Chapter 43
George
George was in an exceptionally good mood. It had started off good right away; a bank statement from Gringotts (showing exceptionally good investment growth) had arrived alongside a letter from the Ministry approving all the patients they had submitted in the owl post. In he and Fred’s only class today, (Charms, with Hufflepuff, always a fun group), he’d learned an absolute banger of a spell- which he of course had several potential inventions lined up for; already sketched out. His latest prototype was finished thanks to the hours he put in this afternoon (and Fred’s adjustment to the charm), and had just finished an excellent team practice, where no one was critically injured. He was a little disappointed not to see Hermione in the stands (he’d had the idea to showboat a bit then perhaps coax her onto his broom for a ride) but not surprised. He knew she preferred to finish her homework before settling in to relax in the evenings, and didn’t expect her to change her routine just to watch him practice Quidditch.
He and Fred reached the Great Hall, and, another point for a great day, dinner was fish and chips. He and Fred dug in, starving after a long practice. He scanned the table as he ate, frowning.
“Harry!” He called over to his teammate, currently in a heated debate over who had the better Quidditch moves between England and Ireland with his younger brother.
“Yeah?” Harry called back.
“Have you seen Hermione?”
Harry frowned sharply as if he remembered something and looked around. He looked guilty as he said, “I guess I haven’t seen her since potions.” He said it too slowly, and flicking his eyes to his younger brother he saw red creeping up his neck and he too looked ashamed. Fred stopped eating and zeroed in on the younger boys.
“What happened during potions class?” He said carefully, his voice absent of it’s usual playful lilt, instead full of suspicion. George agreed the younger boys looked guilty, and his stomach rolled as his appetite was replaced with dread.
Harry started to tumble out the story of their potions lesson, a practical on Murlaps. How Hermione was singled out by their potions professor, mercy killed Neville’s for him, and ended up the classroom Murlap executioner. How that dead-man-walking Draco Malfoy had thrown his at her, covering her in scratches. George listened, his temper matching his brother’s by the end.
“I offered to take her to the hospital wing, but she said she was fine.” Harry said, looking down.
“She seemed fine.” Ron said, looking down when George turned a glare on him.
“So, she got bullied in class, had to kill at least 20 small creatures-”
“Got hurt, and you-”
“Didn’t even think to tell us before practice?” Their tandem speech pattern, so often used to play and make people laugh, had no trace of humor. They spoke with cold, measured words even as they traded speech.
“She didn’t look fine.” Seamus said suddenly, inviting himself into the conversation. “Did she Dean?”
Dean shook his head. “She was covered in blood and slime. How’d Snape become a teacher anyway? Nasty bastard.”
“She had that look. The one she gets right before she cries.” Lavender piped up.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ron asked her. Lavender shrugged.
“Hermione cries all the time.” She said with an air of casual indifference. “I mean, she did last year at least.”
“Hermione doesn’t cry all the time!” Harry said hotly.
Lavender scoffed. “Not in front of you. She doesn’t like people to know.” She rolled her eyes, as if this was an obvious fact and went back to her meal and conversation with Pavarti.
“So, you tell the entire Great Hall.” George sneered to Lavender.
“With friends like you, who needs death eaters.” Fred snapped, shoving away from the table, George following close behind.
“Where do you think she is?” He asked his twin.
“Where else?”
They found her in the library, scribbling away in a notebook, with a large book perched in front of her. Every dark and worried thought they had on the walk from the Great Hall to the Library dissolved in an instant. George had quite thought they would find her curled up in an alcove, tears sliding down her cheeks. Or even curled in her dormitory bed, sobbing her eyes out. He remembered how broken she was that night, after her parents abandoned her and his own mother had basically accused her of seducing Sirius…he hoped to never hear that particular cry again. He would do just about anything to prevent it.
It was quite a shock, to find her calmly studying in the library, scribbling notes and paging through a particularly large book. She was pink in the face and her curly hair was wet and piled on her head in a messy bun, evidence of a recent bath.
“Alright love?” Fred said casually, dropping down in the chair beside her. She looked up at him, giving him a shadow of her usual smile, as George pulled another chair over to sit on her other side, and peeked at the book. “Dreamscapes and Illusions, a guide to the realm of fantasy.”
“What are you working on?” George asked, leaning over and kissing her forehead.
“Revenge.” She said shortly, pushing a list across the table to him, and going back to her notes. George picked up the list, reading through it with interest. Fred nodded, leaning over to scan the list with George. “We heard about Potions class.” He said softly. Hermione frowned and looked down at her book, as the twins read her list.
- Snape- unknown; public humiliation?
- Umbridge- unknown; potentially loss of power, dislikes non-humans…maybe Kreature can help
- Blaise Zambini- Werewolves- find him alone and make him think a werewolf is after him
- Gregory Goyle- Heights - ??
- Pansy Parkinson- Small spaces- lock her in a cupboard. How to get her alone?
- Vincent Crabbe- Dungbogs ??
- Draco Malfoy- Darkness - ??
“What’s this?” He asked. Hermione looked up, setting down her quill for the first time.
“We did Boggarts in third year. Their greatest fears.” She said slowly. “I noted them at the time…just in case it might come in handy.” She looked up at George, then Fred, as if gauging their reactions.
Fred whistled, taking the list.
“Diabolical. I love it. Who are we starting with?”
Hermione gave him a real smile, her eyes glossy. “You don’t think it’s too much?” She said in disbelief. “It’s not too…mean?”
“Who are you talking to?” George asked rolling his eyes.
“A little scare for all the things they’ve done to you? Letting them off easy if you ask me.” Fred crossed his arms and tipped his chair back. “But it’s a place to start.” He gave her a wicked grin.
“I was thinking of starting with Blaise. He laughed when Malfoy threw that damn murlap at me, and said “Once a mudblood, always a mudblood.” She scowled at the memory. “ He has a date with Rowena Clearwater to walk around the lake tonight.” She grinned. “I think, maybe she needs to see his true colors.”
“What did Rowena do?” Fred asked lightly.
“She picked an arse to date.” Hermione said nonchalantly. “It’s not like I’m killing him. Maybe his reputation with girls, but not him.”
The twins laughed, and the planning was truly underway.
George
George was no stranger to illusion spells. He and Fred been using them in pranks since they were 12, in fact. But the plan Hermione had cooked up was something else. The kicker was that it needed three people to work, making it the perfect first prank as a triad. Almost like a handfasting, really. The triad that pranks together, stays together. He thought smugly, as he crouched in a low bush (disillusioned, just in case) His job was to cast directly on Blaise, so the moon he saw in the sky would be silver and full. (The moon was in actuality, a waning sliver). Fred would hold the moon illusion the entire time, as George cast a spell that would then deepen the shadows, and move them to block Blaise’s path if he tried to flee. Hermione would cast the werewolf last, and control the illusion from there. The key to it’s success was casting and holding all three as seamless transitions, so the target wouldn’t suspect it was anything but real.
It was unfortunate that his date would be a casualty, but George comforted himself with the thought that at least she would have the opportunity to run, unlike Zambini, who would get hit with a turn-around spell that will keep him circling back. Fred was behind a tree opposite, and Hermione was further up the path, concealed under a pine tree. When he hit the bend in the road, he’d be surrounded.
“We have a vineyard in Italy, it’s absolutely breathtaking in the summer, we go out on our private yacht and…” Blaise was saying, walking around the bend with his date tucked under his arm. She giggled shyly and George suppressed a gag. Smarmy rich fucks, using Gallions in place of personality. He thought bitterly. It wasn’t envy; although he grew up poor, and have every intention of dying rich, he wouldn’t trade places with someone like Blaise. Someone who treated wealth as a weapon; using it to hurt others rather than help them, to lord it over people as though having gold made them somehow better than “common folk”, and to seduce the weaker minded. That type of mindset made him sick, and it was disgustingly common among the pureblooded Slytherin pack. Though a pureblood himself, he couldn’t understand the mindset of someone who believed an accident of birth made them somehow superior to other wizards, and he knew no matter how wealthy he became in the future (and they would be, because failure was not an option) his children would know the value of hard work, and that the value of people lay in their heart, not their vault.
Zambini reached the designated spot for his trap, oblivious to the chaos about to unfold. George took a deep breath and howled, his gift for mimicry bringing Blaise to an instant jerking halt. This was the signal to begin the real show, and George took careful aim, casting first the turn-around spell that would make escape impossible, then the illusion of the moon, bright and full.
“Did you hear that?” Blaise asked his date, his brow creased. He didn’t sound too worried…yet.
“Yeah- a wolf I think. Maybe we’re too close to the forest, should we head back?” She asked.
Before he could reply, the shadows deepened alarmingly, crawling along the ground as though alive. Rowena and Blaise jumped back, but the shadows followed, licking at their heals and twisting around their calves. Rowena shrieked and kicked her legs, Blaise yanked out his wand and cast a lumos, to no avail. The wandlight couldn’t penetrate the shadows, and they were surrounded. George suppressed a laugh as Rowena clung to Blaise, who was losing composure fast, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he struggled to free himself from something he could neither feel or touch.
A branch snapped; leaves rustled. Another howl rent the night air, sounding so ferocious and close George felt a stab of fear himself before reminding himself this was the plan. The ill-fated duo on the path turned their panicked attention to the sound. The bush parted in a spray of broken branches and leaves, as a monstrous werewolf, its eyes glowing red, burst forth. It was snarling and snapping at the air, thick saliva dripping from blood-stained fangs. Blaise, the color draining from his face, let out a shrill scream, pushing Rowena to the ground as he attempted a panicked escape. He turned and ran, the werewolf in hot pursuit, as Rowena cried and screamed insults at him for abandoning her. As Blaise’s panicked shrieks faded, the shadow around her lifted, and she took the clear, straight path to the castle that opened as quickly as she could.
Meanwhile the breathless shrieks were getting closer again, as Blaise and the werewolf illusion came full circle. The panicked Slytherin took in his surroundings with a low moan, as he darted into the thick bush instead, crashing and cursing his way through the branches, only to find himself back on the path again.
George howled, signaling Phase 2. They reversed the order, Hermione dissolving the werewolf, Fred lifting the shadows, and finally George himself ending his illusion and muttering the counterjinx to the turn-around hex. The trio left Zambini trembling and sobbing on the path, darting through the trees to their own meeting spot; a lovely patch of grass halfway to the castle. Both alibi and front row seat to the walk of shame about to round the bend. They dropped down, Hermione sitting legs outstretched, already with a book perched in her hands, Fred sprawled out lengthwise from her, head in her lap, (An absolute cuddle hog, his shameless twin). George dropped down behind her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and casting an illusion of a playful dog, black and shaggy like Snuffles. The dog moved with his wand, jumping and snapping playfully at lacewing flies.
He looked up as Blaise came into view, pale and visibly shaking. George locked eyes with him, and gave him a pleasant smile and a wave with his free hand.
“Alright, Zambini? You look a bit peaky.” He called out brazenly.
“Need a hand to the hospital wing?” Fred asked casually, making an effort to stand.
Blaise took in the conjured dog, and their innocently smiling faces. “You!” He snarled, pointed at the trio. “You did this!”
“Did what, Blaise?” Hermione asked. “Are you quite alright?”
“You think your so clever, Granger! I’m reporting the three of you, you won’t get away with this!” He snarled furiously, stomping his way back to the castle.
“Oh, Blaise?” She called after him, standing. He turned with a sneer. “It’s Black. Hermione Black, and you’d do well to remember exactly who I am in the future.” She said, her voice shifting from the false, overly polite tone to one dripping with malice. Blaise paled further, tripping over his robes as he turned sharply and hurried to the castle, and the twins burst out laughing, the sound following Blaise’s retreat.