Chapter 12
Fred
George turned to Fred and tapped his hand. They locked eyes and acknowledged it had been more than twenty minutes since Dumbledore had taken Hermione from the room. Sirius had followed (to his mother’s protests) moments later and none had returned. Conversation was sparse as the wait continued. They flicked their eyes to their mother then back to each other, she’s going to remember we are here soon. Their eyes dances around the room again, cataloging potential eavesdropping spots. They agreed on the cupboard by the giant fireplace, having looked inside there earlier and knowing they would fit (barley).
They were worried about Hermione. Fred watched his twin fidget as they waited, feeling his own worry reflect back on him tenfold. Fred knew he felt guilty (same as himself) that Hermione was being punished so harshly, while Harry (so far) hadn’t even been chided for “running away”, and they were (so far) getting away with it.
He had always thought Dumbledore was a bit nutty, but a good sort of chap. That was changing the more time he spent with his headmaster. He hadn’t liked the glint he had seen in his eyes when he challenged Hermione to apparate for them in the kitchen. Almost like he was excited for her to fail publicly, or that he hoped she would get hurt. In Fred’s opinion, he had been more concerned with catching her in a lie than finding out what had happened on Privet Drive. Lupin, Moody, and his parents sat silently as everyone waited for Sirius, Hermione and Dumbledore to return.
The kitchen door swung open with a bang and Dumbledore swept in, his periwinkle robes swishing dramatically. He looked furious, an expression Fred could not remember ever having seen on the headmaster’s usually placid face.
“Thank you all for waiting. Misters Weasley, to bed, if you please. Harry, if you would wait a moment I have a few questions for you before we find you a bed as well.” He was clearly trying to use his normal gentle tone but it was cold, each of his words coming out more clipped than usual.
They (of course) had “gone to bed” so the Order could meet, only to apparate instead into the cozy (horribly uncomfortable, filthy) hiding spot they had decided on earlier. As quietly as possible they shifted in the cupboard until George unfurled the extendable ear. Holding the tube between their ears they settled in to listen to the meeting.
They heard rusting and shifting noises as Dumbledore joined the table. It was altogether too warm, absolutely filled with spiders, and Fred was sure Kreature had been using this closet as a bathroom, but they were determined to know what was happening.
“Harry, can you start from the beginning, and tell us exactly what happened tonight?” Dumbledore asked in a fatherly tone.
“Er, right. Well, Uncle Vernon and I had another fight, and I couldn’t stay anymore. That house is…Professor they are horrible. They hate me. So I, er, left. I was walking down to Leon Court Drive, thought maybe I’d call the, uh, knightbus again, when the fire started. There were people all over, and I saw Hermione. She told me she had come to get me, that there were Death Eaters and they had started the fire, and then we came here.”
Harry told his story hesitantly. Fred was sure he had rehearsed this speech in his head but it still came out slow and unsure.
“So, Hermione found you, and informed you of the death eaters? You didn’t see them yourself?” Dumbledore asked.
“Fuck.” George whispered. They hadn’t considered this possibility.
“Er, um, no Professor. I didn’t see them, but I saw the fire and the-”
“So how do we know there were Death Eaters present? Ms. Granger could have started the fire herself, for all you know, is that right?” Dumbledore’s tone was still gentle, placating. Fred started to sweat. He didn’t like where this was going.
“Sir, Hermione would never-” Harry cried
“What the actual fuck.” Fred whispered to his brother, sharing his twin’s shock and horror.
“What is the meaning of this, Albus? Why would Hermione make something like that up?” Lupin’s voice called out.
“Ms. Granger went through a terrible ordeal. She was obviously more affected than we knew, and decided she needed to “save” Harry. When there was no real danger, she could have invented one to justify her actions. “ Dumbledore sounded smug.
“Now hold on-”Sirius cried out.
“Albus, are you certain? If Death Eaters were involved we need to search the area immediately, find out how they found Harry’s home.” Their father said reasonably.
“The poor dear.” Their mother said. “Albus, if she’s that unstable, should we take her to St. Mungos? Maybe the mind healers can help her.”
“Hermione doesn’t need the hospital, she needs support from the people who love her.” Lupin said.
“Hermione isn’t a liar!” Harry said angrily.
“Harry, I think it’s time you went off to bed. We can discus this in the morning.” Their mother said gently.
“But-” Harry began.
“Harry, leave this to the adults. Don’t worry, you will not be punished for her actions.” Dumbledore dismissed Harry, who was led away by Mrs. Weasley moments later.
“Albus, if the girl really started that fire what’s to be done with her?” Mad-eye asked.
“At the moment it’s out of my hands. Sirius has invoked his rights as master of this house to shelter her.”
“Sirius, how could you? She’s a threat to the Order!” Alistor yelled, pounding his fist on the table.
“Now wait a moment-” Lupin started angrily
“She’s not-” Sirius yelled.
“Gentlemen, please!” Arthur called over the shouts.
“Sirius will be personally responible for keeping her in line until we can determine the truth of this evening’s events. It is possible Hermione was telling the truth, and the same group that attacked her somehow found Harry’s home as well.” Although his words were reasonable, Fred found Dumbledore’s tone false.
“Are you sure about this, Albus? Or are you just angry about this?” Sirius asked quietly.
“Sirius, you may discuss your issues in private, they aren’t relevant to the meeting.” Albus said dissmissivly.
“Sirius, what is that?” Lupin asked, and there was a rustling of papers.
“Hermione thinks she found a way for me to be free.”
“Really? This is…amazing! Albus, can-”
“I wouldn’t put much stock in a schoolgirl’s notebook, Remus. This is hardly a guarantee.”
“But this is-”
“If there is no other Order business this evening, I must go. Alistor, walk with me.”
The meeting broke up with scraping chairs, rusting fabric and grumbles from the men gathered in the kitchen. George quietly retracted the extendable ear, and in unison they apparated to their room.
They were quiet as they readied themselves for bed, exhausted by the events and revelations of the night.
“Hey Gred.” His twin called out from his bed.
“Yeah Forge?”
“What do you think Sirius showed everyone?”
“Well, knowing Hermione…she probably did a bunch of legal research and gave it to him.”
“Why would Dumbledore be mad about it?”
“Why indeed, brother.”
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Hermione
The next morning, Hermione woke feeling more exhausted than when she had finally fallen asleep the night before. She lifted her head from the pillow and blinked sleepily at the sunlight streaming in from the single window in her room, lost for a moment in the dance of dust motes in the sunbeams. Crookshanks jumped onto the bed and nuzzled her. “What am I going to do, Crooks?” She whispered. She felt as though a dementor was in bed with her, and had sucked the very happiness from her soul. Laying there, she replayed the events of the last few days over and over. Cast out. She thought. Unwanted. No one’s ever wanted me. She lifted her hand to pet his soft fur, her hand feeling heavy and slow. He purred and licked her hand, his keen eyes looking up at her.
“Just you, Crooks. You love me.” She nuzzled her face into his flat one. She knew, logically she knew, her friends cared about her. Sirius cared about her. Logic couldn’t stop the crushing weight of the sadness blanketing her, and it couldn’t stop the voice in her mind telling her the opposite. People only want you around when they need something. Ron won’t even talk to you if you aren’t doing his homework. The girls in the dorm hate you. Everyone hates you. You’ve heard them in the halls. Ugly. Boring. Bookworm. Mophead. Know-it-all swot thinks she’s better than everyone. None of these thoughts were new, but it felt as if a dam had broken inside her, and she couldn’t hold back the tide of despair. Everything circled back to her parents, no matter how she tried to push aside thoughts of them.
What was wrong with her that her own parents had never wanted her? She wished she had someone who could hold her and tell her everything was OK, like a mother. She’d never had that, but she thought it would be nice. It must be such a comfort to have so much trust and love for another person, to take comfort from their touch and believe that things would get better. What could get better from here? She was being hunted, and had no home, no family. Dumbledore wanted her gone, and who knows how long Sirius would stand in his way. He had Harry to worry about now, and she was just the tag-along. The ministry would appoint someone to care for her, but what fresh hell would that be? And resorting? Would she really have to leave Gryffindor and all her friends? She knew where the hat would put her, where it had wanted to put her, and if that happened she’d have to leave Hogwarts. There was no way she’d survive the snake pit.
I’ll just sleep a little longer. She thought, as she laid down and curled around her familiar. She closed her eyes and willed away thoughts of the future, finding solace in sleep.
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George
Sirius returned to the kitchen with another untouched tray of food, this one the lunch Hermione had refused to open her door for. The older man sighed heavily, setting the tray down and running a hand through his hair. George eyed the untouched tray. He wondered how angry Hermione would be if he popped in to check on her. Maybe he could bring her something she liked, like the lemon-blueberry scones she favored. He’s even bake them, if his mother would leave the kitchen for more than ten minutes.
“I think maybe the last few days caught up with her. Maybe I should ask Madam Pomfry to come and check on her. I don’t think she’s sick, she just says she’s tired and won’t eat.” Sirius collapsed into a chair at the table.
“Don’t fuss over her, Sirius. That girl is moping because she got into trouble. She doesn’t want to face what she’s done and your playing into it babying her.” Mrs. Weasley said sharply, working her wand over a bowl as various jars and tins flew from the cupboards to sprinkle in their contents. “She’s lucky Dumbledore allowed her to stay after what she did, she should be grateful.”
“That wasn’t Dumbledore’s call to make, Molly.” Sirius snapped. “Even if it was it was the wrong one! She’s just a girl! Are you saying she should be thrown into the street? Into Voldemort’s hands?”
“Don’t be dramatic, Sirius. Dumbledore would have found somewhere safe. She put all of us in danger-”
“Safer than here? She didn’t put anyone in any more danger than we are already in.”
“Oh really? Are you in charge of the Order now, Sirius?” She said waspishly, punching her dough and beginning to knead it roughly.
“This is my house, Molly.”
“Ah yes. You wouldn’t let anyone forget your only contribution.”
Sirius glared at her, his eyes snapping with fury.
Mrs. Weasley had been on the warpath all morning, fighting with anyone who crossed her path as she cleaned the house with a vengeance that verged on assault. As she slammed around the house cleaning, she barked out orders to her children with sharp, piercing yells that echoed through the halls. Her children followed her orders, promptly making themselves scarce after, afraid to incur her wrath as she scrubbed and scoured with a ferocity that was unmatched. Fred and George had done their best to stay out of her way. They had considered confessing that morning at breakfast to collaborate Hermione’s story and take the heat off her, but they had wanted to speak with her first. Now that she was refusing to leave her room, they had decided to corner Sirius and test the waters with who they considered to be the least unreasonable adult they knew. Of all the members available, Sirius was the most likely to forgive rule-breaking (as he himself had never been one to follow them) and the most likely to hear them out. First they had to get him away from their mother, who would snap at him until he retreated to his room with Buckbeak, or wandered off to tinker with his motorcycle. She seemed to delight in reminding him he was both trapped and a fugitive, and therefore useless. George supposed knowing a person’s weak spot was a personal talent of their mother’s, who could be as vicious as she was loving, depending on her mood. George tapped Fred’s hand twice, and the plan was in play.
“Sirius, we were wondering if you could give us a hand upstairs, I think there’s a boggart in our bathroom cabinet.” Fred said suddenly.
Sirius and Molly turned to look at them, fight momentarily diffused.
“Since when can’t you handle a boggart? Don’t you study anything in school?” Molly snapped.
“It’s just, we’d like some backup, and we know you don’t like them mum.” George said with a smile.
Sirius pushed himself back from the table. “It’s not like I have anything else to do. Lead the way, boys.”
Once the trio reached Fred and George’s room, George quickly locked the door and set a silencing charm.
Sirius quirked a brow at the twins.
“I’m guessing I’m not here for a boggart.” He said wryly.
“No, we needed to talk to you-”
“About Hermione-”
“About last night-”
“I was wondering when you boys would get around to telling me what really happened. Alright.” Sirius pulled a chair from the desk and sat facing them, crossing a leg over his knee and adjusting his waistcoat.
“Let’s hear it.”