Summary: George and Fred Weasley must vacate the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes at Number 93 Diagon Alley. Before leaving, George only has time to fill the magical pockets of his work robes. The contents must have value, sentiment, and above all, not fall into the hands of someone else.

Disclaimer: All characters and setting references to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling.

Tokens

By Clover Bay

Shattering glass rained into the shop at Number Ninety-three Diagon Alley. That the shop was due to open in a matter of minutes mattered not, especially to the hooded figures wanting to send a message to the remaining defiant wizards who were so foolish as to believe that they could dare hope to stop the Dark Lord. Scorching light raced into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes as the colorful window displays no longer impeded their path. Malice dripped from the voices that cast the curses, spells that were literally destroying the store and making their way closer to the lone occupants of the flat above.

The high-pitched cackle of a woman hidden behind a loathsome mask echoed in their ears as George and Fred managed to secure the last door between the Death Eaters and themselves. They had been dreading the attack since the Ministry of Magic fell and Voldemort's minions took control of Wizarding Britain, though they weren't surprised to be targeted. The ringing voice of Mad-Eye Moody had been drilled into them to maintain "constant vigilance"; this made the two men secure in the knowledge that their home would be safe long enough for them to escape to the safe house.

The pair split apart as they entered the narrow hallway, George turning left into his room while Fred disappeared to the right. Only moments later they reemerged and grasped onto the most recent Weasley family portrait that had been taken at Bill and Fleur's wedding reception; they felt the tug of apparition as the portkey activated with a bright blue glow.

A quick glance and an identical grin at one another assured both George and Fred that they'd made it to safety. Before they could completely take in their surroundings, the chaotic shuffling of the other Weasleys, who looked as though they'd just arrived, combined with the nagging voice of their favorite aunt made it seem like the Gryffindor common room after a Quidditch match.

"Never in my life have I heard so much noise," Great Aunt Muriel complained loudly, not even bothering to pretend to whisper. "It is exactly half past nine and I was well on my way to enjoying a morning nap. Ungrateful little . . . ." Her muttering thankfully trailed off as she went in search of a quieter room.

The gravity of their situation hit George with an overwhelming heaviness. Going into hiding had always been the last resort should the war turn unbearable. The attack on the shop had been the catalyst that drove he and Fred away from Diagon Alley, but he wasn't sure why the others suddenly moved into Aunt Muriel's house. He'd even seen Ginny downstairs, which was a surprise because the Hogwarts' Express left earlier this morning and she should have been aboard.

For weeks, each of them had been squirreling away clothes, linens, and even food for the eventual move into hiding. His mum had been meticulous in her planning. Even he and Fred had prepared, as much as anyone could, for a sudden departure. Reaching into the pocket of his work robes, he felt the last things he salvaged from the flat.

George decided to follow Fred's lead and went upstairs in search of their new room. He closed the door to muffle the sounds of Aunt Muriel's voice. Apparently she hadn't yet found a place for her nap.

Flopping onto the narrow cot that would serve as his bed, he leaned his back against the wall and started to empty his pockets. His fingers grasped the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes name badge that he'd been trying to put on when they first heard the windows breaking. A wry smile found its way on his face. Though he'd never planned to bring such a trivial and useless item, it made him happy to know that it had survived the store's burning. He was inordinately proud of everything the small gold name plate represented.

He pulled out another metal object, this one slightly larger than the first. The pocket watch his mum and dad gave him on his seventeenth birthday fit in the palm of his hand. This he purposely packed, having made a practice of keeping it in his work robes at all times rather than just wearing it when going out. He knew his mum and dad had undoubtedly sacrificed to be able to buy it; even though he'd never gone into a proper jewelry store and looked at such things, he was sure he would never see a more perfect watch than the one he'd been given. Someday he wanted to buy nice things for his parents, and if the war hadn't interrupted their sales, he would have been well on his way to doing that. A glance across the small room and he saw that Fred was looking at his own watch as well.

As if reading his twin's thoughts, Fred said quietly, "Someday Gred. We'll rebuild and make sure everyone is taken care of."

"I know. And it seems so small and insignificant right now." Chuckling more in relief than actual hilarity, he added, "We only just got away from the Death Eaters and here I am wishing for more. We have more than most wizards right now. It's lucky that we have Aunt . . ." George's voice trailed off as they heard the aforementioned aunt roaming the hallways with surprising speed.

"Can't an old woman enjoy the peace and quiet of home? Why, in my day, youngsters knew their place and respected their elders." As she passed directly in front of the closed door, Aunt Muriel voiced the first true insult of the morning, " . . . knew that Prewett girl would have trouble tending to all those kids. She should have listened to me more when I tried to tell her . . ."

"You were saying, Gred?"

"Yeah, yeah, Forge." Shaking his head, George smiled before withdrawing another parcel from his pockets. The shrunken pile of Weasley sweaters lay tangled together as he debated the easiest way to sort them. He'd never really appreciated them until he grew three inches the winter after they left Hogwarts. Not only were the sweaters softer than he would ever admit during the family's Christmas gift exchange, but his mum had charmed them to resize themselves. At the time, most of his and Fred's money was being poured back into the shop and he couldn't afford to buy a whole new wardrobe. Without these sweaters, he might have gone starkers underneath his work robes.

He shifted the parchment in his pocket, wanting to save that until after Fred left the room, and found two twigs the size of Muggle pencils. Tossing one across the room, he caught Fred squarely in the nose.

"Hey!"

In a voice that sounded anything but apologetic, George snickered, "Sorry 'bout that."

"The twigs caught me in the left nostril."

"Well, you should be happy I didn't restore it before tossing it to you." George resized his broom into its normal length and weight before sliding it under his cot.

"Did you manage to grab the book before we left?" This time, Fred's voice was serious and held a worried edge to it.

Pulling the worn journal from his pocket, George held it up for his twin to see. The leather bound book contained all of the formulas and recipes for their inventions. Not only was it priceless in terms of earning potential for them once the war was over, it also detailed the spell work for the shield hats and cloaks they'd supplied for the Order. If their journal ever fell into the hands of the Death Eaters, the counter charms could be performed and they would be rendered useless. Worse yet, their customers wouldn't know that their protections had failed them until it was too late.

Fred exhaled a sigh of relief. "Good. I thought I picked it up, but look what I grabbed instead."

It was George's turn to duck as a thin, flat book sailed toward him. "Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches?" He let out a mighty laugh as he looked at the worn book. "You tried to save our formulas and instead you brought this old book?"

"I thought I was getting the right one," Fred grinned. "This one's almost as important as the journal, though."

"It's helped us too many times to count." George let his hand slip back to the last item in his pocket while Fred retold the story of how Angelina, Alicia, and Katie all suddenly wanted to be his Hogsmeade date when he'd begun to compliment them. Chapter three certainly had come in handy.

Since it didn't seem that Fred would be leaving the safety of their new room anytime soon, George finally laid a stack of letters onto the bed beside him. He kept them between himself and the wall in hopes that Fred wouldn't start asking questions. One look in Fred's direction left him shaking his head.

"Did you really grab a jar of peanut butter on your way out of the flat?"

Digging into the open jar, Fred tried to answer around the large spoonful he'd just put into his mouth. "Uh-huh. It was just sittin' there. So I thought, 'why not'." Shrugging his shoulders, Fred pulled another heaping bite from the jar.

Turning away from his twin, George ran his hand across the letters. He had two years worth of them from the smartest, prettiest witch he knew. In the weeks before he and Fred left Hogwarts to become entrepreneurs, he charmed Hermione with his spellwork during the DA meetings, or so she claims.

Shuffling through the stack, he smiled as he found her first letter. It was a reply to the one he'd slipped into her hand while they walked to the Great Hall for breakfast. She'd blushed when his fingers touched her hand and hastily stowed it into her bag. He could still see her barely-tamed curls that covered her shoulders and spilled over onto him as he sat beside her at their house table.

He wanted to give her something besides his ineloquent words, so he tucked a package of Droobles Gum into the folds of the parchment. Even though he'd only written to her once, he'd been falling for her all year. He remembered finding a sugar quill inside that first letter she gave him. He knew then that she'd appreciated getting his gift and he tried to include small trinkets as often as he could afford them.

The letters grew in volume from a few lines to a page, until thick envelopes marked the summer she was confined to her home to recuperate from her injuries at the Ministry of Magic. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had just begun to make a small profit and he took his first paycheck to buy an owl for her. As a surprise, he mailed his next letter to her with instructions to name her newest familiar.

"Are you reading Hermione's letters again, brother?"

George was startled to be caught. He stuffed them under his pillow as he felt heat rush to his face.

Fred just laughed as he walked to the door. Tossing the empty peanut butter jar into the trash bin, he stepped out of the room and let more of Aunt Muriel's complaining drift in.

Finally alone, George looked over the few things he'd saved as they escaped their own shop. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes could be rebuilt and their stocks re-supplied; the few material items of value his parents had given them were intact; and as grateful as he was that Hermione's letters made it to the safe house, he couldn't help but worry about the girl herself. The last words in her most recent letter mirrored their last conversation, simply ending with 'I love you.' He hoped wherever she was that she was alright, that she was as safe as he was right now.