Chapter 1

A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you're fast asleep
In dreams you lose your heartaches
Whatever you wish for, you keep
Have faith in your dreams and someday
Your rainbow will come smiling thru
No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true1

"Geddup!"

His mind was foggy with sleep. He'd been dreaming. Blissful dreams. Full of beautiful girls, smiling and laughing, his favorite part of their anatomy bouncing in time with their giddiness. He was on a beach, the sound of the gentle waves splashing against the shore a short distance away. There was a bodacious blonde above him. The shadows of her hair were blocking her face as she leaned towards him. He saw her eyes, though. Deep pools of dark blue. The darkest blue eyes he'd ever seen. Like midnight, or deep ocean water, or…

"George! Geddup!"

A soft object was smashed roughly in his face and his eyes shot open, the image of the girl fading as he became accustomed to the light in his small bedroom. He sat up in his bed – a pillow promptly smashed into his face again – and looked around. His brother's bed, adjacent to his, was empty, the plain blue comforter thrown back, matching bare sheets beneath with a slight indentation from the over use of the mattress.

"Have a good dream, then?" His twin brother was standing over him, looking pointedly down at his lap. George forced himself not to get embarrassed.

"How'd you guess?"

Another pointed look downwards and Fred snorted. "You were mumbling about girls in bikinis…"

George glanced down at his lap, and, though it was covered with his sheets, there was a noticeable tent there. His sheets were blue, too.

Midnight blue.

A vision of the blonde came back to him; a smile spread over his face. It was not the first time he'd dreamed of that girl, and he hoped it wouldn't be the last. The night before last, the twins' first official night as no-longer-sixth-years-almost-seventh-years-at-Hogwarts had just been another night with the girl of his dreams. That time, she was sitting on a stool in the middle of the dark room, strumming a guitar. Her eyes bore into him as she moved her head a bit wildly. And a few days prior to that, he stood on a platform, thousands of people staring at him, their lips moving, some of them jumping, but they all seemed to be saying the same thing. He couldn't make it out, however, there was no sound. He had moved his head to the right a bit, and out of his peripheral vision he'd seen the flash of blonde hair before he was woken.

"…breakfast. She wants us to go into the village and fetch some eggs. Says the chickens are being a bit shy, what with the new faces…are you listening to me?" Fred's eyes narrowed at his brother, and George smiled sheepishly.

"Right, breakfast then eggs. Do I at least have time to shower?"

"Sorry, mate, that's what you get for having a lie in." Fred left George to get dressed and George fell back onto the bed, unable to shake the girl from his head.

He smiled in spite of it.

He moved around his room, his feet scraping a plank of burnt wood on the floor. He looked down. The scorched wood was about a foot wide, and he remembered that combing shrivelfigs and bubotuber pus – which he and his twin had been experimenting with for a few different Wheezes – had…explosive effects. He shook his head and moved to the wall just beyond his bed, where a small chest of drawers stood. The dark wood stood out against the plain white walls of the small room.

He grabbed a pair of tan trousers from the top of the chest and slid them on. He then proceeded to lift his left arm in the air, bend his head at an odd angle to get his nose as close to the source as possible, and suck in a big breath of air through his nose. His head snapped up. He contemplated for a moment, then shrugged. Not too bad. He grabbed the closest shirt to him – which happened to be a hand-me-down polo that was once a dark forest green when Bill had it, but now had faded to a light green – and pulled it over his head.

"George!"

The voice was his mothers. She was undoubtedly at the bottom of the staircase, and he on the third floor in a room with a closed door. He shook his head to himself, pulling on his trainers. Grabbing his wand off of the small desk next to the door, he left his room and hurried down the stairs.

"'Morning, mum," said George sweetly, kissing his mum on the cheek as he made his way into the kitchen.

"Gosh, George, you take longer to get ready than I do," he heard Ginny mumble into her cereal. Ginny, the only girl in the family, got away with so much more than she should have just because of that fact. George turned to his sister.

"Got an image to uphold, don't we Fred?" George took hold of the ends of his collar and pulled forward, before wiping a thumb across his nose.

"'Course we do, twin." Fred mimicked his brother's actions with his own shirt and then the leaned on each other shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed over their chests.

"Get going," their mum pushed them towards the door, thrusting toast towards George. "Hurry back. I need those eggs!"

"Yes, mum," the twins said in unison before exiting the kitchen and moving into the back garden. "Ready twin?"

"Ready!"

They linked arms and pulled out their wands from the waistbands of their trousers. With a flourish of said wands, and a tap on their heads, the identical set disappeared with a loud 'crack.'

They appeared at the edge of the village with a loud 'pop' and immediately ducked behind a large pile of firewood. Fred was uneasy on his feet, and he held on to George to keep him standing.

"You okay?" He heard George whisper.

"I'll be fine," he shook his head vigorously, which only succeeded in making him more dizzy. "We are walking back," muttered Fred. "I need more practice over short distances."

"Plenty of time for that. I look forward to scaring ickle Ronniekins once Hermione gets here."

Once he was sure the coast was clear, he stood up and stepped out from behind the pile of wood. He dragged Fred to his feet, who pressed his palms into his eyes, and then they started off.

"'Course, we end up at the opposite side of the village we need to be on," Fred muttered, only loud enough for George to hear him.

"Shit! Did mum give you money?"

Fred smiled and held up a wad a paper bills. "What would you do without me, Forge?"

"I dunno, Gred."

They walked a bit farther into the village. There were carts set up along the path, shops lined either side. George recognized the paper shop Fred had met that muggle in and sighed.

"Too bad she moved," Fred turned to him, smiling. "She was a particularly good shag."

George rolled his eyes and continued walking along the path. He could see the shop ahead, and Fred moved ahead of him to make more room for the people in the busy shopping area. It was particularly crowded that day.

George groaned as something was thrust into his stomach and he looked up, the breath knocked out of him. An elderly woman stood in front of him, her hair fell in curly gray tangles over her shoulders and her brown eyes were anything but friendly.

"Watch where you're going!" She snapped, pushing past him and moving along the walkway. Nevermind the fact that she was on the wrong side of the street, George turned after her.

"Sorry!" he called. As he turned back to call for Fred, a shop caught his eye. He was standing in front of a large window with large block letters painted across the top that stated the place was 'Maggie's Music Shoppe'.

He pressed his face against the glass. Inside, many muggle musical instruments lined the walls. He noticed opened instrument cases, and a the back wall covered with guitars. There were stands set up in the middle of the room, as well. And in the middle of the room was a familiar looking girl. Her blonde hair was curly, but not naturally curly. Curly like it needed something to help set the curls in place. George briefly wondered if she'd used a charm or potion, but he shook his head.

"Muggle," he muttered, his warm breath fogging to glass. He returned his gaze to the girl.

She was sitting on a stool, her long, jean-clad legs crossed at the knees. She wore dark brown boots that stopped just before her legs crossed. They didn't look like leather, but more of a suedey, softer material. It looked like one of the spiky heels of her boot was caught on the rung of the stool. Her other foot was moving up and down rhythmically.

She had a light blue guitar resting across her legs, and delicate, graceful fingers strummed the strings. There were cords coming out of the side, which disappeared on the other side of her. Her hair was pushed back behind her ears, and what looked like earmuffs covered her them. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving. Her head lolled back from side to side.

"Oi! What do you think you are doing?" A voice shouted from right next to George. He jumped at the intrusion and turned. A portly woman stood next to an open door, anger written across her age-ridden features. Her forehead was crinkled in wonder, and she held a dirty, oil-stained rag in her hand.

"S-sorry," he mumbled and backed away from the window, but he turned towards it. The girl had stood up and was looking at him, the earmuffs now around her neck and the guitar held in just one hand. Another blonde girl had joined her, holding a guitar of the same style but red in color, cherry red.

"Don't even think about it," the woman snapped, swinging the rag at George. "I know all about you! Don't even think about getting near my nieces!" George backed away from the woman and turned to her. "…bad reputation…poor Nina…"

Nina was the girl from the paper shop Fred had shagged.

George turned on his heel and pushed past people. He reached Fred as fast as he could and promptly smacked him on the back of his head.

"Ow!" Fred cried. "What was that for?"

"You're a git," George stated simply.

"A git who's got eggs," he told him, holding up the mesh bag he'd gotten from the storekeeper. "Let's go, I'm still feeling a bit woozy."

"Yeah, you're not the only one."

On the walk back to the their home, George proceeded to tell his twin about the girl, the old woman, and then – when Fred looked at him, confused – proceeded to lecture Fred on his "shag-'em-and-leave-'em" lifestyle.

Fred ended up laughing, almost dropping the eggs in the process, as they made their way into the front yard. The building was well hidden from muggle eyes, and the walk had taken the twins twenty minutes to make. The Burrow was an old building, with many floors jutting out at weird angles. The place looked like it would fall over at any moment. They knew it wouldn't, for it was held up by magic.

They walked across the yard, both laughing and shoving at each other the whole time, but their laughter and smiles died as they reached the front door. The door was open and two trunks stacked one on top of the other were resting at the bottom of the staircase. They opened the screen door and walked inside. As the door slammed closed, a shriek was heard from the kitchen.

"Oh, boys! Good! You're back!" their mum hurried from the kitchen and into the hall where the twins were standing.

"We have eggs!" Fred smiled, holding up the bag. Yellow egg yolk was dripping from the bottom. "Some, anyway."

"Thanks, dears," their mum took the bag from Fred and turned to the kitchen. An older gentleman with the same red hair as all of the Weasley's had, walked out.

"Boys, go get your trunks packed and down here. Hurry now," their dad said, clapping their hands together. "We don't have much time."

The twins looked at each other and then back at their father. Then, onto their mother, who was leaning over, sniffling. "What's going on?" It was Fred.

"We are moving to a safer location," their dad said, stiffly. "Hurry, please."

The twins moved around their father and rushed up the stairs to the third floor landing. Fred entered first, a proceeded to make sure everything they had and would need was in his trunk with unbreakable charms on them.

George had never been more happy to be of age than at this moment. Some of the stuff they had been working with…well, it wouldn't do for it to be flopping freely in a trunk. Who knew what would happen?

George's trunk hadn't been unpacked since the train ride home from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry only two days previous. He simply threw the clothes he'd worn into his trunk, closed and locked it, and pulled out his wand. He did a locomotor charm and watched as the trunk rose into the air. He followed his brother down the stairs.

"How are we getting there?" Ginny was clapping excitedly. Ron, their youngest brother, who was fifteen now, was looking rather bored as he leaned against his and Ginny's trunks.

"We are going to floo to the Leaky Cauldron and take the Knight Bus from there," their dad said. "Everyone got everything? It will be rather hard to come back here once we are gone."

"But why?" Fred asked incredulously. No one seemed to be telling them anything. If only we'd just apparated back…but no, Fred's queasy…

"We will explain once we get there."

Leave it to mum to appease her boys.

"Where?"

Oh good, at least Ron seems to know as much as us.

"Ron, you first," his mum insisted. George noted Ron's scowling face as he disappeared into the green flames of the fireplace in the kitchen. Their mum went next followed by Ginny. Then it was George's turn.

"See you, twin."

"Right behind you, twin."

George stepped out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron and dusted off his shirt, noticing now that the rest of his family also wore muggle clothing. He hoisted his trunk behind him and joined his mum, brother, and sister waiting for the rest of his family. They appeared and the sextet made their way out onto the street. George quickly became absorbed in his surroundings: the other dank shops and pubs that lined the busy street. Many people pushed around the family, and George started when a huge, shockingly purple, three-decker bus screeched to a halt in front of them.

A rather pimply young man with large ears stepped off the bus. He wore a purple uniform with a small brass plate pinned to his chest with 'Stan' etched on it. Their dad quickly conversed with the man, whilst Fred made a few remarks about pimples under his breath. Ron and Ginny laughed, but their mum shot them a look. Their dad turned.

"Okay you lot, all set. Dumbledore'll be waiting for you. I must get back to work!" with that, the red head disappeared back into the Leaky Cauldron. George was thrust forward, his trunk dragged behind him and stored underneath the squishy seats he and Fred sat in. Ron and Ginny sat behind them, and their mum was across.

As the bus jolted forward, George seized himself around the middle. He faintly heard Ron telling Ginny to 'breathe' behind him, nearly forgetting to do so himself. The bus sped through London and George could hardly wait for them to reach their destination.

It was a short ride, but as George exited the bus on wobbly legs, he vowed to never use that mode of transportation. He'd rather fly, thank you very much.

They met Dumbledore halfway up the block from where they were dropped off, and then they walked. The younger Weasley's trunks dragged along the ground. George kicked himself for not doing a shrinking spell. Although, there was already a spell to make the inside of his trunk lager, and he didn't want them to counteract each other.

Please, not much farther.

He was still a bit queasy from the ride, and his arm was beginning to hurt from dragging his trunk three blocks.

They made a right turn and were on a street named 'Grimmauld Place.' George silently prayed not much further again, when, suddenly, the elders in front of him stopped. He dropped his trunk and began furiously shaking his arm.

"Why didn't you just do a charm, George?" Ginny whispered behind him. He noticed she wasn't straining at all, nor as out of breath as he and Fred seemed to be. "Mum did a weight reducing charm on ours," she motioned to Ron, who smirked at him. Their mum thrust a piece of parchment into Fred's hands and told him to memorize it.

"Bloody – " he turned when a building immerged in front of them.

"Here…" the parchment was passed to him and he read it.

Order of the Pheonix…what? Number twelve Grimmauld Place…he looked around…nope, eleven and thirteen, no number twelve.

"Think about what you read," Dumbledore turned to them. George did, and suddenly the ground was shaking and a building was appearing between number eleven and number thirteen. Holy shit.

"Let's go," their mum said, following the older wizard with gray hair and crescent moon shaped glasses. The group followed them, up the long walkway to a battered, black-painted door with a silver knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent. George didn't remember how, but soon he was in a large entrance hall with peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpeting.

"…filthy blood traitors! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness!…"

"What the hell?"

That was Fred, and the group turned towards the source of the noise.

"Just get upstairs," their mum snapped, throwing herself towards a set of moth-eaten, moldy curtains, which had opened to reveal a loud, screeching woman.

George didn't need to be told twice, and soon he was hoisting his trunk up the stairs. Fred was right on his heels. George was just getting to the first floor landing when a figure emerged in front of them. George froze.

"Hello, George."

"Ah, Sirius!" their mum's voice floated from a ways behind them. After a moment of George's staring, she snapped, "George, move. Please."

Sirius Black moved out of the way, around the banister, and allowed George, Fred, Ron, and Ginny to move past him. "Sirius!" Ron said happily.

"Did I startle you, George?" Sirius' gray eyes twinkled.

"A bit. I thought we were alone…"

"Oh, no. This is my house. I'm overjoyed that you are here! Gets a bit lonely, it being so big and all. Ah, Molly!" He embraced the older witch and turned to talk to her and Dumbledore in hushed tones.

"Damn, could be a good time to try – " but Fred was cut off when the group separated.

"Right. Ginny, your room is this way, you'll be sharing with Hermione when she turns up. Ron, you and Harry are upstairs. He should be here around his birthday. Fred, George, third floor." With that, Molly ushered her youngest down the hallway, past one door, and through another.

"Right-o," Fred said. He pulled out his wand and mumbled a spell, yelping when his trunk popped open and its contents flew into the air. "I-I meant to do that!" he insisted.

George saw Dumbledore and Sirius give each other knowing looks.

"What happened to you?" Molly Weasley shrieked as Fred and George hurried into the basement kitchen. They held identical smiles, their heads tilted back, and fingers pressed against their noses. Blood trickled over the tops of their fingers.

"Have you been dueling?" She yelled again, hurrying the twins to chairs and moving their hands. They shrugged in unison and Molly shook her head scowling, before healing their faces.

George smiled knowingly. No, they had indeed not been dueling. Testing their products for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was a painful job. They had yet to perfect the Nosebleed Nougat for their Skiving Snackboxes.

Their mum hugged them both tightly before shooing them out of the room so she could continue setting up for a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

These random displays of affection had been increasing over the summer, what with Percy becoming estranged from the family for being a git, Bill moving home and announcing he was dating Fleur Delacour from the Tri-wizard tournament, oh, and the impending war.

George crept quietly up the stairs to the first floor landing and, along with Fred, watched and waited as familiar and strange looking people arrived through the front door. They almost always rang the doorbell and every time set off the screaming portrait behind the curtains. The magical portrait turned out to be Sirius' mum.

"What are you doing?" a female asked from behind them and they jumped, turning. Hermione Granger, Ron's friend from school, had stepped out of the room she was sharing with Ginny, her arms crossed.

"Shh!" Fred snapped. "Do you want us to get caught?" He pointed down the stairs to where the greasy head of Severus Snape, the Potions professor at Hogwarts, had disappeared through the kitchen door.

"Are you…spying?" She asked, incredulously. George nodded and she turned and headed up the stairs.

"Ooh, there's Dung," George pointed out Mundungus Fletcher, "we should ask him about those Venomous Tentacula Seeds…for the Snackboxes…and some more knarl quills…"

"Right-O, twin."

George watched as more members of the Order filed in, one in particular catching his eye. A tall, lanky, man – who looks to be the exact same height as Ron, George mused – strode in, his sandy brown hair cut close to his head. He looked to be in his late 30s. He wore muggle clothes, which is why he stood out to George. A nice suit complete with jacket and a dark blue tie. As if feeling George's gaze, the man looked up and caught George's stare. He had the same eyes as the girl in his dreams. Or at least he'd thought it'd been a girl. George'd never seen much more than her eyes…but she did have blonde hair. Right?

He'd been having the dreams all summer, and he still hadn't see her whole face. Just those deep, midnight blue eyes. Sometimes, he could see the shadow of her lips moving, but he never saw her nose…or mouth…or ears…or any other distinctive characteristic. Other than those eyes.

The eyes that were staring back at him.

He shivered, hoping against hope he hadn't been dreaming about a man all summer. The man disappeared behind the door.

After the flow of people had stopped, Fred deemed it safe to begin. He pulled out a long piece of flesh covered string and lowered it down the staircase. A few precise swings of the string and it landed right in front of the door.

"It's starting!" Fred hissed and held out the end of the string, hearing talking.

"…recap of what's been going on with you, David. How have you been holding up?" the voice was plainly Remus Lupin's, their old Defense professor from fifth year.

"Alright, I s'pose…" another male voice trailed off.

"And the children?" their mother's voice spoke next.

"I haven't spoken with them since Maggie took them after the funeral. I can't bear to look at them…they remind me of her…" the unknown male's voice was sad, and he sounded as if he were holding back tears.

"And in the Ministry…?" Sirius asked tentatively after a long pause.

"No sign of anything out of the ordinary since last time…" the sense of closure in his voice told them he was done and then there were footsteps coming towards the door.

Fred barely had time to pull the string back even a little bit before the door burst open and the "eye man" as George had dubbed him, moved quickly out of the room. To the twins' surprise, their mum followed.

"Oh, David. I'm so sorry about Matilda," she whispered, throwing her arms around the sandy-haired man, her eyes filled with tears.

"It's okay, Molly. It was months ago. I suppose I should start to move on…"

"After twenty years of marriage you're allowed to grieve. Take as long as you want…"

"I've already taken a month off from work. And I can't even look at the girls anymore. My own children." The pain in the man's voice nearly brought tears to George's eyes, and that's saying something.

"David…" she pulled back, holding him at arms length.

"I have to go…" he wrenched himself out of their mum's strong grip and hurried down the hall and out the door. Mrs. Black's portrait did not make a peep.

She turned to go back into the room when something caught her eye. "Oh no!" Fred breathed. George realized what was happening and slid flat on the floor of the landing. Fred stood to run.

"Fred! George!" She picked up the flesh colored string and gave it a strong yank. Fred yelped and let it go. "I want all of these…things. Now!"

It was Fred's idea. George would swear by it until the day he died. But the thing with being a twin: it doesn't matter whose fault it is, both get into trouble.

So when Fred decided to bewitch their trunks to fly downstairs to save them from carrying them down, George went along with it. And when they flew into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs, George grumbled, but took the blame along side his twin.

Yes mum, we could have killed our baby sister. We are stupid idiots. We don't deserve to live. We are also going to be late…

George didn't have time to ponder the fact that arriving to King's Cross with a guard, not to mention ex-almost-Defense-Against-the-Dark-Arts-Professor-once-Auror would draw attention to him, for once they arrived at the station, he and Fred left the group to find Lee Jordan, their best friend.

"He's already got a compartment?" George asked, Fred leading the way.

"I think…" he trailed, opening the door to his right. "Sorry," he muttered to a group of sixth year Ravenclaws. They moved on, looking into compartments hoping to catch a glimpse of black hair and dark skin.

"Ah! Angel!" Fred threw open the compartment door on his right just as George looked into the one on his left.

The compartment George looked in on was nearly empty save for one girl sitting in the fair corner, a small book open on her lap, her legs crossed at the knee, her foot wiggling in boots George thought looked familiar. She turned to him, her curly blonde hair swinging, and the first thing George noticed was her eyes.

The deep blue eyes from his dreams.

((00))

1"A Dream is A Wish Your Heart Makes" from Disney's Cinderella