Chapter Two: Thestrals Again

Two tall, skinny ghost-like things had been sent to take him to London.

Without heads.

One of the headless ghosts reached a hand out to Harry and said menacingly, "Here… let me help you with your trunk."

Harry gaped. "What the… who…?"

The headless ghost laughed and withdrew his hand from the doorway, groped around in the air where his head should have been, and pulled off his Headless Hat. "Haha, Harry gave you quite a scare there, didn't we?" George smiled as Fred pulled off his hat as well.

Harry laughed shakily. "I guess. You guys shouldn't do that to a guy who hasn't gotten any sleep."

George laughed. "Ok, we'll keep that in mind. Just thought we'd lighten your mood a bit. After all, you aren't going to like what we've got for you to get to King's Cross."

Fred pointed behind him at the Dursley's lawn. "Aren't they lovely?"

Harry sighed. "Thestrals." He stared at the emancipated horse-like creatures that were the living reminder of the deaths he'd seen. Not only Cedric, but Sirius as well.

"Right in one! Now really, let me help you with your trunk."

Harry surrendered his trunk without a second thought. Well, actually, he did have a second thought. "You guys can see them too?"

Fred nodded. "We rather thought you'd ask that."

George sighed as he bewitched Harry's trunk to be feather-light and tied it to one of the three thestrals. "We saw a murder outside our shop in Diagon Alley last month."

Fred shrugged. "It wasn't anyone we really cared about, but I guess it was enough for these beasts."

Harry looked shocked as he boarded his animal. "Someone was murdered? In Diagon Alley?"

George nodded. "Yeah, it's pretty bad. Never happened before, and we hope it doesn't happen again."

Fred shook his head sadly. "So bad for business."

George continued, "We think it was a Death Eater that killed the bloke, the Order just doesn't know who."

Harry had so many more questions to ask, but the thestrals took off. Why didn't the Dursleys hear me leave? Why are we using thestrals, and how'd Fred and George get them?

And the one that was pressing most urgently in Harry's head, who was it that was killed?

Hours later, Harry and the twins climbed off the thestrals, their arses sore to the bone. Harry looked around. He was on the roof of a building, looking around at the Muggles walking below. "Where are we?"

"Just outside of King's Cross. We couldn't land these things on the ground, they'd generate way too much attention." George explained. "We've kept a couple thestrals tethered here ever since they were banned from Hogwarts."

"Hagrid was bawling like a baby when he found out about it." Fred added.

"Banned? That's ridiculous! What'll pull the carriages?"

Fred and George shrugged. "Dunno."

Harry was about to ask who'd been killed, but Fred interrupted him.

"Come on Harry, we've got to hurry. Train leaves in fifteen minutes."

The twins ushered Harry down a couple flights of stairs, being careful to lock each door that they came across. "Don't want any Muggles reaching our secret thestral-hiding place, now would we? I mean, they probably wouldn't be able to see them, but just want to be safe."

Harry thought about last years fireworks rampaging the school and the untested Snackboxes, neither of which were very "safe". But he said nothing, preferring instead to laugh inwardly at George's selective memory.

Harry reached the entrance to the Platform just in time, waved goodbye to the Weasley twins, and stepped through the brick wall.

Harry immediately spotted his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, and they waved him over. "Harry! C'mere, I've got to show you something!" Ron yelled across the platform.

Harry boarded the train with his friends and they sat down in the first open compartment. "What've you got to show me, Ron?"

"Look, I've collected all the newspaper and magazine clippings that mention you over the summer. I've got about fifty from the Daily Prophet, fifteen from Witch Weekly, about four from The Quibbler, seven from Wizard's Digest, eleven from Modern Magic, Harry, you're a celebrity!"

"You mean like I was since I was born?"

Ron looked up from his folder of papers. "Well, yeah, but, this is different. Some of these mention me and Hermione and Neville and Luna too. Actually, only the Quibbler ones and three of the Daily Prophet one mention Luna, but about a quarter of them mention Hermione and me."

Suddenly Hermione spoke up. "Ron, shut up, your head is already big enough without you reading your half of the press clippings every other hour. Most of them have barely half a paragraph about us anyway. You're pathetic." She turned back to the new textbook she was reading.

Ron dropped his folder into his bookbag, looking not a little bit miffed. "God, Hermione, just because over the summer you…"

She gave him a look of venom that stopped the next words from forming in Ron's mouth.

Harry noticed the tension in the small space and switched the subject to the first thing that came to his mind. "So, Fred and George tell me someone was murdered? I was just wondering who, if it was anyone important, you know."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other and then back at Harry. "I'd say it was sort of important, wouldn't you, Ron?"

Harry noticed the strain in her voice.

Ron answered in a similar stilted fashion. "No, I don't think so, not very important. Not very important at all."

They both plastered a smile on their face, but wouldn't say anything more.