Title: Beware of Potions
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Summary: Fred and George create a new product in the summer before their 6th year, but when one of them samples it, they find that it has far different effects than they'd hoped for.
WOW thanks everyone for the reviews! They were so fantabulous that I thought I'd get started on the next chapter today! Amanda, magicgirl29, teamgredandforge, and everyone else: I'm glad you like it so much! Thanks for reading!
Lucy – thank you SO much for catching that! I was wondering if it fit or not and then what to do with it… I hope this chapter explains it a bit. Thanks!
Chapter Eight
Drip… drip… drip…
"Really?" Fred sardonically asked aloud, although he knew that no one could hear him. He was almost positive that they had broken the faucet, or whatever it was that was dripping, intentionally – just to set his nerves on end.
Drip… drip… drip…
"How can you stand that noise? I mean, this place is so…" Fred trailed off, thinking of just the sarcastic comment to describe his surroundings, "delightful, endearing, heavenly almost."
Drip… drip… drip…
"To think that you'd let it go to the dogs just because of a broken faucet…" Fred remarked, thinking that this place had gone to the dogs long before he was even born. He listened closely for a moment to see if anyone was nearby, but he only heard that familiar pattern yet again.
Drip… drip… drip…
"I mean, you are wizards. You have wands," Fred stated factually, waving his hand around as if gesturing to other people that he knew must still be in the building. He sighed and rested his hand on his forehead, giving up the hope that someone would take the hint and fix the damn leak. "Oh, never mind it; I'll find my wand and fix it myself someday."
Drip… drip… drip…
Fred was fairly certain that at this point, even if the dripping sound stopped, his mind would supply it for him. Pretty soon, he feared, his heart would be beating to the tune of the dripping. He wondered idly if that would be bad for his overall health and then decided that, in comparison to all the other things that weren't going for him at the moment, the rhythm of his heart beat was a small matter to worry over.
He didn't know how long it had been since Wormtail had left him here. Of his current state, he knew only two things: he was freezing and his body ached. And it was dark. Okay, so make that three things. In any event, it was pitch black in here, wherever 'here' was. When Wormtail left, the man had shut the door which had been letting in a little light. There was now not a single bit of light to be seen. Fred waved his hand in front of his face but couldn't make out anything.
At first, he had panicked, thinking that he had gone blind somehow. He worried that at some point, he must have fallen asleep or passed out and, during that time, Wormtail must have come back and blinded him. Fred had been only slightly relieved when he ran his fingers over his eyes and discovered that they felt normal enough. He was still worried that his eyes would fail him if – when – the door opened again.
Having had that battle at least momentarily put on hold, Fred had decided to get a feel (ha!) for where he was. That decision was short-lived, however, when he tried to move from where Wormtail had thrown him. His back felt like it was on fire and his ribs ached as well. He was no healer, but he figured that they could be cracked, or at least bruised pretty badly. In any event, he chose not to examine his surroundings but to roll slightly so that he was on his back.
He'd spent the night – or at least, he thought it was a night – in that position, his mind ensnared by the repetitive dripping and his heart seized from the loneliness of the place. Every time he tried to think of where George was, or what had happened to his twin, his head ached. He couldn't figure out, mainly due to the incessant dripping, what exactly had happened before he had arrived here. The more he thought about it – or tried to, at least – the more frustrated and angry he grew.
Fred closed his eyes and concentrated, vaguely remembered the game of Quidditch and how it had gone horribly wrong. What on earth had come over him and his twin? He shook his head lightly, amazed at how many things had gone downhill in the last few days. There was a reason for it…
Drip… drip… drip…
What was he thinking about? George, he was thinking about George. Fred shook his head to clear the confusion and hoped his twin was okay. When was the last time he had seen him? There was the argument, the running into the house, and the floo –
Drip… drip… drip…
The floo. 'What about it?' Fred thought, distractedly. Fred's throat started to ache, not only from a lack of water but from the frustration of not being able to finish a single thought without having his small bit of concentration torn from him.
His stomach rumbled painfully for a moment, and he cautiously brought a hand to hold against it, wishing that the pain from his injuries would at least stop. Fred winced, his eyes shutting tightly, as his body shook from the cold again and wondered what the plan for him was. Would they keep him alive to use as some sort of a bargaining chip? Or would they leave him here and let him die from the cold, his injuries, or hunger?
Fred opened his eyes, even though the sight to see didn't change at all. He turned his head in the direction that he thought the door was in and waited for it to open. As he did so, he counted the series of drips that fell, noting that they seemed to gradually get louder and louder as they fell to the ground.
Mrs. Weasley sure had a lot of spare buttons. None of the buttons had a matching partner and yet, they all seemed to belong together. There were large round ones, smaller oval shaped ones, and even a few square ones. Each of those came in various colors and they consisted of materials such as hard cloth, wood, or metal. And of course, seeing as the buttons belonged to a family of witches and wizards, some had personalities of their own. A few had the tenacity to jump out of reach or to try and button themselves to each other. It was amusing to watch, even though it made it harder to sort them.
Harry sighed and reached for another jumping button. George had come home from St. Mungo's the same night of the incident in the alley, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione decided that they would try to find out what he knew about the potion that Fred had taken during the following night. The plan had been for Harry to spend time with Mrs. Weasley, who had, in response to the stress, taken to cleaning anything and everything under the roof of the Burrow. While doing this, she also tried to be around George as much as possible and ensure that the other children weren't bothering him.
While Harry was trying to help (or in Ron's words, distract) Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Hermione would go to talk to George. Harry had thought it to be a great idea when they were at the hospital. They all wanted to be able to do something to help. It wasn't until that first night back in the Burrow, as he lay on his cot in Ron's room, that he wondered what they would do with the information. It wasn't like they would be able to find an antidote of some sort and just send it to Fred with an owl.
He had thought about mentioning this flaw in their plan to Ron, or maybe even Hermione, but had been deterred by Ron's determination to do something useful. Ron had even sat down and constructed a letter to Sirius that they could send after they'd learned what they could about the potion from George. Harry thought it was a bit strange that Hermione hadn't noticed this flaw and said something about it to Ron. In fact, it almost looked like she did know about it and was steadfastly ignoring it, which didn't make any sense to Harry.
Shaking his head, he picked up a few more blue buttons and put them in a small bowl to his left. One of the buttons was laughing at him, but he was too lost in thought to tell it to bugger off. Just after dinner that night, which had been a quiet event that George had neglected to attend, Ron waved to Harry to go talk to Mrs. Weasley as she bustled into the kitchen. Grabbing his plate, Harry walked after her and noticed Ron and Hermione climbing the stairs to George's room.
He had gone into the kitchen and set his plate near the sink, asking how she was doing. He'd immediately regretted it as she put a hand to her mouth and tried not to cry. Harry had to work to not bolt from the kitchen, and he slowly walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She had taken a shaky breath and then wrapped her arms around him for a few moments.
Harry let her hug him and hoped that this was more comforting to her than it was upsetting. She slowly released him and thanked him for being so kind and caring and, as he floundered for a response, she sat him down at the table and asked if he would help her out by sorting some buttons. He had nodded rather dumbly and started working on the task as she finished up doing the dishes.
After about half an hour of hearing the sounds of running water, clinking dishes, and bouncing buttons, Harry noticed Mrs. Weasley sit down with a cup of tea and some knitting to work on. Realizing that he only had a few handfuls of buttons to sort, Harry sped up so that he'd have a chance to try and talk to her again.
The chance was taken away as Hermione quietly walked into the kitchen and, upon seeing him seated at the table, pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. She sighed and dropped her head into her hands in a very un-Hermione sort of way. He glanced at her a few times before asking softly, "How'd it go?"
She shook her head but said, "Okay, I guess. He gave us some parchment with a few variations of the potion they made, though we're not sure exactly which one was the one Fred drank."
Harry nodded and asked, "Where's Ron?"
"With George," Hermione answered. She turned her head to rest it on her hand so she could look at him. "Neither of them wanted to say much that wasn't about the potion, and I figured it'd be easier if I wasn't there."
Feeling like one of those muggle 'bobbleheads,' Harry nodded again. He wanted to ask her about her thoughts regarding the usefulness of this investigation, but she already looked strained enough.
Almost as if she'd read his mind, she asked, "What's on your mind?"
He paused before answering but decided to just say what he'd been thinking. "What are we going to do with this information? There's no way it'll be any use to –"
Harry stopped as Hermione smiled lightly. He tilted his head at her curiously and she replied, "There's no real purpose for it. At least, there isn't if… until Fred gets back." She sighed and explained further, seeing that Harry still wasn't following her. "I think Ron knows there's no point in looking at that potion. He just needs to do something, and this is the only thing he can do aside from run away to look for Fred, and that would just destroy his parents."
He hadn't thought about it that way. Harry looked back to the buttons and picked out a few spotted wooden ones and set them in a bowl before saying, "I'm glad you're here, Hermione. At least you understand Ron enough to translate him for me."
At that, she laughed lightly and said, "I don't think I'll ever understand him." He smiled at her and they spent the next few minutes sorting the last of the buttons into their respective bowls before heading upstairs to check on Ron. With any luck, some of their work might actually be useful, but if it wasn't, Harry found that he agreed with Ron; it was at least good to be doing something.
The Burrow was unusually quiet during the next two days. George had holed up in his and Fred's room, hardly coming out unless he needed the bathroom or something to drink. Molly and Arthur had tried to get him to join them for dinner, but soon realized that forcing him to be around family wasn't going to make things any easier for him.
The particular event that caused his parents to come to this realization had occurred the night after Fred had gone missing. Bill had returned home early that morning and Charlie was due in that evening as well. Ever since Arthur and Percy had returned, Molly had been trying her hardest to work around the huge gap in her family so that they wouldn't see how much it was affecting her. She had nearly broken down while convincing George to come eat something with them, and it was her distraught expression which had made George stand and follow her down the stairs.
Although George's hurts from the fight in Knockturn Alley had been healed already, Bill's hug was enough to draw a wince from him. He heard Bill say something in his ear, but his mind was so unfocused that he couldn't piece it together. Not wanting to admit that he'd not been listening, George twisted slightly to get away from Bill, who was wearing an expression similar to their mother's.
A few more awkward moments passed by during which George felt the need to run back upstairs and take refuge in his and Fred's room. He couldn't stop looking around for Fred. He wondered absentmindedly if this was what it was like to look for your shadow at night. But then again, Fred would never be his shadow, just as George wouldn't be Fred's shadow. The two of them were meant to move together, not in succession, and George sorely missed the comfort that having his twin around brought him. Just then, Molly bustled in with several dishes floating behind her and after she set them on the table, everyone took their seats. George made his way to his seat and tried not to look at the plate and silverware that his mum had laid out in front of Fred's chair.
His siblings and parents quietly passed around the various parts of the meal: bread and butter, honey-orange glazed chicken, salad, and juice. He took a piece of bread and set it on his plate. George had no intention of getting anything else – he wasn't hungry anyways – so he passed the salad and chicken right along to Bill, who had ended up sitting next to him. Bill didn't seem to approve of what was on George's plate and promptly set a piece of chicken on it.
'At least it's not the salad,' George thought dejectedly, staring at the chicken that was covered in what he knew was a delicious glaze. Red pepper flakes and tiny bits of orange peel stood out against the color of the chicken and the sweet, spicy smell wafted towards him. Instead of feeling his mouth water, however, his stomach turned slightly and he moved to gently push his plate away. Just before he did, he glanced at his mother and knew without a doubt that pushing away his food would terribly upset her.
He mechanically picked up his knife and fork and cut off a small piece of the chicken and bit the piece off the fork. If it wasn't for the fact that his mother was the best cook he'd ever known (including the Hogwarts house elves), he'd have thought that she had burned the food and put in ingredients that had gone off. George figured it would be cliché to say that the food tasted like ash in his mouth, but it truly tasted like nothing to him at the moment.
A small part of him briefly forgot where he was and he turned slightly to comment on the food to Fred, only to fall back into his chair and face forward glumly. 'You could tell Bill,' he argued with himself, but making such a comment was different with anyone but Fred. He would have to explain more with anyone else, and the realization made him feel even more lost than before.
No one seemed to notice how uncomfortable the whole experience was getting to be for George. Next to him, Bill set down his fork and asked their father, "What's going to happen next, Dad?"
'With any luck, dessert," George thought, trying desperately to focus on something that would have helped to ease the tension had Fred been here. 'But Fred's not here, and that's why I'm such a mess right now…' George knew he should listen, but he moved his eyes to his plate, not wanting to be there to hear everyone talk about what they would do.
Arthur sighed and began to explain what the aurors as well as several old members of some organization or another wanted to do. George didn't pay it any mind – he knew they wouldn't allow him to help.
"Do you…" Percy started, and then began again. "When do you think they'll find him?" Nobody commented on the slip that Percy had nearly made with that question.
'Probably won't find him before dessert… he'll be pissed when he finds out that we ate it without him,' George thought, smirking ever so slightly as his throat started to burn. No one around him seemed to notice.
Still staring at his plate, George heard his little sister ask, her words heavy with emotion, whether Fred would be okay or not.
George's hands clenched on each side of his plate as he thought with furious denial, 'Of course he'll be okay – well, except for missing out on dessert.' He didn't notice that his breathing had sped up. In his mind, he kept trying to come up with responses that Fred might throw to each of his errant thoughts. He couldn't think of a single thing his twin might say.
Further down the table, Arthur took a deep, slightly shaky breath, and tried to answer his daughter's question. "Well, sweetie, we're going–"
He was interrupted by a loud popping sound that came from the garden, signaling that Charlie had finally arrived. George didn't look up as his brother walked into the house and over to their mother to hug her. He didn't say a word as Charlie sat down across from him and dished up some food.
Feeling eyes on him and needing something to distract him from the tension, George picked up his fork and tore off another small bite of chicken. It tasted the same as the last bite, although this one made him feel sick to his stomach. He cringed as he swallowed it and let the words of the others drift over him.
They were talking about Fred – 'big surprise – the bloody idiot picks a fight in Knockturn Alley and loses, and suddenly he's all anyone wants to talk about.' George ignored lump in his throat and clenched his fists and eyes shut even tighter. 'They're even delaying dessert for him, the damned martyr.' "Where is dessert, anyways?" George wondered, although he realized belatedly that he'd wondered that last bit out loud.
He jumped at the touch and looked down to see that Bill had put his hand on George's forearm. George looked at his oldest brother and saw him nodding at something that Charlie was saying. It seemed like the family had chosen to ignore George's comment about dessert. George sighed and then followed Bill's line of sight to land on Charlie. He felt his forehead wrinkle a bit as he forced himself to listen.
"–to hear that Malfoy was there. You checked up on that?" Charlie asked.
George looked over to his father, who replied while glaring down at his hands, "Yes we did and you can just imagine the sort of reception we got from the Malfoys. He had the nerve to blame me as a parent for why the twins were even there in the first place. Lucius and Narcissa all but openly mocked us before kicking us out of their estate." George noticed that his mum had discreetly put a hand on Arthur's shoulder during the man's angered explanation.
Charlie, meanwhile, tilted his head slightly and turned to ask George, "What were you two doing in Knockturn Alley of all places?"
Everyone else already knew the reason, as stupid as it was. George felt his chest tighten as he directed his eyes once more to his plate of mostly untouched food. To George's dismay, no one made a move to explain for him, so it was with a deep and shaky breath that he started to recount the events of that terrible day.
"We–" George paused, thinking 'One word and you freeze up! Great! He shook his head and continued. "We got into an argument during a game of Quidditch." That sentence in and of itself just sounded strange, especially when everyone knew that it referred to the twins, who rarely argued about anything serious. "He – Fred – started jumping through the floo networks and I followed him…"
Charlie was nodding slowly, thinking back to when he and Bill had done the same thing when they were younger. They hadn't done it in anger, but rather to annoy their parents and because they could. The younger siblings all remembered the trouble that the two boys had been in during the weeks that followed though.
"And you chased him all the way to Knockturn Alley?" Charlie asked. "Why would you two even think of going there?"
At that moment, all of the guilt and worry in George grew exponentially and he knew it would only be a matter of time until it would overwhelm him. Still, he tried to answer, but froze on the word "I..." His eyes darted left and right, taking in the fact that everyone's eyes were on him. 'What do I do? I can't just blame Fred for the whole thing – none of it would have happened if not for that bloody potion! Or maybe… if I had just let him go… he wouldn't have felt the need to keep running…'
Bill was trying to get his attention and had a hand on his arm again. Across from him, George heard Charlie apologizing for sounding like it was anyone's fault, but the distraught teen didn't hear him. George stood up abruptly while stammering out the only explanation he could think of. "I'm sorry… he – I couldn't, shouldn't have… I–" George couldn't take it anymore and bolted for the door, running to the woods that his twin had taken refuge in only days before.
As he darted through the garden, George heard the door swing open and a pair of feet hitting the ground behind him. 'Leave me alone!' He thought, running faster towards the trees. He reached the edge of the trees and darted in between the tall firs. After a few minutes of doing this, the effort from running so far under such stress got to him and knocked him off his feet.
George fell to his knees next to a massive tree and choked on the air around him; it was as if there wasn't enough air in the world to keep him alive. He suddenly wished that he hadn't run from the house. He didn't want to be alone, and it was the loneliness that was closing his throat and causing traitorous tears to fall from his eyes.
Barely a moment passed before George heard someone approach him from the direction he'd been running from. A small part of him worried over it, but he didn't have time to react as a strong, confident pair of arms wrapped around him. George shook slightly and allowed himself to be pulled into the other's arms. 'Must be Bill,' George thought, still trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and let his brother's arms support him.
Is it Bill that's come out to meet George? Or is it someone else? Let me know who you'd like it to be!
Thank you so much for reading and I'm especially grateful for those of you that review! YOU MAKE ME SMILE! No, you make me GRIN – like this :D hehehe I'll stop now.
