DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

Squirreled Away

Dear Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,

You may recall a conversation a couple years ago between us where I said I'd never so much as consider Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I now have to eat those words, as I am now applying for said position. Let's just say I made a bet and was really unlucky. As you may have heard, I am unable to provide authentic records of my existence, but I hope you recall what my previous employer has said about me in that I am qualified in the subject. I do not pretend to have any sort of teaching ability, but I assume that I will be able to acquire the skill in time.

Please reply by owl and inform me of your decision.

Cordially,

James Oliver

Hours after the merge between George and Voldemort, the latter's consciousness became dormant and George felt like he could breathe again. There was absolutely no way that he was going to make contact with the others through pumpkin juice or any other means as long as Voldemort was a part of him. He sincerely hoped that Dumbledore would be able to enact the plan without George's input, especially with the changes that would be put into place now that Snape wasn't the one who would have to manipulate Voldemort.

George had made a compartment in his mind and placed all the Things Tom Riddle Should Never Ever Ever Know and solidified the Occlumency around it as strong as he could make it, and now he tried to make his stronghold stronger. Voldemort had noticed, of course, but he assumed it was an attempt to keep James Oliver sane. Hopefully the Dark Lord wouldn't try prod it himself.

George also tried to make sense out of his piles of extraneous memories, but it would very likely be an ongoing project, and one that he'd have to be careful to never get close to finishing, lest Voldemort become suspicious.

He uncovered a memory that he wished he hadn't found. A memory of war and screaming and guns and blood and bone and death. Nothing but death.

"I suppose that is one of the memories you keep in your mental stronghold?" Voldemort asked dryly as his consciousness emerged from its slumber.

"Ye-yes," George stuttered. "I will put it there immediately, my Lord."

"Oh, there's no rush. I'd like to see the whole thing."

"As you wish, my lord," George replied. The part of himself that remained in the stronghold was filled with dread. His true self would have to endure the horrid memories now.

George had a feeling that getting to know Harry as soon as possible would be a good idea. If Harry trusted him, then George could make sure that Harry stayed out of danger before Voldemort was ready to rise again. Voldemort seemed to like the idea of having the opportunity to size up his destined foe, so Snape and George, with Voldemort and Nagini in tow, returned to Britain once more. Snape left Team Voldemort temporarily under the pretense of telling Dumbledore his year off went well. Of course, Snape was really going to tell Dumbledore just how badly George had ruined everything, but George kept such thoughts within his stronghold and focused on Harry Potter outside it.

George had a pretty good idea of when Harry would reenter the Wizarding World: his birthday. Of course, given that Sirius was able to be a godfather early that could change, but George figured that he might as well try. He waited a ways outside of the Leaky Cauldron so that Harry could go through everyone who wanted to meet a celebrity. As he waited, George gave Voldemort a reminder to use Occlumency, just in case the Boy-Who-Lived had more powers than they knew about.

Harry was looking around the alley in wonder when George approached Sirius. "Hello! You haven't met me, but I'm the one who let you know about Pettigrew surviving. James Oliver, pleasure to meet you finally," he said with a slight bow. He turned towards Harry and asked, "And is this your famous godson?"

"That's right," Sirius replied with a proud grin.

"Pleased to meet you," Harry said as he extended his hand.

"Actually, I've recently developed a paranoia of germs due to a transplant, so let me just wave hello instead," George said as did just that, making sure that he did not come anywhere near Harry's skin. "I'm actually going to be your professor, so we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other this year."

Sirius cocked his head. "Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Is there ever not a vacancy?" the George replied with a smile. "Well, I am sure you both have a busy day ahead of you, so I won't keep you any longer. Good day, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter."

George lingered in the alley a moment and watched Harry and Sirius head towards Gringotts before Apparating away.

"Are you quite sure that you cannot touch him?" Voldemort asked.

"His Mum died for him," George said. "There's no way you or any follower of yours going to be able to touch him unless they have his blood already running through their veins. Love. It's 'the power that the Dark Lord knows not.' I'm pretty sure I used to have something of the power before I lost my mind. And while we don't know it per se, we certainly can know enough about it to use it to our advantage."

"How is it that you know the second part of the prophecy?" Voldemort asked.

In his stronghold, George wondered when Snape had let Voldemort know about the full prophecy, before that self went back to isolating the dark memories there in an inner prison. "I told you before, my instincts are good. You being on the back of my head probably influences my subconscious."

"Indeed. Tell me, which of my Death Eaters have truly forgotten me?"

"Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, Yaxley, the Carrows, Avery, Nott, Karkaroff—and Pettigrew, obviously. Still loyal are the Lestranges, Dolohov, Rookwood, Mulciber, Travers, and Crouch, but they're all in Azkaban. I assume Black and Rosier would still be loyal if they were still alive."

"Is this subconscious knowledge or your own?"

"It's getting harder and harder to tell, but I think most of that was the seer in me," George said. "What's definitely the seer in me is that you cannot rely on anyone but Snape until your rebirth. I suggest fulfilling the ritual with just him—and Potter, so you can take his blood and kill him immediately. Theatrics would be too risky and might allow the boy to do something heroic or get away. Once Potter is no more, we can break out the loyal from Azkaban and call all of your followers together somewhere and make an example of anyone who needs it. The hard part about this whole plan is doing anything under Dumbledore's nose, which I think would have been easier if we had stayed in Albania and let Snape be your only spy here."

"Do you possess Severus' potion-making skills?"

"I'm absolute rubbish," George replied. "I doubt I got even an Acceptable O.W.L. in whatever previous life I might have had."

"Then it is better for Severus to make the potion that will allow me to grow a rudimentary body off of your own."

"Does that mean I'm going to have more than your face attached to my head?" George asked.

"I would have thought your seer abilities would have told you as much." Voldemort said.

A whole body, like what Pettigrew had during the resurrection ritual before? George wondered from inside his stronghold. Did Voldemort having Nagini milk make that much of a difference? Was it just because Nagini was a Horcrux and he partook of the flesh of his soul or something bizarre like that? For that matter, is she even a Horcrux now?

"As I've said before, my mind is really haphazard," George told Voldemort. "How long will I be hiding you under this turban, anyway? I assume less than a year, but..."

"I will be reborn on Midsummer—the 20th of June, next year. Leaving your body before then will lessen the progress I can make, so we shall remain bonded until that time."

Wormtail never had to be possessed by Voldemort. Why me... "That's cutting it a little close to the end of the year, isn't it?" George asked out loud. "If the jinx on the position gets me before then..."

"You do realize that I can remove it, or did that not cross your mind?" Voldemort asked dryly.

"I wasn't sure how to ask, my lord. I am still becoming accustomed to your presence and I do not know my place, my lord. I apologize."

"You may make requests of me. I will decide whether they are worth granting. And I would prefer that you do not act as a sniveling doormat when you do so. My followers should be strong wizards who can strike fear into the hearts of those who dare oppose me. You are right to fear me, of course, but groveling is the sort of pathetic thing muggles do and I do not want to be reminded of muggles, James."

"Understood, my lord."

George visited the Hog's Head the day before classes started.

"James, get out," Aberforth said.

"I just wanted to say I was sorry."

"You've said it. Now go."

George didn't leave. "The Healer said someone modified my memories sometime before we met. I don't know who I used to be, but I liked being James Oliver and I'm going to keep on being him. And if you happen to see Mundungus Fletcher, could you tell him the same?"

"No promises. Out."

George nodded and left the pub, returning directly to the castle.

"Did that actually happen?" Voldemort asked.

"It's what the Healer said happened to me when I finally got pardoned," George said. "Though I might have Confunded her first. I couldn't let someone know that I'd broken through the fake identity on my own, of course."

"Of course. Your mind is a delicate thing that guards dark secrets that even I do not know. Yet, at least."

"Professor Oliver" called the third-year class to order and went over his expectations for the year. Lee didn't really pay much attention. It was almost too bizarre to act like the man in front of him was just another Defence professor. Back in July, Fred and George had sent Lee a letter telling him about what had happened, and the twins had explained it further what was happening on the train. It simply wasn't fair that Saint George had to take Quirrell's job—the job Snape was supposed to get.

The three boys knew they had to do something. They couldn't change Old George's situation, of course, but they could show that they still supported him. The twins decided to start a mission they entitled Operation Get Professor Oliver to Laugh. The Saint wouldn't have much reason to with Voldemort on the back of his head, so Fred, George, and Lee would make it a point to pull pranks on him as often as possible. As an added bonus, they could annoy Voldemort without him doing anything about it.

"So before we get started," Professor Oliver droned on, "any questions?"

Fred, George, and Lee all put their hands up.

"Yes? First Mr. George Weasley, then Mr. Fred Weasley, and last Mr. Jordan?"

"What..." George said.

"In the name of sanity..." Fred continued.

"Have you got on your head?" Lee finished.

They probably could have asked Saint George about all sorts of things, like his bright magenta robes or his new obsession with cleanliness, but the pranksters figured that referencing the existence of his ginger-colored turban would be a good way to make Voldemort nervous.

"It's a turban," Professor Oliver said flatly. "I wear a turban now. Turbans are cool."

The three pranksters exchanged glances before "attempting" to steal the turban and kill it. Saint George put up a shield and deflected their spells for a couple minutes.

When they finally stopped, the Defence professor said quietly, "My turban. Is cool. Now, if we are finished with that, let's start talking about boggarts..."

"Strike one," Fred muttered under his breath. "Don't worry, we'll get him next time."

Fred didn't know why "Professor Oliver" seemed to go out of his way to make Defence Against the Dark Arts boring. The class sessions themselves weren't too bad—they got to practice a lot more magic compared to what their previous professors made them do—but Old George was making everyone write at least 24 inches of parchment every single day, usually about whatever they were supposed to be reading. George at any age would never give himself reasons to read so much boring stuff. So why was he doing it? Was he even reading them at all?

Fred decided to test it. He crafted an essay that was guaranteed to earn a zero in most classes, getting facts wrong, going off on things completely irrelevant, and even making the stupidest of spelling errors, which included his name. It was the most beautiful and hideous thing he'd ever written and he wanted to frame it after he was done. Fred convinced George and Lee to do the same and they all turned in their awful masterpieces together.

A week later, they got the essays back. Perfect scores were on George's and Lee's, but Fred had been given the zero he deserved. Fred, in confusion, looked over the parchment and noticed that Professor Oliver had written something in the margins.

Please look over your previous work. You can do better than this.

Fred grimaced, but when he was back in his room, he looked at the pile of old essays he'd gotten back and had never looked at again. On these, Old George's comments were much more interesting.

If you have anything private you want to tell me, mention it in an essay. I do not prefer talking one-on-one.

Grading papers is incredibly boring. Tom thinks I should stop, but I lied and said it was relaxing.

Tell D that Tom wants to come back at Midsummer.

Tom hates what you're doing to him. Please continue.

Be friends with Harry. Trust is a good thing.

Tom knows that I know about 'cruxes and what the Div prof said about him. He also thinks I'm a better seer than her, if more insane.

I left a blood ward on my robe pocket and expanded it some time ago. Access is restricted to emergencies only.

Now things made sense. Old George was making all of his students give him dry reading material just so that Voldemort wouldn't pay attention when he kept Fred updated on what was happening. And now that Fred understood what was going on, he could do it too. He grabbed a quill and started writing his next essay.

Grindylows are water demons that pretty girls can't get past. You, good saint, are dedicated to read through all of this, and I salute you. Tom is a git, and you'd better get back at him when we aren't. Grindylows are also very strong, but have brittle fingers...

Harry was walking down the hallway when Ron's twin brothers came up from behind and started talking to him.

"Hey, Harry, we heard you made the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"

"Seeker first year, it's been what, a century since that happened?"

"That's what Wood said," Harry shrugged.

"George and me are Beaters, but be careful of George: he has to fly on the Slytherin team."

"Yet, for some reason, I always seem to get sick when there's a match between Slytherin and Gryffindor," George said.

"And, by some coincidence, I undergo Spontaneous Duplication on the same day," Fred said. "And since two of me is better than me and the other beater, Duplicate Fred and I usually decide to play together."

"And how many times has this happened?" Harry asked.

"Well, we only started playing Quidditch on the teams last year so only once," George said, "but we've got a feeling that it'll be happening every Slytherin-Gryffindor match."

"Does anyone really believe that story?" Harry asked.

"Harry, I'm appalled!" George said dramatically. "You suggest that we are anything but completely truthful?"

"How dare you appall my dear brother!" Fred said with equal melodrama. "He is the most truthful of truthful human beings on the planet! Like when Professor Oliver had Spongify cast on his boots so that he'd have to leap everywhere or when he got boils in unpleasant places, why it was certainly not us!"

"Hey, I thought we were keeping that one a secret!" George complained.

"We are," Fred said. "Because we didn't do it, right Harry?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry replied.

Both twins grinned. "That's the spirit!"

Lee went to the Halloween Feast wondering what Fred and George were up to. They were planning a prank of some sort, but they'd decided to only tell Lee to make sure people didn't take them seriously after the fact. Whatever that was.

He almost forgot about it entirely, as he and everyone else was well into the food when the doors slammed open to reveal Fred and George, back to back, both wearing the same large robe and a purple cloth wrapped around their heads.

"TROLL!" George cried out.

"IN THE DUNGEONS!" Fred added, just as loud.

"TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!" they cried together.

They stood still a moment. "Thought you ought to know," George said as both twins proceeded to faint dramatically.

A roar of laughter came from the teacher's table. "Professor Oliver" was bent over the table, apparently trying to stop laughing with very little success.

Lee scowled to himself. So much for me making sure no one took them seriously...

"What possessed you to laugh at the feast?" Voldemort asked when he and George were alone.

George had made a point of only communicating with Voldemort out loud, claiming a lack of Legilimency ability combined with his unconscious habit of ignoring any foreign thing in his mind. Voldemort could still look at George's mind (excepting the stronghold, of course), but if he wanted George to listen to him, he would have to be audible. Voldemort found it incredibly annoying, which made George in the stronghold glad and Oliver outside the stronghold apologetic.

"Apparently I have subconscious memories of whatever those boys were making an homage to," George explained. "It triggered a laughter reflex. I will control myself better in the future. In all honesty, it is relieving that the Weasley twins weren't targeting me directly for once."

"Do you know why they do it?"

"Back when I worked at the Hog's Head, they snuck out and I had a conversation with them. I think whatever impression I left made them think it hilarious to mess with me."

"You should put them in their place."

"James Oliver wouldn't do that. I know it's just a made-up identity, but I have to adhere to it, lest Dumbledore suspect that I've discovered that my implanted identity is false, or even he might just get curious enough to find the reason behind my new turban."

"Your 'James Oliver' is a boring, spineless man," Voldemort said.

"That's not my fault," George defended. He paused a moment. "You're bored, aren't you, my lord?"

"Of course I am bored! You do hardly anything but grade essays!"

"I thought you wanted to be a Defence professor," George noted.

"I would not be a professor by forcing imbeciles to regurgitate the textbooks of fools! I would teach them the intricacies of the Dark Arts, show them the power it can bring!"

"Do you want me to start a Dueling Club, then?"

Voldemort hesitated. "I think not. I want to be sure that they fight for me before giving them the ability to fight back. What your James Oliver thinks is necessary to teach them during class is bad enough."

"Well reasoned, my lord," George noted. "I will consider other options to make Hogwarts more interesting for you."

Right then, a dark memory surfaced and George immediately shoved it into his stronghold.

"I thought that one might have been fascinating," Voldemort said.

"Too late," George replied. "Stuff goes into the stronghold and it doesn't come out. Opening the stronghold would make me useless to you, and since we still have several months ahead of us, I'm sure you don't want to do that, my lord."

Of course, he would have to try and reign in the dark memory before it started turning the contents of his stronghold to shreds. Inevitably something of his true self was always damaged in the process, but hopefully George wouldn't be damaged too badly by the time Voldemort severed the connection between them in June.

"On an unrelated note," George said, "have you thought of a way to take Harry Potter to wherever it is that you'll be reborn?"

"That plan must not be made frivolously."

"Of course not," George said. "I've just got a feeling that Potter has a strong 'saving people' drive. If he believes that someone is in danger, he will try to help them."

George felt Voldemort smile on the back of his head, which was not something he thought he'd ever get used to. "But who to use as bait..."

"We can figure that one out later. 'Who' probably won't matter anyway. It's how to get him alone that will be tricky. No Apparating in Hogwarts, Dumbledore and the Ministry will know the instant that a Portkey is made, brooms are too slow, Floo can be unreliable... Honestly, it'd be easier to just do the ritual here."

"That is an option," Voldemort noted.

It is? George wondered. I thought it had to be done at the graveyard? Or did Voldemort want to desecrate his father's grave right then and there in case someone was monitoring activity there? "But where? We can't exactly hide a dark ritual in a classroom... oh. You can use the Chamber of Secrets."

"But how do you suggest that I find the Chamber of Secrets? Does your subconscious know where it is?" Voldemort asked innocently.

"You're telling me that you aren't the Heir of Slytherin?" George asked. "Huh, I guess my subconscious was wrong for once."

"No, you are correct, James. But I intended the Chamber to open at a later date."

"Yeah, about that," George said as he instinctively scratched the back of his head and ended up running into the turban. "I think Lucius Malfoy misplaced your Horcrux."

Voldemort burned with a fury that caused George physical pain. "He will pay for his negligence."

"Patience, my lord. I cannot see where the Horcrux is now, but you are still the heir. You still have the power to open the Chamber."

"That is true. Do you foresee anything regarding whether unleashing my monster will be a hindrance?"

"Nothing yet," George said, "but if I get any inkling, you'll be the first to know, my lord. At the very least, you are not likely to be bored anymore."

The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware.

Mrs. Norris was petrified just outside of the bathroom where the last victim of Slytherin's monster had died.

"It's Malfoy!" George insisted at the next teacher's meeting.

"You have no reason to suspect him," McGonagall said shortly.

"I don't? Last time the Chamber was open, Abraxas Malfoy was at the school. There's hardly anyone in that family who wasn't a Slytherin! Of course he was the Heir of Slytherin then, and Draco is it now!"

"Then why is this only the second time that the Chamber of Secrets has opened in centuries?" McGonagall asked. "I have no doubt Lucius would have done so if he had the ability."

"Maybe it was forgotten for a while?" George suggested. "Maybe Slytherin thought the proper qualities for an heir skip every generation? Or maybe it was opened and no one found out? I don't know, but Draco should be the prime suspect at the very least!"

"Voldemort was also attending Hogwarts when the Chamber opened last," Dumbledore noted. "He seems a far more likely suspect, I think."

"Well You-Know-Who is gone, thank Merlin!" George said. He was having far too much fun with this. "And if he or any of his servants were behind it, they wouldn't care about keeping their victims alive. Mrs. Norris, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Thomas should all be dead like Moaning Myrtle. But Malfoy is only a boy. He can't really kill someone when it comes down to it, but he can punish those of us with 'unclean' blood to make himself feel more powerful."

"You make too many assumptions," Professor Vector said. "Some of that could have been mere chance."

"Sure, lots of things can be chance, but I'm not taking chances with my life or the lives of our students," George said. He met eyes with Dumbledore. "Stop him and stop him now."

"You said it yourself: the heir has not killed anyone," Dumbledore said. "We will find out his identity in due time, and harassing Mr. Malfoy will not improve matters. James, you must let this go."

George muttered something incoherent under his breath. In his mind, he thought loudly, My lord, if you are listening in on my thoughts, I apologize for my disrespect for you there. Hopefully Dumbledore and the other teachers will be distracted from you now. At the very least, they have been subtly reminded that "James Oliver" is supposed to be a mudblood and would thus have nothing to do with you.

"Now that that's that," Dumbledore said, "James, I believe you suggested starting a permanent Dueling Club. Given the situation, now may be a good time for that."

"When did I suggest that?" George asked.

"Don't you remember? While you were working in the Hog's Head, you mentioned it."

"Ah...I'd forgotten. Yes, a Dueling Club is a fine idea, but I'm afraid the work I do now already keeps me very busy."

"I'm sure Filius and Severus wouldn't mind helping you," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.

My lord, I'm sorry, but he is backing me into a corner. "Alright. Perhaps we will start with a Disarming Charm, so that the younger students don't have to feel left out." That's the best spell I can think of that is more or less useless while still sounding useful.

"Splendid! Now, as I am sure we're all aware..."

The Dueling Club was very similar to the one when Lockhart was teaching, except George was a teacher and Flitwick was helping this time. And Lockhart wasn't acting like a pompous git. And, George thought, there seemed to be fewer giggling girls, probably because the pompous git wasn't there to lure them in this time.

"Welcome to the Dueling Club!" George said. "If all goes as it should, we will be meeting here every other Saturday at this time. Dueling can be a useful skill, depending on your vocation or if you merely have a tendency to get into a spot of trouble. That said, I do not want anyone here dueling outside of teacher supervision. No midnight duels in the trophy room or any of that sort of thing, or you will receive detention and be banned from coming back here. If you have a score to settle with someone, you will do it here and you will do it honorably.

"Today, we will be covering the Disarming Charm. I've asked Professor Snape to help me demonstrate the effects of the spell to you."

George and Snape took the stage, bowed to one another, then moved to their starting positions.

"Professor Flitwick, if you would give us a count?" George asked.

"One, two, three."

"Expelliarmus!" Snape cried.

George was thrown back and the brunt of the force was applied to the back of his head where Voldemort was, which made him in his stronghold pleased.

"Thank you, Professor Snape!" George said as he summoned his wand back to him. "Now, if that had been a real duel, there would have been two basic ways I could have prevented that. The first is the Shield Charm, which I will try to cover in the future. The second, which I will assume that most of you are already capable of, is simple dodging. For now, I would like you all to pair up and allow your partner to disarm you, so that you may know what it feels like. And please return your wands to their rightful owners when you are done. In a real world setting, defeating someone else may change wand ownership, but since we are practicing, those wands know better! Now off you go, and I will be watching. I've got eyes in the back of my turban."

George moved about the room and corrected the form of several of his students. Harry, of course, needed no correcting.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," he said.

Harry flinched. "Yes, Professor?"

"Do you find it annoying when I do that?" George asked. "Because you should. That was an imitation of one of my least favorite people. He would have said that to you just now, because he might have noticed that you were doing well and he would have had no idea why you knew more magic than he did. Sorry, that was quite a tangent wasn't it? I just wanted to say, good work, Harry."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Did you have any questions for me while you still have my attention?"

Harry rubbed his arm. "Just...why did you let Snape disarm you and not do it to him? I thought you hated each other."

"Hate?" George asked. "That's a strong word. But, yes, I suppose Professor Snape doesn't particularly like me for some reason, and since it does me no lasting harm to let him get a blow here and there, I'd rather he take out his misplaced angst on me than on the students. Though, as I understand it, he doesn't seem to like you much either?"

Harry grimaced. "No, not really."

George sighed. "There are different kinds of bullies in this world. There are those who try to see how long it will take to make you fight back. There are those who just want to see you suffer. And there are those who just can't control themselves. There are more than those categories, of course, and I haven't figured out what is the best method of dealing with Professor Snape yet, but I'm inclined towards patience with him. Now, I was about to go observe the other students, but when I am done, would you mind doing a demonstration for the group?"

"Sure, I guess..."

"Brilliant! Thank you, Mr. Potter."

The aftermath of the Dueling Club wasn't pretty for George and Snape. They were down in the Chamber of Secrets, where Snape administered more potion to Voldemort.

"Do you know what you could have done? My body is as frail enough as it is, let alone when you smashed me on the floor!"

"I apologize, my lord," Snape said.

"James, give me my wand."

George stuck his hand inside his robe pocket and pulled out Voldemort's wand. He then removed the turban from his head, which had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it to allow Voldemort to grow beyond the turban's size. Voldemort had grown enough of a hand to hold his wand, which George handed to him.

"Crucio," Voldemort said.

Snape doubled over in pain. He didn't scream, but it was obvious that he didn't want it to continue

"I apologize, my lord," Snape said when the curse ended. "I was thinking only of the face I show to the school. No one can suspect Oliver and I are working together."

"You can do that in other ways, which I will expect from you from now on. And James, do not think you are exempt either. You did not tell me the boy was a Parselmouth." Voldemort shot the Cruciatus Curse at George.

His body was filled with the sharpest pain and he didn't hold his screaming in like Snape did. He fell to the ground, careful to go forwards instead of smashing Voldemort again. Only a masochistic idiot would try that. Well, George was a masochistic idiot, he supposed, but James Oliver wasn't supposed to be so he refrained. Fortunately, the pain seemed to be bleeding over into Voldemort's body and so it didn't last for too long.

"I don't know everything," George squeaked out when he could finally talk. "I thought I would direct Potter's focus at Malfoy. How was I to know that Draco would conjure a snake and that Harry would talk to it? Just be glad that the Weasley twins happened to make a ruckus at that moment and prevented Potter's abilities from becoming known except to those paying close attention."

"But why can the boy speak the language of serpents in the first place?"

"He survived your Killing Curse and has a one-of-a-kind scar," George said. "For all we know, his scar is a psychic who encourages Harry to make bets on Quidditch matches! Can you not see that this makes your plans easier? He can access the Chamber of Secrets, he might think he is destined to do so. Just be grateful that we petrified the Granger girl before she talked sense into him!"

"And I am grateful for your insights, James. But we both know that you can do better and you deserve punishment when you fail me."

"I won't fail you, my lord. Never again."