For Want of an Ear

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Right, I'm purposefully keeping a lot of details ambiguous for now, but please feel free to ask questions! I may need to explain things a bit more thoroughly. :D (And yes, if you picked up on it, Hermione did get engaged twice. That was not a mistake. No, I'm not going to explain just yet. :P)

More Timeline Notes: Well ... by the end of this chapter you should know where we are in the series.


Chapter 1: Accidental Anomaly

"We did it!"

That voice.

George's head jerked up; he drew in a breath so sharply that his lungs burned. There, right there in front of him, separated by precious feet alone, was his brother – fully alive as he had ever been, his freckled face split in an all too familiar fox-like grin, an empty vial clamped in his fist as he toasted it lightly with an equally grinning Lee Jordan.

Merlin ... After two months, two bloody long months of coming to terms with the fact that he'd never hear that bark of a laugh again ... He had to be dreaming, and what a cruel dream it was. Or was he dead...?

Is this ... what death is? Somehow George managed to tear his eyes away from his twin – his wonderfully alive and vibrant twin – and focus on Lee beside him, his brow furrowing. No ... that couldn't be right ... Lee was alive; or at least, he had been, that late June day when the two had at last closed down the shop for good. They had stood there a long moment together in the burned-out hollow of Diagon Alley, solemn and silent, neither certain of what to say or of what to do now. Of course - his stomach prickled with something like guilt - George hadn't exactly tried to keep in touch after that, either...

He drew a long, trembling breath, having to mentally force himself to breathe. No ... as far as he could tell at the moment ...

"Fred...?" George ventured hesitantly, his voice nearly cracking on that syllable that had been taboo for two months at the Burrow; the word he hadn't been able to say, else he acknowledge the truth that drove a steady hole into his heart. But now, his heart was pounding; both Fred and Lee glanced over at him, Fred cocking an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly. Oh, God, it really was Fred ... he always tilted his head in the mirror image of him...

"What's up with you, mate?" Fred asked. "You're as pale as if you'd seen a ghost." He grinned slightly at that, glancing sideways at Lee. George's heart throbbed at the unwitting truth in those coy words.

He blinked slowly and shook his head, trying to get his dazed mind to produce something sensible to say. The old George, however, had taken leave since he started having to finish his own sentences, and instead his mind fought futilely against a mad desire to leap at his brother's neck and never, ever let the sodding git out of his sight again – after he pummelled him into a pulp for being such a bloody idiot as to – as to in the first place –

George's legs were trembling; he fell back on the edge of a bed, and glancing about deduced they were standing in the midst of the deserted Gryffindor dormitory. The thought registered, distantly, at the back of his mind.

"Fred..." he repeated weakly, an odd urge to laugh bubbling in his chest. "Fred..."

Fred and Lee exchanged bewildered glances. "Er – are you sure you're all right, mate?" Lee pressed. "You can sit this one out, you know."

"Maybe the potion you took was a bit off," Fred suggested. At that mention, George took note that he, too, held a small potion vial in his fist; he turned it over idly, watching the last drop of silvery liquid move from side to side. His memory sparked distantly; but how...? It felt like...

"It can't be," Lee was meanwhile arguing with Fred, "we all took it from the same cauldron."

"Ah, good point," Fred said, nodding. "Don't know why I doubted our skill ... suppose I lost it, too, for a moment there." He clapped his hands, and George, who was still in a daze, jumped.

"Right, so, if you're done obsessing about me," Fred said matter-of-factly, "let's get this done now, aye? Before any of our dear teachers get down there first."

Lee was nodding, so George, numbly, copied his gesture; he stuffed the empty vial in his pocket and followed the two now traipsing down the stairs to the common room. George clutched to the rail, his legs still shaking, and he eyed the tousled red head bobbing in front of him. All too well, it suddenly flashed in his mind that the last time he had seen that vibrant hair, it had been coated in dust and blood, his twin lying lifeless among so many others fallen in the Great Hall that day. Even so, his hair alone had called out to him like a beacon...

George drew a sharp gasp and pressed a hand to his forehead. "No – stop it," he hissed to himself. Somehow, with a skill earned over two months' time, he pushed the memories back; once his mind had returned to a welcome void, he ventured cautiously onward.

As the trio headed down the long torch-lit hallways, George found his eyes repeatedly wandering to the ceiling, the walls, searching for jagged cracks that weren't there. He was being bloody paranoid, he knew, but yet the thought still lingered at the back of his mind: was this the corridor where it had happened? Where, in a split second, the rupturing explosion had claimed any life the two had hoped to have...

Goddamnit. George shut his eyes, blocking out that path of thought; a welcome instant later Fred's cheery voice interrupted. "Here we are, now!"

George glanced up; they had reached the marble staircase leading down to the Entrance Hall. Down below, he could hear a murmur of voices; it seemed they were waiting for something. He was now frantically searching for some cue in their earlier conversation – but whatever was going on, the three were so well versed in their crime that Fred, eyes gleaming as he exchanged a grin with him and Lee, merely assumed he knew what the hell they were doing.

George fervently hoped his improvisation tactics hadn't gone rusty in his twin's absence.

"All right, let's do this thing," Lee enthused, rubbing his hands together; Fred grinned wickedly and launched himself downstairs, George and Lee hurrying in his wake.

George took in the scene in a flash: the twenty or so students milling around the darkened hall, now turning toward them; some whispered, pointing, while others started to cheer and laugh; at the center of the room, the source of the only eerie lighting, was a tall Goblet, almost-white blue flames licking upward from its ornate rim. George's blood ran cold. Suddenly he remembered, in a flash, the Triwizard tournament, a certain Cedric Diggory lying dead on the Quidditch field, and an urgent whisper: Voldemort's back.

The other two were running forward, laughing, throwing out their hands for high fives from the crowd. George saw flickers of distantly familiar faces – were those he had seen lying in the Hall that day, when his world had shattered, or had they been present during the long oblivion of funerals afterward, solemn and silent?

George shook himself from his trance to step forward to meet the others; Fred and Lee were talking to a group of students, evidently flaunting their prank. George stepped into their midst and for the second time that day felt as if he would faint.

Harry Potter and Ron were grinning back at them, Harry applauding, Ron looking a little wistful. Neither of them had that haunted look in their eyes of boys who had grown into men far too quickly, their innocence stripped away by war and bloodshed. Between them, another familiar face made his heart lurch; there was Hermione Granger, and her face was white as a sheet.

Suddenly the rush of images bombarded him: Death Eaters swarming the Ministry, a black curtain calling to him, blood roaring in his ears, and then –

And then her hand on his as they both fell through the Veil.

George tried to catch her eye, but was soon distracted by Fred's excited whisper. "We've all done it, just taken it."

"What?" asked Ron.

"The Ageing Potion, dungbrains," Fred said, rolling his eyes; he glanced back at his companions with a satisfied smirk. "One drop each – we only needed to be a few months older. Dumbledore won't know what hit him."

"We're gonna split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins," Lee chipped in with a broad grin.

"Couldn't you have made some for us, too?" Ron said, eyeing them as if they might be hiding extra potion in their pockets.

"Sorry, Ronniekins, we figured Mum might not be too happy if we let her precious little boy break a nail," Fred said, patting him sympathetically on the head; Ron, who was actually taller than him, grimaced and swatted his hand away.

"You prats ... you're my brothers, you know?"

"It's not going to work anyway, Ron." Hermione spoke up at last; she was not looking at them but at the thin golden line stretched in a perfect circle around the Goblet of Fire, ten feet outward in every direction.

"Oh, really, Granger?" Fred raised an eyebrow. "And why, pray tell, do you doubt our genius?"

Unfazed, Hermione only shook her head; "Don't say I didn't warn you," she mumbled, with less of her usual conviction. George took note of her silence and once again tried to somehow signal her without alerting the others; but Fred, shrugging off her indifference, turned to him.

"Ready? C'mon, then, I'll go first – watch and learn, Granger," he added with a wink over his shoulder, fishing from his pocket a crumpled bit of parchment with Fred Weasley – Hogwarts clearly marked on it. George searched his own pockets and found a similar parchment, which he crumpled in his fist. He knew the experiment wouldn't work, but... He swallowed hard, catching the gleam of excitement in his twin's eyes. How to tell that to him...?

With the eyes of every student on their backs, Fred, George, and Lee ventured to the very cusp of the line; Fred paused a moment, rocking on his heels. The twins looked at one another, and almost a second too late, George caught Fred's silent signal; the two plunged forward in tandem, an odd sensation rippling through him as if he had crossed an invisible barrier; then they reached the cup, hearts pounding with the adrenaline of the clandestine action. Without hesitating, Fred tossed his parchment inside; George a moment later imitated him, breath bated, knowing any instant now –

Then just as he remembered, as Fred gave a shout of victory and pumped his fist in the air, the Goblet's fire sparked and glowed an ominous red-hot; Fred stopped short, staring at it, and George in his pause reacted. He pushed his twin toward the age line, his heart in his throat.

A blast of air at their backs threw them both forward; they were tumbling through the empty air, George hitting the floor hard on his knees and rolling with the force, his mind numb with memories – again the halls were swarming with Death Eaters and he stood in that Hall, staring down at the battered and bloody form of his brother...

George landed on something warm and clung to it, wildly, a muffled yell escaping him. It didn't help knowing that it was going to happen; his hands were trembling, his mind still racing with mad fear.

Somehow he registered the fact that the figure beneath him was struggling to breathe, and he loosened his grip on Fred's robes, though he still did not fully release his fists clenching his brother's front. "Fred ... Fred, are you -?" His urgent query stopped short as Fred sat up, groaning and rubbing his head.

This motion met a shout of laughter from their audience as all perceived the long white beard now adorning Fred's front. George alone could not crack a smile, even if he suspected if he looked down, he would see the same on himself. Lee, nearly bent double with laughter, neared the pair and offered a hand up to George.

"I did warn you," a low voice chuckled, and glancing over George again felt his heart wrench; the blue eyes of Hogwarts' old headmaster twinkled down at them. "I suspected I would find you two like this," Albus Dumbledore remarked, his voice more amused than angered at their attempt to bypass his ruling. "I suggest you head up now to see Madam Pomfrey – she is already seeing to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr Summers, of Hufflepuff, who also saw fit to age themselves up a little, too."

Fred's face fell a little at the thought that someone had copied their brilliance; but it was terribly hard not to laugh along with their audience of students at the moment, and so, with Lee at their side, the two started up the marble staircase.

That was when George felt a firm hand grasp his arm and glanced sideways in surprise; Hermione Granger, her face creased with determination, steered him forcefully up the stairs. "I thought I told you," she only huffed faintly at the odd look Lee sent in her direction.

When they had reached the branching moving staircases, she directed Fred and Lee to go on ahead; George watched the bemused duo head off – neither wishing to hang around and face the Gryffindor genius when she was upset. He had a feeling he was about to endure more than the laugh and half-hearted reprimand he and Fred had escaped from Madam Pomfrey's with last time.

Their opposite course confirmed his suspicions. Hermione dragged him down a side passage, shooting the occasional look over her shoulder in case someone had seen fit to follow. George said nothing to her as they ascended floor after floor, noting that for her slight stature Hermione could move quickly when she wanted to, her strides stiff and her robes billowing in her wake.

They reached the seventh floor corridor in no time and Hermione marched back and forth in front of the blank space of wall; on her third turnabout, a low grumble punctured the silence and a door thrust out of the wall, its hewn surface as solid as if it had always been there. Hermione seized the handle and pushed the door open; a puff of dust assaulted them, and, coughing, Hermione pushed him through in front of her inside the disused chamber.

George staggered into a painfully familiar room: all around them lay the headquarters of Dumbledore's Army, the location that would be disclosed to Umbridge during their last school year and, later, the last place they had convened before the great battle that brought Hogwarts to its knees, and...

George walked forward, hardly daring to breathe else he disrupt the silence. In the long mirrors lining the walls he could see his reflection tenfold, as if there were many Freds and Georges standing there with him in the same solemn awe. In the corner of the room loomed a frighteningly lifelike dummy of a Death Eater; a poster board on the wall had only a list of names plastered to it – members to a secret organization that wouldn't exist for another year.

"What are you doing?" he asked, at last turning back to his companion. Hermione hadn't moved from where she leaned against the closed door, slightly pink-faced; she raised her gaze to him, but in the cold silence she suddenly looked furious – and George noted absently that she was blocking the only exit.

Hermione huffed out a long, impatient breath. "I could ask you the same!"

"What're you talking about?"

She made a noise in her throat. "In case you haven't realized, we're in the past! I don't know how we managed it – but messing with time is incredibly, incredibly dangerous ... I'm surprised we haven't utterly butchered the timeline already!"

George didn't answer to that; in his mind, he again experienced the maddening shock of seeing Fred alive and laughing again, and something sparked in his chest, the sensation unknown after so long of emptiness. Hope.

"Hermione ... you saw him as well as I did." George drew a long breath and met her eye. "I can't ... I can't stand by and watch it happen again ... I won't lose him again. He's alive, Hermione ... Fred's alive." He blinked hard, suddenly fighting tears; tears that he couldn't bear to shed on That Day, or at the funerals, never mind how much his family cried.

"No. No, we can't," Hermione shook her head automatically. "The longer we stay here, the greater the danger to everyone – we have to go back."

"How?" George shot back, suddenly goaded by her words, by her lack of understanding. "Just fall through the Veil again? What's to say that we won't wind up dead this time?"

"That's not what I meant! Surely Dumbledore –"

"Bloody hell, Hermione, did you love him or not?" George stopped short then, breathing hard. His mind flashed back to another argument just like this, before he had cut himself off from the family entirely: how she had chosen to break off the engagement that was then nothing more than a painful memory; she had been the last one he could have trusted with the fragile memories that everyone else was all too glad to ignore; and then, just like everyone else, she had betrayed him, in favour of Ron.

"...I do," Hermione whispered at last. She was not looking at him; with a jolt George realized that her eyes were brimming with tears. "But – we can't..." She bit her lip. "It's too high a price, just for one man."

"It's not," George said roughly. "He's the entire goddamn world to you and me both, and you know it."

Hermione shut her eyes, taking a long breath; at last, when she spoke, it was in a defeated whisper. "We're really stuck here then, I guess ... I've never come across anything like this before in my reading ... It'll be dangerous, ridiculously so, but if we're careful..." She met his determined stare and swallowed hard. "It might be possible we can save him, and many others, with what we know."

George smiled slightly, his shoulders easing. "That's the Hermione Granger I know, now."

Hermione returned the look, but it quickly faded as her jaw tensed. "George . Look in the mirror."

"Er ... all right." He obliged, puzzled. It still hit him as a shock to see his sixteen year old self staring back at him; his red hair – longer in the future, to disguise his missing ear – was tousled and flopped half in his eyes. He lifted the side of his bangs, marvelling at the sight of his left ear – his ear was intact, he wasn't goddamn Holey anymore, and George was suddenly grinning in the way only someone gone a bit crazed with stress could.

"George," Hermione pressed, exasperated.

"What?"

"The beard," she pointed out calmly. "Last time, you both had them."

George blinked, glancing back at his reflection and even running a hand over his jaw to feel for the slightest prickle – but he was clean-shaven as always. He swore softly. "But – how -? We both went over the line..."

"I suspect..." Hermione started to pace the room around him, her brow furrowed in thought. " ... yes, it must be because we came back, there's no other reason for it. We still have all our memories and experiences of before – though it seems we're back to our younger bodies. So maybe," her voice grew louder with excitement as she reached her conclusion, "the age line didn't measure actual physical age, but mental age! That's why –!"

"That's why our potion didn't work," George said slowly. "Of course. That'd be just like Dumbledore to pull something like that – and here we thought the potion was pure genius." George rubbed his head, grinning slightly; there was a lot more to the headmaster than met the eye ... and he was still learning that after seven years of Hogwarts.

"You're lucky no one seemed to notice it before," Hermione brought him back to earth with prim logic. "Or, you could just tell them Fred went over first, so it would only affect him ... I'm sure you can think of something."

George nodded.

"Right." Hermione resumed pacing. "We'll have to get our stories straight, just in case either of us slip up; oh, we'll have to have a plan, to know exactly what's going to happen when, and what we'll have to alter. We can't do it now – Harry and Ron will get suspicious if I'm away too long."

"How about tomorrow, then?" George offered. "Just say you're off to the library to study or whatever, that'll keep them away for a few hours."

Hermione nodded distractedly. "We'll meet back here after lunch, then. Until then, be careful what you say or do around anyone – the slightest change might turn the future on its head, and our foreknowledge is our only weapon right now."

"Until then?"

Their gazes met: George hopeful but determined, Hermione already distracted with her planning.

"Until then," she echoed, allowing the faintest smile. As he turned to the door she added, quietly, "And George?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

To be continued...


Author's Note: I suppose I should mention some of the dialogue above in the goblet scene comes almost directly from GoF. :)

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