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Category: The Burrow Secret Challenge (2016-3), The Burrow Secret Challenge (2016-3) Characters:None Genres: Action/Adventure, Tragedy Warnings: Death Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 47 Summary: When George receives a letter from one of his brothers asking for help, he finds himself keeping secrets even from his twin. Hitcount: Story Total: 9627; Chapter Total: 1840 Author's Notes: Here's my entry for our challenge! (And as a plug: this challenge is WIDE OPEN. Seriously, you can write anything from this. It's awesome. So write!) It's a canon story, so you all know who dies at the end already *sniff* I'm not entirely sure where this story came from, but I'm really enjoying writing it! Many thanks to the one and only GHL for reading this over for me. It's a much cleaner piece of writing for it. |
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George ignored the tapping at the window as he peered down at the cauldron and finished the seventh anti-clockwise stir. The clear liquid swirled slowly, distorting his reflection. It seemed about the right colour and consistency, so he dropped the spoon into its dish and flipped over the timer. With a sigh, he headed towards the window. A handsome screech owl glared at him through the glass as George fumbled with the latch. George didn’t like it when Fred was gone for too long, even though today’s early-morning supply run had been entirely necessary. The Order had requested several more complicated potions, and Fred and George hadn’t had to return to an Order meeting empty handed yet. Finally the latch gave way and the owl fluttered into the room. George thought the owl seemed oddly familiar. “Sorry, chap,” George said. “Let me get you a bit of water. Bloody hot out.” He retrieved a dish from the drying rack by the sink and let the water run for a bit until it was cool. He set the bowl on the table before the owl and untied the letter, stuffing it in his pocket as he went hunting for owl treats. “I’d rather not reply at the mo,” he called over his shoulder, “if it’s not urgent. I’ve got a cauldron on and I’d hate to start the whole thing over.” Fred had always laughed at him when he talked to owls as if they were people, but George didn’t really care. He figured they were smart enough to find people; surely they were smart enough to understand the rest of everything wizards said. And George had earned far fewer beak marks on his fingers. He scattered the owl treats on the table as the timer chimed. The bird eyed him before snapping one up. George added three drops of a brilliantly violet compound he and Fred had prepared two days earlier and smoothly gave the cauldron seven more anti-clockwise stirs. “Guess you do want a reply,” George said, flipping the timer again. The bird dipped his head and George was again struck by the feeling he knew this owl. He sat down and pulled the letter out of his pocket. He flipped it over and his eyes widened. “Hermes?” he asked, incredulously. The owl ruffled his feathers, but there was no way George could mistake the precise handwriting on the envelope, or the formal address to “The Messrs. Fred and George Weasley.” “And just what the bloody hell does Perfect Percy want anyway?” George muttered. He pondered just tossing the letter for a moment, but Hermes seemed actually quite intent on getting a reply. George used his potion knife to slit the envelope and pulled out the letter. It looked long, though by Percy’s standards it was quite short. August 13th, 1997 Dear Fred and George, I write to you with three purposes. First, I must start by apologizing. I cannot be too verbose, for one of these purposes is quite urgent, but please accept that I have come to understand the magnitude of my mistakes with regards to our family. I wish deeply I had not acted as I did, but I also realize I cannot change the past. Believe me, if I could do so I would. Second, I have heard several disquieting rumours about our family. The first is that our home was attacked by You-Know-Who’s supporters on the day of Bill’s wedding. I find myself hoping very much that this is untrue (I had hoped our family could avoid his notice altogether!) but more so that if it is true that everyone who was present is safe and well. The second rumour is that Ron is ill with Spattergroit. This seems entirely unlikely — where would he have caught it? — but as with before I wish very much that it is untrue or if it is that Ron finds himself recovering quickly and easily, with no lasting effects. I would very much appreciate any information you feel you can share with me, and though I don’t know if you will believe me, I assure you that no one shall learn anything about our family from me. The third purpose of this letter is in fact the most urgent (though I believe my apology to be the most important). As I’m sure you’re aware, the Ministry of Magic has begun trials for witches and wizards believed to be Muggleborn, and I find myself in an uncomfortable position. I have been assisting one of my colleagues in deceiving the Muggleborn Registration Committee as to her lineage. Deception, as you may recall, is not something that comes naturally to me. But I quickly realized that in some cases, this being a prime example, that such deception is necessary to ensure the safety of another. However, I am not nearly as skilled as you both in this matter, and our deception has been discovered. She herself is much better at it than I and very neatly protected me, so I may continue in my duties at the Ministry. (The reasons for the importance of this are many and I shall not detail them now.) But she needs a safe place to go, quite quickly. I was hoping you could assist me in this matter. I remember teaching you both how to chart a potion recipe when you were young. You were, and still are, very clever, though you chose to demonstrate this in arenas outside of academia. I very strongly believe you two are the best of all my brothers to help me with this. Even if you do not believe a single word I’ve written thus far, I ask you to help my colleague. No one deserves to have her wand snapped simply because of her parentage. She is a talented witch She is currently concealed at my flat but I believe she will only be safe there for a few days. I have instructed Hermes to wait for a reply. Please, Fred and George, help us. Love, Percy George was shaken from his thoughts by the timer chiming. He grabbed several silvery pods and deftly squeezed an astonishing amount of goo from the pods into the potion. The potion lost the purple tint it had acquired and turned perfectly clear. He flipped the timer yet again and sank back onto the stool by the table and reread Percy’s letter. “And just what am I supposed to do to help him?” George wondered out loud. Hermes shifted on the table, his talons clicking. “Yes, I understand why he wants a reply,” he said to the owl. “But what do I say?” George clearly remembered the days Percy had referred to. Percy had been the one to get him his very first potions kit, and Fred got the book. Mum had been scandalized that her nine-year-old twins had access to volatile ingredients, but Percy had guided them successfully through the basic potions at the beginning of the book. Really, George mused, Percy should be credited with a lot of their success. Many of their pranks were potions-based, and they wouldn’t have the skills without Percy. Equally vivid in George’s mind was the last time he’d seen Percy. He smiled briefly at the image of Percy wearing parsnips, but it quickly faded. He’d seen the letter Percy had sent Ron. And he’d seen Dad’s face when he shouted at Percy. It was only the third time he could remember his dad shouting like that, and that in a household of six boys and the scrappiest girl he’d ever known. He and Fred had sworn they’d never forgive Percy after that. But Percy was begging. He reread the last paragraph of the letter. Please, Fred and George, help us, he’d written. If it were in any other context, George would be delighted to take the mickey from his brother, who clearly fancied the witch. George groaned and banged his forehead on the table. Hermes clicked his beak. “Once a Weasley, always a Weasley,” George muttered. “Let me find a clean scrap of parchment.” He stood and shuffled through the mess on the table. “I’m sure you’re a brilliant owl, Hermes,” he said, “but Percy is a damn fool if he doesn’t know that owls are being intercepted left and right. I’m not sending that much information back with you, no matter how good you are.” Hermes bobbed his head approvingly. “Here we go,” said George. “This is going to frustrate him, but it’s the best I can do, alright?” He scrawled across a scrap of parchment. Percy, I’m trusting you here. Trust me back. Apparate to the river bank at 7:30pm today. Don’t bring ANYTHING. George It seemed just a bit odd to see his name there without Fred’s, but he quickly rolled the parchment up and secured it to Hermes’ leg. “Fly safe, then,” he told the owl. “And try not to let anyone see you.” He let Hermes back out the window and stood over the sink, staring at the brick building next door. He wasn’t sure if he’d been an idiot or not, but he couldn’t bring himself to ignore his brother completely. “How’s it coming, Forge?” Fred’s voice rang up the stairs. George startled and dropped the bowl he’d used to give Hermes water. “Fine, Fred, how was the run?” he called back, wiping it out quickly. He stuffed the letter back in his pocket as he walked past the table. “Productive, brother mine!” Fred said cheerfully as he entered the room. “I believe I got everything we need for Polyjuice, although I had to charm my hair black and go down Knockturn to get the boomslang skin.” “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to go down Knockturn solo,” George said, cocking an eyebrow at his twin. “Right, and they won’t wonder about twins buying potion ingredients when they know we’re here on Diagon Alley?” Fred rejoined. George narrowed his eyes. “Just let me know, alright? I need to know where to send Kingsley and Tonks for you when you don’t come back.” “Oh lighten up, Forge!” Fred said. “Here, I grabbed you a paper. I wonder what ridiculousness they’re spouting now.” Fred flicked his wand at the cauldron flame as the timer chimed for the last time. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” George unfolded the paper as Fred leaned over his shoulder. The front headline was a glaring announcement about the Muggleborn Registration Committee. George clinched his teeth. “I can’t believe Percy,” Fred said. George whipped around to look at him. “What?” he asked. “Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron,” Fred spat. “I’m sure he’s helping with all this. Keeping records of everything is right up his alley, don’t you think?” “Of course,” George said, turning back to the paper. The letter shifted in his pocket, and he swore Fred could hear every crinkle. “I can’t believe him, even now,” Fred ranted as he turned back to the cauldron and started bottling the clear potion. “What kind of a pompous idiot turns his back on his family? On Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore? And everyone’s known he was wrong for the last two years and he still has his head up his arse!” “Mmhm,” George hummed, flipping through the rest of the paper. “No one we know is listed as dead,” he said. “He’s no brother of mine, that’s for sure,” Fred continued as if he hadn’t heard. George winced. “Did you make the labels for this, George?” “Uh, no,” George said, standing. “Distracted much?” Fred said, searching for the label sheet. “No worries, we’ll get them done up now.” The rest of the day passed in a haze of preparing and storing ingredients, restocking the shelves, starting a batch of Polyjuice and applying charms to more Fanged Frisbees. The Order stuff was cool, but it didn’t necessarily bring in the Galleons. Finally Fred locked the door behind the last customer. “Time for owl orders,” he said. He stood with his forehead against the door for a moment. “This whole thing is exhausting,” he said. George looked up from counting up the till. “Running our own business, creating all our own products, being the Order’s supplier, or wondering if anyone we know’s been attacked?” he asked dryly. “Ha-bloody-ha,” said Fred, straightening up. “Actually I’ve got a date with Angelina,” George said casually, turning back to the till. “Didn’t mention that, now did you?” Fred asked. “And let you take the mickey all day? I think not!” George said. “I should challenge you to a duel for taking my girl,” Fred shot back. “Oh sure,” said George. “You two were horrible together! You broke up after two weeks,” he reminded his twin. “That’s because she thought you asked her to the ball, you prat,” Fred said. “Dating a girl who can’t tell us apart,” he sighed. “What is this world coming to?” “Anarchy and madness, clearly,” said George, writing the total with a flourish. “Can you handle the owl orders by your lonesome tonight?” “I suppose, though it wearies me so,” said Fred, laying a hand across his forehead. George snorted. “When will you be back?” Fred asked. “Ten-ish,” George said. “Definitely not past eleven. We have a shop to run.” “I’ll send the Aurors out at midnight then,” Fred said. George nodded. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” he added cheerily. George turned back to salute his brother, but both of their eyes were serious. George hurried out the door and up the alley to the Leaky Cauldron. He needed supper. He kept one hand over Percy’s letter, wondering what the bloody hell he was going to do. He’d counted on Fred to know how to handle this, or at least to help him brainstorm. They always got their best ideas off each other. But after Fred’s rant about the Muggleborn Registration Committee, which had popped up again several times that day, George was certain he couldn’t tell Fred. The secret weighed heavily in his gut — he couldn’t remember the last time he’d kept a secret from his twin. He slipped into a chair at the bar and waved at Tom. Tom nodded up at the long line of tickets hanging from the kitchen window and shrugged. George sighed but settled in. One of the bar maids sent a glass of water his way, and George toyed with it as he thought. He couldn’t send the girl to the Burrow; it was definitely being watched already. And Bill and Fleur would kill him for interrupting their honeymoon. Hell, Bill might kill him for talking to Percy too. Percy had been Bill’s protégé when they were all kids, and Bill had taken Percy’s defection particularly hard. Charlie might be willing to help out — and the girl would certainly be safe on the middle-of-nowhere dragon reserve in Romania — but getting a message there and back took time and was risky. And George had no idea, even if Charlie agreed, how to get her there. George tabled that idea for the time being. And just like that, he was out of family members. It wasn’t fair that he and Fred counted almost as one brother sometimes, he mused, glaring at his glass. They weren’t the same, even though everyone always ran their names together. But they did live in the same tiny flat and the fact remained that Fred hated Percy with a passion. And Ron was off who-knew-where, and Ginny was for one thing still underage and for another stuck with going back to Hogwarts. Stymied for the moment, George glanced at his watch. He still had an hour before he had to meet Percy. He placed his hand in his pocket again, checking the letter was still there. He pulled out his old DA Galleon and spun it idly on the counter. Tom finally hurried over. “Mr. Weasley,” he said, “so sorry for the wait.” “No worries, Tom,” George said, slapping the Galleon down. “I sure understand the service industry.” “The regular, then? Two fish-and-chips with extra malt-vinegar?” “And a cup of tartar sauce,” George said. “Changing it up for once.” “Sure thing, Mr. Weasley,” Tom said, flicking his wand and sending George’s ticket to hang in the window. "And I’ll get you some chips while you wait. On the house.” “Thanks, Tom,” George said. He was mentally cataloguing the fridge he and Fred kept stocked at the shop. He thought there was still a carton of curry in there, so hopefully Fred wouldn’t come up to the Leaky that night. Or if he did, he would hopefully think he got the second order for Angelina. He should tip Angelina off, he thought, his mind racing. He didn’t want Fred to say something and her to be confused. She hadn’t known Percy well, so perhaps she wouldn’t mind covering for him. He spun the DA coin on the counter again and then paused. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. He tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for his order to come out. He’d hardly touched his chips. Finally Tom handed him his bag and George hurried back down Diagon Ally to the post office. He dropped six Knuts into the parchment dispenser and pulled out three small pieces. He wrote the same thing on each piece. Gryffindor Chasers — Our favourite game, our favourite place. 9pm tonight? I have a favour to ask. He didn’t bother to sign it. Katie, Alicia and Angelina all knew his handwriting and he sure as hell hoped at least two of them would show up. Preferably Angelina. He marked all three urgent and handed them off to the man at the window with a handful of coins. He needed to get the river bank set up before Percy got there, and he was running out of time. George dodged through the crowd back towards the Apparition point before disappearing with a loud crack. The river bank never changed, George thought fondly as he reappeared in his childhood haunt. The river widened here, creating a shallow pool that all the Weasley children had loved splashing in. They’d had a million picnics down here in the summer. But for now he had work to do. He charmed three stones to act as a perimeter and placed them in a triangle around the Apparition point they’d designated as a family. Standing in the middle, he jabbed his wand and activated a perimeter so that it would muffle noise and repel other people. He only planned on being here for a moment, but he didn’t want that moment to be one moment too many. He closed his eyes for a moment. He’d forgotten something. What would Fred do? George stared up at the sky and tapped his wand against his leg. The old oak tree was thick with leaves this year. Ah, that was it. He pushed two of the stones out so they included the tree, and slipped behind the trunk. Now he had a bit of a hiding place. He checked his watch, and trained his wand on the place where Percy would appear. Percy appeared at exactly 7:30. George immediately shot a spell at him to detect any tracking charms, mentally thanking Bill as he did. Percy wheeled around, startled. “George?” he called, panicking. “The one and only,” George said, stepping out from behind the tree. “I needed to see if you had any tracking charms,” he explained. “Now, do you trust me?” He held his hand out to his older brother. “One of the infamous Weasley twins?” Percy replied. “Of course not.” But he took George’s hand. “A joke, Percy?” George smirked. “Good answer.” He waved his wand, cancelling the protection spells, and twisted on the spot. The two boys disappeared with a loud crack. |
| Reviews 47 |
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