The Order of Secrets

Fred

Despite having discovered multiple exits during their exploration of Grimmauld place, the house only had one accessible entrance. The other doors may open to the outside with some spell, or more likely were linked to the family magic Sirius himself held in his wand, but they were otherwise invisible and impenetrable. After trying and failing several charms to unseal the side door they had exited from earlier that night, the group had to concede that the only way in was the front door. Fred cursed himself for not having thought of that while they were mapping the layout. Walking in through the front door meant no time to talk to anyone or ease them into the idea. Maybe we should make a big show of it, I wonder if they’d go easy for Harry’s sake. He thought of the car they had stolen and rescued Harry with years ago. That punishment hadn’t been so bad, really. Mum had yelled herself hoarse, then they were sent to de-nome the garden and clean the chicken coops without magic.

He knew this was worse. Back then the world was safer, or at least it seemed to be. At least Death Eaters were not wandering around Surry. Flying the car  to rescue Ron’s little friend had seemed like a laugh, and they liked Harry. He was a good enough kid, and played Quidditch like he was born with a broom in his hand. This certainly hadn’t been a laugh. He thought of the Death Eaters in the street, or the werewolf that seemed fixated on Hermione. He had been terrified they would be forced to fight that monster, but as he sat in that bush, feeling her tremble at his side, he knew he would. For her. Beyond the fear was a determination he had felt for nothing other than his joke shop. He would not let them take her, and he felt the echo of this conviction from George.

When Hermione had joined his family for the Quidditch World Cup, something had changed. It wasn’t just her face, prettier than he remembered, but something undefinable. She stood straighter, laughed more. Not that he didn’t notice how she was filling out her tight muggle jeans, but it was more. He had known her for three years, but had never paid much attention to the younger girl he considered “Ron’s swotty friend”. So he watched her, trying to put his finger on the change and how, exactly he felt about it. They had pranked Ron, adding a color-change charm to his shampoo. However, Hermione had apparently forgotten hers and borrowed Ron’s first. Emerging from the bathroom with electric green curls, he and George had expected her fury, but she was laughing. Her eyes sparkling, she had fluffed the green mass and proclaimed herself ready to support Ireland. Ron had yelled instead, calling them names and demanding they fix it. Hermione had said “For heaven’s sake calm down Ron. It’s just hair-it’s not permanent right?” When she caught his eye and smiled, he understood suddenly what had changed. Confidence. She wasn’t shrinking back behind the boys, or hiding behind a pile of books, or walking with her head down and shoulders curled. Here she was, ready to meet thousands of wizards from around the world with green hair and a smile. He also realized that green was definitely her color because she looked gorgeous and… he liked her. Really liked her. More than that, he felt the same echoing through his bond with George. This was new for them; they had actually started to worry about their future, as they had never felt the same way for a girl before. This was a problem because they shared each other’s emotions. They could block out a bit, but the more intense the feeling, the stronger it came through.

Take for instance, Beatrice Haywood. Fred had liked her in fifth year. Beatrice was funny, laughed at all his jokes, smart, loved Quidditch, and she was very pretty. He’d been excited to take her around Hogsmeade, maybe sneak off for a snog under the bleachers or in the boathouse. The problem was George didn’t like Beatrice. He found her laugh obnoxious and thought she was boring. It would have been easier if he had felt nothing for her, or was at least friendly, but as it was, every time he held her hand or kissed her, he felt his twin’s disgust. George had tried to hide it from him, but it hadn’t worked. He couldn’t carry on with someone his twin was indifferent to, so someone he actively disliked? Impossible.

Acknowledging that they finally shared an interest in the same girl came with it’s own set of problems. The girl in question, was off-limits, as their younger brother was in a friend-crush-hate relationship with her. She was also a muggle-born (an incredibly powerful, short tempered muggle-born) who knew them to be annoying joksters, never to be taken seriously. So telling Hermione Granger outright that they were soul-bonded twins who were destined to be in a triadic relationship if they were ever to find love, was out of the question. She’d either laugh (best case scenario) or hex them into the next century (most likely scenario) or (worst case scenario) she would be hurt, thinking they were playing a mean joke on her. That was, Fred supposed, a fair assumption. Some of their pranks were quite mean. They were never cruel when the situation didn’t call for it, but not everyone saw their sense of justice. They had agreed that it was fair enough for one of them to ask her to the Yule ball, and George would ask because he had impulsively asked Angelina to prove a point to Harry and Ron. If that went well, they would tell her about the bond and ask her if she would take a chance on them. Viktor Krum had put an end to that daydream, and they had gone back to accepting that it wasn’t the time. If there ever would be a time.

So Fred wouldn’t regret helping Hermione when she needed it, and if he would face a werewolf who was rumored to eat his victims alive while in his human form , he supposed he could face his own mother. Also, he knew his mother. Once she was reminded of the Dursley’s mistreatment of Harry, she would forgive them. She would still punish them, and yell, but she would forget it in a few days.  He knew she loved Harry as a son, and had fought with Dumbledore fiercely about her inability to adopt him after he had run away from the Dursleys. That night Molly had wept bitterly, ranting about Harry’s family, and Arthur had consoled her, telling her Dumbledore knew best in this, and to be glad of the time they were given with him. Not that he and George were supposed to know that, but that was neither here nor there.

Hermione laid a hand on Fred’s chest, stopping him at the threshold of the front door to Grimmauld place and jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Fred, George. Let me take the blame for this.” She said quietly, looking Fred in the eyes first, then meeting George’s gaze.

“What?” They said together, gaping at her.

“You two don’t need the trouble. You have all those products your working on…if your mom gets mad she could destroy everything, like she did last year.” She bit her lip and looked anxiously back and forth between them. Harry stood quiet at her side, seeming a bit dazed by the events. Fred supposed that was normal considering he had just been awoken, kidnapped, magically transported and taken to a secret base in the last half hour. In his pajamas.

“Hermione, we aren’t afraid of trouble.” Fred said seriously.

“We’re 17 now, legal adults. She can’t take away our things anymore.” George said mulishly.

“But that’s it as well…you boys are 17. What if you get in trouble with Dumbledore for this? What if you-”She was wringing her hands and trembling now.

“Hermione, we knew the risks.”

“We talked about it. It’ll be OK.”

“No. Let me do this, please? You’ve done so much for me, let me do this for you. Harry will back me up, right Harry?” She sent a glare to her friend, who snapped back to attention.

“Yeah, what Hermione said.” Harry said robotically.

“Were you even listening, mate?” George asked.

“We can’t fight on the stoop. Let’s just get in.” Fred said, reaching over Hermione’s head and tapping on the door with his wand. The locks inside clicked and whirred as they disengaged, and the door swung open.

They crept inside the dark foyer.

“Where-” Harry started, and Hermione swung around and slapped her hand over his mouth. He gave a muffled grunt and glared at her. “Shhhh! You don’t want to wake her!” she hissed. She straightened her shoulders suddenly, and cocked her head to to side. Oh bollocks, she’s got an idea. Fred thought glumly. He knew devious and that look was downright diabolical.

Hermione

George shut the door as he trailed the group inside.  She looked over at him, then back to Fred.

“Sorry.” She whispered. “But I won’t let you get in trouble for this”   She pulled her wand out and aimed it at the threadbare, faded carpet lining the hall.  “Volveremovere!”

  The dingy rug lining the foyer hall lifted from the scarred hardwood floor like a snake, spraying the teens with dirt and debris. It  curled upward, then lashed out and enfolded George who cried out and tried to push off the offending material.  Fred drew his wand, “Finat-” He tried to call out, but he was cut off as the rug began to spin vertically, rolling itself up and trapping the twins inside. Hermione pulled Harry against the wall, out of the way of the enchanted rug as it continued it’s journey,  tossing the twins through a door at the end of the hall. She quickly locked it  with her wand, cutting off their muffled shouts.

Hermione turned, then tapped  her wand to her chest, she reverting her sweater to it’s original baby pink. Tasks complete, she  then turned back to the shocked Harry.

“Sorry, but it’s about to get loud.”

“Hermione, what the fu-”

She faced the curtains covering  Walburga Black's portrait. Taking a deep breath, she yanked the covering open and faced the angry woman. Walburga’s painted eyes bulged and her face turned a purplish hue as she choked on her rage.

“Hey Walburga. You look a little…choked up. Miss me?” She smiled sweetly.

Walburga found her voice, loud nonsensical screeches before letting loose a stream of profanity one simply did not expect to hear from fine art.  

“KREATCHER!” She howled. “KREATCHER TO ME! GET THIS FILTH FROM MY SIGHT!”

Pounding footsteps sounded from all sides, as the occupants of the house raced to the foyer to silence the mad painting. Sirius was the first to burst into the hall, sliding to a halt in front of them.

“Hermione, wha- HARRY?!” He cried out in disbelief, pulling his godson into a hug and looking at Hermione over his head in shock.

“MUDBLOODS! THEIVES! SHAME OF MY SOUL! DEFILING ME HOUSE-”

“SHUT UP YOU OLD HAG!” Sirius yelled, jumping away from Harry and wresting the curtains closed over her.

“Well Harry, I see you’ve met my mother.” He joked.

“Your-” Harry began, when the hall suddenly became very crowded as more order members came.

“Harry dear!” Mrs Weasley ran forward and grabbed him into a hug. “Where did you come from?”

“Well, er, you see-”

Bill burst through the door. “Emergency! There’s a fire at the-” He stopped when he saw the gathered crowd, Harry in the middle. “Harry, how did you get here?”

“I-” He started

The door at the end of the hall slammed open, hitting the wall and sending a powdery shower of drywall to the floor. The twins stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, red in the face and caked in dust. Sirius, Harry, Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Lupin all turned and gaped at them.

“Door was stuck-” Fred said breathlessly.

“Sirius, didja know your front rug was murderous?” George said sourly, eyeing Hermione.

“Murderous…rug?” He repeated back slowly, his brows coming together.

“Let’s talk in the kitchen, get you something to eat you must be starving!” Mrs Weasley fussed, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulder and leading him away.

“I’ll send dad and Dumbledore a patronus and let them know Harry’s safe.” Bill said, hanging back as Molly led the confused group to the kitchen.

They settled around the table, and Molly started busting around the kitchen, gathering a meal together despite the late hour.

“Harry, how did you get here, what happened?” She asked, setting a plate down in front of him.

“Mum, can I get something too?” George asked hopefully.

“Of course dear, there’s plenty on the stove.” Mrs. Weasley said absently, settling down beside Harry. “Harry dear, what’s going on? Where did you come from? What are you wearing?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Er-well…” Harry looked over at Hermione, then the twins. “I uh- ran away. Again.” He shifted in his seat and shoved a forkful of potato into his mouth.

Hermione looked over at Harry incredulously. After everything that happened the last thing she expected was for him to try to cover for her. Up until three minutes ago he had seemed to be in a state of shock, just following numbly.

“So then, how did you get into the house?” Bill asked, entering the kitchen with his father.

“I…er..” Harry looked hopelessly at Hermione.

“It was me.” She stated firmly. “I..needed to speak with Harry. To make sure he was alright.” Harry was desperately trying to catch her eye, and she knew he was urging her to let him protect her. “I found Harry near his house and brought him back here.” This story sucks. She thought glumly. No way they believe this.

“So…you happened to find Harry, but how did you bring him here without the secret keeper telling him?” Lupin asked quietly.

“I found a slip of paper on the floor in the hall, it said The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at Number 12, Grimmauld place. I showed it to Harry, and it worked.” She said firmly. She would not implicate the twins. That could have been anyone’s note.

“This is a terrible breach in security.” Bill said, crossing his arms. “Anyone could have found that, who would be so careless?”

“Dumbledore gave us a note for the children, but we destroyed it!” Molly cried.

“Are you sure it was destroyed, Molly?” Lupin asked, leaning forward. “We need to make certain this can’t happen again.”

“Where is it now, Hermione?” Sirius asked.

Hermione pulled the crumpled note from her pocket and laid it on the table, pushing it over to Sirius.

“It’s Dumbledore’s handwriting. He’s going to be furious.” Sirius whistled and passed the note to Lupin.

“WHAT’S THIS ABOUT A SECURITY BREACH!” A voice roared from the kitchen door, startling everyone. Hermione jumped so hard she banged her knee into the table painfully, Harry nearly fell out of his chair. Mad-eye moody clomped into the kitchen, leaning heavily on his staff and dragging his wooden leg. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, and his jaw was clenched in a tight grimace. The room fell silent as he made his way to the table, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls.

As he stood there, his gaze swept over the room, taking in the startled faces of those around him. His scarred face seemed to tell a story of pain and suffering, of battles fought and wounds endured. But it was the anger that radiated from him that truly set him apart, a simmering rage that seemed ready to boil over at any moment. His magical eye spun wildly in it’s socket. Hermione couldn’t stop staring at the spinning blue orb, it’s motion and very existence making her feel slightly sick.

“Well?” He growled. “Tell me how two teenagers managed to get around a finius charm.”

  Harry and Hermione shared a glance. Lying to Moody felt infinity more dangerous than lying to Molly, Sirius, Lupin and Bill. Not that Hermione particularly enjoyed lying to anyone, but sometimes the truth wasn’t an option. Like when you were trying to protect two boys who she was absolutely refusing to look at. She was sure they were furious with her for the rug ambush, and she didn’t blame them. She shifted in her seat, gathering her courage for what was coming.

“It was me, Professor Moody. I gave Harry a note with the address on it, I took him here.”

“Not a professor.” He growled, snatching the note Lupin held up for his inspection.

“Is that what truly happened, Ms. Granger?” Albus Dumbledore asked from behind her. Hermione gasped and twisted in her seat. Her headmaster stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back, seeming to be at ease in the tense room. But behind his half-moon spectacles, his eyes snapped with anger.

“Yes, professor.” She said quietly, averting her eyes. She couldn’t face that icy blue gaze, intensely aware that the next few minutes could determine her magical future.

“Harry? Is this what happened?” He asked softly, addressing the boy.

“Er- yes. Yes Sir.” Harry said, fidgeting in his seat.

“And, pray tell us, Ms Granger, how did you get from Surry to London in less than an hour?”

“I apparated, sir.” She steeled her spine and looked him in the eye.

“Apparition is beyond your age, that is-”

“Incredibly dangerous and advanced magic. I know.” Hermione interupted tartly.

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. “Well. Let’s see it then.”

“Sir?” She asked, confused at the request.

“Let’s see this magical feat you’ve managed to teach yourself. Apparate.” Dumbledore stared down at her, his jaw clenched.

“Ok then.” She stood.

“Hermione, no!” George whispered fiercely, grabbing her hand. “It’s dangerous!”

“It’s OK, George. I got this.” She whispered back, pulling her hand away. She faced Dumbledore, turned on her heal, and disappeared. She reappeared near the fire and stumbled forward, slamming her hands into the brick mantle to steady herself.

“See?” She said defiantly, jutting her chin out.

“A word in private, Ms Granger. Alone.  Follow me.” Dumbledore swept from the room, expecting obedience. Hermione looked over to Harry and smiled. He frowned at her and started to stand.

“I’m coming with you-” He started.

“He said alone Harry. I’ll be ok.” She hurried after her headmaster. Or can I even call him that anymore? I’m expelled for sure. Maybe Boubaxon’s would take me, I can speak french and my test scores are excellent. She felt as though she was walking to the gallows, every step forward a nail in her coffin. She knew Dumbledore would be mad, but facing his anger was terrifying. He gave no outward show but she could feel it , like a aura of rage radiating off his robes.  Dumbledore waited in the hall for her to appear , then ushered her into the study and closed the door.

“Sit.” He ordered, gesturing to a green velvet chair that looked like it had been attacked by something wild, covered in long scratches and cuts, the yellowed stuffing oozing out.  Hermione eased herself into the tattered chair, trying to block out the idea that vermin had (definitely) nested in it. Dumbledore sat in an armchair across from her, and tented his fingers under his chin.  For a long moment he just stared at her. When she remained silent, he sighed.

“You foolish, insolent girl.” He said quietly. “You have no idea the danger you have put us all in.”

“Harry was in danger.  The death eaters were at his house- lighting the neighborhood on fire! Where were you?” She cried.

“They would not have found it. Members of the order-”

“Weren't there, were they? You would have been too late, you understand? Harry was running straight into their trap!”

“And you know this, how, exactly? I thought you found Harry by chance.” She felt his eyes cutting into her. Somehow she felt like Dumbledore was trying to see inside her, to the truth inside her mind. That was impossible, wasn’t it? Her brain flipped through acquired magic information trying to separate fact from fiction picked up as a younger child. Mind reading was rare, Legilimens, they were called, mostly it was a naturally born trait like metamorphmages. Was Dumbledore a Legilimens? Is that why he always seemed to know what was going on? “Obscure magical Talents, discovery your latent gifts”, by Juniper Jones, came to mind. ‘ Legilimency is the act of magically navigating through the  layers of a person's mind and ideally correctly interpreting one's findings. A person who practices this art is known as a Legilimens. The most advanced Legilimens , and those to whom the skill comes naturally, can perform Legilimency nonverbally and  free of a wand,  but the less talented  must use their wand and speak the incantation "Legilimens" to enter the target’s mind. If said target is not skilled in Occlumency (Or a natural occlumens), a Legilimens would be able to detect if the person was lying, as well as search the target’s thoughts, emotions, and memories. It  is easiest to perform Legilimency when the target and practitioners' eyes meet.’

She cast her eyes down to the floor. Just in case.

George

George picked at the food on his plate and cast his eyes around the nearly silent table. The occupants of the table engaged only in murmured private conversations, so different than a normal family meal at the burrow. George was used to loud meals full of laughter and fighting, both from meals at home and the great hall of Hogwarts. It felt unreal, sitting in the dim kitchen, calmly (if uncomfortably) eating pie when not an hour ago they were running past fires and death eaters. He was furious with Hermione for taking the blame, although he had to admit the rug trick was clever. He figured her teaching it to him would be enough to make up for doing it to him (and Fred) in the first place. He was honest enough with himself to admit he would have done the same thing if he’d thought of it first. They had been right to do what they’d done, and Harry was safe. That’s all that really should have mattered, but he worried what Dumbledore would do to her for this. Surely not expulsion? He couldn’t expel a girl top of her year even if she did break the rules (but using magic outside of school really only impacted the muggle borns and was in his opinion a crock of shit). Could he? He cast his eyes to his side and caught his brother’s as his twin turned at the same time.

He felt Fred’s reassurance, his certainty that it would all be fine. It helped, but Fred was the optimist. He always thought everything would work out fine. He on the other hand, considered himself more of a realist. The reality was they were faced with their incredibly angry headmaster who was also the leader of the secret order they had just apparently breached the security of. The reality was they were fucked. Despite what they had assured Hermione, they did not fancy their mother finding out what they had done. They had been ready to face it, that was true, but Hermione had been right about the damage their mother could do to their blossoming business. It had taken months to remake all the sweets and wands she had confiscated and destroyed before the QUidditch world cup. He shuddered to think what she could do now if she got ahold of their notes and prototypes upstairs.

Without warning, someone pounded on the table with such force that it sent plates and cups rattling. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the source of the commotion. 

Mad eye was standing, pointing a gnarled finger at Harry.

“We’re forgetting the first rule of security!” He bellowed. Harry gulped audibly, staring up at Moody with wide eyes. Molly looked between Moody and Harry with wide eyes.

“Alistor, what do you mean? This is Harry!” She tittered.

“Is he?” Moody’s magical eye whirled as he sneered at Harry. “Found you on the street, eh boy?” He aimed his wand at Harry, who held up his hands, palms out. “What is something only the real Harry Potter would know?” He growled, addressing the occupants of the table.

Sirius had his wand out and aimed at Moody’s face. “Stop pointing your wand at my Godson!” He snarled. His eyes looked bright and wild, in that moment every bit a believable murderer.

“Moody, lower your wand!” Lupin shouted, drawing his own.

“We’ll ask him, Alistor, please lower your wand. If Harry was an impostor, he is vastly outnumbered and hardly a threat.” Arthur said calmly. He turned to Harry. “Harry, when first we met, I asked you about the function of a muggle item. What was it?”

Harry swallowed, keeping his eyes on Moody as he answered.

“A rubber duck.” He said quietly.

Arthur smiled. “There. That’s settled then. It was, in fact a rubber duck.”

Mad-eye lowered his wand slowly. “Had to check.” He grumbled. He sat down and resumed eating, as though he had not just upset the entire group by threatening one of them and accusing them of being an impostor.

“Ya think Granger’s alright?” Fred whispered, leaning close.

“I dunno mate. They’re pretty mad.”

“Yeah.” Fred stabbed his pie aggressively and took a bite. “They can’t do too much to her. She’s top of the class, and BFF’s with eh Chosen One. Golden ticket, that.” He said hopefully.

“ So that rug trick-”George began.

“Epic.” Fred grinned at him, and George found himself returning it, despite the worry sitting heavy in his gut.

“Can’t wait to try it on Ronniekins.”  They shared a conspiratorial grin, and George tried to bask in his brother’s hopeful optimism. It would be OK…it had to be.