Run || Harry Potter FF

x || mad

After my shower, Mrs. Weasley had already cooked again. But, much to my surprise, I was hungry again. I went down to the kitchen with damp hair and a pair of Hermione's clothes which were a size too small, and clung to me in an unflattering manner. As I sat down in the first open seat that I saw, I noticed Draco's absence.

"He thinks he's too good for us," my neighbor said. I turned to find the one called George staring right at me, seemingly reading my mind.

"I don't really think that's it," I said, quick to defend the boy who'd saved my life twice already. "He's just...uncomfortable."

George gave a cynical laugh. "Uncomfortable, is he? And how should we go about making him more comfortable? Should we all draw Dark Marks on our arms to make him feel at home?"

Immediately I was taken aback. I wasn't expecting such a strong reaction from someone who was essentially a stranger to me. "He isn't like that anymore...," I mumbled.

"And who are you to make that call? You didn't know him before," he said darkly. I noticed there were bags under his eyes and his mouth was pulled down in a permanent frown.

"He hates Voldemort just as much as you do."

"No. He doesn't." He got up, pushed in his chair, and walked out of the kitchen in a haste.

My face felt hot. How could I have pissed him off that much with only a few words? I glanced at the rest of the table. Our confrontation had gone unnoticed, or at least ignored, by everyone else, who were absorbed in their own conversations. I crossed my arms over my chest.

That's when I remembered. He lost his twin in the war. Because of Voldemort. Because of Death Eaters. And Draco was a Death Eater.

I got up out of my seat and went in search of him. I wasn't one of those people who could hurt someone's feelings, intentionally or otherwise, and not apologize. It ate away at me like acid slowly wasting away a scrap of metal.

I checked all the rooms on the first and second floor, including the one that I heard Harry and Ron speaking in earlier and he wasn't in any of them. I went further up the stairs to the third floor, where I had never been. It was in the first room that I found him, sitting on the edge of a bed, slumped over in silence.

"George?" I said gently, knocking once on the open door. He didn't answer, but seeing as he also didn't tell me to leave him alone, I took that as an invitation to cross the threshold.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what just happened... I honestly didn't mean to bring anything up or make you upset or anything... I just--" I was interrupted by his sighing. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand before getting up with a small smile, though it looked a bit forced.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that." He paused. "I didn't used to be this way. I was nice, I swear..."

"No, no. I believe you. But I shouldn't have pressed the Draco thing. So, I really am sorry," I said, wondering whether or not I should bring up his brother. In the end, my conscience won out. "And...I'm really sorry about your brother. I know I didn't know him or anything but..."

"You would've liked him. Everyone did."

"I'm sure he was great," I said, gripping the strap of my bag that was still slung across my chest.

"What's in that bag?" he asked, changing the subject. "I haven't seen you without it."

"Well..." I opened it up and took out the pistol, being careful not to point it at anything that looked valuable--though, upon further inspection, nothing looked especially special. There were mostly empty packages and things that looked like toys everywhere. And only one of the two beds looked messy. He stayed here alone.

"Wow, is that a muggle gun?" he asked, holding out his hand to see it.

I placed it in his hand. "Yeah, when Draco came into the shop I worked in, it was the first thing I saw that I could defend myself with once the Death Eaters came in..."

"You shot Death Eaters with this?" he asked incredulously.

I scratched the back of my neck. "Uh, yeah. All three of them, actually."

His face broke out into a full fledged smile. "Did you kill any of them?" There was a fire in his eyes when he said this. A thirst for blood--Death Eater blood. I couldn't blame him but the intensity of his expression was a little worrisome.

"I'm not really sure. We left before I could check," I said, wondering again if I was a murderer. "What is all of this?" I asked, gesturing to all the trash on the floor and pulling the attention away from my possible-killer status.

George's face fell again. "Just a bunch of...stuff," he said.

Before I could say anything more, he pointed the pistol at a pile of it. There were all kinds of packages within it. Boxes that looked like they contained ears and things called Puking Pastils and the like. None of it made sense to me.

George's finger flirted with the trigger. "George," I mumbled, though I was cut off by the sound of a bullet traveling through the chamber and crashing into the pile of trash, clean through the wall. It was amplified by the fact that we were in such a small room.

"George!" I yelled, my hearing temporarily dulled, snatching the gun out of his limp hands. He didn't reply, he only stared blankly ahead at the disheveled pile.

There was screaming downstairs--words that I couldn't make out--as well as people running up the stairs. People charged through the door, wide eyed and breathing heavily. They looked from George to me, and then at the gun in my hands. I slipped it into my bag again.

"What happened?" Mr. Weasley said, looking at me. They thought I had shot the gun.

"I--" I began, not sure what to say. I didn't want to get George into trouble but I also didn't want everyone to think I was a homicidal maniac.

"I shot it. I just wanted to see what it was like," George said, his eyes not leaving the spot where he'd just aimed the gun.

Mrs. Weasley's face turned red and she looked as if she wanted to say something--everyone looked like they wanted to say something--but they didn't. They all stayed quiet. But there was still screaming downstairs. Since no one else looked concerned, I decided I wasn't either. "Mudbloods, filth," the woman screamed.

"I better go shut that old woman up," Bill said then, leaving with a pregnant Fleur in hand. Everyone else left, one by one, without saying a word about what just happened. Mrs. Weasley patted George's shoulder before leaving too.

"No one even reacts anymore," George said after they left, still staring wide eyed at the wall. "They won't say anything bad to me. No one."

He finally tore his eyes away and looked at me. "They're afraid I might crack. Go mad or something."

"Will you?" I asked, seeing the grief that was ignited in his eyes--the desire for revenge that I was alive with not too long ago.

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet."

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