Harry Potter and the Gem of Grogonous

"Sure, it's going to kill a lot of people, but they may be dying of something else anyway."

-- Othal Brand

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Chapter 9

Truths and Dares

Harry felt as though he had been bludgeoned over the head with a very heavy object. A chair, a toaster, perhaps something to the tune of a very large salami. Cylindrical lunchmeat or no, his head still pounded with brutal force, sending the message of pain down his spine. He let out a low groan, his hand cupping his head protectively.

The God of Hangovers had found a new friend in the young Potter boy. And, oh merciful heavens, how he loved to make the child squirm.

"Ron?" Harry called out weakly, letting one of his hands slide to the side in pursuit of his glasses. "Ron? You alive?"

A thump and several pitiful groans echoed from across the tent, acting as the closest thing Harry was ever going to get to a sound answer. His fingers finally gaining contact with something spectacle-shaped, Harry rolled over on his side and perched his glasses on the end of his nose. His vision finally tamed, Harry saw that Ron had fallen off his bed and was slowly climbing to his feet amongst the lumps of pillows, blankets, and bodies.

"I'm up," Ron groaned, his hands supporting the weight of his head. "I'm - Oh sweet sweet Lord. I want you to kill me now."

"If you step on me," the voice of Fred floated up from a lump of covers on the floor, "I'd happily oblige."

"I'll oblige Lee to a pulp if he doesn't get his bloody elbow," the other lump of blankets, which sounded like George, threatened, "out of my bleeding stomach."

There was a harsh grunt and a pitiful groan of self-pity as Lee was shoved across the floor. "Morning to you too, sunshine," he said in between a monstrous yawn and a naughty hand gesture.

George's head finally appeared from underneath his blanket cocoon. On one side of his head, his blue hair stuck up awkwardly on its end. "Anyone got the time?" he mumbled blearily.

Harry rolled to his bedside table and, after missing twice, collected his watch. "Quarter till' four," he answered. "In the afternoon."

The blue-haired Weasley twin's head quickly vanished under a blanket. "Too damn early," he moaned. "Go back to bed, mates."

"This is what we get," Ron grumbled as he began to dig through a pile of laundry for a clean article of clothing, "for downing free pints all night. Feels like I've got a hole in my skull and hair growing on my tongue." He turned around to face his brothers as he pulled on a sock. "How many did I get through, anyways?"

Lee gave a little chuckle as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "If I remember correctly," he said with a sly grin, "by time you hit a half pint, you were pretty keen to stand on your chair and sing 'God Save The Queen'."

"You have a lovely singing voice," said Fred, finally hoisting himself up on his elbows. "Though, that doesn't make up for what a light weight you are."

"I thought we taught you better than that," George taunted his little brother. "I'm both ashamed and horrified. Even Harry drank you under the table."

"It feels like I got up too quick and hit my head on the table, too," Harry muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Just because I'm not a bloody drunkard doesn't mean you lot can -" Ron stopped suddenly in mid-rant. He straightened up and sniffed the air, as if he was a wolf catching whiff of a wounded rabbit ten yards away. "Do you smell that?"

An arm shot out from underneath a blanket on the floor. "Sorry. That was me."

Ron grimaced. "No, not that," he snipped. "Though that one was quite impressive."

"I aim to please."

"Oh," Harry said suddenly. "I smell it too."

"I told you, it was--"

"No, outside," Harry interrupted quickly. Though the expulsion of internal gases were considered to be a laugh riot in some circles, Harry decided not to get on the wagon this early in the day. "It smells like . . . food."

The promise of free sustenance pushed the five boys out of bed and through the tent flaps. It was apparent that someone had been working there overnight - the fire pit was covered in blackened embers and flakes of scorched wood. On a log next to the pit lay a stack of oblong pancakes, waiting to be digested.

"Oy," Fred picked one up in order to inspect it more closely. "Alex must have felt really empowered by that billywig."

"Shove off and think about it, Fred." George poked at the pancakes with the edge of his foot. "If Al made these, they would be burnt to a crisp. Remember the time she tried to help Mum make biscuits?"

"We had to help scrape the leftovers off the ceiling," Ron mused. "There's still stains - I reckon it melted right through the drywall."

"If we don't know where they came from, then we shouldn't touch them," Harry commented. "Who knows what might be in them."

There was a sudden sputtering noise. All eyes turned to Fred, who was furiously wiping away at his tongue with the back of his hand. He stopped in mid-lick when he felt the stare of several pairs of eyes on him.

"They were blueberry," he said sheepishly. "I couldn't help myself."

"Oh, you fat fat man." George shook his head in disgust. "If you die, I'll happily mark one up for Darwin's team."

"Shove it, you twa--" Fred stopped in mid-insult, his eyes suddenly going wide with horror. He twitched slightly, then opened and closed his mouth twice.

"Fred?" Ron slid away from his newly-tainted brother, as if the threat of spontaneous human combustion had suddenly became a reality. "How you feeling . . . mate?"

Slowly rising to his feet, Fred let his hands drift up to his face. His fingers traced across his nose, eyebrows, and cheeks, as if he was discovering the world for the first time as a blind man.

"Fred," George grabbed his twin by the shoulder. ""What's wrong?"

"The economy," Fred replied smoothly.

Lee lifted an eyebrow, slowly waving a hand in front of the fire-haired Weasley twin's glazed expression. "I can't tell if he's poisoned," Lee mumbled, "or just an arse."

"What's wrong, Fred?" George repeated, his characteristic smile quickly vanishing off his face.

"I told you," Fred said. The tone of his voice hadn't changed, but the look of his eyes had shifted wildly. They were pealed open and completely frantic, as if his answer surprised him more than anyone else. "The economy. I wouldn't want to carry stock this day in age, let me tell you."

As soon as Fred finished talking, he shut his mouth tight. The look in his eyes was still wide and unbelieving.

"The economy?" questioned Ron carefully. "That's what's wrong?"

"Yes," replied Fred quickly. "The economy, global warning, world hunger, America's policy of international politics--"

"Right then," Lee rolled his eyes knowingly. "He's just being an arse."

"Shove off, Lee." George forced his brother to sit back down on the log. "Harry was right -- something must have been in those pancakes." He turned to his twin. "Oy Fred, how're you feeling?"

"Corking," Fred replied, though his eyes spoke a different story altogether. "Except for this rash I've had on my right buttock since Monday. That's a bit of a pain."

"Truth serum," George mumbled. "It has to be."

"In the pancakes." Harry picked up a piece of the left over breakfast food and smelt it carefully. "Who would waste their time spiking our food with truth serum? Especially if they're not here to hear the effects of it."

"Snape." Ron snapped. His body tensed suddenly while he pulled out his wand and swung it towards the woods in front of him. "Why else would a Potions Master come to Hogsmeade, eh? He's probably having a good laugh right now - We're on to you, you bloody bas--"

"Don't have a pisser, Ronnikinns." George gave his little brother a shove. "I doubt Snape would make a special trip just to get one of us to spill the name of our imaginary friend or favourite soap opera."

"Boris Snufflebottom and 'The Witching Hour'." All eyes turned to Fred once more. "But, if Deloris marries her cousin's evil twin, I'm never listening to that show again."

"Oh, sweet mystery of life," Lee murmured, not bothering to hide the sound of utter glee in his voice. "You know, we could have some real fun with this."

"For as long as it lasts, anyways." Harry threw the pancake he was holding to the dirt then pressed it into the forest floor with the heal of his boot. "Fred didn't eat that much - he could only be effected for an hour or so."

"Well then," Ron stepped closer to his easily-victimized brother. "We better get started than, eh? Finally I can get repaid after years of torture."

Fred groaned, shooting a sideways glance at his twin.

"Don't look at me, Freddy-boy," George shrugged helplessness. "You're the twat that ate strange food in the middle of the forest, not me."

"I'm going to beat you viscously after this," Fred promised. "The whole lot of you. Alphabetically."

"Well that's not very nice, is it?" George pretended to look hurt. "Go ahead, Ron. Have your fun while it lasts."

"Lovely." Ron narrowed his eyes. "Right then, Fredrick. What ever happened to that puffskin I had when I was little?"

Fred sighed darkly. This was going to be one of the longest days in his life. "I used it for Beater practise," he muttered. "Then it bit me and ran away. I suppose the gnomes would have gotten to it."

Ron grinned horribly. This was the sort of power the only ever dreamed of. "When did you stop believing in Father Christmas?"

"Four."

George snorted thickly.

". . . teen." Fred finished darkly.

"Oh, this is getting downright juicy," Lee snickered. "Ever wet the bed, Freddy-boy?"

Harry could see the rage float behind Fred's eyes. "Everyday," the Weasley twin said through gritted teeth. "Until I was five."

"You little knob," George grimaced. "I had the bloody bottom bunk."

Fred bit his lower lip. "Mum said you wouldn't notice."

"She also told me I got wet at night because the roof was leaking!"

"It's not my fault you thought water from a leaking roof could hit you on the bottom bunk of a bed on the second floor!"

"Oy!" Ron put up his hands in a referee-like signal before any punches were thrown. "Let's get back to what really matters, eh?"

"The downfall of Fredrick Weasley?" Lee guessed.

Ron snickered gleefully. "Could there be any other answer?"

"Shouldn't we wake Alex for this one?" Harry commented. "I'm sure she wouldn't want to miss an undoing of this magnitude."

George gave a dark chuckle. "I'm sure Fred wouldn't want dear Alexandrea to miss this either, eh Freddy?"

The expression on the Weasley twin's face was utterly pained, as if someone had just placed one of his lower extremities in a vice and had began to tighten it. "It would be in my best interest," he said slowly, "if you didn't wake her up."

"Oh my." George exchanged looks with the other boys. "Methinks we've caught whiff of something good, mates."

"Got a secret you don't want our Alex to know about?" Lee raised a mischievous eyebrow.

Fred bit his lower lip tight, almost enough to draw blood. The power put forth to lock his jaw seemed to have been sucked from his sense of balance. This resulted in the frazzled Weasley twin sliding off the log backwards, landing arse-over-tea-kettle into the cold fire pit. Blowing bits of ash off his nose, he finally gave a reluctant, "Yes."

"Oh well, don't hold back, m'boy." George's smile widened. "What wouldn't you want dear sweet Alexandrea to find out?"

You could see the pure hatred bubbling up behind Fred's eyes. His hands sprung up to his mouth, trying to dam up whatever was waiting to flood out. He stomped a foot in frustration, then lunged towards his twin. Fred cupped George's ear and quickly whispered into it. The look on George face - a twisted and almost horrified expression - summed up what must have been said.

When Fred backed away from his brother (both in relief and terror), George opened his mouth wordlessly for a moment. He then shot a sideways glance at his twin, almost as if he was deciding if the truth serum was still working or not, then started with, "You're putting me on, aren't you?"

Harry could have sworn he saw Fred go red in the ears. But this was Fredrick Weasley - Fredrick Weasley doesn't blush. Or had never blushed before this, anyways.

"George." The twin's ears almost matched the colour of his hair. "Can we talk about this later?"

"We most certainly will not," George snapped back.

"Wait a moment." Lee raised his in the air, calling a time out. "Is this what I think it is?"

George folded his arms, still staring accusingly at his twin. "Why don't you ask Fred? I'm sure he'll tell you the truth."

"Fucking pancakes," Fred muttered under his breath before turning to address Lee, Ron, and Harry. "Mates, it's nothing to have a fit over. I've just - I have certain . . . feelings toward . . . Alex . . . lately."

"That's the worst answer you've given us today," Ron said. "The serum must be wearing off."

"Well aren't I a lucky bastard," Fred sneered.

"I have one more question for you," George said, his eyes narrowing. "Why Alex? Honestly, I love her like a sister, but she's a bloody goob."

Fred gave a shrug, his ears tingeing a bit redder. "I just feel comfortable around her, eh?" he said. "When I'm with her, it's like she's just one of the blokes."

"One of the -" George's eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh - Oh God. Fred's a poof."

Fred's face twisted in horror. "I'm not!"

"A bloody ass-queen."

"Piss off, George."

"I thought," George continued franticly, "that, if anyone, it would have been Percy."

"Listen, you twat--"

"Percy. Or Ron. Definitely. Ron's never had a way with women."

"Will you stop this?" Ron stood up in a blind panic as soon as his name was thrown into the fray. "George, I'm sure everyone here loves breasts just as much as the next bloke, thank you very much."

"This is just the conversation I always dreamt I would wake up to."

Alexandrea McKay was slowly rolling up the flaps of her small tent. Her glance refused to connect with the boys, but Harry could tell that her eyes held a horribly red tint. The blood-shot eyes didn't hold a flame to the rest of her appearance, however. Alexandrea's face was pale and had gone totally slack, as if someone had completely stretched out her pointed features. This ruthless character could have been developed by the thick punishment of what she had taken in last night. Either that or she had overheard something that didn't set her day off in a good mood.

The effect of the latter situation was what Fredrick Weasley feared the most. "Al." He jumped to his feet as soon as the name crossed his lips. "What are you - how are you - erm . . . Good morning."

"I haven't seen anything good about it yet," Alexandrea commented flatly, brushing past Fred with a harsher demeanour than usual. "A strong tea and a headache cure would be a hit in the right direction, though."

"It looks like it'll take more than that, sunshine." Lee caught the boys' less-than-cheerful female companion by the arm. "You a bit sloshed from last night?"

"Just enough to murder you in cold blood," Alexandrea snarled, ripping herself out of Lee's grip.

"I don't think sloshed would be the right would for that," Ron commented boldly, though he made sure he had at least one body between him and Alexandrea at all times. "I believe you call that homicidal tendency."

"Whatever you call it," George slid an arm around Alexandrea's shoulders, guiding the threat of a vicious beating away from his little brother, "I think we can cure it with a quick flight around the forest to forget all your troubles, eh beautiful?"

Alexandrea shot the Weasley twin a 'You-Better-Be-Pulling-My-Leg-Or-I'll-Hurt-You-In-The-Most-Embarassing-Way-Possible' look.

Fred didn't look sold on the plan either. Though George may have thought it was a good idea to get Alexandrea away from Fred as he cooled off from the truth serum, the fire-haired Weasley twin wanted nothing more than to straighten out how many secrets she had gotten a hold of. "Maybe," Fred said firmly, "we should just stick with the tea."

"Or maybe," George shot his brother a harsh sideways glance, "we should finish off those pancakes you were raving about, Fredrick."

Alexandrea joined George in a collective pressing stare. "You had pancakes?" she asked.

"No." Fred said quickly. "Not at all."

"At least we know that the serum wore off." Ron nudged Harry. "And just when it was getting good too."

"I'd think that a good broomstick ride around the forest," George continued loudly, "might clear everyone's mind. God knows we've all said some thing things we'd love to forget-" Fred coughed a bit in the background. "Eh, Alex?"

"Not really." Alexandrea shrugged. "I thought the 'murder in cold blood' bit was rather spot on with what I was going for."

Though the threat of a horrendous death at the hand of a hung-over Alexandrea McKay still hung thickly in the air, George easily towed the female menace away from the rest of the boys. As the two of them collected brooms (one less enthusiastically then that other), Fred sank down and covered his horrified face with his hands.

"You lot reckon she heard the worse of it?" came the pitiful voice behind the fingers.

"About you enjoying the company of men?" Lee couldn't help but kick his friend when he was down and out for the count. "I'm sure she'll inform only one or thirty of her closest mates."

Fred lovingly sent Lee a vulgar hand gesture. "Honestly," muttered the Weasley twin, "I reckon that would be my best case scenario. I don't know what I would do if she figured out--"

"You'd be better for it, I would expect." Harry shrugged. "At least it would be a load off your chest."

"A load I'd want to keep a secret until the right time." Fred gave a little grimace. "Oy, I don't want to even talk about this - it's all bloody ridiculous."

Ron couldn't hold back a snicker. Hearing all of Fred's faults in one day was as good as winning the lottery twice over. "Embarrassed, dear brother?" he cooed. "Why should you be? Just because I've got enough blackmail to keep you on a leash until you die doesn't mean you have to be embarrassed."

"I'll have no reason to be embarrassed," Fred rose to his feet, "if I slaughter you!"

Ron's delightful giggles were cut short as Fred brutally tackled him, hitting the young Weasley right in the stomach. The two tumbled over a log, rolled over once, and started to let the fists fly. Harry and Lee quickly pealed Fred away from his brother, who wasn't much of a scrapper - especially when the foe was much bigger than he.

"Take a sit-down, the both of you," Lee snapped, shoving Fred back down onto the log. "Ron, if you don't stuff it about all this, I'll personally write your eulogy. And Fred, mate, you've got to forget about this." He swiped some dreadlocks out of his eyes and gave his friend an intense look. "If you let this shit get to you, then you let Ron win. God knows you don't want that."

Fred snorted, throwing a deadly glance at Ron, who was nursing a quickly bruising eye.

"Anyways," continued Lee, "it's nothing to be embarrassed about. Eh, Harry?"

Harry blinked stupidly, taking in the exact position he had been placed in. A gruff expression was sent his way by Fred, while Ron looked at his good friend expectantly. Though Harry was happy for the elder Weasley for making a break towards the world of romance, any compliments would certainly alienate Ron, who seemed to think this whole situation was a farce placed on this earth solely for his authoritative gain.

Harry opened his mouth slowly in order to give the most appeasing answer he could. Before he could either affront Fred or offend Ron, a large yelp rang out from the skies above. George and Alexandrea had apparently taken to their broomsticks, though it seemed as though they had already gotten themselves into a spot of trouble. Instead of two, only one broomstick was in the sky. The unfortunate rider of the missing broomstick was hanging from the branch of a very high elm tree calling out loudly for aid. The other rider seemed to be having just as much trouble as their companion. The broomstick was dropping and then ascending with such jarring power, the poor soul who had the unfortunate pleasure to be on top of it seemed to be using every bit of their strength to hold on.

Not even bothering to finish his thought, Harry raced to the edge of the forest with Fred, Lee, and Ron in tow. They found George at the top of the elm, one arm wrapped around an unsteady branch while the other was waving madly for attention.

"Broomsticks . . . Wrong . . ." George managed to yell out. "No . . . Control . . ."

As Lee and Fred quickly took out their wands to aid in the de-treeing of George, Harry ran back to the tents to retrieve his own broomstick. Maybe there could be some way, Harry thought rapidly as he tore apart his trunk in search of his Firebolt, he could safely fly behind Alexandrea and push her towards the canopy of the forest. There, she could grab a steady branch like George and --

Outside, there was a scream which was cut short by a loud crack of a collapsing tree.

Firebolt forgotten, Harry raced back outside to where Ron and the others had gathered. Oak tree limbs were scattered around the forest floor, as were pieces of a Comet broomstick. Fortunately, no pieces of Alexandrea McKay lay about with the leaves and sticks. She was being helped to her feet by Fred and Ron, seemingly healthy enough to emit some particularly nasty swears.

"They lost control," mumbled a voice behind Harry's right shoulder. George was picking out a piece of elm tree from his hair while Lee helped to dust him off. "It was like they suddenly decided that they would be much happier as Muggle broomsticks."

With nothing but an ego hurt on George's side of the fence, Harry turned his attention back to Alexandrea. This certainly wasn't turning out to be one of her better vacations.

"You okay, Alex?" Harry asked.

Alexandrea coughed harshly. Harry could swear he saw pieces of oak leaves fly out of her mouth.

"Like I said," she replied hoarsely. "I haven't seen anything good about this day yet. And it's not looking like I ever will."

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He breathed in deeply. The smells of this place were invading his senses with a deep veracity - each molecule burst within him, setting off memories he had all but buried. The trees, the air, even the dirt which shifted underneath his feet - each one stirred up something in the back of his mind and his heart. And, his age, the latter organ didn't usually get that much of a work out.

Unless, of course, it was the right time of month.

"It's nights like this where I wished I had taken up smoking years ago."

He had heard her coming from quite a ways out. At first, he had thought his sensitive ears had been playing naughty tricks on him, but then he began to smell the familiar sent of burnt embers, fresh pine, and jasmine flower. After that, there was little doubt of who had come for an unexpected visit.

"And why is that?" he asked, his eyes refusing to move from the view in front of him.

"At least then I would know for sure what would kill me in the end." This was a joke to her. For him, however, it stood as a bitter reminder.

He took in another deep breath of the forest air. The faint trace of jasmine couldn't be erased from his senses. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I got sidetracked."

"Did you meet him?"

"You know that's the last thing on earth I'm supposed to do now."

"Since when have you done what you're supposed to?"

"Well," she snipped, "It makes much more sense when you put it like that, doesn't it?"

He stuck his hands into his tattered coat pocket, making sure the effect of the setting sun didn't bite into his fingers. "There's never a wrong time for sarcasm, I suppose."

"No."

"Oh, I see. We've gone on to a simple sheer mocking tone now, have we?"

"Of course not."

He breathed a hollow sigh. Why must they do this now? There were horrible times ahead, and all they could do was send nasty quips at each other. Of course, it was better to throw quips then Unforgivable Curses. "I've missed you."

She gave an embarrassed snort. "The letters just don't give my wit justice, eh?"

"Hardly."

Her eyes travelled towards the moon, whose full form was coming apparent with the setting sun. "Where are you going tonight?"

"Patrol."

"Don't you dare." Her glance snapped back to her companion. "You know what's out there tonight."

"I do."

"You'll be in danger."

"So will the children."

"I'm watching them." Her fists clenched tightly. The fiery temper she possessed during childhood, he mused, had apparently worsened with age.

"You," he said lightly, "weren't here to play shepherd."

"Since when have you been concerned about what roll I play in all of this?" She crossed her arms - not in defiance, but as if she had grown horribly cold. "The Ministry's done with me, so I've reassigned myself."

He gave a dark sigh. At this time, the moon had broken through the sky. It's entourage of stars were quickly on its heels. This was his time. His world. He needed to be alone.

She shivered, reading his mind like she had done so many times before. "I'm staying with you."

"I'm sure I know what's out there," he said, a twisting sensation rising up through his stomach. "It will find me, even if you're with me it will take no pity when it kills us both."

"I can protect myself."

"Not while you're protecting Harry as well." The pain had spread all the way to his fingertips now.

"Harry--"

"That's who they're here for. I'm sure of it," he broke in. It was then when his knees started to buckle. He reached down behind him, leaning on an ancient elm for some much needed support. "And that's why we're here as well. We all have a job to do." He shot her an uncharacteristic cold glance. "Some jobs are just simply darker than others."

"I know all about darkness." Though her voice was harsh, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and slowly eased him down into a sitting position. "I know what it's capable of. They don't deal out mercy - they'll catch you soon, while you're week. They'll get rid of you, then move on to their main target."

There was silence. Both pain and pride kept him from answering.

"Let me stay with you," she said with a soft smile. "Just to remember the old days."

There was no simple answer. Only a hand grabbing tightly onto a companion and an uncontrollable shutter.

Minutes later, the forest had grown even more treacherous.

Now, more than one monster hunted the night.

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