Restricted

Chapter 29. Escape

The plan was simple enough—risky, but simple.

But for this plan, not too different from the plentiful schemes he and his brother had concocted before, Fred preferred to err on the side of caution.

Normally, being caught after the worst of the previous schemes would have resulted in a detention or several, perhaps a stern talking to by their head of house, or a hefty night of 'Filch-Fashioned' scullery detail.

But if they were caught this time, in these circumstances, they would undoubtedly be expelled.

And worse, be forced to relay the news to their mother that very next morning.

Still, the thrill of being able to leave Gryffindor Tower aside from lessons or meals, it made all caution be thrown to the wind in an instant.

With his broom in hand, Fred scanned the staircase for the third time. In the late hours of the night, the common room and dormitories were as predicted, deserted.

He signalled for George to take the lead with two raps of the handle against the stone archway casting a shadow to their dorms.

The rug below folded over in a thick pleat, indicating that George had understood. Then, quiet swift footsteps padded against stone towards the singular window of the staircase.

George raised his wand again, vanishing the glass, a chilled draft quickly filling the landing.

To anyone who might have glimpsed it, a stray gust of wind forced the window to open. Even an enchanted castle could show its centuries of use with a loosened jamb, not daring to first suspect that it had been vanished entirely.

It would have to be the former, because unless someone looked closely enough, no one would be able to make out their figures, as Fred and George were entirely invisible.

His brother had spent the better half of the last year working with the Disillusionment Charm, and with his magic perfecting it, it was their sole ticket to freedom for the evening.

"Watch it," George hissed as, on his approach, Fred collided with his brother's nearly transparent shoulder.

"Shut up," Fred whispered back, shoving at what he hoped was his side.

He was proven correct, as George grumbled a curse, then struck him back in return just below his ribs.

After a brief silence, both of them paused to listen for a sign of any potential witnesses but found none. George took hold of Fred's broom, the sound of broom's thistles scraped from below in the exchange.

He hauled himself up and onto the ledge, then stuck his head out to assess the space below it. It was a steep drop, the brick laid path looked to be roughly the size of a quill stem from the sheer height of the eerily tall stone tower.

Nothing that he couldn't handle.

Without giving himself a second thought to consider it, Fred took his broom from his brother's proffered hand, and leapt from the window's edge.

He shifted the broom to sit under him. A short moment later, the sinking feeling of his stomach dropping had dissipated, replaced with the welcoming bloom of adrenaline that the balance of gravity usually supplied.

It had been a full two weeks since he'd last flown.

Merlin, he had missed the feeling of open air beneath him, the breeze that feathered through his hair, his clothes.

Fred indulged himself in welcoming the crisp evening, taking in the scent of pine from the forest, the subtle hint of smoke that puffed from Hagrid's hut from metres away.