NEARLY A WEEK had gone by, but the aftermath of the rumour seemed to follow George everywhere he went. In the Great Hall girls whispered and giggled, and in the corridors the boys shot him curious glares. Some days, he was sure it would follow him to his grave.
George had bent over backwards explaining to people that it was all a sham, concocted by that vicious snake for reasons unknown, which honestly didn't give his explanations much plausibility. Most of his friends were quick to believe him, thankfully, but Fred had been awkwardly distant with him for the past few days, even though George fully well knew that he was trying his bloody best to act ordinary.
He was pretty sure that Fred realised how futile it was to try to conceal his own apprehensive behaviour from even his own brother.
He was also certain that Fred understood that George knew this himself.
So they had both been floating in this strange cloud of awkward constraint for days, where neither spoke a word about the incident to the other, glad to pretend that nothing had ever even happened. Up until that afternoon, that is.
The day was frosty but not yet cold enough to forbid them from having practice, and with the frustration of the game having been cancelled, George ached more than ever to just get on the field and let off some steam. They had painted the touch lines on the grass and successfully set up the new hoops along the highest branches of a withered old tree by the edge of the field. Already a dozen Hufflepuffs were huddled around the makeshift target, discussing their game plan with their captain.
With the wind whipping at their clothes and rustling through their hair, Fred and George passed a Quaffle between each other as Angelina droned on about tactics to a slightly dispirited looking Katie and Alicia.
"But what's the point?" asked Katie, her arms on her hips. "They'll have a different strategy by next year."
"Doesn't mean we shouldn't stay on top of our game," said Angelina with an ambitious grin. "The others will all get stale by next year, and we'll be fresh and ready for them. You'll see."
"Harry's not even here," Alicia pointed out, sighing deeply. "He's sort of our win condition, Angelina."
The choice not to let Harry in on their spectacular plan was a point of great contention among the team members. On one side, there was George, who believed that their Seeker already had enough on his plate as it is, and on the other, there was Fred, who not only agreed with Alicia in that Harry was their strongest player, but who was also of the firm belief that Quidditch itself was a form of utmost rehabilitation for one's soul, and exactly what Harry would need in this time of distress. Fred was not about to let off anytime soon, and George was still unwilling to compromise his morals, so without an unanimous decision, the rule of the land was that they simply could not tell him.
"Come on, don't be so sour. Remember what Oliver used to say?" answered Angelina. "Pessimism loses more games than players do."
"Too bad Oliver's not here anymore," said Alicia, rather pessimistically. She folded her arms across her chest and diverted her attention at the pair of brothers who had not yet joined in.
It appeared that the charged tension between the two had been reflecting upon the entire field and dampening everybody's morals. It was ten minutes past the start of practice, yet Fred and George could not cease the wordless back and forth they were busy having. Every time that Fred would pass the Quaffle to George, George's suspicion that his brother was deliberately aiming for his head continued to rise and rise.
His hands snapped to meet with the hurtling ball that had been mere inches away from scraping his ear, and he knew that his palms were likely rubbed red underneath the gloves. This time, he threw it back with some additional force.
"Are you two about to join in on the practice anytime soon? We're going over tactics!" Angelina yelled from the other side of the pitch.
"We are practising!" Fred replied, throwing back the Quaffle a little too eagerly.
In some strange way, George preferred the physical altercation over a verbal one, perhaps too frightened of the proportion of the argument that might unfurl were he to say a word, and knowing that he was all too guilty of the decision that he had made. Eventually though, the weight had become unbearable, as did the sting in his palms.
"Alright, stop that."
"Stop what?" Fred retaliated, his arm charged with yet another lethal throw.
This time, George's instincts reacted before he could; he ducked away from the shot, and only knew that he had just narrowly avoided a concussion thanks to the piercing gush of wind that whistled right above his earlobes.
He grunted in irritation, walking over to retrieve the Quaffle and subsequently swerving it at his brother with full force.
"Stop trying to murder me! It's foul play, mate, c'mon!"
"Yeah?" Fred questioned, throwing the ball onto the grass. The look on his face had George expecting him to march over with his fists primed and imprint his knuckles upon his face, but instead he moved aside and said, "Well, I think you need a lesson in foul play."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means."
George sighed.
"Look... if this is about that potion, I'm not going to apologise again."
"No, why should you? Can't blame a bloke for taking his girl's side."
"What?" George yelled out. "Merlin, you've gone off the deep end, haven't you?"
"Me? Of course not. I'm not the one snogging a Slytherin."
"I know you're not stupid enough to actually believe that, so you better up and tell me what your issue is."
Fred did not respond immediately. Instead, he let his eyes linger on his brother's shoulder (he did not look him in the eyes anymore) long enough to sow doubt into the truth of that last statement. He took a sip of water and then brandished another insult.
"My issue, George, and everybody's issue with you here is that you aren't playing for your own side."
They had wandered off some ways off the field in their argument and were now standing behind a secluded patch of trees. George refused to speak until the silence could force a further elaboration out of his brother.
"Why'd you go and trust her with our plan, huh?" Fred said eventually. "We could have been Triwizard Champions, for Merlin's sake. We could have got enough money for the shop, George."
"It was just one time, and it was a mistake—I told you it was a mistake, you don't have to hold it against me for the rest of our lives."
"See, that's exactly the issue with you!" Fred pointed at him. "That's exactly it! Some bint comes fluttering her eyelashes at you one time! ONE TIME! and you resign all of our hard earned wins to her! You made us look like idiots."
"Again with this! What's the matter with you?"
"What's the matter with you?" Fred retaliated. "Getting manipulated like that! How about the next time a girl takes a fancy to you? Or the next? What are you going to do, bloody spill all our secrets for a quick snog?"
"Look, what do you want me to do?" George crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. "Do I actually have to prove to you that I don't like her?"
"I suppose you should," Fred said, dead serious.
George blinked, then after a moment said, "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. How are you gonna prove it?"
"The only way I know how," said George. "But you're gonna help me."
Fred and George were on their way to the kitchens, hoping to nick some food for the evening party to celebrate Harry's triumph over the first task. The house elves were more than happy to help them out.
George was leaning casually on a pillar by the portrait hole while Fred was patrolling farther down the corridor, on the lookout for Filch or other intruders.
"Yeah, and some jam tarts, pretzels, oh and the pasties of course," George went on.
"Salt," he added as the elf piled food onto a large tray.
"Table salt? And much will you needs, mister Weasley?"
"Well... just to be safe..." George scratched his head in consideration, but his thought was cut short by Fred, who nudged him eagerly in the shoulder.
"Look who it is," he whispered with a nod of his head; Alex Dankworth was passing by, on his way to the common room. Black's friend...
"Dankworth! Hey Dankworth!" George called out after him at a run. Fred was following close behind.
"Yeah?" Dankworth eyed them sceptically.
"Listen, I know you and us might have got off on the wrong foot, but we harbour no hard feelings towards you. Just thought I'd let you know that."
"It's all in good fun," Fred added.
"Yeah."
"Are you apologising to me?" Dankworth said.
"You could call it that," said Fred.
"Yes, and as a matter of fact, we know just the thing to put this behind us, because, you see, while Fred and I might be, err... inclined to mischief, we don't actually mean any harm." George waited for the words to soak in before continuing, "We're having a party tonight, nothing too special, just a little get together to celebrate Harry's triumph over the first task."
"And we know you're cheering for Harry, we saw you up on the stands," said Fred.
Dankworth's face softened a touch. His enthusiasm was almost adorable. "A party? Where?"
"Gryffindor Common Room," they whispered together.
Just as quickly as it had come, the smile on his face vanished. "Are you two mad? I can't go in there, it's against the rules."
"Oh... well, then..." Fred and George shared a knowing look, rehearsed frowns to match. "Guess we gave it a try."
"Let's go, Fred."
As they turned to walk away, George muttered under his breath, just loudly enough for Dankworth to hear, "Typical Slytherin."
"No sense of adventure," added Fred in the same practised octave.
The effect was immediate. Dankworth turned around, his brow furrowed. "I'll come!" he said firmly, nodding. "Yeah."
"Brilliant," they said in unison.
"You're allowed to bring one friend."
"There'll be people there from other houses, too, maybe you could bring somebody from Slytherin?"
"There's no love lost between Gryffindors and us," Dankworth said. "Are you sure about this?"
"That's exactly why you should do it," said George. "The whole point of this is inter-house acquaintanceship. We, for one, are tired of the animosity, I take you for somebody who can understand that."
"I see. You're right actually. I didn't know you two actually cared about that sort of thing."
"Our actions can be deceiving sometimes," said George.
"As a Slytherin, you ought to admire that."
"What time's the party?"
"Just around nine. Knock on the portrait three times, that's the code," whispered George "Oh, and Dankworth?"
"Hmm?"
"Don't tell anyone we invited you. Don't wanna get in trouble, yeah?"
"Of course, don't worry about it." Dankworth nodded, looking triumphant.
George had to strain to contain a grin. It was almost too easy. "Great, see you there."
The twins set off, eager to carry their plan out to its completion.
The Common Room was thick with cheer and laughter as the Gryffindors piled in and filled the chairs and sofas. They ate, drank and chattered, reliving every moment of the task. The best of the crowd was around Harry himself, listening eagerly as he recalled the details of his victory. Meanwhile, Fred and George took up a corner with Alicia, Katie and Angelina, saving two empty seats for their special guests.
The group gave a huge roar of applause when Lee Jordan walked in, carrying several bottles of Firewhisky. Katie and Alicia giggled as they both downed a shot of the liquor, their faces turning fiery red.
"You did a really good job with this," said Alicia, who was sitting next to him, with a wide, whisky induced grin on her face.
"Well it wasn't just me," said George. "Fred and I did sneak over to the kitchens for food, but Angelina handled the decorations, and Lee got us drinks from Hogsmeade."
Alicia stared back. "Yeah," she said airily; George got the impression she wasn't quite listening to him, she and Katie were already pouring another round of shots.
Dankworth walked in after ten minutes, and a small wave of noise broke as students looked up in surprise at his arrival. Black stepped in after him, warily scanning the room around her, and then she turned to Dankworth, gesturing furiously and mouthing something. By the looks of it, she wanted to leave; George wasn't about to let her feel unwelcome.
He strode over to the pair of them, placing a welcoming hand on the back of her shoulder and beckoning her towards the others. She shook him off with a shrug of her arm, taking a step back.
"Let's get you a drink," he said politely.
"They can't be here!" Right on cue, Hermione yelled out as soon as she took note of it. Next to her, Harry and Ron jeered.
"You'll get in trouble," she added.
"I wasn't the one who invited them," replied George. "Did I, Dankworth?"
Dankworth shook his head.
"But I do love trouble," he whispered to himself as he led Black and Dankworth over to introduce them to the company: Lee and Angelina gave a welcoming smile as the two sat down, Alicia only rolled her eyes, reaching for a Butterbeer across the table, but George quickly interrupted, shooting her a deliberate glance. "Don't be rude now, that one's for Black. Here."
Black turned the bottle over in her hands, eyeing it with caution.
"You know, I didn't expect there was actually gonna be students from other houses..." Lee reclined in his armchair, his foot crossed over his leg as he poured himself a drink."I definitely didn't expect you to come. Not supporting Diggory now, eh?"
"I don't support anyone," replied Black.
"Right, you wish it was you against those dragons."
"I value my life, thank you very much."
"I'm sure," said Lee, eyeing her through his glass.
Black gave him a sullen glare.
"Always so cheerful..." George whispered under his breath.
"Well... To Harry!" said Lee, raising his glass and knocking it with Black's.
"To Harry!" chorused the others, clinking glasses and drinking.
Just as he began to worry that Black wasn't going to drink, her friend nudged her in the shoulder encouragingly. Good lad, Dankworth. George raised his eyebrows with anticipation...
"Water! Water!" she screamed out, waving her hands around wildly. "My mouth feels like it's on fire!"
"Oh, right! Coming!" George quickly stood and made his way over to the water jug by the fireplace and, with a glance over his shoulder, slid a small vial out of his pocket and poured the contents into the glass.
"Shit, I'm sorry, here you go," he uttered, "just... that was meant for Lee, just a silly joke."
"Hey!" said Lee, grinning. George winked at him.
"That was NOT Butterbeer! What did you put in that" Black frowned, gulping down the rest of the water.
"Salt," said Fred and George together. "Loads of it."
"Don't you lie to me!" She jumped to her feet. "I know you've poisoned my drink, I should've thought as much. We shouldn't have come here in the first place—mingling with Gryffindors... As if!" She glared down at Dankworth. "Alex, let's go!"
"But Lux come on, we —"
"No, really, it's harmless, look!" said Fred, helping himself to Black's salted Butterbeer; his face contorted into a scowl, but he nonetheless forced an innocent smile. It appeared to calm her down slightly.
"I know what we need—music!" George clapped his hands together in excitement.
George put on some Muggle music, a cassette their father had brought home from work once, some pop number. Immediately, Black's face softened.
"You like it?"
George raised an eyebrow at Black, and to his utter bewilderment, she replied, "Yeah."
"You like Muggle music?" Fred snorted.
"Mhm..." She nodded, looking slightly dazed. Next to her, Dankworth looked even more puzzled than George was in the face of this revelation.
"Lux, you alright?" he was whispering. "You okay?"
"Yes," she said dreamily. "I'm doing pretty well actually. My mouth still tastes a little salty, and this room is a little bit too warm for my liking, but I do love this song."
"Really? Um, alright," Dankworth said, astonished. "Wanna dance?"
"I'd love to dance."
They were still on the dance floor, dancing their little hearts out; every time Dankworth spun her, she threw her arms out and laughed, catching herself at the end of every movement, giggling the whole time.
"Wouldn't have pegged her as a big fan of Muggle music," Fred commented, leaning back and surveying the packed room, all crammed together in a flurry of laughter, waving their hands in the air as they danced. Angelina and Alicia shrieked the lyrics out loud with glee, thrusting their bottles up into the air as the chorus played out and waving them around wildly.
"Kinda odd, seeing her... happy, if you can call it that," George said, "unnerving almost... Eh, at least we know the potion's working."
"Creepy, if you ask me," said Fred nonchalantly.
"Weasley!" came Alicia's voice. "Come! Come on..." She was suddenly right there, and was pulling him by his robes. "Dance... dance with me," she slurred.
"Hey, not now," George tried to wriggle free, "Dankworth's right over there, we have to—"
"C'mon George..."
"I'm... I'm not George," he lied shamelessly; his brother shot him a dirty look—Alicia's arms were now hanging around Fred's neck.
Black stumbled over from between the crowd, giddy and breathless, in search of another drink. Lee obliged immediately, handing her a beer which she chugged to the point of coughing. Dankworth had to seize the bottle to get her to stop.
Once Black regained her composure, Fred decided it was time to put the thing to the test.
"Let's see then... what colour knickers have you got on right now?"
"Black," replied Black shortly.
"Figures," said Fred. George winked at him, the others chuckled.
"What business d'you have asking her about... about her underwear?" Alicia slurred in protest. This seemed to catch Black by surprise, as if she was only just now realising the absurdity of the question; she was looking down at the floor with her eyebrows slightly furrowed.
"Relax, Alicia," said George casually.
"Have another drink," added Fred, thrusting a Butterbeer into her hand, "the party's only just begun."
"Now then." George stood up and addressed the crowd, "We've got something we want to ask you all."
Heads turned in their seats at Fred's abrupt stop of the music; the noise died down as students turned to listen, some of them whispering between each other and pointing at Black.
"I know, I know, you all must be burning to know how a Slytherin found her way into our midst tonight," George continued. "Well..."
"Simple. We invited her," said Fred. "Why, you ask?"
"C'mon, Black, on your feet," instructed George.
"Hey!" she yelled in protest as he wrenched her up by the elbow.
"I want you to raise your hand if you've ever been personally targeted by Black here," several hands shot up into the air before he even finished the sentence, "that's right. That goes for anything ranging from your typical hallway jeering—"
"Snide remarks," added Fred, and several more people raised their hands.
"Bullying..."
Over on the armchairs by the fire, Harry and Ron's hands shot up too; Hermione mumbled something to Harry, containing the words 'unfair,' and 'wrong.'
"We explicitly remember Black once calling us," he waved a hand at his friends, "what was it George?"
"'Mudbloods,' I think it was," replied George.
By the time they reached the end of the list, nearly the entire room had their hands up. Black stood quietly next to Fred, looking around the room, she was clutching her hand over her mouth and picking at her lips nervously.
"You two are raving..." came Dankworth's voice from behind.
"Oh, I'd forgotten you were there, Dankworth," said Fred. "You're free to go, you've served your purpose."
He shot them a look of pure loathing. "I can see why she hates you now," he said firmly, clutching the wand that was in his pocket. "You act like Slytherins are the devil, when you two... you've outdone even Montague and Warrington. What you're doing is sick."
"Right..." said Fred, rolling his eyes. "Off you go." He glanced over at Lee and Angelina who both rushed to seize Dankworth from behind before he could utter a spell.
"No! No, I won't let you!" He struggled to reach his wand, his face turning red as he thrashed about in Lee's grip. "Lux! Don't tell them anything!" But the two dragged him across the room and outside; George followed closely, making sure the coast was clear before he too retreated back inside.
"Is that true?" Harry's voice broke the silence. "She said that to you?"
Angelina was very adamant that they don't tell a soul about the incident, she said it'd only serve to aggravate the situation and make it blatant to the rest of the Slytherins that this was the way to get under their skin. So George had been keeping in on this little fact for a while now, waiting to use it at the right opportunity.
"She..." came a tentative voice from the crowd. Ciara was fiddling with her sleeve nervously and staring at Fred as she spoke, "She, uhm... In first year, Luxanna Black, she said... We had a... disagreement." She glanced quickly at Black, who looked as frightened as ever, then continued, "Well, we rowed over something silly—it doesn't matter what it was, but it ended with me... in a dirty pile of mud, because... well... my parents are Muggles, see..."
Fred's mouth fell open. "She didn't!"
"Ask her yourself," said Ciara, rather more confidently now. "I'm sure it's a point of pride for her. Oh, and she just walked free, no detention, no nothing!"
"Did you?" George asked Black, and watched in astonishment as she nodded against her will.
"I definitely believe Fred and George," Ciara explained to Harry, "It's definitely not beneath her; calling anyone a... a Mudblood."
"Don't worry, Ciara, that's what we're—"
But before he could finish his sentence, something flew over the heads of the crowd; Black squealed, scrambling away and tripping over her chair. Brown liquid was dribbling down her hair, coating her face and neck as the Gryffindors erupted into laughter. George was half-convinced somebody had just thrown a dungbomb, but upon closer inspection realised the point of the joke... it was mud.
"Oh my God!" someone exclaimed, followed by another projectile, and now Black's entire uniform was covered in a thick layer of brown sludge and she staggered, falling onto the ground.
Fred and George shrugged at each other. It wasn't their idea, but this was certainly a hell of a lot more entertaining than the original plan.
Soon enough, nearly everybody had joined in, the noise spilling out of the room in one big mess of hysterical laughter. George couldn't help but giggle himself, it was a relief to see Black being anything but her arrogant self: she was shielding herself with her arms over her head and screaming like a banshee, while Fred and the others were shouting, cheering on the students who were throwing.
"That'll show her!"
"Fucking snake!"
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" screamed Black.
"Alright, alright, everyone!" yelled George, still laughing. "That's plenty!"
"Yeah, it's Harry's turn, after all," said Fred once the crowd had quieted.
"Turn for what?" Hermione asked Harry with a most disapproving look. "Don't tell me you're in on this nonsense."
"C'mon, Harry, be a sport," coaxed George, "we know the question you've been burning to ask..."
Harry looked around the room at all the Gryffindors' smirking faces and nodded. "Alright," he mumbled. "Whatever..."
He stood from his armchair and approached Black. "I just... I wanted to know if you meant what you said that morning... that you... if you're jealous of me," he finished rather awkwardly.
"I..." her voice was hoarse, quiet beneath the palm that was clasped over her mouth. The chatter ceased as everybody tuned in to the scene.
"Can't hear you, honestly," said George.
"I am."
"Why?"
"Because you won't get into trouble for being yourself!"
"What? How do you mean?"
"Unlike you, Potter, if someone fi—OUCH!" Black cried out, wincing as she clutched her ear.
"If what? Go on," urged Harry, but Black's lips remained firmly shut.
"What's with her?" he asked Fred, who approached Black and began to snap his fingers in front of her face.
"Are you there? Hey."
"She's finally lost it!" somebody in the crowd yelled.
"Upset, Black?" asked George.
"..."
"I think she's upset," said Fred.
"YES I'M BLOODY UPSET, YOU SLIMY LITTLE CUNTS!" Black's voice rang out as she rose to her feet, hands balled up into fists and her cheeks reddening with rage; the Gryffindors applauded and whistled in mock approval.
"All I wanted..." she panted, "was a fucking apology!"
"You?" shouted Ciara, but Black ignored her. "You owe us one!"
"Merlin, the nerve she's got! Should've gone with the good ol' baldness stunt instead of this," said Fred, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
George ignored him. "Is that true?" he asked her, rather surprised, yet knowing that this couldn't be anything else except the truth.
Had the potion worn off?
"NOT. ANY. MORE."
She lunged and seized the redhead by his uniform, sinking a fist into his stomach.
"Ow!" he shouted, doubling over, but she was already on top of him, aiming punch after punch after punch at whatever spot she could get her fists on while he threw his hands up to protect himself.
The entire room burst into raucous laughter as she fought to kick the living daylights out of him, all the while shrieking, "I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU, GEORGE WEASLEY!"
"I'm Fred, you bloody lunatic!" screamed Fred.