AN: A very short chapter here, but I only just noticed. Oh, well.
Having found the rest of the inhabitants of The Burrow to be as stable as nitroglycerine and equally as pleasant to spend time with, Fred had found his way to the attic among old suitcases filled with ancient robes and old toys. To the common outsider he might have been busy looking through the assortment of ripped-off teddy-bear legs and gnawed-on books, but his mind was busy with other things than how Percy's stomach had dealt with three pages out of Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump.
Nox had been installed in the kitchen of the Burrow with a cup of sweet tea in front of her by the twins' mother, a friendly and round woman, if a tad anxious at the time. Her foot kept tapping slowly against the floor, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Would you stop that?" she snapped at Fred at last, who had been pacing soundlessly back and forth in front of the fireplace.
"Well, you supply the steps, I gotta do something about them," he retorted, but flopped down on the chair opposite her as she managed to keep her foot still. Bill had gone to St. Mungo's, which she had found out was a hospital, through the fireplace of all things. Well, why not, she had figured, I'm sure Father Christmas won't mind.
They still hadn't heard anything, neither good nor bad, and was firmly stuck at the Burrow as ghosts were generally frowned upon in places with injured and dying people and Muggles were banned from the magical hospital unless they were visiting close relatives.
"The Minister's cat's an anxious cat," Fred said, his eyes gleaming with desire to annoy her.
"The Minister's cat's an arse-hole," she replied promptly, glaring at him. "Where's your mother?" If she hadn't observed anything else, she had seen how Fred became slightly less obnoxious when his mother was in the room.
"I don't know, doing laundry or de-gnoming the garden or anything else to keep her mind off the fact..." His voice died away.
"The fact that George is a werewolf," she finished for him, seeing the remark sting him. Sadly it stung her too.
–
Growing tired with the stuffing producing out of Ginny's old rag-doll, Fred floated down to the ground floor to see how George's potion was doing.