"Hermione!" whispered Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forward. "Oh, it's so good to see you dear – and you, Kingsley –"

"Hello, Molly."

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione gasped back, feeling her ribs protest as Mrs. Weasley hugged her very tightly. "Where's –"

"Shh!" Mrs. Weasley intoned anxiously. "I'm sorry, dear, but we have to be careful in this hallway... Kinglsey, would you stay for a spot of stew? We've all just eaten but I'd be happy make you a quick little something..."

"No, thanks, Molly," Kingsley murmured. "I've got to get back... take care."

"Be careful!"

"Bye, Kingsley, and thanks."

Kingsley winked and slipped out the front door, which shut behind him with a soft snap.

"Well, come on then, dear," Mrs. Weasley whispered, and started down the hallway. Hoisting the strap of her bag a little higher on her shoulder and tucking Crookshanks more securely under her arm, Hermione followed.

The hall they were walking along was dark and musty, with stained silver silk on the walls and rows of dusty portraits. The carpet was thin and worn, and the floorboards underneath creaked as they crossed them. Hermione wrinkled her nose – the chandelier, the ceiling, and the candles on the wall were all covered with a rather thick coating of cobwebs.

"Come on, you'll be staying in one of the rooms we've already cleaned out, up here..."

They mounted a staircase and began to climb. Hermione started to examine what looked like a row of sculptures on the wall but quickly recoiled in horror.

"Mrs. Weasley! Are those –?"

"Yes, they're house-elves. Unsavory, isn't it?"

"But that's terrible!" Hermione whispered, her hand over her mouth. "That's dreadful..."

"Yes I know, but don't stop, come on, just a bit farther..."

"What is this place?"

"It's Sirius's. Left for him by his lovely family. Don't worry, we're trying to make it habitable again, you'll see."

They had come out onto the second landing.

"Here you are, this one here. Ron's on the other side of the landing. Do you need any help getting settled in?"

"No, thank you, I'll be fine, I think."

"Alright, dear. Well, it's late, you should get to bed. Arthur and I are staying on the first floor, so I'll say goodnight."

"Goodnight Mrs. Weasley. And thank you."

Mrs. Weasley gave her a fond smile, her face a little drawn, before disappearing down the stairs.

Hermione stepped into her room and set her bag gingerly on the carpet. The room bore the look of having recently been cleaned. The wooden top of the dresser gleamed dully, and someone had made a brave attempt at wiping down the chandelier, which some stubborn bits of cobweb and dust still clung to. Kneeling down, she unlatched Crookshanks' carrier. He came out stiffly, stretching his bandy legs and yawning, and she gave him a good scratch behind the ears before he broke away to curl up at the foot of the bed.

Hermione yawned too. It seemed like eons ago that she'd said goodbye to her parents that morning, and the day of traveling had taken its toll. She pulled open a dresser drawer and peeked inside. It looked safe enough, and now seemed as good a time as any to unpack. She pulled out a stack of robes, keen to be done so that she could sleep.

CRACK.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

Hermione shrieked and dropped her clothes, whipping around to find Fred and George beaming at her and bowing repeatedly. Crookshanks shot under the bed and hissed furiously.

"Charming, Hermione, charming to see you –"

"It's a delight, just a delight," said Fred, stepping over the robes to wring her hand earnestly.

"Gits," said a voice from the doorway, and Hermione turned to see Ron, looking grumpy but pleased. "Hi Hermione, how's your holiday been?"

"Great," she managed, massaging her chest. "Fred, George, don't do that."

"You might as well get used to it now, they've been doing it all week," Ron said resentfully, striding across the room to drop down onto the bed. "The three of us were in my room and we heard you come up. As if crossing the hall is too strenuous. They're staying upstairs, anyway, not with me."

"Yes, well," Fred said, scooping up the robes and dusting them off, "we have to keep reminding you we're adults now, lest you forget, Ronald."

"Definitely," George agreed, closing the dresser drawer. "You don't want to put your stuff in there, Hermione, it's not quite... ah, safe yet."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well," said Fred, neatly rearranging the top layer of Hermione's bag, "this place is a bit of a dark dump, as you may have noticed. We've had a time of it trying to make it hospitable. Just wait until tomorrow, you'll see. Mum's been working us like house-elves."

"Yes," Hermione said in a rather high voice, "yes, I noticed the lovely décor downstairs."

"See, I told you she'd be upset," Ron told George. "Hermione, it's tradition. Wait until you meet the old one that lives here. Can't wait to be up on the wall with them. Gone 'round the bend."

"Ron!"

"He has, Hermione," said George wisely, sitting next to Ron. "Don't feel bad for him, you're not in for a warm reception. He's referred to the lot of us as 'blood traitors' ever since we got here, I don't imagine he's going to take to you any better."

"Well he's been taught to do that, I expect, it doesn't seem like the people in Sirius's family were very accepting wizards, does it?"

"Definitely not. But never mind that now, you'll meet Kreacher soon enough. Just don't stick your stuff in here, Hermione," Fred advised, leaning against the wall. "Just leave it in the suitcase. Or you can put it in ours if you really want to unpack."

"But what's wrong with mine?"

"Flesh-eating slugs. There was a whole great load of eggs in there when we got here. We cleaned them out, but Mum reckons that their, ah, secretions probably soaked into the wood. Nasty stuff, you know. It'll dissolve whatever you put in there."

"Lovely."

"Yeah, and the whole place is like that," Ron said glumly. "No one's lived here for years. There are doxies everywhere and a bunch of the wardrobes and cabinets are rattling with whatever mad stuff Sirius's family put in them. Like Fred said, Mum's determined to get rid of the lot of it, but I dunno. If you ask me she's fighting a losing battle."

"Passes the time though, that's something," George said. He absently tugged a bit of string from his pocket and wound it around his fingers, humming something that sounded like a particularly jazzy number of the Weird Sisters.

"George, you want to be careful with that," Hermione said, hastily tugging Crookshanks out from under the bed, where his beady eyes had already lit upon the string. "He loves to play with that sort of rubbish, don't be surprised if he jumps at you."

"Rubbish?" said Fred in a wounded voice, hand over his heart. "That there is not rubbish, Hermione. That is the result of several months' hard work."

She looked at the string skeptically. It was a muted flesh color and seemed unremarkable aside from the length of it, which was becoming evident as George unraveled it from his pocket.

"Extendable Ears," said George.

"Bloody useful," said Ron.

"We've been breaking the rules, see," said Fred. "Eavesdropping on the Order," he explained, seeing Hermione's dubious expression. "They have all their meetings in the basement kitchen. Mum won't let us in on anything, it's been driving us mad. We've found out a couple of things with the good old Ears but we've got to be careful. Mum is still feeling quite anti-joke shop, you see."

"Well, she's got a point," Hermione said loftily, depositing Crookshanks back onto the floor. "The two of you could have gotten loads of O.W.L.s if you hadn't spent all your time focusing on flashy stuff, I expect."

"We'll see if you still think it's just flashy stuff when you've gotten to sit in undetected on a top-secret meeting," Fred said unconcernedly. "No, Ron's right, they're dead useful. You'll grow to appreciate us in due time, Hermione."

"Mm."

"He's right, Hermione," George said earnestly, pulling the ears back into his pocket. "We won't be able to give you a discount later on if you're going to take this kind of attitude now – OI!"

Crookshanks had pounced, and George swore violently as the cat dug his claws into his leg. He jumped and swore even louder as Ron leapt from the bed to try and pull Crookshanks off, and Fred roared with laughter.

"Shut it, Fred!"

"She warned you, you know, you really can't complain."

"Crookshanks! No!"

"Stop laughing, you prat –" George winced as Hermione hurried forward and wrenched her cat off of his thigh. "Bloody hell, Hermione, he's a little menace –"

"Little?" said Ron incredulously. "He almost took my head off in Magical Menagerie two summers ago –"

Fred chortled. "Yes, well, your head is still as intact as it's ever been, although I'm not sure that's saying much –"

"Fred!" Ron said furiously, "whose side are you on? He almost just mauled your brother –"

But George was already chuckling and gave Crookshanks a quick, forgiving pat in Hermione's arms after restoring the Ears fully to his pocket. "Just been cooped up too long? Ah, well, we can forget about it just this once..."

Crookshanks meowed in an irritable but apologetic sort of way.

"Anyways, Ron," Fred said, "I was under the impression you'd become rather fond of the fellow."

"I am, but still, I'm with George, he can be a menace sometimes–"

"But to do it with charm, that's the trick, little brother. Take it from me."

"I still say Hermione's too soft with her pets, it makes them obstinate..."

"Explains how you and Harry have turned out then," Fred said while George snorted with laughter and Ron grinned at Hermione sheepishly. "Really, if we can't trust Hermione's judgement, we might as well all just give up now."

Hermione blushed and unclamped her arms from around Crookshanks, who sat down huffily at the foot of the bed once more.

"Here –" Fred stepped forward and waved his wand, and a fat spool of maroon string materialized in the air over the bed and dropped onto the comforter. "He can have a bit of fun with that. And maybe we ought to head to bed, you lot, seeing as Mum'll probably have us up at the crack of dawn tomorrow..."

Ron and George reluctantly agreed and stood, George gingerly massaging his leg but grinning all the same. He first made Crookshanks an elaborate salute, and then turned did the same for Hermione.

"Your servant."

Fred simply caught her eye and winked, and with a loud crack, the twins were gone.

Ron made his way across the room to the doorway and turned, staring wistfully at the place Fred and George had vanished. "Blimey, I can't wait until I'm seventeen..."

"Why?" Hermione scoffed. "So you can avoid taking one flight of stairs?"

"Yeah... and make things appear like that..." Ron snapped his fingers, still gazing dreamily at the bit of floorboard.

"I suppose," she sniffed, turning down the covers of the bed and tossing the string between Crookshanks' front paws. "Or you could look forward to doing something useful."

Ron just smiled and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Hermione. 'Night."

"Goodnight Ron."

He gave a small wave and shut her door with a click. She heard his footfalls cross the landing and enter his own room, clomping about as he got ready for bed.

It really was the most frivolous use of magic, Hermione reflected grumpily as she got out her own pajamas and pulled them on, the most ridiculous...

And yet she couldn't help but think with a smile as she fell into bed and turned out the light, listening to Crookshanks playing and thumping happily about with his new maroon string, that maybe ridiculous wasn't such a bad thing after all...