Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing and I am making no profit.

Setting: This story starts a couple of weeks after the end of GoF but after that goes a little AU.

A/N: This story is in the process of being edited. Basically I have had a lot of trouble finishing this story for various reasons, one of which is the cringe factor when I try to get back into it by reading old chapters. The plan is to fix it up chapter by chapter until I get to the point where I can simply continue writing the thing to completion. The story will still flow since I am changing none of the events which take place, and old fans don't need to read the new versions of each chapter to understand what's going on, but they will be uploaded for you to read if you like. I hope you enjoy them.

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Chapter 2: Fred's Discovery

"Do you think he's gotten better or worse?" asked George.

"Dunno," said Fred, wishing he had a better answer.

"Think we can do anything?"

"Well as it's not really a problem that can be solved with quidditch tips or Marauder's Maps, I'm not sure there's anything we can do. I mean it happened. We can't erase his memory."

"Well, technically . . ." said George with a suggestive glint in his eye.

Fred threw a pillow at him. "Wouldn't do any good."

"Yeah," George admitted, glancing quickly at the space under his bed.

"We can't use it. It's seriously illegal," said Fred, giving the idea more consideration than his words would suggest.

"And risky," George added thoughtfully.

The device had been offered to them by a questionable old salesman in Diagon Alley for one-hundred Galleons. The price was low - and that combined with the controversial nature of the product was enough to tell them it was stolen - but with newly acquired piles of gold jingling in their pockets they'd been feeling rather invincible, and so had accepted the deal with few qualms. Once they'd spent the money however, common sense had returned and the device had stayed hidden under George's bed with an invisibility charm placed on it. They hadn't discussed it since. Fred had hoped to high heaven their mother would never find it.

Now that George had actually raised subject again though, the possibility of actually using it felt a lot more real - more achievable. It was always that way with them.

Fred shook his head. "We could get in a lot of trouble," he said resignedly.

"And not just getting caught either," said George.

"Yeah," Fred agreed, thinking back to a particularly boring Defence Against the Dark Arts class. "All that stuff about the timelines. You're right. It's risky."

"Just think if we did it though," said George wistfully. "We could warn Harry about the portkey before he even went into the maze."

"Yeah," said Fred, feeling his remaining concerns on the matter becoming insignificant in the face of this fact. "We could stop You Know Who from ever coming back."

They stared at the space under the bed. They knew they wouldn't do it. They were notorious troublemakers, but not criminals. They respected the really important laws at least.

"Want to get some more of that magical hair curler from the bathroom downstairs? We can start on the bad hair biscuits we were talking about yesterday," George suggested out of the blue.

"Yeah, alright," said Fred, glad for the distraction.

He slipped out onto the rickety staircase. It was past midnight so he went quietly. Not that his footsteps would make much of a disturbance compared with the ghoul rattling around in the attic and the snores from Percy's room, but you couldn't be too careful with Molly Weasley in the house and none of the excuses that came to mind for needing magical hair curler were particularly believable.

Reaching the bathroom he deftly procured the product he needed, then froze as the quiet sound of a quill scratching across paper reached his ears. Curious, he followed the sound to the living room.

Sitting on a rug by the fireplace, his back to Fred, and oblivious to the world around him as he scribbled intently onto a bit of parchment, was Harry. He was writing by the light of the fire, the contours of his face – or what Fred could see of his face – lit eerily by the dying flames. His shadow stretched out across the floor.

Fred was immediately curious as to whom Harry might be writing to with such intensity. He and Ron had written to Hermione earlier that afternoon, filling her in on Harry's relocation, so it was unlikely that Harry would write her another letter so soon. He certainly wouldn't be writing to his family and he wasn't the type to be doing homework this early in the Summer. Was he writing to Hagrid perhaps? Or Dumbledore?

It was the last thought that drove Fred to inch closer, trying to see what Harry was writing without making his presence known. Now that he'd thought of it, it seemed very likely that Harry and Dumbledore would be in communication. Perhaps Harry knew something about this war that the rest of the 'children' did not. Perhaps Fred might read what it was.

Coming close enough to be able to see that Harry was in fact writing a letter, Fred suddenly realized that it might be better to mind his own business. He was spying on his little brother's best friend! - the wizard who'd selflessly given him and George a thousand galleons without thinking twice. After a quick battle between his curiosity and his conscience Fred decided to leave well enough alone.

About to go back upstairs without making Harry aware of the fact that he was being observed, Fred took one last glance at the letter and froze - not because Harry had turned and seen him, but because he had seen who the letter was addressed to.

Now certain he didn't want his presence detected, Fred hastily retreated to his room, thinking furiously as he went.

"Did you get it?" asked George as Fred closed the door behind him and leaned back against it as though trying to block someone who might have followed him. George's expression turned to one of confusion as he caught the look on Fred's face. "What? What is it?"

"Harry's downstairs writing a letter," said Fred carefully, nodding in the direction of the living room. A feeling of unreality had come over him as the reality of what he'd just seen refused to register.

"Oh yes," said George, still confused.

"I uh, I had a look at it quickly," said Fred. "Harry didn't know I was there."

The last was said with pride and made George grin in appreciation of Fred's spying ability as he prompted: "Yeah?"

"Yeah, it was, um. It was addressed to …"

"Who? Dumbledore?" asked George, proving to Fred that great minds really did think alike.

"No. It was …" get to the point Fred told himself sternly, slightly horrified by his own stammering. "It was addressed to 'Sirius'." There. It was out there.

"Sirius?" repeated George, not getting it for a moment. "What? Sirius Black?"

"I don't know. Just - 'Sirius'. 'Dear Sirius'."

"Right." The implications slowly sunk in. "Well we don't know that's Sirius Black. I mean … why would Harry …?"

"It's not exactly a common name, is it?" Fred interrupted. He wandered away from the door and plonked himself down on his bed.

"No."

They sat together in silence, each thinking out the possibilities.

"Y'know I have a theory that You Know Who came back because of Black," said George. "I mean think about it. He escapes from Azkaban, spends a year hanging around trying to get to Harry. Failing that he spends the next year trying to find the Dark Lord, manages that, and bam! Harry gets kidnapped and Cedric gets killed."

"Good theory," said Fred. "But why would Harry be writing to him?"

"Maybe Black got his trust somehow? Maybe he's playing him."

Fred nodded. "Makes sense," he said.

"What d'you reckon we should do? Tell Dad?"

"Yeah," said Fred. "Or Dumbledore maybe." The idea started to excite him as the possibilities became clear. "We give them information like this they'd have to start taking us seriously."

"You don't think we should talk to Harry about it?" asked George, making Fred feel a little guilty.

"Yeah. Maybe. How'd'you think he'd react though?"

"Depends what Black's said to him doesn't it? I mean he must at least have him convinced him he was innocent. Harry wouldn't write to a murderer."

"No. And we don't want to upset him. I mean you saw him. It's like he isn't even there. We don't want to make it worse."

Just then a snowy white owl flew by the window and off into the night - Hedwig delivering Harry's letter. They watched it thoughtfully.

Hours later a rooster crowed. The sun had risen. They hadn't slept.