Lumos

31| Weaslove

Ginny sighed. "I guess if Harry trusts you enough to let you stay here, it's fine for us to talk."

"What's Harry, your bodyguard?" I snorted.

Ginny shrugged. "I trust Harry with everything."

"That much is obvious," I smirked. She blushed.

"And what do you mean by that, Elvira?" she scowled.

"I think you know."

Instead of getting offended, Ginny laughed. "Okay, fine. You win this one." She turned around and left, leaving me grinning sheepishly to myself.

Suddenly, as if knocking me awake, a searing pain began on my left forearm. I pressed my hand to it to soothe the pain, but it only got worse. With a groan, I rolled onto my side, holding it down. White-hot pain made me lose feeling.

Cold water.

Malfoy had told me cold water worked.

I staggered off the bed, running to the bathroom. I yanked open the faucet, pushing it all the way to the side to make the water freezing cold. I slammed the door shut with my shoe, letting the cold water spill over the dark snake on my arm.

It was hideous.

I cried because of the terrifying reality that it was there, not because of the pain. It was Voldemort. He was reminding me not to deviate from the mission. I let my back hit the wall as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Letting the water run to drown out my angry cries, I slammed the front of my shoe against the wall, my fists next.

I stared down at the bruises and splinters on the bases of my fists. Then, I pulled down my sleeve to cover the Mark I hated so much, washed my face, and opened the door.

A movement in the doorway of the room caught my attention. I turned abruptly, seeing Fred Weasley standing there, eyebrows furrowed.

"Oi, Steele, you alright?"

I waved him away, sliding under the bedsheets. "I'll be alright. Please shut the door when you leave."

And so he did.

* * *

Fred and George Weasley were two people with amazing characteristics. If you liked them, you liked them for what was on the inside . . . well, unless you knew them (sorry, that was a mean joke), but really. They were boisterous, sometimes rude, but painfully sweet, which was partially the reason I always felt tremendously guilty every time I passed by them.

One thing I realized about the twins was that Fred was the instigator . . . the naughty one, you could say. Usually, George followed. If you fell off your broomstick, George would automatically reach down to help you while Fred laughed and made a joke about how mum would kill you for using her broomstick without permission. But if it were something serious, something life-or-death, Fred would jump in front of you and take the hit instead, partially because he was so impulsive. Fred wasn't the type to think about consequences; that was what George did. The plans, the sneaky getaways . . . that was all thanks to Georgie dear. Who carried out the plan and ushered the other into going with them . . . well, we had Fred to thank for feeding us those Puking Pastilles. Not that George wasn't to blame-oh, he was just as sly as his sibling. But maybe, he was the calmer one. Slightly more chill than his brother. They had to even out some way, right?

Even though I'd noticed all this, I still couldn't tell them apart. It was a horrible curse set upon my narrow brain: I couldn't tell the difference between two grey pebbles. But I knew one thing.

They weren't just FredandGeorgeWeasley, they were George Weasley and Fred Weasley, Fred Weasley or George Weasley, and vice versa. There were two opposite personalities hidden deep behind the similar faces.

I sat on the wooden kitchen table, watching them as they helped Mrs. Weasley clean the dishes. I saw Fred give his brother a sly smirk as he gave his wand a flick, letting a thin stream of water spritz against her cheek. She scowled, smacking the two boys as they sniggered.

I rubbed my forearm, trying hard to pay attention to the food set in front of me.

"Don't like it?" Ginny asked, plopping down in front of me.

I looked down at the mashed potatoes, feeling my mouth water. Suddenly, my stomach churned.

"Actually, I love it. But I don't think my stomach does today."

"I'll have it then," Ginny said, reaching forward to take the plate which I gladly let her have.

"It's all yours."

She took a bite of the potatoes, and then looked at me. "It's Harry's birthday today."

"Is it? My memory's terrible."

She chewed quietly. "Rufus Scrimgeour is here," Ginny said. "They won't tell me what he's here for exactly."

I pressed the inside of my forearms against my thigh. "Whose 'they'?"

"Literally everyone. He's got Harry, Ron, and Hermione locked up in a room. He said he needed to speak with them alone." I saw Fred and George's ears perk as they listened in on our conversation.

I stood up abruptly. The twins faced me, slipping their wands back in their pockets. "Why is the minister of magic in our house?" Fred asked his mother, who seemed to be glaring at Ginny.

"Don't you two go down there, Fred."

She hadn't finished her sentence before the boys were running, sliding down the stairs, Molly close behind.

The Mark burned, making me flinch. So. It looked like Rufus Scrimgeour was my next target.