trills of laughter. The fog obscured his vision but when he strained, Oliver could see a faint figure hovering above the pile of cards. The figure moved in a flurry of colour around his head, laughing the words "You Lose" over and over. Whenever he caught sight of the figure, a ball of darkness would envelop him and ringing would echo in his ears. The laughter ceased. Oliver looked around but could see nothing but the dark blanket. Front, behind, left and right, up and down – just darkness. He looked forward once again and was taken back when a figure appeared in his direct line if vision. A paper-white face adorned with dark markings, large colourless eyes and a wide, somewhat feral, grin stared back at him. It tilted its head, the black and red hat that sat atop a mop of dark hair jingled, and laughed once again.

"You … lose," it spoke, snapping its gloved fingers and disappearing with a final, dazzling white, explosion.

The fog slowly began to evaporate into the air.

"Did Jester appear?"

Oliver nodded, patting himself down to exhume any smouldering flames that had caught his robes during the explosion. Hopefully his robes weren't beyond repair.

"Lucky you," George said, gathering the cards together and carefully putting them inside a slightly battered box with the words Jester's Exploding Snap! engraved into the pulsating cloud of smoke that adorned the front. "No matter how many times I lose, I've yet to see Jester once – and I've had some pretty big explosions too! Hardly fair, if you ask me."

Oliver arched his spine, pressing his shoulder blades together to help relieve the tension that was coursing through his body. "I cannae remember the last time I saw Jester. Might have been on Christmas Eve – my brother and I were waiting to see if Bodach would appear that year … must have been about five. By the way, how long have we been out here?" he asked.

"Bodach? Does Father Christmas not visit Scotland?" Fred asked lightly, holding out his hand. "Also, I would say we've been here nearly five hours – give or take a few minutes."

"Might be longer actually," George replied, staring out the window as he handed the deck of cards over to his twin. "Looks like it's going to be dark soon…"

"What time was it when Madam Pomfrey kicked us out?"

"We must have gotten there for 10:30ish and we were kicked out about five minutes after that … so yeah…"

Fred watched a small group of first years scurry past them, whispering and shooting odd glances in their direction. Was it that odd to see a trio of older students, still clad in Gryffindor Quidditch robes, sitting outside the hospital wing playing Exploding Snap and various other games to keep themselves occupied?

"Who's Bodach then?" he asked again. Perhaps the story could prove to be entertaining.

"Bodach was a criminal wizard who stole and terrorised wee kiddies on Christmas Eve," he began, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "He'd apperate into their homes when everyone was asleep and would torment the sleeping children until they woke in fear. If the children deemed 'naughty' in his eyes, he would steal them and leave a lump of coal in their beds. However, if they deemed 'good', Bodach, would disappear into the night with a promise of returning the following year. Obviously, once the Ministry caught wind of this, they sent an Auror to chase him down. Cailleach devoted her life to capturing Bodach. She would follow and altered the memories of the families with missing children and would leave a gift for the children who escaped capture. It took thirty odd years before Cailleach caught him and sentenced him to life in Azkaban. Story has it that he escaped and that his ghost continues to visit children on Christmas Eve.

"At least, that's what Gram told us if we misbehaved," he laughed gingerly, rubbing the back of his head with an awkward smile.

"Misbehave?" Fred said, holding out his right arm to the side before doing the same with his left. "Get kidnapped?"

"Seems fair," George chimed in.

"I take it you didn't see him then - seeing as though you are here and all."

Oliver exhaled, slowly shaking his head from side to side. "We didnae see him that night. We even tried to spruce things up a little by having Rob jinx a broom that I'd nicked from Gramps in hopes of next year being successful."

George shifted his position. The floor was beginning to get a little uncomfortable and his rear end was losing feeling. He was about to push himself up and enjoy the feeling of all the blood rushing its way back to his body when the door opened and a slightly tousled looking Madam Pomfrey stepped out.

"Didn't I tell you to return to your – what have I told you about playing Exploding Snap outside my corridor?" she said in a hard voice, pulling the door to with a satisfying click and taking in the appearances of the three students sitting on the ground.

Fred jumped up and rushed forward, skidding to an immediate halt in front of the stern Healer. "How is Percy?" he asked.

That question had been quietly brewing in the back of his mind all afternoon. He tried to push it away several times because he knew that Percy was in excellent hands but every so often, it would surface, rearing its ugly head as a reminder of what happened. He could not exactly forget what had happened – the physical evidence stained deep into his robes, but knowing that Percy was in the hands of another took away the responsibility. There was nobody more capable at fixing up students than Madam Pomfrey. He had lost count of the number of times she would scold them for their pranks or would chastise the Gryffindor Quidditch team for their roughhousing during practice, stating that they had more injuries than any other teams put together.

No, she would fix everything and Percy would stay in the hospital wing for a couple of days, complaining constantly that he was missing important Prefect business and falling behind in classes.

"Mr Weasley is not doing well at all, I'm afraid," the woman sighed, bringing her hands together and regarding them with a soft expression. "He's burning from the inside and the area most affected – or should I say the area only affected, is his throat. It is not the work of a charm or jinx but that of a potion, a poorly brewed one, I would wager. Unfortunately for us though, his body seems to be rejecting all my attempts, which is just putting additional and unwanted stress on him."

"Is he going to be okay though?" Oliver asked, stepping forward.

Madam Pomfrey closed her eyes, shaking her head. "We won't know the full extent of the damage until after he wakes, I'm afraid. Until then, I do highly recommend you returning to your dormitories."

With that, she turned away from the three students and proceeded to walk down the corridor before disappearing out of sight. They stood in silence for a moment until Oliver declared that he had something to sort out and would meet them in the dormitory later on.

"Poorly brewed?" Fred said, watching Oliver leave.

"That's not us," George replied.

To be continued...

Okay, I'm glad that that is finally out of the way. Hopefully it also answered some of your questions too.
As you can see, I decided to add my own little spin on Exploding Snap just because we were never really given much information on what happens other than the exploding part. I just wanted to make it a little more fun other than "boom - you lose".

Once again, a big thank you goes out to those who reviews and/or faved this story. It makes me happy to know that you are all enjoying it as much as I am.