Twinses!!

[thrihyrne]

**beams**

Finally have an update.

IV. December

“Fred. Fred. Wake up.”

George felt his shoulder being shaken and heard a feminine voice above him.

“I’m George, woman. When will you learn?” he said crossly before his sleep-fogged mind caught up with his mouth. Comprehension trickled down around him like icicle droplets, and his tongue froze against his teeth. He wasn’t at home, he was at Hogwarts, which could only mean that he had just spouted off to his head of house, not his mother.

“Sorry. George,” she apologized as George sat up stiffly, blinking against the light from the small glowing lamp Professor Minerva McGonagall held in her hand.

“No. I’m sorry, professor,” he mumbled, chastened and suddenly filled with trepidation. “What are you doing here?”

His mind raced, thinking back to when he’d heard about Ginny. Something really awful must have happened for McGonagall to be waking them up in the dead of night, and her worried expression only confirmed his fears.

“Has Ginny been taken again? Is it-”

“It’s your father,” McGonagall said, cutting him off while placing what he supposed was meant to be a reassuring, albeit bony hand on his arm. “He’s not dead, but he has been gravely injured.”

George gaped fish-like at her, then threw down his covers. She took two steps back and motioned her head toward the door as he ran his left hand through his shaggy fringe, grounding himself.

“Please wake your brother and meet me in the common room,” McGonagall said in hushed tones, though each word fell heavy with authority. “Immediately. I will get Ginny. We need to go to Dumbledore’s office but we mustn’t alert,” she paused, pursed her lips, then continued, “Umbridge.”

George watched the light glide across the room, then he got up walked the few steps to pull open Fred’s curtains.

“Fred. Oy,” he whispered, leaning over his brother’s prone figure and unceremoniously tapping on his shoulder blade. “Wake up. Dad’s been hurt.”

Fred muttered something incomprehensible, then snorted as George flicked his ear a few times. “Up. Now.”

“Whazzit?” Fred asked bleary-eyed, raising his head.

“Dad,” George pleaded. “It’s bad, Fred. McGonagall got me up. We’re going to Dumbledore’s. C’mon.”

He grasped Fred’s hand and began pulling him from his bed until Fred shrugged off his assistance.

“I’m awake. Bollocks,” he swore. Comprehension of what George had said slowly settled on his face, then all in a rush, he was out of his bed, still clad only in his pyjamas, and careening across the room. “Shite, George!” he hissed over his shoulder. “What are you waiting for, an inscribed invitation?”

George tore across the room after him, his bare feet slapping the floor.

***

The next forty-eight hours were a blur: Dumbledore’s office; holding Ginny’s hand as they took the portkey to Grimmauld Place; the interminable night of waiting; seeing their father. Alive. Pallid, weak, but alive. And Bill was there too. More of the family.

“Not exactly where we expected to be spending Christmas, eh?” Fred said as he and George decorated the main sitting area, shaking his head when there was a visitor at the Order’s headquarters and Mrs. Black’s portrait began screaming bloody murder yet again.

“No,” George agreed, grateful that at last he had his wand since their belongings had been sent from Hogwarts. He thought hard for a minute, then waved it at some tinsel which proceeded to turn a shiny red colour, form two lines then engage in a risqué, rouge-imbued tango. Risqué for tinsel, at any rate.

“Nicely done,” Fred acknowledged, then raised his wand. “But far too serious.”

After a flick of his wrist, the tinsel changed from red to silver and began sprouting miniature wings and doing the chicken dance. The lines flapped their elbows of sorts, leaned from right to left, and attempted to clap, much to his hilarity. A polka tune emanated from a pillow on the nearby couch, and a witch in the portrait above the now-abused chaise glared down her nose at the twins. She sneered in disapproval, then left the confines of the frame, freeing them to enjoy their own amusement without any Black family voyeurs.

“Fred! George!” Ginny’s shocked voice carried from the kitchen. “You’ve got some mail.”

George looked curiously at Fred, who seemed just as surprised. “Who’d owl us?”

“Dunno,” Fred replied, muttering a wingardium leviosa on the newly de-animated tinsel which he guided upward, draping it on the enormous tree which commandeered the room.

The two clomped into the kitchen, earning a scowl from their mother. Ginny was sitting at the table, licking chocolate off of a spoon. “He's beautiful,” she cooed, as the russet-feathered tawny owl unhurriedly ate the small pile of leftover bacon pieces she had placed before him. “Who’s is it? You two almost never get anything by owl.”

“Not sure,” George said, looking from the bird's dark-ringed eyes to the scroll, sealed with burgundy wax, a gothic 'T' set in the congealed circle.

“Towler,” Fred surmised, dropping down next to Ginny and sticking his fingers into the bowl of chocolate batter, then licking them.

“That’s mine, you rotter!” Ginny squealed, grabbing the bowl from him.

“It is, too,” George said in response to Fred after unrolling the page. He skimmed the parchment, saw that there was a message for them that their mother did not need to hear, and read the first part aloud while Ginny and Fred wrestled over the abused bowl.

“Dear Fred and George,
I am so sorry to hear about your father’s injuries, but am glad to hear that he’s going to be okay. You can imagine how surprised Jordan and I were to wake up and find you gone- we’ve kept up with what was going on through the Granger girl. I hope that your dad will be well enough to spend Christmas with you, and that you have a really good holiday despite this recent scare.”

“That was nice of him,” Molly said, stirring a large pot of stew. “But Ginny’s right, you don’t usually get anything unless it has to do with that joke-store business.” She turned and pushed a damp tendril of hair behind her ear, looking suspiciously at them. “You aren’t still taking orders for those fake wands, are you?”

“No mum,” Fred lied without a moment’s hesitation.

George quickly racked his brain for a further explanation. “Kenneth got dumped recently- maybe he just wanted to write because he’s lonely.”

“What, for advice for the lovelorn?” Bill said amicably, walking into the kitchen with Ron behind him, taking two butterbeers out of the refrigerator. “He should know better than to consult with you two. What words of wisdom could you possibly give?” He handed one to Ron who sat down at the table, looking a bit apprehensively at the twins.

“Yeah,” Ginny teased, “Nobody’d date you two. You’re not serious enough.”

“Dammit, we don’t come as a pair!” George exclaimed, and the owl gave an affronted hoot and ruffled its feathers.

“George! Watch your language!” his mother said, then turned back around and resumed her vigorous stirring.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right,” Fred said, as though George hadn’t spoken, draping his arm around Ginny. “Though since Charlie’s not married, Bill’s not married, apparently we’re not worth dating, and Ron…” He stopped to give him a fiendish grin. “Well, he may have his eyes on someone, but goodness knows if she’ll ever look twice at our ickle prefect.”

George watched a lurid blush raise in Ron’s cheeks as he muttered, “Give it a rest, you wanker,” got up, and stomped out of the room.

Unfazed, Fred continued, “So I guess all of mum’s hopes are left to you, our little Ginevra.”

“Gwynyth,” George added.

“Xaveria-Violet.”

“Weasley!” all three brothers chorused.

“Mum!” Ginny wailed. “Make them stop.”

“Stop it, you lot,” their mother said, brandishing her spoon. “Fred and George, go make yourselves useful. Somewhere not here,” she snapped.

Fred took a last swipe of chocolate batter as George saluted their mother, then they left the kitchen, following Bill’s lead and stopping by the fridge to liberate two more butterbeers en route. Fred held out his arm to stop George at the bottom of the stairs. “Shall we?” he asked, and George grinned. With a crack, they Apparated into their room.

***

Half an hour later, they were still talking about the rest of the contents of Kenneth’s letter. They had accio’ed two additional butterbeers, ignoring their mother’s shouts that they could hear projected despite the two floors’ distance.

“I just don’t know that we should have anyone else involved,” Fred said for at least the third time.

“But it gives us more clout if we have a backer, in addition to our own resources,” George said, also for at least the third time.

“Clout?” Fred scoffed. “Bracken Towler has a lot of money, but the man is the manager of a potions research lab. Who in Diagon Alley is going to care about that?”

“Alright, alright.” George took a pull on his butterbeer. “Maybe clout’s not the right word. But it’s not like we’re going to march into the Alley with a couple of bags of galleons and say, ‘Oy! We want to rent a shop. Trust us!’”

Fred appraised him with a curious, but respectful look. “I suppose you’re right. Guess I hadn’t actually thought about that part. Yet.”

“We’ll seem serious if we can show not only your very thorough business plan, but also that we have the money to run the shop for awhile. And if the impossible happens, and everything goes up in a shower of Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs, we’ll only be indebted to Towler’s dad.”

“As opposed to who?” Fred asked, leaning back in his chair and sprawling his legs on his bed.

“Dunno. But I’ve heard that the Malfoys own a lot of those properties. I’d really rather not have any interaction with any of them. Or their lawyers. Ever.”

Fred made a contemplative hmmming sound while George rolled a knut over his left knuckles from one side of his hand to the other, the copper coin undulating over his freckled skin.

“Fred! George! You’ve got another owl!” Ginny’s voice was outside of their door. “Mum’s ballistic. She thinks you’re getting in last-minute Christmas gift orders.”

“Come on, then,” George yelled to the door, and moments later their sister was handing Fred another scroll.

“Are you?” she asked, a glint in her eye.

“I wish,” Fred answered honestly, unrolling the parchment and glancing at the message. “Nope. Just a note from Jordan. In summary: ‘You’re bastards for not saying goodbye; should’ve said something; glad your dad’s getting better; have a great holiday.’ Well,” he chuckled, “he’s never exactly been one to mince words. We seem to have made quite an impression, leaving in the middle of the night and right under Dungfridge’s nose.”

“She’s evil,” Ginny said.

“As if it weren’t hard enough to stay and finish our N.E.W.T.s for mum’s sake, we have to do it with that woman sucking the life out of the place,” George said rebelliously, then finished his butterbeer.

“We’ll just have to make sure that we have a memorable exit,” Fred replied, dropping Lee’s scroll and rubbing his hands together in glee.

“Sometimes you two really scare me,” Ginny admitted, looking from Fred and George.

“No!” George drawled, pulling his younger sister over to sit on his lap. “We’re just two harmless, bachelor seventh years who like a good joke,” he went on. “And you know we’d never do anything to you, the first Weasley girl in- oh, how many generations, Fred?”

“I forget,” he said sourly, “Though not for lack of reminding.”

Ginny stopped squirming and sat very still.

“What is it?” George asked, beginning to tickle her.

“Stop it,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically timid.

“What’d we say?” Fred asked, picking up three of the now-empty bottles and beginning to juggle them as stray droplets of butterbeer fell on the floor.

“Nothing. It’s just, well…” her voice trailed off while she tugged anxiously at the ends of her hair, sucking on them for a second, then pulling it back behind her ear. “Mum told me something recently. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.” She scooted off of George’s lap to go lean on a nearby carved mahogany desk, tracing the ornate ‘B’ with a finger.

“Spill,” Fred threatened.

“Oh, fine,” she said in an irritable voice, though George was troubled at noticing how burdened she seemed by whatever tale their mother had told her. He was struck that despite her age, after the trauma she had suffered during her possession, she had become more mature and serious, and he felt ferociously protective of her.

“No,” George said, shaking his head and glaring at Fred. “You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to.”

“Oh yes she does!” Fred exclaimed, still keeping his eyes on the brown bottles circling in the air. “She’s our sister. It’s her obligation.”

“You sound like Percy,” George said, disgusted.

“That’s it,” Fred growled, catching the bottles and dropping them on the floor where they rolled to a corner. “What is your problem, anyway?”

“All of it!” George said, barely civil. “No bloody Quidditch, bloody Dungfridge, and I really hate this blasted house. I know the Burrow is about to fall apart, but at least our stuff is there.”

Fred got up and patted his shoulder in consolation. “You mean you think our decorations aren’t satisfactory? I’m offended,” he said, with an expression of mock horror. “As for the latter, that sounds like an excursion to plan out, don’t you think? Mum’s not around all the time, and we can distract little Ron and company-”

“You’re actually triplets,” Ginny said, looking at the floor, as though she hadn’t heard any of the previous outburst.

Fred and George turned to stare at her. She fidgeted with a drawer pull in the thickening silence, the twins stunned into quiet after such an absurd proclamation.

“We’re what?” George said finally, not able to grasp what Ginny had revealed.

Ginny raised her gaze to look at him, and he could tell that she wished she didn’t know whatever it was. “Mum said that she had been carrying triplets. But something happened when she was more than halfway along, she had to go to St. Mungo’s and she lost one of the babies. And it was a girl.”

“Bollocks,” Fred cursed softly. “But why hasn’t she ever said anything?”

“Or dad?” George echoed. “Or Bill? Or Charlie?”

Ginny shrugged. “I guess they were so glad when you and Fred were born with no problems that they decided not to bring it up again. Then Ron came along, then me, and they’ve been a bit busy.” She started to twist her hair again. “That’s why mum’s so protective of me, though, and why she’s been so intense about this Order stuff. She really worries about all of us, Harry as much as anybody.”

George thought about this secret that their mother had kept, and wondered how many other things he didn’t know about her.

“Don’t tell her I told you,” Ginny warned, just as unexpected knocks on the door made the trio jump in surprise. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“FredandGeorge, dinner!” Ron shouted, his voice cracking on the last word. “You in there too, Ginny?”

“Yes,” she called back. “Be right down.”

“It is a bit weird, isn’t it?” Fred mused, walking to the corner to pick up the butterbeer bottles then dropping them in the bin with a loud clatter. “Could’ve been three of us.”

“But a girl?” George said, following Ginny to the door and into the hallway. “Wouldn’t be the same.” He found that he was strangely unsettled by the knowledge of this ghost-sister, combined with an equally odd wave of respect for his mother and what she had been through.

“Weasley women are full of secrets,” Ginny said, quirking an eyebrow as they descended the stairs.

“I don’t find that reassuring,” Fred said, leaning forward to speak privately to George.

“Nope,” George agreed as they walked into the kitchen, the table already full with family and those of the Order not out doing whatever it was that they did. “Hmmmm,” he sniffed. “Oy, this smells beautiful, mum!”

Molly looked more tired than usual, but at the unexpected compliment, a bright smile flooded her face. “Well, thank you George.”

George smiled back.

Comments

[llembas.livejournal.com]

I love your Weasley's. They're just so huggable and loveable and perfect. And all of your characters have such distinct personalities. Kenneth reminds me of a young Winchester off of MASH. ;)

And it just flows so well together, it really is like reading one of the novels.

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

Kenneth reminds me of a young Winchester off of MASH.

Y'know, I hadn't thought of that, but it certainly works! I see him as his own anomaly; a well-off Gryffindor, but a Gryffindor nonetheless. It's a lot of fun, playing with a canon character who is listed in name only- kinda like what I've had fun writing in Tolkiendom.

I'm so glad that you're still fond of the twins. Just had to drop that mini-bomb of angst, just to add to the depth; hope it works. And yes, I do hope they are very huggable. *thinks back to dream and then skedaddles from computer*

As long as the dialogue seems true to you, then I know I'm doing well. And I'm ecstatic that you think it all still flows together! It's kindof like writing "Daughters" in that I have the timeline of when things happen, and to whom, but I can take my creative liberties inbetween, as long as they make sense.

**grins widely**

You know that I'm going to beg ask you to please beta-read this sucker as well, once it's done...

[cim-halfling.livejournal.com]

Lovely! I've been following this, and can't wait for the next installment. Ya know, your style is a bit different from ole JK, but your characterizations seem to be keeping true to her creations. And it is very original and so enjoyable. Can't wait for more!

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much for your comments, cim! I'm glad you're enjoying it. It is a different style from JKR, though I'm trying to stay true to her characterizations of everybody that she's written about. I do hope that it's original- people don't seem to take the twins seriously, or if they do write about them, they've paired them together which just isn't my thing.

Off to check your LJ!