CHRYSALIS - FRED WEASLEY

CHAPTER 9

Hi guys! Bit of a shorter chapter today, but you have a JUICY one coming up next. From here on out, things are going to get a lot more angsty. If that's not your thing, I'm sorry! But I promise everything is going to work out (eventually). Hang in there, it's gonna be a bumpy ride. 

I also want to tell you guys that I'm publishing as I write, so as the plot becomes clearer, I'm realizing that I've gotten some details wrong. This is like a big rough draft, so please forgive me!! 

Fred and George are pressed against a stone wall, side-by-side, behind a tapestry. The carefully embroidered fabric depicting St. Patrick (who was actually a powerful wizard) banishing writhing snakes into a moving sea covers a niche in the wall, a small alcove common among castles of the middle ages. This one is much wider than the one Fred and Lillie found themselves in all those months ago, though shallower. The twins have to flatten themselves so that the tapestry doesn't drape over their bodies and give them away. George holds the Marauder's Map close to his face as Fred illuminates it with his wand, casting a dull glow just bright enough to allow George to make out the names and locations.

"He still hasn't left the Great Hall," George says skeptically.

"Give him a second," Fred says.

"We have given him many seconds," he sighs.

"Well he's gotta come back some time," Fred says, "Besides, where would he go besides here? He has to sleep."

"He could spend the night at the Hufflepuff girls dormitory," George says under his breath.

"Git," Fred says.

"Then we'd be fucked," George says.

Fred flexes his fingers and ignores George's jabs. He's filled with too much adrenaline, too focused on the task at hand to properly punish him for them. His breaths come in quick, silent bursts, only amplifying the pace of his heart. He's excited.

"Never mind," George says after a couple minutes of silence, "Looks like he's on his way down. Alone."

"I told you, I watched the map for a week. He stays late at duelling club and walks back alone, every time," Fred says.

"Reckon he's getting Lillie to help with his wand work?" George says while snickering, "Little extra credit?"

"Fuck off," Fred says. He's handling the braided edge of the tapestry nervously, weaving the strands between his long fingers. "I'd say we have two minutes till he's here," George says.

Fred's heart is hammering now; he thinks he can feel the way each beat pulses in every vein, making the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet buzz with a cocktail of cortisol, adrenaline, and blood.

"One minute, give or take."

He possesses the honed skills of a seasoned Quidditch player; at this point in his pranking career, he knows when to use his stress to improve his performance.

"Turning the corner," George whispers.

Fred puts out the light from his wand and backs further into the alcove. He can hear Charlie's varied steps, echoing in the dank dungeon hallway. Step, scrape, step, scrape as his cane drags along the uneven flagstone. Fred reaches into his pocket, feeling around for the cold ball that sits at the bottom. He can just make out its green hue in the darkness. He waits, listening to Charlie's steps as they walk past, continuing a few yards.

He inhales deeply and puts it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly.

"Charlie Bell," Fred says in a cold, hoarse, hissing voice.