A/N: Fred and George have some fun at Ron's expense.

totallystellar: I'm glad you liked the chapter.  I think I needed to write something sweet after sending poor Professor Thornby off to Azkaban.  I love Sirius Black.  Have I ever said that before?  I love the "awwww" in your review.  :-)

PhoenixTearsp322: I'm not sure that Sirius is too worried about what other people think in general, but if your father drills it into you that you shouldn't cry because it's not manly… well, you wouldn't want to do it.  If you ever don't feel like reviewing because you haven't got anything to say, that's perfectly fine.  Not that I don't love your reviews (because I do), but I would understand.  You've been a great support for me – thanks for everything!

jemma: Sirius is too hyper?  Well, I always figured that there was one thing that Sirius would be absolutely manic about, and that's Harry.  Just like he said, after the way his life has turned out, he'll do anything to spare Harry the pain he's suffered.  In a way he's too late, but he'd still like to try.  He takes his role as godfather very seriously.  The Dursleys don't really count as next of kin in his eyes; under better circumstances, Sirius would have taken Harry into his own care after the deaths of Lily and James.

Three: The Mysterious Letter (Ron Weasley)

Ron Weasley bent down, rummaged beneath a bush, and closed his fist on another garden gnome.  He straightened up as quickly as possible and began to swing the lumpy creature above his head in a circle.  When the gnome's cries of "geroff, geroff!" ceased, he let it fly.  The gnome soared over the hedge and into the field on the other side.

"Nice one, Ron," said Bill, shading his eyes with his hand to watch the gnome's trajectory.

"Thanks." Ron pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped at his face.  It was a hot, sunny day in his part of the world.  Hot days always made degnoming the garden an unpleasant exercise.

Ron's arms were beginning to ache from swinging the gnomes about.  He surreptitiously stuck a finger in his mouth to soothe it, hoping that the twins wouldn't see.  Ron had disdained the dragonhide gloves his mother had proffered, thinking that he had done enough degnoming not to need them.  He'd been wrong, but he'd rather die than admit it in front of Fred and George.  He was quick, but the ugly little creatures were astonishingly agile.  More than one had sunk its teeth into his fingers before he could send them flying.

"How's it going out here, dears?" said his mother's voice behind him.  Ron quickly took his finger out of his mouth.  "Oh, you've been at it for hours.  How about some lemonade?"

"Spot on, Mum," said Bill.

"Can't you just convince Dad to forbid the gnomes from coming back?" said George, taking one of the glasses.

Mrs. Weasley sighed.  "Heaven knows I've tried," she said.  "Your father just doesn't seem to have the heart to do it."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't have to degnome the garden, does he?" complained Fred.

"Why do you think we had so many sons, dear?" said his mother, patting his cheek.  "Slave labor."

"I knew it!" crowed George.  "I've been saying it for ages!"

"Too bad you can't get sent back, isn't it?" chuckled Bill.  "You're stuck here now."

"It's our last year at Hogwarts," said Fred.  "We'll come of age right in the middle of it.  After that we can go anywhere we please."

Mrs. Weasley frowned at the twins.  "After you graduate, you mean."

"Oh, we'll graduate, all right," said Fred.  "But after that, we're not promising anything."

"I suppose you're still thinking of becoming good-for-nothings?" Mrs. Weasley said sharply.

Fred and George exchanged fake glances of confusion.  "Ohhh, you mean the joke shop," said George, as if he'd just understood.  "'Course we are, Mum!"

"How many times must I tell you that 'joke shop owner' is neither a wise nor a respectable occupation?" she exclaimed.

"Once more at least, obviously," muttered Fred.

"Don't you take that tone of voice with your mother, young man."

"I think it would become them very well," Bill said neutrally, taking a sip from his glass.

"Don't you go putting your oar in!" said Mrs. Weasley.

Ron snatched a glass of lemonade off the tray and slipped away from the group.  He really didn't want to hear this whole argument repeated for the millionth time.  Besides, his mother would be starting in on him about his career at any moment.  Ron wasn't looking forward to it; he was sure that everyone would laugh if he told them that his secret ambition was to become an Auror.  No one would believe him equal to the task.

Ron stepped into the relative cool inside the Burrow.  Ginny was seated at the kitchen table, kneading a large lump of dough.  "I see you didn't have to do any degnoming," said Ron.

"It's not as if I was just lolling about."  Ginny gave the dough a punch.  "If you want to complain about not doing chores then you should get on Percy's case, not mine."

Ron couldn't disagree with Ginny on that point.  Percy was probably up in his room as usual, scribbling away on long rolls of parchment or reading dull reports.  He called it work, but Ron didn't see how sitting around and reading compared to degnoming.  Percy was growing more and more withdrawn from the family as time went on.  He spent long days at the Ministry, sometimes not coming home until long after dinner.  And when he was home, he hid himself in his room with those reports.  Percy didn't even seem to notice the way their mother threw sad glances in his direction or how their father was increasingly tight-lipped about his own business at work.

Percy and his father disagreed on one very important subject – Minister Fudge.  Percy thought that Fudge was the greatest thing since sliced bread, while Mr. Weasley saw him as a scheming fool who was too small to fill the shoes of his office.  He never used such hard language in front of his son, but everyone knew what he thought.  Percy was the only member of the family who felt the way he did; everyone else agreed with Mr. Weasley, even Ginny.  Mr. Weasley was levelheaded and wise with experience; Percy was stuffy and obsessed with details.

Percy seemed to have come out of the whole Crouch debacle smelling like a rose, and no one understood why.  Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny had eavesdropped on their parents while they were talking about it.  Their father thought that Percy would be officially censured for breaking protocol.  His actions had allowed Barty Crouch, Jr.'s charade to succeed, though he had been an unwilling abettor.  Yet no disciplinary action had been taken, and Mr. Weasley had heard a rumor that Fudge himself had ordered the matter swept under the rug.  Whatever had happened, Percy was fiercely loyal to Fudge, and a real rift was growing between him and the others.

Ron changed the subject; he didn't want to think about Percy.  "Did we get any mail today?"

"Yes," said Ginny.  "And now that you mention it, I think there was something for you."  She pointed toward a stack of envelopes on the table and gave the dough another irritable punch.

Ron rifled through the stack until he found an envelope with his name on it.  It was in Harry's handwriting.  Ron ripped open the envelope, unfolded the letter, and began to read.

Dear Ron,

This is going to sound weird, but I need you to go off and read this alone, okay?

Ron blinked.  He read a little further.

It's really important.  Don't tell ANYONE what I'm about to say here…

"Who's it from?" said Ginny.

"Ah, from Harry," said Ron, and he instantly wished he hadn't.  It was unlike Harry to be this secretive, so if he was telling Ron not to let anyone else read the letter, then Ron was going to take his friend seriously.

"Oh, how is he?" Ginny continued, her face lighting up.

"Um, he's fine.  Listen, if anyone wants me, I'll be outside."

"Oh.  Well, you'll have to let us know what he says.  Mum might try and convince Dumbledore to let him stay with us, you know."

"Yeah, I know," said Ron.  He quickly left through the front door before Ginny could say anything else.

Ron made his way to the low stone wall that bordered one edge of his parents' property.  He vaulted over it and sat down in the grass on the other side, leaning his back against the warm rock.  He opened the letter again and continued reading.

I'm writing the same thing to Hermione, but you're the only two.  Burn this when you're done, I'm serious.

Ron frowned.  Harry sounded really paranoid.

Are you alone yet?

"Yes!" Ron exclaimed aloud.  "Get on with it!"

Okay, here goes.  I'm not staying with the Dursleys any more this summer.  Dumbledore reckons it's not safe for me there now.  There's more, but I can't say it here.  Don't worry about me though – I'm fine.  You can keep on writing me, but I can't say any more about this until we can all talk in person.  Hope you're having a nice summer.

Harry

Ron stared at the parchment.  Something had happened at Privet Drive and Harry wasn't allowed to write about it.  He didn't sound upset, though, so he must have been telling the truth when he said he was fine.  Ron didn't really understand the need for all the caution; the Weasleys all knew about You-Know-Who and what had happened at the Triwizard Tournament last month.  But Harry seemed anxious to swear Ron to secrecy even though Ron didn't know what the secret was, so he would burn the letter.

Ron was worried about his friend, but he kept it to himself.  His mother worried out loud about Harry, and that was enough for just about everyone.  Harry had had a talk with him and Hermione after the third task.  Ron couldn't imagine the terror of facing You-Know-Who alone and friendless, much less in a graveyard full of Death Eaters in the middle of the night.  He often wondered how Harry was coping, locked away with the Dursleys.  He certainly couldn't turn to them for support.

The hair on the back of Ron's neck stood up.  He quickly folded up the letter and stuffed it into the waistband of his trousers, hiding it beneath his shirt so that it didn't show.  Ever since the twins had turned his teddy bear into a spider, Ron had developed a hyper-sensitivity to the twins' presence.  He got goosebumps every time they tried to sneak up on him.

Ron stood up and stretched nonchalantly.  He turned and blinked when he saw the twins on their hands and knees in the grass not five feet from the other side of the wall.  "What are you doing down there?" he said, feigning surprise.

Fred and George looked extremely put out at having been discovered.  "We're looking for one of Ginny's earrings," Fred lied smoothly.

"Earrings?" Ron snorted.

"Yes, it's one of her favorites, and if we find it we'll have her never-ending devotion," said George.

Ron walked back toward the house.  "You were sneaking," he said over his shoulder.  "And you already have her never-ending devotion.  You're her brothers."

Fred and George quickly got to their feet and caught up with Ron, flanking him on both sides.  "Ginny says you got a letter from Harry," said Fred.

"Yes," said Ron.

"How's he doing?" said George.

"Fine."

"Just fine?" said Fred.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" said Ron.  The hair was standing up on the back of his neck again.  They were trying to ambush him.  He just knew it.

"No tales of the heinous Dursleys to regale us with?" said George.

"No," snapped Ron.

"I wonder where Hedwig is," Fred mused lightly.  "Whenever Harry writes she usually sticks around, waiting for a response."

"She's probably sleeping somewhere, you idiot," Ron said irritably.  "Or didn't you know that owls are nocturnal?"

They entered the house.  Ron eyed the kitchen fire, wondering how he would be able to slip the letter in without the twins noticing, but at that moment Mrs. Weasley re-entered with Bill.  "Thank you for taking care of that, boys," she said.

Fred and George turned to look at her.  Ron saw his chance.  He pulled the letter from his waistband and tried to toss it into the flames, but the parchment crackled as it moved and the twins whirled about.

"Aha!" cried Fred, diving for the letter.  Ron leaped away, and the twins took off after him.  "I knew it!  It's a love letter!" Fred laughed.

"It's from Harry, and it's none of your business!" Ron called over his shoulder.

"Then why wouldn't you let us see it?" said George.  His eyes twinkled.  "Ickle Ronniekins has a girlfriend!"

"No I don't!" Ron shouted, turning over a chair in an effort to slow the twins' pursuit.  "And don't call me that!"

"I wonder who it could be!  Maybe Parvati Patil?"

"Or her sister!"

"Or Pansy Parkinson!"

"Shut up!" snapped Ron.

"Or Susan Bones, she's turning into quite a looker!"

"Or maybe…" George began, and the twins finished in singsong harmony: "Her-my-oh-nee!"

"AAAUGH!"  Ron pivoted on his heel and launched himself at both his brothers at once.  Fred and George were so surprised that Ron managed to knock them both flat and make it back to the kitchen fire.  By the time they caught up with him again, the letter was no more than a pile of black char.  Fred and George immediately began to tussle with Ron again.

"Fred, George, Ron!  Stop it this instant!" cried Mrs. Weasley.  She and Bill rushed in to pull Ron off his older brothers.  "That will be enough!" she said firmly.  Bill pulled Ron away though he still struggled to get at the twins.

"Hedwig!" Ginny exclaimed.

Everyone looked; the snowy owl had just soared in through the open window and perched herself on the back of Ginny's chair.  "Here, you must be hungry," said Ginny.  "Have you been napping in the attic?"  She held out some crackers in one hand.  Hedwig fluttered onto her arm and began pecking at them.  "Look, she likes me!"

"See?" Ron said triumphantly.

Fred and George grudgingly admitted defeat, but Ron didn't trust the gleam in their eyes.  It was the last thing he'd seen just before his teddy bear had turned into a big, hairy spider.

**********

It was late afternoon, and Ron had hidden himself in the garden in an attempt to write a response to Harry.  Hedwig was perched on his left shoulder, watching his quill scratch across the parchment.  Ron was writing as fast as he could, knowing that his brothers would soon be after him.  They had been watching him like a hawk all day, and now that he was gone they would be searching high and low, hoping to catch a glimpse of his response.  Even Hedwig hadn't been enough to dispel their suspicions; now they theorized that Harry was a sort of go-between for Ron and his mystery lady.  Ron shook his head in disgust.  Idiots, he thought.  You'd never know they were almost seventeen.

"He's in the garden, Fred!"  Ron looked up.  George's head was sticking out a window three stories above him.

Ron scrambled to his feet, and Hedwig fluttered off his shoulders with a squawk.  Ron took off running, clutching his parchment, envelope, and quill tightly in one hand.  He ducked into a small wood several yards off the property and jogged until he could no longer hear his brothers' shouts.  He sank down onto a fallen log with a tired sigh and pulled out the parchment again.  Hedwig fluttered down beside him.  Great, now the clock probably says I'm lost and Mum will be shouting bloody murder, Ron thought.  All over this stupid secret letter!

Only a minute or two passed before Fred and George's voices became audible once more.  Ron scribbled some sort of closing line and folded the letter haphazardly.  He stuffed it into the envelope as fast as he could, licked the seal, and pressed it shut.

Hedwig stretched out her talons.  Ron started to give her the letter but paused momentarily.  He couldn't hear Fred and George just then; maybe they weren't quite as close as he had thought.

Ron had just begun to write YOU OWE ME in big, black letters on the back of the envelope when Fred popped out from behind a tree.  "Oi!  Here he is!"

George appeared from out of nowhere.  Ron tossed the envelope at Hedwig as his brothers tackled him.  She caught it in midair and soared away through the trees.

"You – crazy – gits!" Ron shouted as they tumbled through the leaves.  His fist connected solidly with something, one of the twins yelped, and Ron was suddenly free.

"Ooh, dice wod, Rod," said Fred, who was sporting a bloody nose.

"It's no more than you deserved," he retorted.

"Here, pinch it and look up," George directed.

"Rod, you should'a led us hab it," Fred said.  "It can'd be word dat much trubble."

"It wasn't," Ron said dryly.  "But maybe that'll teach you not to stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

"His nose is sorry, at least," said George.

Ron couldn't help but laugh.