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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Nymphadora Tonks, Other, Remus Lupin Genres: Drama, General, Humor Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 6 Summary: Harry Potter has been missing for six months. Shops are closed and the Ministry hunts Muggle-born wizards. And for Fred and George, it's business as usual at Number 93, Diagon Alley. January 1998. Hitcount: Story Total: 1344 Awards: View Trophy Room Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights ? J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: Please leave a review, thanks! xo |
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When George sauntered into the kitchen one bright Friday morning in January, Fred was already sipping coffee at the counter, wearing a self-satisfied grin that reached both ears and was far too smug for his liking. “Something to be proud of this morning?” Fred shrugged, his grin never waning. “Nothing of the sort. It’s just particularly nice out today. Think I might go for a stroll.” George rolled his eyes, elbowing his brother aside to reach the coffee pot and pour himself a cup. “A stroll, sure. Want some pocket money? You can buy yourself an amulet that’ll make your brain leak out your ears.” Fred smirked, and George realized too late he’d offered a layup. “Wouldn’t matter. I’ve got plenty of brain to spare this morning.” George chuckled, lowing his voice. “Is she still here?” Fred gave an exaggerated yawn, scratching the back of his head. “Nah. Had to work early. Showered and left just before you came out.” George pulled a stool up to the table and sat. A flick of his wand sent two slices of bread soaring out of the cupboard and onto a plate, which he Summoned along with the butter dish and jam. “So?” he begrudgingly asked. “How was it?” There was that smug look again. “Mind-blowing. Earth-shattering. And, if you’ll remember, Lee bet me that I wouldn’t meet any fit birds at that pub, so now I’m ten Sickles the richer for it.” George cocked a brow, spreading jam over his toast. “Mind-blowing, eh? Did she think it was any good?” “Oh please, Georgie. We were like a pair of tigers, she and I.” George grinned. “Yeah? From what I could hear it was a bit like a dying whale and a lady in distress.” Fred rolled his eyes, his ears reddening. “Sod off, I’m a great shag.” “Whatever. Maybe remember a silencing charm next time? Hard to concentrate on polishing my own broom when all I can hear is you getting your knob off.” Fred lobbed a tea biscuit. “Jealous berk,” he muttered as it splashed into George’s mug. They finished their breakfast in drowsy silence, dumping their dishes into the over-crowded sink before dressing for the day. “Think you can open up?” George called from his bedroom. “I need to fill some orders I didn’t get to last night and run them out to the post.” “Yeah, fine,” Fred replied from the living room, where he was buttoning the cuffs of his velvet smoking jacket. He checked his watch. “I’m going to head down now and unlock the doors, then.” “Cheers.” With Fred handling the front-of-shop duties, George wandered down into the warehouse where they filled mail orders, which comprised a majority of their sales as of late. Pulling out the last few order sheets from the week, he brandished his wand at stacks of cardboard boxes and brown wrapping paper, and they began assembling and unspooling themselves. He stuffed and wrapped most packages with defensive products; it was rare to send out practical jokes or Skiving Snackboxes anymore. And from what they’d learned from Ginny, it wasn’t hard to understand why: Hogwarts sounded like a nightmare under Snape’s regime. When George had finished addressing the last of the orders, he pulled out one more box and unfurled his sister’s latest letter: Hey guys, All’s well here. I’m studying hard in all my classes, especially Herbology. Plants in the greenhouse are doing well. The only ones I really miss are the radishes… they’re out of season but I wish I knew when they’d be coming back. If you know anything or have any tips on growing them, let me know. It’s a shame they canceled the European Cup. I’ll be missing Quidditch a lot without playing, and now without those matches to look forward to. I’m sure there are other programs on the wireless I could check out, though, if you can tell me about any. Hope you’re both doing well and business is good. Thanks again for the WonderWitch stuff… they’ve really been working for my skin. I’m wondering if you could send some more, along with any stronger potions you might have? My friend and I have a couple of stubborn spots that I think could benefit from the one you gave me after Christmas dinner. I hope Ron is doing okay… he looked pretty bad over the holiday, but hopefully the Spattergroit will clear up soon. Say hi to him, and to Mum and Dad from me. All my love, Ginny She’d warned them over the holiday that her letters were being intercepted, and since then radishes had become her code for fresh news about Luna’s disappearance. The twins had decoded the rest and decided that she must be asking for the next Potterwatch password, too. George pulled a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill toward him and wrote back a brief reply: Gin, Sorry to hear about the radishes. Wish we had any tips for you, but our garden’s been pretty barren. We’re narked about Quidditch, too. I hear Dearborn at the Ministry is still trying to reverse the decision next week. Here’s some more potion, hope it should last awhile. Don’t use too much of the Eye Serum at once… a little goes a long way. George He tucked the parchment into a box along with bottles of Butterbeer they’d disguised as Calamity Lotions and Pimple Potions. Then, smirking and shaking his head, he unstoppered a flask of firewhisky and emptied it into three Eye Serum tubes. And, thinking back on the bruises Ginny had come home with at Christmas, he nestled a Shield Hat and a lump of Darkness Powder among the bottles for good measure. A few waves of his wand magically concealed the bottles’ contents and sealed the box for delivery. All the while, he forced himself to focus on the pride he felt over the fight his sister was putting up at Hogwarts, rather than the worry that twisted his stomach into knots. With the packages shrunken down and safely in his satchel, George slung it over his shoulder before passing through the empty store on his way out to Diagon Alley. Fred was behind the till, blowing huge, colored bubbles with his wand and morphing them into inappropriate shapes. “Oi. I’ll be at the post. Need anything?” Fred hopped up to sit on the counter and shot George a bored look. “Nah, not unless there’s a crowd of young-uns at Quality Quidditch you can convince to come in here.” “Not bloody likely. Might be a better use of your time to conjure some instead,” George chuckled, gesturing to a floating purple penis that was now bouncing off the ceiling. Fred pointed with his chin. “Got Ginny’s stuff in there too?” George nodded. “Gave her next time’s password, since it won’t get to her in time for tonight. I’ll be back in a jif for lunch.” He pushed the front door out into the bleak cold, pulling his cloak tighter around himself and ducking his cap in the direction of the post office. As he walked, he ignored the calls of bedraggled witches and wizards that huddled under the doorways and awnings of boarded-up shops. Some still shouted offers of services or treasures, but most sought only money and the occasional sympathetic ear. George was grateful for the heat when he stepped into the post office, and he expanded the packages and paid for the appropriate delivery owls. The greasy, ancient postwizard smiled toothily, assuring their safe arrival with a wink as he scrawled out the invoice. George thanked him and turned back into the wind, his pockets considerably lighter. He paused for a moment as he passed the Apothecary. It was closed, but he’d heard rumors that the owner was still taking appointments. His thoughts strayed back to the last product line he and Fred had been developing: Transfiguration Tokens, for transforming into objects without the complicated spellwork. They’d abandoned the product at the testing stage when the orders for defense products had flooded in, and now it wasn’t worth spending their savings on experiments. Still, it couldn’t hurt just to inquire about the going rate for powdered bicorn horn… he was itching to give it another try… He pressed on and avoided the beggars again on his way back to the shop. Fred had brought lunch down from the flat when he returned, laying out bisque and cheese toasties on the counter. “Pretty big sale while you were out,” he commented between bites as George conjured a chair. “Excellent. Where’d they come from?” Fred twirled his wand on the end of his finger. “Couple of rich witches, I think they both had young kids at home. Sounds like everyone who’s keeping a low profile is getting a bit of cabin fever, especially the families. They bought a bunch of games and Snackboxes. Nearly cleared us out of the Muggle toys.” George grinned. “Well, that’s good. Maybe it’ll cover the cost of the post we just sent out. We’re going to have to raise our shipping prices again. Check this out.” He slid the invoice across the counter. Fred’s eyes skimmed the parchment before his face clouded over. “Ten Sickles to mail a medium box? What do they think is in there, You-Know-Who’s head?” “Dunno. Might have something to do with that article about post owls being intercepted and injured. I had to use almost all the ones they had left in there.” Fred chewed and swallowed thoughtfully. “You know, we could just buy a few owls. Especially if we might be heading into a shortage. We could even try to breed ‘em, like the puffs. Not the first time we’ve thought about it.” They had talked about it. It was part of their plan if they ever needed to close the shop doors and operate by mail-order indefinitely. “Yeah?” George tried to prevent a nervous rise in his voice. He was relieved to see the same trepidation reflected in his twin’s face. “You think it’s come to that?” Fred sighed, glancing around the empty shop. “I dunno, do you? Couldn’t hurt to start thinking about it.” George smirked. “Think Mum would let us use Bill and Charlie’s old room as a warehouse?” “Not a chance in hell.” “She might, though. If it means we’d be under her roof again.” A slow, rueful gin spread over both of their faces. “Nah, we’re definitely not there yet.” After lunch they got to work completing the week’s inventory. They’d finished and George was at the till when the door opened with a blast of cold air. “Oh, good. I was hoping you two hadn’t abandoned ship too.” The tall woman lowered the hood of her traveling cloak and shook out her long, braided hair, flashing him a brilliant smile. George couldn’t help matching her grin. “Wow, Johnson. Long time no see. What brings a hot-shot drafting maven like yourself all the way back from Vienna?” Angelina waved him off, amused. “You’re only a hot-shot if your clients are actually playing Quidditch, thank you very much. I’m sure you’ve heard about the fucking Euro Cup.” He nodded slowly. “It’s a right shame.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment, then widened as she took a panicked step forward. “What the hell… what happened to you?” George grinned, tracing the hole where his ear had been. By now he was used to the moment when people noticed. “Oh, this? S’nothing, really. Bit of a run-in with some nasty little Deathies. But we sure showed them.” She eyed him with a look of skepticism and hint of revulsion. “My god, George. What are you getting yourselves into?” He shrugged casually. “It was a while ago. Last summer, actually. What can you do, right?” Angelina shook her head. “At least now you’re easier to tell apart,” she muttered. “Hey, that’s that I said!” She rolled her eyes. “Is your brother around too, or is it just you?” George turned toward the back of the shop. “OI, FREDDIE! WE GOT A VISITOR!” He looked at her, narrowing his eyes. “Okay, enough about me. Did I hear correctly that you’ve been representing Nicolas Couture?” She groaned and threw her head back. “Yes, and it’s been a miserable tease. Amazing first season, and recruited for the French National Team straight off a rookie year? Unheard of. Goddamn this stupid war.” They both glanced up as Fred slid into sight, riding the banister down to the first floor and winking as he disembarked. “Odd time to be coming back to Britain, innit?” She gave him a grim smirk. “Now’s a good a time as ever to be with family, mate.” He slung an arm around her shoulders, kissing her cheek. “Good to see you, love.” He hopped up onto the counter beside George. “Seriously, though, what brings you around? It’s like Knockturn out there nowadays.” She unclasped the front of her cloak. “No kidding. Next time I’m Apparating directly into the shop. I’ve been back for a week, actually. Staying with my parents for a while. Work’s been slow- there are no matches right now and most sponsorships are paused, so there’s no need to be in Vienna. And it just feels stupid to be away from family with everything going on.” Fred looked at George with an arched brow. “Imagine work being slow?” George sniggered and shook his head. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be embarrassing?” Fred rounded back on Angelina. “Well, welcome home anyway. But what about your hot French bon-bon? What was his name again… Francois? Jean-Paul?” “Raphael” she corrected, rolling her eyes. “And… that ended about a month ago.” “Ah, sorry mate. Was his baguette not up to your standard?” She snorted, placing her handbag on the counter and swatting George’s arm. “Prat. It just wasn’t working. It was a mutual decision.” George shrugged. “Sounds like a wanker to me. I still say we drink to his good riddance.” Fred’s eyes lit up, and he nodded conspiratorially. “Come on up for a spot. It’s been too long.” She glanced at the door behind her and then at her watch. “It’s three in the afternoon. Do you have anyone to mind the shop?” Fred shrugged and flicked his wand. The window shutters cascaded down as the sign on the door flipped to ‘closed.’ “No one’s barmy enough to come in, anyway.” They led her up to the flat, where she was gracious enough not to comment on the mess of products and experiments strewn across most surfaces. George fetched three glasses and a bottle of scotch while Fred cleared off the coffee table. They spend most of the afternoon discussing the latest details of the war. By now it was an exhausting topic, but not so much that it could be kept out of conversation. All winter it had continued to creep into fireside chats, threading its way into whispered gossip around cozy pub tables. Fred and George gave Angelina all the updates on the Ministry takeover, the Muggleborn Registration Commission, the families that’d gone missing. She was unsurprised by the Weasleys’ involvement in the war efforts, but seemed concerned nonetheless. “I heard about Potter disappearing pretty early on,” she commented, nodding gravely. “Even in Austria people have been debating whether he’s alive, and whether or not he fled. But you think he’s doing okay?” George saw his twin’s eyes flicker toward him. “Yeah, we’re pretty sure he’s alive and working for the resistance somehow. You-Know-Who would definitely want everyone to know if they’d caught him. Loads of people think there’s something to all that Chosen One rubbish.” Ice clinked against her glass as she swirled it thoughtfully. “I see. So, you don’t think he’s the Chosen One?” George shrugged. “Who’s to say? Shouldn’t change how we act, anyhow. No sense in waiting around for a hero to fix all this.” “Damn.” She leaned back, resting her head on the back of the sofa and gazing up at the ceiling. “He’s just a kid. All I can picture is the gawky Seeker who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I guess he always was pretty scrappy, though. If anyone’s getting by somewhere out there, it’s him.” She looked at both of them again, her eyes narrowed. “And you’re telling me Ron’s been sick with Spattergroit? What shit timing. I’d have thought he’d be out there with Potter. They were inseparable, those two…” Fred shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, I guess you could call it shit timing…” “… or just very lucky timing,” George amended. “Keeps everyone off the family’s scent, anyway.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Ahh. I see,” she said slowly. The silence that followed pressed on them all. “Yeah.” George avoided his twin’s eyes and the fear he might find there. The sun had long since set by the time Fred nudged George and pointed to his watch. “We’ve got to go in a bit, actually,” he announced with a yawn. “Lee’ll be here in a few minutes and we have an appointment.” Angelina swung her legs off the arm of the sofa with a deep sigh. “Alright, I should probably get home, too. This whole ‘don’t go out after dark’ thing is so much more annoying when it’s dark by five.” They led her down the back stairwell to the street entrance. “Tell Lee hi for me. What’s he up to, anyway?” “Erm… he’s still in broadcasting,” Fred said vaguely. “Following his passion, you know.” She arched a brow as she adjusted her scarf. “Is he still in sports announcing? Not much going on there these days besides Gobstones, is there?” The twins shared a glance before George sighed in defeat and conjured a strip of parchment. “Not sure how much you’ve heard in Vienna, but just follow those instructions tonight. You’ll get it.” “Just… do everyone a solid and burn that, yeah?” Fred demanded huffily. She glanced over it quickly and nodded slowly, wearing an odd expression. “Alright. I’ll see you soon. Never thought I’d have to say this to you two, but… be careful. Please.” “Who, us? Always.” She glared at them warningly as she pulled them each in for a hug. “I mean it. Love you both. We’ll talk soon, yeah?” “Of course.” “Count on it.” And with a crack that echoed through the empty alley, she disappeared. Fred wheeled around and sucked his teeth. “Who’d have thought the woman who took my virginity would just keep getting hotter?” George laughed, clapping Fred over the shoulder. “Prick. You couldn’t get with her now if you gave it your best effort.” “You’re probably right. Even Adonis has to know his limits.” He paused in the middle of flexing dramatically to wrinkle his nose. “Besides, it’d be too weird now. Like shagging my sister or something.” George chuckled. “C’mon, we gotta go. Lee’s probably on his way over.” They donned their cloaks and met Lee outside the front of the shop, and without a word all three of them Disapparated. They appeared on a wild, empty hillside, where the fierce wind whipped tall grass around their legs. They trudged over the hill and down the sloping lawn, feeling a ripple as they passed through a magical barrier and the tiny cottage came into view, nestled between the trees, its soft glow a beacon against the moonless sky. It was George who knocked, twice loudly followed by two quick raps. The door opened a crack and a wand tip emerged. “Who was the last person to see Mad-Eye alive?” Her voice, soft and tired, still held a wary edge. “Mundungus Fletcher, the scumbag,” the three of them muttered in unison. She opened the door fully, looking round at them with a weary grin. “Wotcher.” “Hey, Tonks.” They took turns kissing her cheek. “How’re you feeling?” Lee asked. She sighed, resting a hand on her belly over her nightdress. “Still ready to pop, same as last week. Except now he dances on my bladder all night, so I can’t sleep either.” Fred gave a low whistle as George winced. “Yikes. Sorry to hear it.” “Hey! Was I the only who heard the Healer?” Remus admonished as he entered the kitchen, a frown etched into his deeply lined face. Tonks rolled her eyes and addressed the twins and Lee. “Oh. Right. And now I’m on bedrest. Some rubbish about my blood pressure.” The three of them helped Remus usher a protesting Tonks down the hall toward the bedroom, and he gently closed the door behind her, shaking his head. “If I thought it was hard to keep her out of the action before, it’s like herding cats now,” he muttered before checking his watch. “Anyway, we should probably get ready. He should be here any minute.” They followed him into the cramped living room, avoiding overstuffed bookshelves and a desk stacked with newspapers and parchment. Remus waved his wand, and the far wall revealed itself as a heavy curtain that obscured a hidden alcove. Fred parted the curtain for Lee and George to step through just as another knock, in the same pattern, sounded at the door. “I’ll get that,” Remus muttered. The deep voices in the kitchen were muted to a dull rumble when the curtain swung back into place behind Fred. He took a seat at the table and leaned across to Lee, elbowing his microphone aside. “By the way. You owe me from last night. She was great.” Lee frowned and arched a doubtful brow at George, who sighed and affirmed Fred with a defeated nod. With a huff, Lee fished into his pocket and scattered ten Sickles across the table. “Leave it to you to find the only good-looking witch in a place greasier than the Hog’s Head.” Fred smirked and happily stuffed the money into his pocket. A moment later the curtain parted again, and Remus held it open as Kingsley Shacklebolt ducked into the little recording studio. He glanced around appreciatively, eyeing the tapestries lining the walls as makeshift sound panels. “Not bad,” he remarked with an impressed nod. “We do what we can,” George chuckled. “Thanks for joining us. We’ll have to share a mic, though. I hope that’s okay.” Kingsley raised a hand graciously. “That’s fine, fine.” Then he looked sharply to Remus. “I meant to ask. Any word about Nymphadora’s father?” Remus sighed, rubbing his face as he sank into the chair beside Fred. “He got a message to Andromeda last weekend. Said he’s safe, and we’re pretty sure it’s really from him. But the way things are looking… he can’t safely come back any time soon. Dora’s been a wreck about it.” Kingsley bowed his head. “That’s terrible news. I’m so sorry.” Lee cleared his throat and passed Kingsley their notes, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “Sorry, but we have to start in a minute. And I’m afraid the news in here doesn’t tend to get much better.” They passed around bulky headsets, untangling coiled wires as Remus got to work tuning the dials on the wireless that connected to a magical antenna. Now, with five around the table instead of four, it really did feel quite crowded. They shifted to keep from elbowing each other as Remus gave a thumbs-up and the static in their ears cleared. Lee grinned around at them all, leaning into his mic. “We want to thank everyone tonight for tuning in, wherever you are, and we hope you’re staying safe. Now, before we get to our other important segments, we have Ringtail here to provide an unfortunate update, and perhaps some clarity to all of you Quibbler subscribers out there who’ve yet to receive your first copy of this New Year.” George winked and pulled his mic closer. “Thanks, River. It’s with heavy hearts that we are able to indeed validate the reported triumph over Xenophilius Lovegood in the Daily Prophet-” “-if anyone’s even reading that toilet rag anymore.” “Well, a broken clock’s bound to be right twice a day, and unfortunately, we can confirm that this past Sunday’s article did in fact strike twelve. Lovegood’s been brought to Azkaban and it’s unclear whether he’s been given a trial date.” “As for the events behind the arrest, the details are a bit muddy. The Prophet claims that he lured the Ministry officials there under the pretense of handing over our dear Undesirable Number One-” “-and then he tried to blow up the house with the Ministry members inside.” “Now, here’s the thing about that, River,” Fred leaned in conspiratorially. “Lovegood’s been an outspoken Potter supporter from day one. It sounds to me an awful lot like the Prophet is trying to spread misinformation about his intentions.” “Agreed, Rodent. Odds are that the Ministry officials showed up at his door, and made up this story of treachery later.” “Let’s all send our thoughts out to Mr. Lovegood, as we may never know the real story behind his arrest.” “And so, it remains unclear whether or not the Quibbler will continue to be published. I think it’s safe to say we won’t be seeing any new editions any time soon. But hey, if any of our listeners out there are feeling up to the task of editing and publishing quality information, you have our blessing. So long as you use a fake name and keep a low profile.” “Good point. Like you always say, Rodent: safety first!” Fred stuck out his tongue and flipped Lee off, who covered his mic as he shook with silent laughter. “Moving on, we’ve got Romulus here to fill us in for our ‘Pals of Potter’ segment. Now, if any of you haven’t canceled that ruddy Prophet subscription, you might have also seen that the same article mentioned a sighting of Harry Potter at Lovegood’s house before his arrest. Why don’t you tell us what you think of that?” Remus closed his eyes, the lines on his forehead creasing further. “Well, we’ve heard a lot of reports of Potter sightings, most of them fraudulent. But this one does appear to be legitimate. Unlike other reported sightings, this time the Prophet seemed quite reluctant to admit that the Ministry had come so close to catching him and failed.” His words hung in the air as they all looked around at each other in shock. From what they’d been able to tell, no one had seen Harry since September. Kingsley’s eyes fell closed, and Fred dropped his head into his folded arms on the table. George shared their relief, and also their fear, for a suspended moment that seemed to last eternity. Lee, always conscious of the dead air, was the first to regain his voice, snapping them all out of the silence. “Wow. That’s… surprising. Any idea what he was doing with ol’ Xenophilius?” Remus frowned pensively. The haggard worry didn’t leave his face. “We have no idea what he was doing there. He could have been gathering information…” “-or giving an exclusive interview…” “-or picking up some Dirigible Plums for his travels…” Remus sighed. “Either way, we’re pretty sure he wasn’t lured there to be turned in to the Ministry.” “Alright, well, you heard it here first, folks. At least we have hope that ol’ scar-head’s alive, and most likely in the country. As for what he’s up to, well, that’s an answer that only he and perhaps Mr. Lovegood have.” And Ron, George thought tersely as he and Fred caught each other’s eye. “And now we’re going to turn to our newest correspondent, who will be giving us updates on the Ministry of Magic.” “Excellent. Take it away, Royal.” Remus stood agitatedly from his chair and swept the curtain aside to leave the studio. They watched him go as Kingsley took over his microphone and began recapping the most recent Ministry developments. George was grateful when Lee stepped in to ask the questions they’d prepared. He locked eyes across the table with Fred, whose identical gaze was steadfast and determined. Ron was still out there with Harry. He’d most likely been just over the hills from their house. The thought hit like an icy stab of fear that solidified their resolve. They could deal with the shop closing, with never developing another wheeze. They would hide out like Remus and Tonks, if they had to. But this broadcast… this was their contribution to the resistance, bound to it as they were by family. It buoyed them like the broomsticks that had once carried them higher and higher into the night, Hogwarts disappearing into their past as the Ministry’s chains trailed behind them. He found in his twin the same fire they’d passed onto their siblings. They were doing the right thing. Together. |
| Reviews 6 |
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