Paying Your Dues

There it was again. That sick feeling, like wanting to throw up. He felt as though someone had been scraping glass over his skin, his nerves were so raw. How could he not have realized what would happen if they were found out? He couldn't see that many canary creams in their future now, just a whole lot of prison time.

He looked over at Fred, who hadn't moved in hours, though the effects of the combined paralyzing spell used on them by the guards, and his own floatation spell had long since worn off. He was a little scared. Ok, he was a lot scared. Rotting in a cell for his own misdemeanours was, well, not acceptable, but he was prepared for that consequence. But he'd never thought what this might mean for Fred. Fred had trusted him to get them both through this fiasco, and instead he had only dug them in deeper. So deep, they might never get out. What if Fred never moved again? He'd done nothing but stare at the lichen-covered ceiling since they'd been brought here, his range of movement limited to blinking.

The clanking of a door in the distance drew his thoughts from Fred. He could hear voices and one of them was... Oh shit. And he'd thought this day couldn't possibly get any worse.

Three people walked up to the bars of his cell. One of them looked at George with disinterest, as if he were some form of insect on a window. The other two were unusually bedraggled.

There were going to be fireworks. There was no avoiding them now, so it was probably best just to get it over and done with. "Hi Mum."

"GEORGE WEASLEY! WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? I THOUGHT... I THOUGHT I HAD HEARD THE WORST FROM RON WITH THAT FLYING CAR, BUT THIS! YOU... YOU..." Molly broke down sobbing, clutching at Arthur's robe.

Arthur, obviously torn between comforting Molly and berating George, settled on an expression that made him look bewildered.

George tried not to laugh. Maybe he was a little hysterical himself right now. He said the only thing he could say. "Sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough this time, son." His father's voice was so melancholy George would have preferred to be dealing with Snape. "I'm not sure we can help you out. I think you might have gone too far."

If there was a lower place to go to, George hadn't heard about it. His father hadn't even seemed this defeated when Ginny had been kidnapped. But then, it hadn't been one of his own children turning against him. The part of George's mind that was always alert and hatching schemes noted that this must be what it's like to give up completely. He'd never felt this before.

Molly, still shaking, turned toward George. "Why?"

And George couldn't think of a single good reason. He could give her the excuse he and Fred had told themselves, that sneaking in and planting their tax returns would be quicker and easier than paying off the penalties for the rest of their lives, but from the perspective of a damp stone cell, that didn't seem to make sense anymore. He couldn't just say 'It seemed like a good idea at the time', but there was the truth of it, so he held his silence.

They stared at each other. Eventually the prison escort became bored, and indicated to Mr and Mrs Weasley that it was time to leave. Arthur nodded his head in acknowledgement, and hesitantly looked down at Molly who was still clutching his cardigan. He gently ushered her to the exit, sparing only the briefest of glances for George.

And then they were alone again.

George looked over at Fred. He still wasn't moving, was so still, in fact, that he might be trying to merge with the wall. George sat back against the wall, feeling the cold stone slabs leach the heat from his back. Then, doing what he now understood should have been done to him many years ago, he deliberately rapped his head against the wall.