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.
Thank you to everyone that reviewed! Your reviews really make me smile and I can't tell you how much I appreciate every one of them! Keep reviewing! :)
I have to give a special shout-out to CrystalClearwaterzinmoonlight (goodness gracious that's a long name) for the idea for dancing drops! :) I wanna go get some!
TeamGredandForge – lol I love writing/reading Snape speech – I feel like every time I write or read him, I learn a new word :)
Chapter Twelve
Neither he nor George had ever made it a habit to go around and make their friends and acquaintances scream, just to see what each of their screams sounded like. Sure, they had pulled a few pranks which had garnered a few startled shouts and the occasional enraged screaming, which usually was provided by their mother once she learned of the tricks they had played.
He certainly knew the differences between the screams and frustrated shouts of his mum and his young sister. While Mum had the ability to sound angry, disappointed, nagging, and tired while screaming, Ginny could only pull off two of those qualities as she would ream the twins for whatever it was that they had done most recently. He personally liked it when she was only able to summon up the "angry" and "tired" traits while yelling at them – it made her tirades far less intense when she was often caught yawning while telling them how embarrassed she was at what they'd done.
Recalling several instances of the two Weasley women's shouting episodes, Fred shook his head in response to his initial question upon hearing the new arrival's endless screaming. It definitely wasn't a girl – that much was certain. Other than that single clue, Fred didn't have much to work with when it came to identifying the new stranger. He could hear the agonizing sounds echoing through the building, but the screams could have come from anyone. He kept hoping to hear the stranger pleading for mercy or something, just so Fred could hear the man's normal voice.
Fred had been staring into the darkness of his cell for what felt like an hour. He had started getting a sense of the passage of time by how many series of drips he heard during his stay in the dark room beneath the building. Speaking of which… Fred tilted his head to the side, listening carefully for the familiar sound. Just when he thought it would come, the man from above screamed again.
He shook his head in frustration. The man probably screamed right when the water dripped. Fred leaned forward to listen more intently and after a moment, another round of screams rang out from above him. He clenched his fists and stood up, moving towards the door of his cell. A very distinct part of his mind fervently wished that the man would just pass out already so that it would be quiet again.
At that thought, Fred froze in mid-step and wondered when he had ever become a fan of silence. It took him a moment to realize that his ill-intentioned wish had somehow been granted, as the building seemed drenched in a heavy silence for a long while. Fred didn't think about what had become of the man upstairs. He didn't wonder if the stranger had been killed or if he had just passed out from exhaustion.
Fred merely stood in place long enough to know that the dripping hadn't sounded for far too long, and that it probably wouldn't again. But then, why would anyone fix it? He shook his head and moved toward the door of the cell, pushing against it as if to find the missing leak and restore it to its broken form, the one that he had become accustomed to.
The door pushed open at his touch and he walked blindly, waving tentative hands in front of him to locate anything that might drip if given the opportunity. His left hand hit a wall that seemed to be made of brick, and before he knew it, his head hit upon something metal that echoed loudly. Cursing at the offending obstacle, Fred put his hand on it and tugged. Something creaked and he looked up, even though the act was futile in the seemingly endless dark of the room.
Drip… plop!
He shook his head and quickly released the object, which must have been a pipe, seeing as water had just dripped right onto his head. He listened as the dripping sound continued, but he frowned after a moment, and it wasn't because loud voices were drifting through the floor from above again. No, that dripping was only supposed to go in series of three.
Fred gripped the pipe again and spent far more time than he ever would have before this experience to break a pipe. Eventually, he made it drip twice before it would pause and then continue. Accepting that as the best he could manage for now, Fred turned around while waving his arms around in the dark. If there was one thing he would never live without after this experience, he vowed, it would be light. It wasn't that the lack of light scared him – that would be silly. It was that he had no way of knowing what, or who, was around him or lying in wait for him.
After a moment of blind movement in which he guided himself toward the door leading to the stairs by feeling the wall, it occurred to him that the move was pointless as the door would most likely be locked. He looked toward where he knew his cell was and tried to remember if it had ever been locked or if this occasion was a fluke. It annoyed him that he couldn't remember and he almost kicked himself for never even testing it to see if it had been locked.
Finding the doorknob, Fred turned it and was slightly surprised to watch as the door opened a crack. Light poured in and Fred cringed away from it. He slowly let his eyes adjust to it before opening the door a bit wider. Now that the door was open, he could hear the voices that were filtering down to his level a bit better. He was able to differentiate between three of the voices: Wormtail's, the Dark Lord's, and the newcomer's.
Curiosity filled him as he wondered who the new voice belonged to. His feet carried him quietly up the steps, aided by years of experience at sneaking around with George. Fred passed a window that looked out upon a dark expanse of messy lawn that needed to be cared for. He continued up the building, beyond the small bathroom and makeshift potions lab, until he was outside the room where the Dark Lord seemed to spend most of his time.
He hid behind the open door, pressed against the wall so that if anyone were to come out of the room, chances were that he may go unnoticed. He focused his gaze on the space between the door and the wall, through which he could see a sliver of the room. Fred breathed shallowly so that he could hear better and waited for the stranger to finish groaning in pain and say something.
Wormtail's voice cut in over the moans of the tortured individual. Fred's eyes narrowed in distaste as he listened to the rat's voice. "We will extend this offer once again, since you seem to have trouble hearing it. Do you want to continue to live and provide us with what we need, or would you rather we go after your family and friends until one of them get us what we need?"
There was a shuffle as the stranger worked to face the rat, and Fred could only imagine the kind of arrogant expression that Wormtail was probably holding high above the newcomer's pained form. Another low groan sounded out and then a vaguely familiar voice spoke shakily.
"Neither I, nor anyone I know, will ever consent to help you in any way!" Though the voice sounded tired – scratch that, it sounded exhausted – the force and honesty of the words was no less intense.
"My, that is unfortunate," came the quiet but equally attention-holding voice of the Dark Lord. "Allow us to persuade you further…" There was a pause during which the evil creature, the shadow of such a powerful being, must have given some instruction to Wormtail.
Fred could barely make out the shadow of the man in the room and almost cringed as the Cruciatus was cast, sending the familiar-sounding stranger into another round of tortured screaming. Fred followed the movement of the shadow as it twitched and shook on the wall behind the man. He wasn't sure why, but the man's voice reminded him of a Quidditch match that he'd seen in his first year at Hogwarts. The screaming grew louder and louder as his mind retreated back to a mostly forgotten memory, trying to figure out where he knew this stranger's voice from.
Arthur ran through the campgrounds with Percy trailing behind him. The Death Eaters had begun to disapparate as more aurors showed up, which just barely eased the worry that Arthur had for George at the moment. What was the teen thinking to run after these madmen?
Of course, Arthur knew what George had been thinking, or rather, a shade of what his son was feeling. George wasn't the only one in the family that wanted to run after the Death Eaters and find Fred so that they could bring him home. Arthur counted himself lucky that all of his children hadn't gotten that very idea into their heads, especially the younger ones. Ron and his friends were far too prone to taking risks without fully thinking through the possible consequences.
The two Weasleys took various turns in search of George, pausing from time to time to intervene when the situation called for it. After turning away from a detained Death Eater, Arthur leaned toward Percy to tell him to head back to their tent to see if George might have returned there. He paused at the expression on Percy's face. His third eldest son was looking down the campsite at a figure that stood in the middle of a small grassy area. Arthur quickly recognized the person as George.
Arthur approached slowly, hoping that George was alright, even though it was obvious that he wasn't. Though he didn't appear to be injured beyond a few minor scrapes, George seemed more exhausted than any teenager should ever feel. As Arthur and Percy slowly stepped forward, George turned and looked at them with a blank, slightly confused expression.
"Did you know that you can apparate while dancing?" he asked, and the confused expression began to dissolve into a laugh that sounded both stressed and forced. "Not that we'd designed them to not work during apparition, mind you," George added, waving a hand around him dazedly, "but you would think that it would at least slow you down…"
"George?" Arthur asked, observing how George quickly shifted his eyesight toward his father. The boy's eyes were wider than usual and Arthur wondered for a moment if he was merely in shock over what had happened or if something else was at work.
George continued on when it seemed like his father wasn't going to say anything else. "At least they had one good effect," he said, and pointed behind him to a large mark that was smoldering on the side of a nearby tent from some sort of explosive spell. "That could have been me. That is to say, it would have been me if they hadn't been so busy waltzing with each other to take better aim…"
Arthur took a few steps forward and stood quietly next to George, not wanting to surprise or startle his son any further.
"I'm fine," George stated numbly, turning to look at Arthur. "Really, I am. I'm just… disappointed." Arthur nodded at him and put his hand on the boy's arm, leading him away in the direction of the forest. They still needed to collect the younger children, which Arthur desperately hoped were actually where they were supposed to be.
The three Weasleys didn't share a word during their walk toward the trees. Arthur kept trying to think of what he should say or do in response to George's reckless behavior, but every time he thought of something, he deemed in inadequate in the same thought. Little did he know that what they were about to happen upon in the forest would add far more stress to the whole situation than any of them needed.
Fred was starting to feel a bit light-headed, and it wasn't from the sickening sounds of anguished screaming coming from the room next to him. He had been practically holding his breath or taking very shallow breaths ever since coming up here, and he started to wonder if he was getting enough air. Feeling a bit dizzy at standing for so long outside the room, Fred leaned towards the crack between the frame and the door and tried to see more of what was happening, and who could possibly be in there along with Wormtail and the Dark Lord.
He misjudged the distance that he could lean forward and felt his head collide with the solid door rather loudly. Unfortunately enough, it happened at a point during which the stranger was only moaning quietly on the ground. The room grew eerily silent for a moment and Fred considered bolting back downstairs before the door was pulled back and he was dragged by the arm to stand in the open doorway. Wormtail kept a tight grip on Fred's arm as they stood just on the edge of the room.
Fred now had a full and unhindered view of the room and its occupants and looked to the ground to see a man that looked full of pain and worry. Their eyes met and the man on the floor blinked for a moment before he spoke, rising off the floor with each word.
"You… a Weasley…" he said, wavering on his feet a short distance from Fred. "You're… you've got to help…" With each word, the man stepped closer to Fred until the distance between them was only a foot or so. Fred felt his back stiffen as the man's eyes stared right into his soul.
When Fred failed to respond, the man reached out to grip Fred's shoulders and shake him imploringly, even as he asked again, "Don't let them… they can't find her…"
Fred wasn't aware that he was shaking his head and trying to pull away. Part of him was riveted by the man's expression, and another part of him wanted frantically to distance himself as a form of self-preservation. He vaguely heard the Dark Lord's voice taunting the man about the woman that this stranger had mentioned – his wife – but Fred only barely registered the words.
The hands on his shoulders gripped more tightly, drawing a sting of pain from under the stranger's desperate fingers. That small pain, insignificant when compared the other man's suffering, forced a reaction from Fred, one that he would regret as long as he remembered it.
He shrugged his shoulders sharply to free himself from the man's grip and violently shoved the other man back into the room, knocking him back to the floor that he'd spent most of the evening on. Fred heard himself say that there was nothing he could do and he hated himself for not being able to prevent his actions and his words. The betrayed expression on the stranger's face nearly tore him apart.
Though he would have liked very much to bolt from the room, to escape from witnessing what he had just sentenced the man to, he couldn't. Wormtail's grip on his arm remained, holding him in place as the man continued to scream and writhe in pain on the floor. More questions were asked and the man, whose name was hovering just out of Fred's reach, gave only a glare in response. After what seemed like hours, the Killing Curse was uttered and the man's lifeless body collapsed to the ground before them.
As the man's body lay there, Fred stared at the blank expression which now dominated the stranger's face. Suddenly, he remembered who this person was. He was several years ahead of him and George, and had been a beater for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. He'd been a fantastic player. Fred felt his body quiver in anxiety as he recalled how kind the older student had been when the twins had asked him about his Quidditch history once in the hallway.
He'd just thrown that same person into a living hell.
Fred didn't add a word of input as Wormtail spoke with the Dark Lord. He didn't register what was being said, nor did he really care. He only had eyes for the kind person who now lay dead on the floor of this filthy building and who would never get to see his wife again. Fred wondered why he didn't even try to stand up for the man.
The grip on his arm disappeared and without looking up, he turned and began to walk back downstairs, unhindered by Wormtail or his leader. His mind dwelled on the fact that he could blame the action on the potion that he had consumed, but at this point, he started to wonder if it was even still affecting him. What if this was who he truly was? The thought horrified him and he stopped to lean against the wall nearby the potions lab and sank to the floor.
Fred sat, staring at his hands, for a while before he realized that someone was standing in front of him. Not having the energy to be startled or worried, he lifted his head tiredly and gazed upon the image of the Hogwarts Potions Master. He wondered vaguely if Snape had always had a knack for showing up when he was least wanted.
Snape offered a hand to help Fred up which the boy almost ignored. Thinking better of it, he moved shakily to accept it and was pulled quickly to his feet. Fred leaned against the wall, too dizzy from standing so quickly to trust his balance without help at the moment. Snape stepped past him into the potions lab and took a seat on one of the stools next to a work table.
Slowly, Fred stepped into the room and sat across from his teacher. He still wasn't sure which side of the line Snape stood on, but he didn't dwell on it too much. If the man wanted to help him, than he would take it and be thankful. If not, then he'd still be a greasy git.
Fred watched as Snape pulled out a few pieces of parchment and spread them on the table. Fred gazed at them tiredly, about ready to get up and retreat back downstairs where he wasn't confused by the actions of deranged Potions Masters. He moved to stand again when he saw that he recognized the writing on a few of the pieces of parchment as his and George's.
"Where did you get these?" Fred asked quietly.
Snape didn't respond for a moment, choosing instead to pick up a single piece of parchment that had different handwriting on it. He made as if to hand it to Fred but paused and said, "I want you to think back to the potion that you and your twin made. Think about the ingredients you used, what order you put them in, and how much you used."
"Why?"
"Would you like to eradicate the potion and see if your outcome improves, or would you like to continue throwing good people to the wolves?"
Fred cringed in response to that. How on earth the greasy git knew about what had happened upstairs was beyond the teen, but he knew that there was too much truth in the older man's words. Nodding, he closed his eyes and thought back to the day that he'd made that blasted potion alongside George.
He recalled something about fluxweed – they'd added that and peppermint, which seemed strange at the time, since both plants were mints. There was also the koi scales that he'd added too much of.
Opening his eyes, Fred held out his hand to take the parchment. On it he recognized Hermione's pretty script outlining what was probably the closest recipe to the one they'd made. Each ingredient she listed seemed correct, and Fred nodded and handed it back to Snape.
"Is it true that you used that many koi scales?" Snape asked quietly, though it wasn't his quiet and dangerous voice this time.
Fred nodded in response and asked, "Why?"
"Koi scales have a magical tendency to contribute to the permanency of any given potion."
Fred looked at him with a blank expression and Snape sighed derisively before further explaining, "The more koi scales that are added to a potion, the longer the effects will last. Most potions that use them only call for one or two. The fact that you used ten means that the potion may still be affecting you."
It was still affecting him. Would he really let himself get away with what he'd just done tonight by blaming it on this potion? Fred wasn't sure.
Snape stood and commented, "I will be working on a remedy for this, though it may take some time. In the meantime, I will advise you not to go searching for trouble in this house, lest you happen upon a situation similar to the one you found yourself in tonight."
Fred stood and leaned against the table as Snape gathered the papers and shrunk them, putting them back in his pocket. The two walked silently back to the cell on the floor below them. Snape opened the door and Fred walked in, wishing that he had energy to argue against having to go back into such darkness.
Before he shut the door, Snape pulled something else out of a pocket and held it up to the light. It looked like one of Dumbledore's lemon drops, and Fred smiled lightly in spite of himself. "This caused quite a bit of trouble for several of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters tonight, especially Mr. Malfoy."
He handed the small candy to Fred and added, "Shame it didn't have consequences that were slightly more drastic than being forced to waltz for an hour…"
With that, Snape shut the door and left. Fred held the candy that he and George had dubbed as a "dancing drop" in his hand, not able to rid the smile from his face. George had managed to use it against Malfoy of all people. Fred grinned and wondered about what other possibilities could show themselves in the form of innocent little candies.
Molly Weasley couldn't sleep. This wasn't the first night, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, that she had spent sitting in front of the Weasley family clock, waiting for one of the hands to change to something more preferable. When the twins were toddlers, it had been worry over Arthur during the first war. Now it was over her missing child.
The group had returned earlier that night and she had been overjoyed to find that they were all here, relatively intact, despite what had happened. She had hugged each of them tightly, hoping that she'd have the opportunity to do the same to Fred soon.
Since it had been rather late when they got back, the children had cleaned up and then gone to their respective rooms to sleep, though both Arthur and Molly knew they wouldn't be sleeping until much later. Who would be able to sleep soundly after all of that mayhem had sprung up around you?
After the children had gone upstairs, Arthur had told her about George's actions, which worried her greatly. They both knew that Fred's absence would affect George terribly, and though they hoped he would be able to persevere, they both knew that he would be too distraught at times to think clearly. This was one of those times, and Molly couldn't help but wonder when the next time would come.
Arthur had also told her about the situation revolving around Harry's wand and the House Elf that had also been involved, who supposedly belonged to Barty Crouch Sr., a man that neither of the Weasley parents cared much for. Once again, she shook her head morosely at the fact that this drama continued to follow Harry and land him in trouble. Thankfully, Arthur had been there to calm things down and bring reason to the others that couldn't see it.
Molly sighed and picked up her teacup and took a sip of the now-cold tea. Too tired to utter a warming charm upon it, she let it sit and dragged herself up to go to bed. Hopefully, tomorrow would be a better day. She hoped that news would come that could change that dratted clock's face for a change. As she crawled into bed next to Arthur, who sleepily wrapped an arm around her, she pulled the blankets up and whispered a quiet goodnight to her husband.
Fred lives through another chapter! And so does George! Sad day for the Ravenclaw guy, but hey… I have to practice killing people off sometime… oops, I mean – I promise not to? Sorry…
This chapter was short for my liking (sorry) but I wanted to get some angsty stuff out of the way. Next chapter will probably have the start of the next school year and some George action, if you're interested in it… let me know! :)
Anyways, let me know what you think!
PS – go to my profile and check out the link for a Harry Potter anime art thing. It's AWESOME!
