Fred walked downstairs, into the living room of the Burrow. George was already down there, head in his hands. He didn't look up as his twin came down the stairs and sat across from him.

'You couldn't sleep either?' George said at last.

Fred shook his head. 'Yeah, I'm too awake to sleep.'

'We're moving to Grimmauld Place tomorrow.'

'Today, actually, it's three and a half minutes past twelve.'

'Ha ha, very funny.'

'I wish Ames or Lee was here,' Fred said eventually. 'Ames can make anything easier. She's good at that.'

'I've noticed,' George muttered.

'No, I mean it,' Fred persisted. 'Remember that string of detentions we got from McGonagall for turning Malfoy's hair into a four foot afro? She stepped up and said it was her fault, she'd asked us to do it as a favour. Then she asked McGonagall to give the detentions to her.'

'How could I forget?'

'When we still got detentions, it wasn't as bad as cleaning the trophies usually are. She just made it easier by being there.'

'Ames is all right,' George said. 'She's not a bad sort.'

The next day, the Weasleys got up early to move to Grimmauld Place. Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and Moody came over to help move them into Grimmauld Place. It was only a temporary move, but they didn't know how long they'd be there for. Percy seemed distracted by something, and Mrs Weasley was even more irritable than she normally was.

A couple of days after the move, Fred and George entered Diagon Alley with Lupin. They strolled along to the end of the street and went into Madame Malkin's to buy new robes.

Loaded with shopping, they walked along the alley one last time. Lupin was talking to George when Fred dropped his bags and darted towards the entrance to Knockturn Alley and turned into it. George raced after him leaving Lupin to gather the bags with a wave of his wand before he tore after the twins.

Fred was crouched over the huddled figure of a girl. Her face was blackened with bruises and cuts, as were her arms. Her clothes were in tatters, but looked to be the remnants of jeans and a blue polo shirt. The slits of her eyes that were visible were a brilliant blue, with just a hint of green. Her hair, which was soaked with blood and muddy water, looked to be the colour of golden flames, her hands small and fine.

George knelt beside the girl, fingering a lock of hair. Lupin came to a stop. Puffing he said, 'Fred, what are you doing?'

Fred gathered the girl up in his arms carefully. 'Lupin, you remember Amy Johnson?' he said, no trace of a smile on his face.

Lupin stared at him. 'You're not serious.'

'Take a look,' he said, taking her limp hand and holding it out, palm down. On the middle finger of her right hand glimmered an engraved gold ring with a sapphire.

Lupin stared at the girl's huddled form, undecided. At last he cleared his throat, coming to a decision. 'We'll bring her back to Grimmauld Place, and Dumbledore can decide what to do' He picked up an old can and tapped it with his wand, muttering 'Portus.' A blue light glowed around the can. Fred shifted the girl in his arms to touch it with a finger. George took some bags from Lupin, and then they both touched the can. They felt the jerk behind their navels, the howling wind in their ears, accompanied by the blur of colours that meant the Portkey was working.

They arrived outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Bolts slid out of their sockets on the other side of the door, and it opened as Lupin took long strides towards the house.

George led the way into the kitchen. 'Oh, you're back,' Mrs Weasley said, waving her wand distractedly over a pot of soup. 'Fred, dear, can you…' Her voice trailed off as she stared at the huddled figure Fred was carrying.

'Mum, this is Amy Johnson,' George said grimly. 'We found her down in Knockturn Alley.'

'What were you doing down there?' Mrs Weasley demanded.

'Fred found her as we were walking past. He only went in when her saw her,' Lupin said wearily.

Mrs Weasley tucked a blood-soaked lock of hair back from Amy's face and looked at her. 'Bring her upstairs, Fred. Quickly.'

Late that night, Mrs Weasley appeared back in the kitchen, tired. 'Well, she's out of danger for the moment, though I can't say what will happen,' she said, washing her hands.

'All right. Boys, who is this girl?' Sirius demanded, leaning back on two legs of his chair as he looked at Fred and George.

'Amy's in our year at Hogwarts. She's a friend of ours,' Fred defended, staring back at Sirius defiantly.

'Yes, but can she be trusted?'

'I'd say so, Sirius,' Lupin spoke up. 'Her parents were murdered by Voldemort seventeen years ago. I doubt she'd be too eager to join the ranks of the Death Eaters,' he said, sitting down at the table. Fred glanced at him.

'Well, we'll see what Professor Dumbledore says about the matter,' Mrs Weasley muttered, slightly mollified.

'What matter?' said a familiar voice. Albus Dumbledore came in through the door of the kitchen, looking around the room with a smile on his face.

'Good evening, Albus. We were just saying we'd talk to you about a circumstance that has occurred,' said Mr Weasley. He looked at George, expectantly.

'Well, you see…Fred…you tell him,' George said. Fred glared at his brother before beginning.

'…and then we brought her back here and Mum said to ask you what you thought about it all,' Fred ended, addressing Professor Dumbledore.

'May I see her?' asked Dumbledore.

They walked up the stairs to the bedroom that Amy had been put into.

Fred entered the bedroom first. Amy was lying in the bed, unconscious. Her flame coloured hair fanned out on the white pillow, free of the blood that had previously soaked it. Her hair lent a gruesome effect to the girl in the bed; her face blackened and bruised, her arms and delicate, fine hands swollen with cuts and bruises. Two black eyes glared out of her face, and the white gauze over what looked like a cut extending from her temple to her collarbone was even more noticeable.

Dumbledore touched her cheek gently. 'Amy Johnson…' he murmured. 'Yes, I know Amy Johnson.'

The palm of his hand rested on her cheek. She jerked violently, then opened her mouth and screamed shrilly.

Fred stared at his friend as the high, shrill scream sliced through his senses like a sharp knife. He covered his ears with his hands, trying vainly to block out the horrifying, terrified scream that came from the helpless figure in the bed.

Dumbledore drew his wand and gently placed the tip on her bruised forehead, closing his eyes. After a few moments, the screaming stopped, and Dumbledore opened his eyes, a grim expression on his face.

He only needed two words. 'Death Eaters.'

'I would say that, now that Voldemort has returned, the Death Eaters have been instructed to target the children and relations of those who were murdered for specific reasons during the Reign of Terror. Amy's parents were killed because they were unusually strong, and I think that Voldemort has decided that their daughter would be a coveted addition to his ranks,' Dumbledore said wearily, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. Fred had never seen Dumbledore so tired. 'She will be in danger, Molly.'

Mrs Weasley was bustling around the room, trying to hide the fact that she had been badly shaken by the terrified scream that had burst from Amy. 'Well, we're all in danger now, aren't we?' she said bravely. 'Can she stay here, Albus?'

'She must, Molly. Now she has been here, Voldemort would be able to force the information from her mind. Even though I am Secret-Keeper, he would still be able to enter her consciousness and drag the information from her, killing her in the process. He has no qualms about killing, as you have seen demonstrated for yourself,' Dumbledore said quietly. 'I am sorry, Molly. It is indescribably rude of me to place this burden on you, but I must.'

'Oh, Albus, there's no reason you should be sorry. If it has to be done, it has to be done, that's all there is to it. Besides, from what I've heard from Fred and George, she seems to be quite a nice girl. Very sensible,' Mrs Weasley said, waving her wand distractedly at an extremely dusty shelf of books.

Fred said nothing. He quite liked Amy, even though George insisted she was no good with pranks, and persisted in saying she had too much moral conviction and a keen sense of justice. He had to admit she was far too well behaved to make much trouble, but he remembered one memorable afternoon in sixth year when she had become so furious with the Slytherins that she had stormed around and insisted they all practice the Unforgivable Curses and then use them on the Slytherins, then hex them with everything they could dredge up from their memories. She had then brewed a complex potion that made every Slytherin in their year fall violently in love with Professors Trelawney, Snape, McGonagall, and Flitwick. Fred and George hadn't stopped laughing for hours after they saw Montague fall to his knees in front of McGonagall and beg her to marry him and accept his undying love for her, nor when they had seen Bella Spatino give a jumper with 'I LOVE YOU, FROM BELLA' embroidered on the front of it, to Professor Snape. Unfortunately, Amy was the only person in their year intelligent enough to brew the potion, and had, in consequence, been loaded with a month's detention from Snape. McGonagall had merely mentioned the potion in passing and fixed the girl with a half-amused smile. Flitwick hadn't even realised it was her, and Trelawney had been too besotted with the crystal ball she carried around with her to be angry. The Slytherins had been the butt of jokes for the rest of the year.

'Are you going to stay for tea, Albus?' Mr Weasley asked, polishing his glasses on the edge of his jumper.

'I am afraid I must decline, Arthur, although Molly's spaghetti and meatballs sound very appetising. I will, however, be back for the meeting tomorrow, before Harry arrives. Miss Granger is coming tonight, is she not?'

'Yes, she's coming by Knight Bus. She should be here soon.'

'Very well. I shall be back tomorrow for the meeting. Good night.'

There was a general chorus of goodbyes as Dumbledore left the bedroom and closed the door behind him gently. Almost simultaneously, there was a breath of relief from Fred and George. Everyone started to walk downstairs, when Fred grabbed his mother's arm.

'Mum, can I stay with Ames?'

'Well, all right, but don't disturb her.'

'I won't, Mum, you know me,' Fred joked.

Fred quietly pulled up a chair, sitting down with a relieved sigh. He liked Dumbledore, but it was hard work talking around him.

He touched his friend's hand and rubbed it between both of his. She stirred and opened her brilliant blue eyes for an instant, then turned onto her side and slept again. He noticed the gauze had slipped over the cut, so he lifted it gently, but stopped, staring at the cut in pure horror.

It was a wide, inflamed gash which cut her cheek in two. Blood had already soaked the gauze and was steadily weeping from the wound, along with a yellowish liquid Fred thought was pus. The muscles of her cheek were glaringly exposed to the outside world, and there was dark red blood pouring out of the part of the wound which cut down her neck. Fred pelted downstairs.

He burst into the kitchen, panting. Mrs Weasley turned. 'What is it now, Fred?'

'That cut…on Amy's neck…it looks terrible…Mum, please come and look, it's bleeding really badly. Please!' he begged, gasping for breath.

'All right, I'm coming…' Mrs Weasley and Lupin came back upstairs. George was not in the kitchen – no one seemed to know where he had disappeared to. Fred suspected, in the back of his mind, that he had gone to feed Buckbeak.

Lupin touched the tip of his wand lightly to the wound and muttered something of a lengthy nature. The flow of blood slowed and eventually stopped as a thin scab bound itself over the wound. 'It's only temporary, Molly. It should hold the bleeding until Dumbledore can have a good look at it,' Lupin said. 'You'd better ask him tomorrow to come up to see her. I'm afraid she won't wake up until the bleeding stops.'

'Well, why won't it heal?' Fred burst out.

Lupin turned to look at him. 'We don't know, Fred. Nothing I've ever seen has been this magic-resistant before,' he said sadly.

Fred stared at his friend. Her breathing seemed shallower than before, and her chest rose and fell more infrequently. Her skin under the bruises was a terrible shade of white, and he turned away as her breath rattled in her chest.

The doorbell rang. Fred winced as the portrait of Mrs Black started shrieking, and he clapped his hands over his ears. 'That'll be Hermione!' George shouted over the screeching portrait.

'I'll go down and let her in!' Mrs Weasley shouted. She hurried out of the room, and then suddenly there was a blessed silence. Fred breathed a sigh of relief and sat down next to the bed again as Lupin went out tiredly. George sat down on the opposite side of the bed. Both Fred and George stared at Amy's seemingly-insubstantial body, motionless except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.