Two Halves to a Hole

At one point in his life, Fred Weasley had skipped down the hallways at Hogwarts with his twin, singing "Heir of Slytherine, coming through! Watch out--he's bloody dangerous!" as Harry followed, trying not to laugh at his own misfortune. At one point in his life, Fred had attempted to send Harry a toilette seat while the Boy Who Lived lay in the hospital. At another, Fred had tried to seal Percy into a pyramid, handed over a magical map, rescued Harry with a flying car, and confided to him that speaking troll was easy ("all you have to do is point and grunt"). At one point, he had been described by Oliver Wood as a "human bludger"; he angered his mother; he teased Ron; he had hopes and dreams of running his own joke shop; he played, he loved and he laughed.

Here it was, another point in his life, and he was still laughing.

From where he sniveled against the collar of Fred's starchy white shirt, George felt his brother's chest tremor with little vibrations of this very laughter. His forearm was still exposed where the Dark Mark stood out, dark as oil against pale, freckled skin. "Fred, Fred, Fred..." whined George, pressed against his brother and leaking tears. Hermione, Harry and Ron all let out involuntary cries as soon as they saw the mark; Hermione fell back against the basement wall, her hand pressed to her mouth. The look of absolute horror and confusion that struck all her features was mirrored on Ron's face. From his sheet-colored lips came a moan not unlike the sound one makes when kicked in the stomach.

This isn't playing. This isn't any type of prank. You can't go back from this. George's lifted his cheek from the scratchy button-up. No, not possibly. No coming back. His mind spun for answers to solve this dilemma, but came up blank. There was no way in the wizarding realm Fred could have that mark unless...

George heard feet moving quickly across the cement floor, and he peered over Fred's arm. Harry was the only one without a look of crippling revulsion on his face; instead, his expression was stone cold and his wand was out. He was also blocking the exit. Of course, you can count on Harry to always be prepared...

"Let go of George now." Harry's almost finished the sentence with "Fred", but he stopped himself. It was just too fucking unbearable at present.

Let go? thought George, his hands clenching at his twin's shirt. He could feel Fred glance down at him.

"Please," said Fred, brushing George aside as if the thought of using him for anything at this point was ludicrous. That razor tooth grin reappeared on his face, but he remained unarmed. Harry's stance widened nonetheless, his eyes large and sad behind the glass frames.

It was a standoff. They had just discovered one of the most horrifying truths in all their years of fighting against Voldemort, and here Harry was, ready to take down one of the people he admired the most. Sometimes he hated being himself.

"Why? Why?" Hermione's voice shakily interrupted the two boy's face-off. It was all she could manage.

"Hermione..."breathed Ron, gently but firmly taking her arm and pulling her back. He was horrified at the very notion of his brother--his own brother--turning out to be such a...a...monster. But the thought of keeping Hermione safe overrode even this abhorrence.

Harry nodded towards the furnace. "Was that Death Eater Lucius Malfoy?"

Fred thought for a moment, and then nodded aggressively.

"Did you..?" Harry's voice cracked, and then he regained himself. "Fred, did you do that? Getting him out of Azkaban like that?"

"Yep." Fred tilted his head and shrugged. "Okay, well...more or less." Even with the Dark Mark, good ol' Fred seemed to crave the spotlight.

Harry's shoulders shrank considerably. "After all that--all that effort getting the Death Eaters into Azkaban--after all the people who were hurt in the process--after Sirius died fighting them-- it had to be you? Why?

A few of Fred's auburn locks flopped in his face. "I dunno, mate." He grinned. "I suppose because my master wanted me too. Yea...that'll be my guess".

George's dimming hope was almost snuffed out by that last sentence. He couldn't bring himself to even see the pain and anger registering on his friend's faces. Fred...he yearned, staring pleadingly at his brother. Please just stop this. Stop it! Just come back.

"Okay, then... but you know we can't let you go now, Fred." said Harry carefully. "It doesn't matter who you are. You're going straight to the Order."

If Harry's intent had been as clear as he'd hoped, he would have expected a decent struggle or perhaps even an argument. What he did not expect Fred Weasley to do was to toss back his head and roll with laughter. The twin stared down at Harry, his face tilted towards the ceiling and the corners of his mouth stretched tight. The effect sent chill through everyone in the room. It was a very familiar sound, which it made it all the worse. Oh, how he laughed. Eventually though, his giggles waned and he spoke:

"Oh, oh...my goodness, Harry. You four are just too funny, looking so surprised. I cannot begin to even understand how The Dark Lord struggles with the likes of you every year. I've run with you every year, and looking back, I can't even get it. I mean, just look how long it took you to find me out for godsakes, and I wasn't even hiding from you!" Fred rested a hand on his own chest, his chuckles diminishing. "An' Harry bloomin' Potter...do you honestly think I want to leave your side? Do you think I actually mind going to the Order? Being around the very mechanics of old man Dumbledore's pathetic operation?" Fred sortof shook his head like he often did after he'd completed a perfect Bludger Backbeat. "Why do you think he chose me in the first place?"

"Chose you?" piped up Hermione from the back of the room. Ron gave her a stern look, but she still stepped past him, her cheeks wet. "Chose you for what exactly?"

"You know, as one of his,' sniffed Fred.

"And how did he do that?" she pressed. If he's going to be this open about it...

"My master," beamed Fred, completely unconcerned with his surroundings, "He liked what he saw when he was possessing li'l sis. He liked me especially--said he saw a lot of potential in me. That's why he chose me." He couldn't have been more pleased had he and George actually managed to join the Triwizard Championship a few years back.

"Chose you...to put a spell on?" Hermione finished.

"No! There's no bloody spell," retorted Fred. Hermione had obviously touched a nerve; he reacted as if several others had already bothered him about this. Harry couldn't fathom who--unless it was Wormtail or something. Oh...gah. Harry couldn't even think about it without feeling ill to his stomach.

But now the idea was out in the open.

"Your going to be tied up now," stated Harry calmly. We can ponder the possibilities all day long after this is taken care of. Right now, though...Harry reached out his wand.

"Do you want to see me go completely berserk? More berserk then Fred right now? 'Cause if you do, by all means, hand him over to the Order," said George, leaning on the Wizarding Wheeze's countertop. "I mean, five minutes ago, I just bound and gagged my own brother--and now you want me to hand him over to be executed? That's just not happening."

Harry, Hermione and Ron looked at one another. Part of that true; minutes ago they had formed a makeshift prison for their newly acquired Death Eater down in the basement. The binding wasn't a big deal, but knowing Fred, he probably wasn't too thrilled about being gagged--but he just wouldn't stop laughing. George however, disappeared while they worked. He had to be alone; being alone was now feeling closer to Fred then standing right next to that person in the cellar.

Knowing Fred...Harry worked hard to keep himself in the present if there was any hope he wasn't going to just get up and fly away right then. He was tired. How could he possibly deal with the death of someone he loved so dearly, and now this abomination? Another death, in a sense, of someone else he admired--someone who had made him forget about his own problems for a little while; someone who teased and prodded Harry's every difficulty out of existence? While Harry spoke figuratively, a literal death might be following closely behind if what George said was true.

"The Order wouldn't do that...would they?" asked Ron, steadying himself against a shelf of Fever Fudge.

"Yes--of course they would!" answered George. After his brief hiatus, he seemed much more alert and focused. Of course, anything was a step up from wailing at the feet of a Death Eater.

"I doubt they would place the Imperious Curse on him when walked in the door," said Hermione dryly. "And we're really going to need their power if we want to help Fred. Right now...I don't even know..."she trailed. She didn't want to voice her doubts to the others.

"No? Then what about after they realized that he was the one who helped a Death Eater escape from Azkaban? What then?" George asked irritably.

"Like I said before," Hermione trudged on, "I think this whole thing--Fred's behavior recently, his new allegiance to Voldemort--is due to a powerful spell that was placed on him. A spell that couldn't be detected by us--maybe not even detectable to Fred himself. There's just something off about this whole thing."

"Oh really, Hermione? You're must be bloody genius," drolled Ron, not unlike Draco Malfoy. " 'Cuz I thought that was apparent from how my older brother and one of Dumbledore's biggest supporters goes and gets the sodding Dark Mark overnight. That would have been my first guess--silly me."

Hermione didn't even rise to the argument. She knew that everyone was feeling short-tempered; especially the one's who thought they knew Fred best.

"Ok--ok, then," said George, excitedly. "We've established that it must be a spell or some lot. So why can't we deal with this ourselves?"

"Don't be stupid, George. It's the bloody Dark Mark. We can't fix it by yelling "Reparo!" before tea," snapped Ron.

The furious expression that appeared on George's face made Hermione think twice about chiming in with her agreement. The look reminded her of Fred. The new one, of course. ...The new one?

"See here," growled George. "Do you think that this is somehow my fault, Ron? Do you? Because...Because I already know it is--I already know this happened because of me, alright Ron? You don't need to tell me that." George's voice quivered and he took a moment before continuing. "Listen...I just can't lose him, alright? I just can't. It's not an option for me. And if that means leaving the Order out of this for the time being, that's what we're going to do." George paused, staring at each of them. Suddenly a small smile lit his lips. "I mean, look at us. We already have a team of the finest Voldemort-vanquishing wizards around, along with a brilliant brain and The Boy Who Lived. We even have Fred in our possession--in a place He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cannot reach. If anyone can do it, we should be able to." The smile faded. "Or I will-- alone. Which-bloody-ever."

"No way would you have to do this on your own," Hermione said gently, reaching over the counter to put her hand over George's. She was worried about this business with the Order, but she was worried about George more. She nodded at Harry, patting George's hand.

Harry looked at her skeptically before massaging his temple. "I dunno...that doesn't sound like a very sound plan. This is very serious, George."

"I know that more then anyone! Please--let's just give us a try. Give us three days--if that doesn't work, then we'll turn Fred over the Order. Then I'll know that there's no hope for him... you can even blame the wait on me, if you'd like."

Harry studied the twin for a while; he thought about it, and finally he nodded, (if only for the fact he'd wished Dumbledore would have graced him with a chance so many months ago).

"You git, I have to use the loo!" laughed Fred, squirming in his ropes. It was to no avail; Hermione had placed a version of the stunning spell on the chair and its bindings long ago. "Really, I might have the Dark Mark, but I still have to tinkle, eh? I mean, I guess I could just go on myself..."

Pumping Fred for information had not been easy; he had plenty to say, just like the Fred they remembered, but not about anything useful.

It was about two in the morning when everyone had tromped back downstairs. If George had three days to find a way to save his brother, he was going to use every minute to his advantage. After about an hour of Fred's silence/nonsensical rambling, the trio and George were pretty wiped. George had to excuse himself several times during the "interview" so he could go upstairs and calm down. Every time Fred did or said something familiar enough to make them all weep, George had to fight not to jump up, undo his brother's bindings, and hug him so tightly all this insanity just leaked out of his pores and onto the concrete below. It wasn't easy, and George often felt like he was on the wrong side of the interrogation; a voice inside kept asking "why, why wasn't you answering with Fred, by his side, finishing his sentences for him?"

Finally Hermione, yawning, asked Fred: "So why did Voldemort "choose" you and not George?"

Fred looked at George like he'd forgotten all about him. Then his eyes lit up: "He didn't choose me between me an' George, he chose me because he wanted me as one of his own. See, unlike old man Dumbledore, he takes care of his children. Let me tell you, Dumbledore--well, old man Dumbledore couldn't even protect our dad from a blooming snake." That was the only point any real malice leaked into Fred's voice at all. This sounded honest: "If Dumbledore can't even protect his own, what chance do any of us have fighting with him? I mean, Dad is even in the Order an' everything. Please..." Fred trailed off, looking distant. Then his eyes snapped back up: "At least The Dark Lord takes care of his own. Of course, he takes care of the faithful--but don't we all choose the faithful? He'd even pretty lenient on that-- I mean, look at Malfoy." Fred made a 'silly face' that was painfully familiar. "And he chose me. Just me. God, your so jealous it just eats you up inside, eh George? Eh, Harry?" He smiled, apparently not registering the expressions of loathing he was receiving.

"Oh, Fred...you know that's not true," whispered Hermione from where she was sitting on the floor. "You know the horrible things He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has done. You know Dumbledore has done his best--you must know Voldemort is lying when he tells you those things."

Fred snorted. "Have you ever known me to be reckless?" he asked. George laughed before he could stop himself (he kept forgetting...) "Honestly, I have nothing against the Order, even though my master does," Fred continued, "I just hate the way they try to control all of Wizard-kind. God forbid anyone wants to do something different; try other kinds of magic, live their own life. No, then Dumbledore and his army get to throw you into Azkaban for it..." He paused. Then, seconds later: "...Hobgoblins...what a bunch of narcissist prats running about, each one more self-righteous then the next. Like Percy." Fred's eyes faded. "Just like Percy," he mumbled.

George caught the look pass between Hermione and Harry. It basically read: "maybe he really is just crazy."

This sparked up fumes in George. "Shuttup, Fred!" he yelled suddenly. "You don't believe a word of that bullock! Even if you did, you'd see how idiotic you sound right now. I mean, do you want the Order to just kill you? Huh? Because if you do, then you'll keep this up."

"The Dark Lord wouldn't let that happen," replied Fred coolly. And that's when he closed up. His eyes dulled, and his mouth shut. No longer was he willing to participate in these foolish games.

Waking up with a start, George sat up in his bed. He had finally decided to pass out around five am. The clock now read 6:18. Sitting in the silence, as sentences and past conversation swirled through his head, he knew that down just two flights, Fred was still awake. Harry had crashed in the basement to keep an eye on their "captive," but Fred still hadn't shut his eyes. George could feel it. That was part of the difficulty--feeling scraps and pieces of Fred's emotions constantly as he descended into madness, taking his twin down with him.

Pushing the hair out of his eyes, George got up. He went over to Fred's room; hovering around Fred's bed before sitting on the chair next to his twin's desk. After staring off into space for several minutes, George looked down. He pushed a few papers around on the desktop. It was pretty cluttered since Fred never tried to hide anything away into specific drawers. There were several old designs, some old letters from home, and some old spells in the making. Everything was dated. It was a tomb to the Fred Before All This Happened. Pushing aside one last scrap, George unearthed some photos Fred had taken. Woa. These are pretty recent.

Three out of the four were a series of Fred and Hermione. In one they were both laughing happily in that very same room and in that very same chair. Photo-Hermione was looking up at photo-Fred, who was perched atop the tabletop. He was teasing her about something, as usual. In the next, he slid off the table and plopped down in her lap. It made George smile to himself, the silliness of Fred's long legs sprawled across 'Mione's lap. She looked at if she were squealing, but not unhappy. Did he know then? Was he already working for Voldemort? George wondered, watching his brother joyfully kick his legs and suck on his thumb. In the last photo, Fred leaned and gave Hermione a kiss on each cheek. Her photo-self blushed immensely and she looked about to scold him. But George knew his brother's antics--he was just testing her. Sure enough, Fred leaned in, and from the back of his head, it looked at if he'd pecked her lightly on the lips. Then the photo restarted. George smiled faintly. He couldn't have known then.

Watching the sequence one more, George then flipped over the last photo. It was of both the twins. George immediately remembered that day; it was a week after the trio had started working for them. Fred was still toying with his new camera. He had set up a timed picture, and had pulled George into it. He was holding George around the chest with one arm, and the other was flung out in exuberance. Fred had his head tilted back, and was beaming right at the camera. George's eyes were closed because he was laughing so hard. His potion was sloshing out (that's what he had been doing before being accosted) and their hair seemed to blend together to make one mop between them. George dropped the photo.

He had to fix what was broken.

He had to make his brother well.

Because if he couldn't...

then he couldn't be alone...