Potterwatch

Anxiety wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. Fred was always known as a reckless, destructive force. Professors feared him and classmates loved him. With a reputation like that, the feeling of fear in his gut, of knowing that there was something wrong with him and worrying that somebody would find out, hardly ever left. But this was a new type of anxiety.

George knew something that Fred didn’t. Fred had known that much for a long time. George was always looking at him as if he could disappear at any moment. He would disappear a handful of times every week, though it had lessened in the last couple months. Sometimes Fred would catch him reading something that wasn’t his usual horror novels, but he would slam the book closed and hide it before Fred could see what it was.

“George! We’ve a letter!” Fred called, louder than was necessary considering that George was just in the kitchen. He knew he recognized the owl that had brought him the letter, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

George came out of the kitchen with a couple crackers in hand. “It’s from Remus, isn’t it?” He fed the crackers to the owl, stroking its head and saving one for himself. “Open it.”

“Do you want me to read it aloud?”

“I know what it’s about.”

Fred scanned the letter quickly, hoping that it contained whatever secret George had been keeping. He looked up from Remus’ near perfect handwriting as George closed the window, mumbling something about hoping the owl would be okay in the rain. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I don’t—”

“Why the fuck couldn’t you have just come up to me and gone ‘hey, Fred, I decided that I’m gonna do something that’s gonna get me killed, is that alright with you?’” Fred shouted, his hands shaking in rage and fear.

George stormed out to the door and slammed it behind him without another word. Fred sank to the sofa and buried his face in his hands. A thunderclap made him jump, which made him want to chase after George with a coat. He craned his neck to see if George was anywhere near their flat, but he couldn’t spot him through the rain, even though the normally bustling Diagon Alley was all but empty. 

Feeling almost numb and wanting something to do with his trembling hands, Fred pulled out the sofa into the small bed that the two of them shared. He made it up, which usually consisted of one of them chucking a quilt onto the mattress, but doing the chores that he so despised was comforting in a way. It gave him something to focus on. 

He thought that he might as well get started on supper, so that George would have a hot meal when he got home. For all the shit that George gave him over his cooking skills, or lack thereof, Fred knew his way around a kitchen. He could make a decent pasta sauce, at least. He grabbed an onion and began to chop. His eyes watered, and he couldn’t quite see what he was doing.

Fred didn’t even feel it at first, and he kept chopping until the onion began to turn red. When the pain hit, he yelped and dropped the knife. It fell to the ground with a clatter, as did Fred. He was vaguely aware that it didn’t even hurt that badly, that it wasn’t very deep, and that he was bleeding all over his light blue jeans. But he pulled his legs to his chest and sobbed nonetheless, unable to take a full breath if he tried. 

This was the state that George found him in when he came in, soaked to the bone. “Oh, hey, Freddie, are you alright? What happened?”

Fred could barely choke out a question to ensure that George was, indeed, his twin. Once he did, he clung to George and babbled nonsense into his shoulder.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright. Let’s get you cleaned up. Can you stand?”

Fred stood up with George’s help, not letting George escape from his embrace. George ran Fred’s finger under water for a moment before applying pressure. Fred winced, not meeting George’s eyes.  

“What happened?”

“Onion,” Fred said, nodding towards the bloodied onion. 

“Ah.”

Fred calmed down after George stopped the bleeding, cut off the torn part of the nail, and bandaged the tip of Fred’s finger. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way ‘round,” Fred mumbled, his voice nasal and hoarse from the crying.

“Who said you had to take care of me?” 

“My brain.”

“Okay. I’ll finish up supper, and then we can talk about this. How does that sound?”

“I’ll finish it.”

“Fred, you can’t boil water.”

Fred opened his mouth to protest, but he decided that this was one argument he couldn’t win. He sighed. “Get into dry clothes first.”

George did so.He managed to scrub the blood off of the onion, and the pasta was ready within the hour. The twins sat cross-legged on the floor in silence, occasionally glancing up at each other and forcing a smile. 

“How long have you known?” Fred asked finally.

“Since the end of sixth year. Dumbledore found out I could throw off an Imperius curse.”

“Are you scared?”

George nodded slowly. “I’m fucking terrified,” he whispered. 

“Do you reckon you’ll survive?”

George ignored the question. “I think I’m going to take a shower. I’m freezing.”

“George. Answer me. Do you think you are going to die?”

George looked everywhere but at his twin.

“You do, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.” 

“If you keep doing this…your body will eventually give out, right?”

George nodded. “It came close a couple times with Dumbledore. It’s not like it’ll kill me necessarily.”

“But it could.”

“Why the fuck do you care so much? It doesn’t matter if I die!”

“I’m sorry. Oh, God, George, I…” Fred started to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

The twins looked at each other for a moment. “It’s fine,” George said, but almost no sound came out. “I get it. I wouldn’t...that’s the worst thing. It’s the worst thing I can imagine.”

Fred knew instantly what he was talking about. “Hey. I’m still here. I’ll always be here.” Fred pulled George close to him. “I’m here.”

Lee ripped open the envelope, unsure of what to expect. They had never received a letter from Professor Lupin before. In fact, they hadn’t spoken since Lupin left Hogwarts. They were both in the Order, and they certainly crossed paths, but there had never been any direct contact. Lee enjoyed Lupin’s class, but they had never gone to office hours or gotten to know him at all. They were never that interested in DADA.

They left the letter addressed to Alicia on the counter, knowing that she always worked closing shifts on Saturdays. They themselves had just gotten in from work minutes before the letter showed up, planning to order takeaway and finish up their reading that was technically due before they went to class last Thursday. Their courses had been kicking their ass for the entirety of summer term, and the approaching finals had just made it worse. 

They read the first paragraph of the letter while half-reading the menu for the nearest pizza place posted on their fridge. As soon as Dumbledore was mentioned, however, the letter had their full attention. They had never been a fan of Dumbledore, hadn’t even attended his funeral, but they recognized the power that name carried. They knew that anything that Dumbledore had planned out would be executed, whether or not the people in the Order thought that it was a good idea. 

Angelina looked up from her notes and opened her window. She hadn’t been expecting any letters, especially not since she was sitting in her bedroom at the back of the house. “Hello, dear,” she said to the owl, letting it in and out of the rain. “Miserable out there, isn’t it?” She took the letter out of the owl’s mouth. “I’ll be right back.”

She bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen, letter still in hand.

“Who’s that from?” her dad asked, looking up from the lettuce he was chopping. 

“One of my old professors. Professor Lupin.” She opened the breadbox and took a slice of bread. 

“It’s really raining out there,” Rick said, glancing out the window before going back to his chopping board. 

“Yeah, Mum’s probably losing her shit trying to walk home.”

“Well I told her to take the car but she said she enjoys the rain. Bet she’s eating her words now.”

Angelina brought the slice of bread back upstairs, feeding some to the owl. She noticed a letter addressed to Oliver Wood still in its beak. “Busy day?” she asked, opening the window when the bread was gone. The owl left almost immediately, and Angelina slammed the window shut before the rain could get her desk wet. 

She searched for her letter opener, eventually resigning herself to carefully tearing it open by hand. She scanned the letter, her eyes widening. “Dad!”

Alicia set her bag down, uncaring for its contents. She opened the pizza box sitting on the counter, smiling when she saw that Lee had added pineapple. With a slice of somehow still-warm pizza in one hand, she picked up the piece of paper sitting next to the box.

Dear Christopher Spinnet,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am operating under the assumption that you are still friends with George Weasley, but do not disregard this letter if you are not. George is a very talented Legilimens, and he is going to become a very prominent spy for the Order. However, one person cannot operate alone, especially under current circumstances. I am attempting to assemble a group of young wizards that would work well together and be able to fight prominently in the war. 

Albus Dumbledore was a large advocate for such a team. He worked with George extensively from your sixth year up until his death. He was of the opinion that anybody involved in this operation would have to be similarly young and intelligent. He held a very high opinion of you, Christopher, and I am sure that you will be glad to know that he hand-picked you. George was an advocate for you as well, and he seems to really care for you.

Please write me back if you are interested, and we will likely meet on Monday at 2 pm at Grimmauld unless there are several people who ask for a different time. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely, 

Remus Lupin

Alicia folded the letter back up and swallowed hard. She had gone to lunch with Fred the day before, and he had insisted that George was hiding something. She shouldn’t have pushed back against him so hard. If George would supposedly be this “prominent spy”, then what would that make her? Would her life be in danger, or would she be working behind the scenes? She wondered how much Remus knew about her since they had hardly spoken since he left Hogwarts. Did George tell him that she was getting a degree in statistics? Is that why she had been contacted?

She couldn’t have written Remus then. She didn’t own her own owl, and Lee was almost certainly asleep. She would respond first thing in the morning, and she pinned the letter to the refrigerator so as not to forget. Something about the letter did not sit right with her, but she would have to wait for Lee to wake up to discuss it with anybody.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Powell,” George said, sitting down next to Remus at the table. The lighting was dim enough that it wasn’t abrasive, but he could see everything in plenty of detail. The woman’s eyes were strikingly dark, almost black, and they reflected the light that was above George’s head. He smiled politely, the expression wrinkling the corners of his eyes but not reaching them.

“Oh, Alice, please,” the woman insisted. “I was happy to meet with you. You’re George, I presume?” George sat up a little straighter under Alice’s gaze. Something about the way she looked at him, studying him, took him back to the fingers digging into his shoulder blades to get him to sit up. She softened her expression, clearly noticing George’s discomfort.

“Uh, ye—”

“We really appreciate this, Alice. After all, you are really the only one who can offer guidance for our particular situation,” Remus interrupted, waving his wand. George’s gut wrenched at the use of magic so close to him. “As you already know, George has the ability to feel magic being cast, leaving him an extremely talented Legilimens. We’ve prepared several questions for you about how to best use this ability to aid the Order. George?”

“Uh, yeah, I have it.” George pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, the sweat off his hands soaking into it. “Ok, so, the first one is...alright. Could you explain what you did during the wars? I want to hear it from you.” Remus looked annoyed, but didn’t comment. George had added that one himself.

“Right. I was a spy during both World Wars. Of course, we didn’t call them that at the time. The Prime Minister at the time called on the Minister for Magic, basically begging for help. They were looking for somebody who could be a Legilimens, so they went to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It was Albus, actually. He gave them my name. 

“I moved to Germany. There, I cut my hair, bound my breasts, used a charm to lower my voice, and enlisted in the army on forged documents. I quickly rose the ranks, and I transferred hundreds of little bits of information to the British government. There were times when I was caught, and I lost track of how many times I was almost killed. I worked mostly alone, which meant that it was hard to track me once I changed my identity. It was easy enough to Obliviate people to end up near the top again. I spent my days using both Legilimency and observation to try to capture every bit of what was going on in the strategy rooms.

“When World War II rolled around, I did the same thing. I was involved in the Order during the First Wizarding War, but I was forced to leave in the late 70’s due to health concerns. My body was giving out, and I ended up unable to use magic ever again.”

“How did you last that long?” George asked.

“I paced myself, and I took breaks. There were weeks when I wouldn’t use any magic at all, just attend meetings like normal. In between wars, I lived almost like a Muggle. It’s really easy to overdo it, so you have to be aware of your limits at all times. Of course, when that happens, everything feels worse. I imagine you get overstimulated easily?”

George nodded.

“You’ll have to spend a lot of time trying to quiet your mind or you’ll go insane. I can write down some breathing exercises and other ways to try to calm down if you’d like.”

“Yeah, that would be great.” George cleared his throat, trying to sound less small than he felt. “Does that…does it go away?”

Alice didn’t answer.

George took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He shifted in his seat, suddenly unable to get comfortable. His right knee bounced up and down uncontrollably, and he could feel the prickle of tears in the corner of his eyes.   

“Remus, do you mind if George and I speak privately for a few minutes?”

“No, not at all.” Remus stood up and walked towards the pastry case in the café, briefly resting a reassuring hand on George’s shoulder. 

Alice watched George from across the table, taking a sip of her coffee. “Do you know how I got into this situation?”

George nodded. “They needed a spy during World War I when David Lloyd George allied with the Ministry.”

“Do you know how old I was?”

George shook his head.

“I was twenty-five. A baby myself. I was their absolute last resort. Obviously, they didn’t want a woman to play such a prominent role in the Great War. You are going to go down in history. You’re an incredible human being, regardless of if you live or not. How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Oh, you poor baby. Who’s idea was this? Was it Remus?”

“No, it was Dumbledore. We’re just going through with it.”

“They’re always using children to fight their battles for them.” Alice grimaced, but quickly replaced it with a kind smile. “Would you like me to raise a prayer for you at church tomorrow?”

George was taken aback by this offer. He had just met this woman, aside from a handful of letters sent back and forth in code. “I think I would.”

The answer took George himself by surprise. He had long ago denounced the Christian religion as bullshit. But the gesture had touched George, especially in such a vulnerable moment. As far as he was aware, nobody had ever prayed for him before. His parents certainly hadn’t, outside of maybe wishing for him to stop fucking sinning already. Yet, a kind woman he barely knew had offered to not only pray for him, but to ask her entire church to. He brushed his eyes, trying to play it off as having an eyelash stuck in his right eye.

Alice took his hand in both of hers. “You can do this. God will be with you.”

“Thank you.”

“Keep in touch, won’t you?”

George nodded, standing before courteously helping Alice out of her seat. For being over a hundred years old, she was in extremely good health. She pulled George into a tight hug. 

“Thank you so much for meeting with us.”

“Of course, honey. Good luck on Monday. I’ll pray for you.”

George said goodbye to Remus, who had purchased him a strawberry tart, and Apparated back to his flat.

“How was it?” Fred asked.

“It was...it was a lot.” George flopped face-down onto the sofa, throwing the pastry onto the coffee table.

Fred sat on the edge of the sofa and ran his hands through George’s hair. “Would you like to talk about it?”

George nodded.