Fifteen Years

Part Eighteen

The tip of the knife rested on his skin. As he felt Malfoy push down, George turned his head so that he couldn’t see. It was over. There was nothing he could do. As the blade began to penetrate his flesh, George inhaled sharply. His blood pumped through his veins, almost viciously. George closed his eyes.

                Then Malfoy paused.

George heard a quick intake of breath,and the knife fell to the ground beside him as Malfoy scrambled for his wand. But he was too late.

“Stupefy,” a small voice cried. George’s eyes flew open.

Stunned, Malfoy flopped down beside him. Craning his neck, George looked up to see who had saved him. His vision was still black around the edges, but through the haze he made out a small figure running towards him. The boy, in Hogwarts uniform, had bright red hair and a face full of freckles.

“Freddie?” George choked, disbelieving. “Freddie, how did you-”

Freddie fell to his knees beside him, and picked up the knife. “I saw you run past the hall,” he began sawing at the ropes which bound George’s body, “I wanted to come and say thank you properly, so I followed you,” his hand trembled slightly, “I couldn’t find you for ages -and then I saw the fire.”  

As the ropes fell away from his body, George inhaled deeply and gave Freddie a weak smile. “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.” They both stood up. George winced as his hand seared with pain, and he felt as though someone were hurling bricks at his skull. Picking up his wand, George cast a furtive glance at Malfoy -who was still passed out on the ground.

“Who is he, dad?”

“We went to school together,” George said. “As you can see, we never really got along that well.”

Freddie nodded, but continued to watch him. “What was he doing to you?”

George paused. “We were… fighting. It was nothing, really,” he looked downwards. The knife was on the ground next to Malfoy’s still body. As the moon parted through the clouds, the shiny blade glistened. “You should get back up to the castle, Freddie,” George said, hurriedly averting his gaze from the knife. His skin prickled. Malfoy was still out cold, if he could just- no. He couldn’t.

“Dad, are you okay?” Freddie asked. George watched as his sons eyes flickered from the knife, to Malfoy, and back to him. A look of suspicion crossed his face.

George found himself stumbling over his own words. “Yeah, I’m… fine -yeah,” he said. How long would Malfoy be stunned for? “I’ll just take you back up, then I’ll head home.”

Freddie’s eyes darkened. “What about this guy?” he indicated Malfoy’s crumpled figure.

“He can sort himself out when he wakes up,” George said, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” George walked forwards and put his right arm around Freddie, then began steering him away from the clearing.

“What was he doing, Dad -waiting for you out here?”

“I don’t know,” George tried to laugh, “he’s always been a bit of an oddball. Always lurking around.”

“I’m disheartened to hear you say that, Weasley,” a cold voice interrupted their conversation.

Releasing his grip on Freddie’s shoulders, George whirled around. Malfoy was standing up, twirling his wand around his finger. He had a  complacent look on his face.

“You didn’t really think that a first-year’s stunning spell would keep me down for long, did you?” he laughed at their surprise. “You know, Weasley, while lurking may be one of my specialities, I do not consider myself to be an oddball.” He glanced at Freddie and shot George a venomous look. “At least I do not lie to my own son.”