The Order of Secrets

Fred

Coming home to the burrow at the end of the school year typically made Fred a little melancholy. He loved his family, with an obvious bias to his twin (partner-in-crime, other half) but at school he was in his element. Free, for the most part, to do what he liked. Surrounded by peers and able to joke, prank and entertain. It was what he lived for, the joy that a well-timed joke or silly prank could bring, and the  crueler elements of ‘pranking’ that was perhaps more akin to revenge (Like the time he and George had replaced every cup on the Slytherin table to the biting sort. It was possible, not proven, mind you, that they had tampered with the original charm and the bites contained a mild venom that caused an alarming amount of swelling) Mean, yes. Deserved? Certainly. At school they were popular, when they cared to be. Well-liked by teachers even when they were wreaking havoc.

Home was different. Not that they spared their family their jokes, but they had to walk a tight rope between their fun and their mother’s dwindling patience. He had always considered himself (themselves) as slightly ‘other’ in the family. Different somehow in a way that wasn’t obvious. He assumed it was because as twins he and George had a connection that the others didn’t, but the ‘otherness’ was always there.  Fred would rather spend every night in detention with Filtch than face his mother’s wrath.  Molly Weasley had made it perfectly clear the twins were expected to get good grades and join their father and brother in the Ministry. There was no other acceptable path, and their dream of owning a joke shop, in her mind, was simply that. A dream for children who didn’t understand the world. Unattainable for two boys who despite glowing reviews from their teachers about their magical prowess, kept their grades low and incident reports high. So she took their products when she found them, confiscated potion ingredients, tore up their notes. They had learned anything important to them had to be hidden from her.

Their mother loved them in her way, but they longed for that beaming, pride-filled smile she so often turned to their brothers. The constant comparison to their accomplished siblings, only to be found lacking was a constant ache in their hearts. After all, Bill was a prefect. Head boy. 12 O.W.L.S’s and special awards from the school. Now the youngest curse-breaker for Gringott’s in a generation. Charlie was right behind him, prefect and captain of the Quidditch team. Recruited by several professional Quidditch teams before deciding to run off to Romania and tame dragons. He had lost a few good son points for the move (not to mention passing up fame and fortune ) but his professional achievements gained them back. Percy was right on track, rule following to a fault, prefect, head boy and now joining the ranks of the Ministry, his eyes set on the top seat.

 Then came the twins. They had no interest in school beyond learning what they needed to achieve whatever goal they had at the time. School was necessary to master magic, to learn the charms and transfigurations that they used to invent. They were full of ideas, for jokes yes but there was more. Sometimes the ideas came so fast his hand flew across the parchment, desperately trying to write them all down before he forgot. George was more methodical, focusing on one thing at a time, complete with notes and sketches. They desperately wanted their mother to be proud of them, but on their terms. For what they accomplished because they wanted to. The joke shop was their dream, and for years everything they had learned was singularly focused on their success. They would succeed, Fred was certain. He dreamed of ushering his mother into their shop, the shelves bulging with gags and jokes of all kinds. The isles would be crowded with delighted children, and his mother would beam at him. “I’m so proud of you boys.” She would say with tears in her eyes.

Their father was another story. He typically showed an amused sort of pride in their inventions and antics, although he would of course side with Molly on any punishment. He did his best to hide what he could and shield them, but he would never stand by their side against her. Sometimes Arthur would sneak them gadgets or trinkets from the muggle world he thought they might improve. When he caught them mid-prank or sneaking in well past curfew, he would give them a nod and an indulgent smile. He was proud of them, which was nice, but it was a secret sort of pride, which chaffed.

This homecoming was notably different. After racing up the stairs and dumping their trunks in their shared bedroom, there was no time to lounge. Molly had called the children to the kitchen for a family meeting. The return of Voldemort meant things were changing fast, including their living arrangements. Molly and Arthur were members of a group dedicated to fighting the dark. Not only that but they were founding members of the group the last time around, along with Harry’s parents, Sirius Black, two of their old defence teachers, and more.  They were told to gather what they needed and be ready to spend the summer in London, starting tomorrow. Molly had been spending her days cleaning the base in preparation, and had deemed four bedrooms and the kitchen habitable. Apparently the return of Moldy Voldy meant their family was taking up temporary residence at the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.

Initial excitement at the idea of being at the base of operations for a secret organization devoted to fighting dark wizards was quashed by Molly’s announcement that the teens would be spending their days helping the ordering by cleaning and repairing the base. The twins had asked to join up and properly help the order, but of course Molly had told them they were too young. Fred took offence to that, they were 17! Legal adults in the wizarding world. Molly’s word was law, however so of course Arthur had backed her up.

  Fred shuddered to think of the state of a home his mother had spent days cleaning that still needed more work. He reasoned it couldn't be that terrible if his mother was moving them into it immediately, more likely was she was coming up with chores to keep them out of trouble and with no spare time to invent. A summer of extra chores; even extra chores at a secret base of operations did not sound like much fun. With all of London at their fingertips and a sack full of galleons to spend on their shared dream, however, it could be a very good summer indeed.

“You know, being in London we’ll be very close to Diagon.” Fred said, grinning at his brother.

“Maybe we can sneak off and scout a shop front.”

“Visit knockturn.”

”Find a place to brew”

“Find some trouble.”

“Make some too.”

“Test out some new product.”

“Learn a few things.”

They grinned at each other conspiratorially and continued packing.

                                                    ********

George

George wandered into the kitchen, hopeful his mother had been in a baking mood to welcome them home. Possibly the cinnamon date scones he fancied. Not that she baked them for him; they were Percy’s favorite and therefore were made when she was pleased with him. Ah the subtle way Mum plays us against each other, he thought. That was how he saw it, after all. A constant, low grade pressure aimed at making them compete for attention via accolades and achievement. He and Fred had learned early that the reward was too low for the effort. She couldn’t even tell them apart, for Merlin’s sake.

The only person who could was Granger, and that was an odd puzzle. She always knew. Was it because she was so smart? Did they have a tell?  Every time they asked she’s smile and say “Wouldn't you like to know.” George did want to know. It was a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and nothing bothered him more than a puzzle or problem without a solution. He would play their conversations back in his head, trying to figure out what gave them away, and always came back with nothing.

The twins played upon their interchangeability. They always had; it was their first prank. It was fun, and it always made people laugh. He had only confided in Fred that it bothered him that the woman who brought them into this world couldn’t tell them apart. It bothered him that the girls they had dated couldn’t either. Alicia had often grabbed Fred’s hand instead of his, Angelina had run up and planted a kiss on his cheek, or run her fingers through his hair. Most of the time,  they went along with whoever they were with to save them the embarrassment. It was a conundrum to him. He was happy to be a twin, couldn’t imagine a life without Fred by his side. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to be seen as his own person.  He could see the differences. Fred had more freckles on his nose and his eyes were darker blue. He had a scar on the back of his left hand and a mole on his neck. Subtle, yes. But there, if you looked close. It was just that no one (almost no one) seemed to look at either of them for long enough to notice. So why did Granger? Did she, or was there something else?

In the kitchen, he found his mother scurrying back and forth, gathering items in a large basket.

“Fred! Thank goodness! Give me a hand, dear!” His mother called out, holding the basket out to him. He automatically reached out and took it from her, grunting with surprise at the weight.

“What have you got in here, mum? Bricks?”

Molly Weasley popped her head out of the pantry.

“What was that dear?” She asked as she dropped two more jars into the basket he was holding.

“I think the bottom may fall out if you put any more in. What’s all this?” He noted the basket was filled with various food and cooking tools. Another filled with pots and pans sat next to the stove.

“Nonsense.” She added three tins of spices to the overladen basket. “It’s for the base. I thought I’d pop over tonight and drop some things off. Less to do tomorrow, and your father is there, OH! Tea!” She dashed back into the pantry.

“Wicked, Fred and I can help!” A first look at the secret base was an opportunity that could not be missed, no matter the manual labor required. They could explore a bit; pick their room, maybe overhear something interesting.

Mrs. Weasley frowned for a moment then shrugged. “I could do with the help, it’d be a nightmare trying to get all this through the floo alone.”

“I’ll get him, are we going now?”

“Well, I suppose…you boys will have to carry a few hampers.” Mrs. Weasley frowned again and looked around her cozy kitchen, taking stock of what still needed to be packed.

George set the basket down on the table and raced up the stairs, slamming open their shared door and making his twin jump.

“Get your shoes, we get first dibs on a room at the base!” He shouted.

“Wicked! Now?”

“All we have to do is carry a few hampers for mum.”

“A few” turned out to be four. Each. An hour later, they came face to face with Number 12, Grimmauld Place, as they stumbled out of the floo. Through the waning cloud of green smoke, George spied a large oak table and stumble-shuffled over to it, his arms shaking with the strain of his load. He dropped it down with a resounding ‘thunk’ and the oak groaned alarmingly. “Coming threw!” Fred shouted from behind him, and he slid out of the way a moment before his twin crashed into the table, dropping his baskets onto the table as his hips hit the edge. Fred’s body jerked forward and slammed face down into the pile of baskets.The oak groaned again, as the table gave way with a great CRACK of  wood and spit down the center. Fred went down with it, falling into the wreckage as  the hampers crashed down on top of him.

“Fred!” George cried, lunging forward to help.  Fred let out a muffled groan,his face buried in one of the overturned baskets.

“What in the world!” Mrs. Weasley shrieked from the fireplace, as she emerged from her own cloud of shimmering green smoke. She scurried over to the twins, as George pulled his brother out of the mess of spilled food and broken wood. She slammed her own basket on the floor and faced them, arms akimbo.

“Can’t you two do anything right?!” She raged.

Fred flushed pink. He was bleeding from a cut on his cheek and his palms were raw.  George reached over and pulled a lettuce leaf from his twin’s hair.

“Mum, it was an accident!”

“We’ll clean it!” George chimed in.

“You’ve done enough! Out!” She jabbed her finger at the door, dismissing them as she pulled out her wand and started salvaging what she could.

George and Fred shuffled out of the room, shoulders slumped. The found themselves in a narrow stone stairway, curving up.

“She could have asked if you were alright.” George muttered fiercely.

Fred shrugged. “She saw me standing. Guess that was good enough.”

“It’s not.” George grumbled.

They reached another door, leading into a dark hall. Peeling wallpaper, crooked portraits of sleeping wizards and cobwebs greeted them. A single gas lamp burned, illuminating more doors along the hall, and stairs leading up into darkness. The banisters were carved in the shape of serpents, coiled and stretching across each other. They shared a look between them.

“Brilliant!” They murmured in unison. Something about the hall told them to keep their voices down and their steps quiet as they ventured further into the gloom.