Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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Harry had never had friends like Ron and Hermione before. It was wonderful not having to lie to them, not keeping his magic a secret. But more than that, they were just wonderful in themselves. The three of them spent nearly all of the students' free time in the Room of Requirement, experimenting with the room's sorcery and telling Harry about Hogwarts. They visited him as soon as the bell rang for lunch and whenever their classes finished for the day. This alarmed Harry at first, and he told them earnestly that they really didn't have to keep him company all the time – surely they would rather be in the common room, with the rest of the Gryffindors?

"Stuff that," said Ron, chucking balls of paper at the back of Hermione's head, "Dean and Seamus always treat me like a tag-a-long anyway."

"And it's so much easier to study in here, without all the noise and people bothering me," said Hermione brightly, pulling out her wand and setting fire to the ball of paper in Ron's hand, which he had been preparing to throw at her. Ron yelled and blew on his burnt fingers. Hermione did all her homework in the Room of Requirement now, rather than the library, because any books she needed simply appeared on the bookshelves as soon as she thought about them.

Harry's two new friends bickered almost constantly, like a background soundtrack in a movie. If they were not bickering about Harry, they were bickering about class, or teachers, or each other. Often they would finish an argument by both turning to Harry at once and saying, "don't you agree with me?" at the same time.

"I don't agree with either of you," he would say, and explain why, and then they would stop bickering for a few minutes to think about this.

Ron brought Harry food, and he was hilarious company. His stories about living in the Burrow never failed to make Harry laugh, and Ron was as jealous of Harry's strange fugitive life as Harry was of Ron's wild, lovable family.

Hermione was not nearly as talkative as Ron, but her services to Harry were invaluable. She was appalled by the condition of Harry's magical education, especially his rather lax knowledge of astronomy, history and herbology. At once, she took it upon herself to bring him up to standard. Harry grudgingly pointed out that he was already far better at charms and DADA than her, but she waved these claims aside without consideration.

"Honestly, I'll have to teach you everything from last year before we even get started on second-year magic," she said in exasperation, "I don't know what your godfather was thinking, leaving so much out."

However, Harry was a quick learner, and both of them enjoyed the lessons in magic, which usually ended with a lot of giggling and childish jokes about the potions professor's underwear. Very soon Hermione was making copies of her daily homework for Harry to try out. She also supervised Ron's homework, otherwise he would almost certainly never have completed it.

So, when Hermione wasn't pushing essay questions under the boys' noses, the three children spent their lunchtimes and evenings talking and mucking around, and they were so much fun Harry almost forgot about needing to find Dumbledore.

As it was, nobody was having much luck tracking the headmaster down as it was. Ron had asked his brothers if they had ever gone to Dumbledore's office, but Percy scowled at him and told him not to go bothering important people with his rubbish. Fred and George simply made several rude jokes about brothels, which were funny but not really much help.

Hermione had been a little more practical, and tried wheedling information out of Professor McGonagall, her transfiguration teacher. Professor McGonagall, however, seemed to find Hermione's behaviour highly suspicious and never gave Hermione a straight answer about where to find the headmaster. This only made Hermione more determined than ever, because aside from their potions professor, she had yet to find a teacher that could resist her charms.

Although he wanted desperately to talk to Dumbledore before the inevitable point in the future when Sirius would track him down, Harry half-hoped that it would take a little while yet. He was worried that when he did find Dumbledore, even if the headmaster said he could stay at Hogwarts, he would insist Harry first be sorted into one of the houses in the traditional way. What if Harry was not sorted into Gryffindor, but into one of the other houses? Would he still be able to see Ron and Hermione if he spent all his time in the Hufflepuff common room? Would they still want to be friends with him if he was in Slytherin?

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Hermione assured him, when he brought up these doubts while they were sketching an astronomy diagram of the Clouds of Magellan, "I don't doubt you'll be in Gryffindor. You don't suit anywhere else."

"And besides, your parents were Gryffindors, weren't they?" Ron added, furiously trying to memorise a list of hallucinogenic fruits before their next Herbology lesson.

"I think so," said Harry, remembering that Sirius had once mentioned James and Lily having a fight in Gryffindor tower, though at the time he hadn't known what his godfather meant.

"It's going to be fine," Hermione continued, trying to guide his hand away from Jupiter and towards the Pleides constellation, "tomorrow I'm going to hang around after Charms and talk to Flitwick, and he'll tell me what I want to know, I'm sure he will, and you'll be in the headmaster's office by the end of the week. Besides, we'll be there when you talk to Dumbledore, we'll back you up for everything."

"Thanks," said Harry, "I hope so," he added. He had been hiding in the Room of the Requirement for a week a half now, and it was not just fear of his Godfather's arrival that was pressing on him. The next Saturday would be a full moon, and he was still keeping his Lycanthropy a secret from his two friends.

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However, during the daytime, it was very boring for Harry, practising magic alone in the Room of Requirement while Hermione and Ron were in class. After a few days he could not stand it any longer, and had escaped the lethargy by leaving the Room under his invisibility cloak. At first he did not dare go further than a few corridors from the Room, but before long, when he had been wandering unseen for two days without incident, he set out to explore the rest of the castle – by day and by night.

It was late after Hermione and Ron had gone to bed, and Harry had finished watching the moonlit view from the cloisters, and was heading back up the stairs, when he decided to take a detour past Gryffindor tower. He hadn't been inside it since he had first arrived, and he wanted to know whether the password he had procured from Percy still worked.

He recognised the hallway where the portrait of the fat lady was, but as he came down it he saw to his surprise that somebody was sitting outside it, as if guarding it. Cautiously, Harry approached the door, and saw that it was a boy his own age, with a familiar round face. He was sitting against the wall beside the portrait, apparently asleep.

"Neville?" asked Harry in surprise.

Neville was awake in an instant, and his hand flew to his wand, "w-who's there?" he cried, "where are you?"

"It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you," said Harry. For a moment, he considered taking off his cloak to show Neville who he was, but then he thought better of it. He was still trying to stay hidden in Hogwarts and Neville did not seem like the sort of person who was very good at keeping secrets, "what are you doing sitting out here by yourself?"

"Why can't I see you?" demanded Neville, "are you Peeves? Are you?"

Harry had heard of Peeves from Ron, who had been drenched by a bucket of water hurled by the poltergeist a few days before, "no…um…actually, I'm just a regular ghost," he said suddenly, "but I thought I'd stay invisible because I didn't want to scare you. I'm a very ugly ghost," he added as he sat down opposite Neville.

"Oh," said Neville, lowering his wand, "oh, alright. I don't care if you are Peeves," he said fiercely, "you can't make things any worse than they already are."

"Why? What's wrong? Is that why you're sitting out here?" Harry asked.

"Never mind, I'm just being a big baby," the boy shrugged hopelessly, "I shouldn't bother you."

"Oh, go on, I haven't got anywhere better to be," Harry pressed.

Neville put his wand back into his robes and sniffed, "Snape gave me a detention. Because I blew up his cauldron in potions. But he deserved it, he was being so horrible," he said angrily, "and I had to polish trophies with Mr Filch all night. But they changed the password today and I've forgotten it, and I got back so late there's no one to let me into the tower," he drew his knees up to his chin, "and it's so dark, and I'm cold and I can't sleep because I keep hearing noises," he finished miserably.

Harry felt a great rush of sympathy for Neville. He remembered that Neville had said he was friends with Hermione, but she was spending so much time in the Room of Requirement now. Neville had probably been very lonely since school had started.

"Well, I'll stay and talk to you, if you like," Harry offered.

"Oh," Neville was obviously nervous about being kept company by an invisible ghost, even a friendly one, "um. Thank you."

There was silence for a while. Neville rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, "are you still there?" he asked.

"Of course," said Harry. His back was getting stiff, but he felt he couldn't abandon Neville after so short a time.

The boy nodded. He looked less frightened now, almost relaxed. He rested his head on his knees, ready to sleep, and his fringe fell away from his forehead.

Harry felt his brows knot together in surprise, "what's that on your forehead?" he asked, resisting the urge to point, since Neville couldn't see him anyway.

Neville quickly sat up straight and pushed his fringe flat so that his forehead was covered once more. But in the silverly light filtering down the corridor, Harry had already gotten a good look at the lightening-bolt shaped mark on the boy's forehead , "it's nothing," Neville muttered, "just a scar I've got."

"How did you get it?" Harry asked, hearing his own voice catch in his throat, "I've…seen one just like it. Only it was on…another boy your age."

"Really?" Neville frowned, "I don't think it can be just the same as mine. I'm not supposed to show it to anyone."

Harry's heart was thumping, "why not? Who says that?" he said, more harshly than he meant to.

Neville put his arms around his knees, "it's kind of a secret. Professor Dumbledore told me I'm not to tell anyone who asks."

"Dumbledore?" Harry felt a shudder run through his body. He was leaning forward now, trying to look at the scar again. Memories were rushing through his mind, of waking up eight years ago at St Mungo's hospital, and seeing the tall and frightening Professor smiling down at him. Dumbledore has asked to see Harry's scar, the scar had had received the night his parents died. Dumbledore had touched the scar gently with one long index finger, and murmured words Harry couldn't hear, and shaken his head sadly.

"Yes," Neville frowned.

"You got that scar," Harry gulped, "when you were four years old?"

Neville paused, "yes," he said, "how'd you know that? How'd you know my name, anyway?"

Harry tried to clear the croak from his voice, "I…" but he couldn't think what to say, "please. What do you know about that scar? What does it mean? What does it do?"

Neville touched his forehead self-consciously, "it doesn't do anything," he muttered, "it hurts sometimes, but not much else. Dumbledore said that it means…that you-know-who gave it to me…when he killed my parents, when I was four, and it means…it means he couldn't kill me, only brand me," he finished.

Harry realised that he was blinking back tears. He'd spoken to Neville in Diagon Alley, had been living in the same castle with him for days now, and all along, this boy had the same scar as Harry, the same story…was this the answer? Was this why Sirius had hidden him? Was this nothing to do with Dumbledore at all, but to do with you-know-who…Voldemort? Harry had never thought about this option before. The war always seemed so far away, a trivial matter compared to his day-to-day life.

He had always assumed that the scar on his forehead was simply a wound from the attack on his parents, that it didn't mean anything more than all the other scars Harry had sustained in those days after his parents death. He had so many scars on his face, that one, the one that Dumbledore had touched, did not stand out. But was that what it meant? That, on the night all those years ago, when Voldemort had killed his mother and pointed his wand at Harry…he had tried to kill him, and failed? Was that the answer?

But that couldn't be it, Harry thought suddenly, because Voldemort wasn't trying to kill me that night…he said so himself…and again he remembered those moments, which he had always forced himself to forget: his mother's screams, the high, cold laughter, and the thin, icy voice, "don't run, you silly girl…you're giving your life so that your son may live…oh, I won't kill him…no, I won't…I'll just kill you…"

"Are you still there?" Neville asked, snapping Harry out of his nightmare.

"Yes," Harry said, his words no more than a whisper, "yes, I'm still here."

"Are you alright?"

Harry shook his head, but of course, Neville couldn't see him.

Suddenly they both froze as they heard footsteps coming up the stairs at the other end of the corridor. A girl giggled, a distant, bubbly sound that seemed out of place in the dark night-time. A boy said, "bye, Penelope…" and then, after a few moments, Percy Weasley emerged up the stairs. He was dressed in a bathrobe, carrying a towel under his arms, and he was swinging his horn-rimmed glasses from one finger. His hair was sopping wet and the faint smell of bath-water met Harry's nostrils. Percy had a silly grin plastered across his face.

He saw Neville as he came down the corridor and the grin vanished. He hurriedly put on his glasses, which were completely fogged up, "you, there! What are you doing out here?"

Neville jumped to his feet at once, nearly tripping over the end of his robes, "I can't get through the portrait!" he wailed.

Percy wiped the steam off his glasses and glared at Neville as if he suspected Neville of being a rogue murderer in disguise, "I should give you a detention for being out of bed at this hour," he said, tightening the ties of his bathrobe.

"I don't care, please, just tell me the password to get in," Neville hopped from foot to foot, "it's cold and there's ghosts out here!"

"Let you in?" the portrait of the fat lady, which had been snoozing peacefully up until this point, woke up and stretched, "well, why didn't you just ask me, my dear boy? I know you've had trouble with the passwords before, you're not a criminal."

Neville looked as if he had just broken a tooth, "I didn't want to wake you," he said quietly, and slumped. Harry, who still felt dazed and shocked at everything Neville had told him, wished he could throw off the cloak, shake Neville's hand and promise him he'd stick by him from now on. Looking at Neville's lost and dejected face, and thinking of all the times he'd sat alone at lunchtime in a new school, he thought he had never felt such a close kinship to anyone before. But Neville was already turning towards the portrait hole as the fat lady swung open to admit him.

"Alright, I won't give you a detention this time," said Percy, striding past Neville and into the common room, "but you're just lucky I was so late…er…taking my shower," and with that, he disappeared up the stairs to the boy's dormitory.

Neville glanced over his shoulder as the portrait swung closed again, and looked right at the spot where Harry was standing, "bye," he said, raising his hand. Then the hole snapped shut and he was gone.

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Harry tried to make sense of what he had learned. Neville had been orphaned and branded by you-know-who. Harry had been orphaned and branded just the same – so what was different about Harry, that Sirius would let know one know his name or that he was even alive? Why was Neville under Dumbledore's benefaction but Harry was forbidden from Hogwarts? What did the scars mean?

At last, with questions bursting out of his seams, Harry told Ron and Hermione everything he could. They listened, mouths open, to the story of Lily and James' murder, the clues Harry had picked up from Sirius over the years, and finally to Harry's encounter with Neville the night before. Harry still omitted the fact that he was a werewolf, feeling that that was the only thing that would surely turn them against them.

"Wow," said Ron, shaking his head, when Harry finished reciting all the questions that were buzzing around his skull, "wow…I mean, wow."

"Harry, I'm so sorry," said Hermione, taking his hand, "you've had it so rough! And to still not understand the truth…I promise we'll find Dumbledore soon. Flitwick says he's been at the ministry for a week now, but he's coming back to Hogwarts in two days time. We'll corner him then, and make him tell you what's what if we have to. You deserve answers."

"Wow," Ron continued shaking his head, "you know what, Harry? You should write a book. That's sell thousands, that would. Millions, if we got it translated. 'The Adventures of Harry Potter'…or 'Harry Potter – my life'…or maybe 'Harry Potter and What's Up With Everything?' – what d'you think?"

"Ron, shut up," Hermione frowned at him, "can't you act serious for even five minutes?"

"I could, but I'd be acting," replied Ron. Hermione made a derisive noise and turned back to Harry. The three of them pondered the questions for the next hour, and even Hermione was too absorbed in the discussion to point out that she and Ron had a Potions essay due the next day. But, on the other hand, perhaps Hermione had already done it.

At any rate, they came up with few plausible conclusions to the riddles that were plaguing their friend, only a lot of silly answers that Ron made up, which made Hermione roll her eyes. But Harry felt better now that he'd told them all he could. Yes, he was more confused than ever, but it wouldn't be long, now until he spoke Dumbledore. It wouldn't be too long now.

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The corridors were nearly always empty during classes. Harry wandered through them, hidden beneath the invisibility cloak, learning the strange twists and turns of Hogwarts and admiring the view of the lake from the window, and it almost felt as if he was the only person alive in the entire castle. However, sometimes he came across teachers, or students running errands. At first, he had ducked away, frightened of bumping into them. But after a while he had gotten used to being invisible and kept walking as if not even aware that other people were there at all.

On Friday, he had managed to sneak into the trophy room, to look at the old cups, searching for the name James Potter and trying to guess what the 'services to the school' awards were for. As he came down a long corridor, he heard voices at the other end and caught a flash of red hair. Two identical freckled people were coming down the hall towards them: Harry recognised Ron's brothers, Fred and George, from the train.

They were both chattering to each other like monkeys, and neither of them seemed to be watching where they were going. Harry thought they probably wouldn't have seen him even if he hadn't been invisible. Their heads were bent over a battered old piece of parchment held between them, which seemed to be riveting them, since they kept pointing at it and exclaiming.

"Yes, I told you, he's right there," one of them (it was Fred, but Harry didn't know this) said to the other.

"Blimey, you're right," the other replied, "wonder how he's doing that?"

"Who knows?" Fred replied, his eyes still locked on the parchment. Harry was listening to their conversation with only half an ear. He wanted to get back to the Room of Requirement before the lunch bell rang and the corridors filled up with students.

"Well, maybe he can tell us himself," said George, jabbing at the map again, "shall we grab him?"

"Poor bloke doesn't even know we're talking about him," Fred laughed as the twins passed Harry in the corridor. And, quite suddenly they both raised their heads, dropped the piece of parchment, and leapt on the spot where Harry was walking.

"Agh! Get off!" Harry wriggled as Fred's arms locked around his waist and tackled him to the ground, and George grabbed his legs and held him still. He kicked as hard as he could and struggled with all his might, and it took all the twins' strength to hold onto him at all. Before it was over, Harry got Fred's elbow in his eyes and George caught Harry's foot in his stomach, but the twins were practised at tackling Ron and Percy and they knew how to keep someone immobile, even if they couldn't see them.

Everyone was panting when at last Harry realised he was not going to get away and stopped struggling. Fred, pinning Harry's arms to the rug, was sitting on his chest, and George was kneeling on his shins rather painfully.

"Get off of me!" Harry gasped furiously, "I'll bite you!" he snapped his teeth at Fred's wrist, which was not too far away.

Fred moved his arm away from Harry's face, "uh, uh," he warned, still grinning despite the exertion, "you're not going anywhere. You got his legs, George?"

"I got 'em," George replied, leaning back so that there was not so much pressure on Harry's shins.

"Right, we're all settled then," Fred was looking at the spot where he had obviously guessed that Harry's head must be, "are you comfortable?"

"Of course I'm not!" Harry snarled, "how did you know I was there?"

"Our little secret," said George. The ragged piece of parchment which the twins had been reading was lying a little way away, "we've been watching you for days now. You've been wandering the castle pretty regularly, haven't you?"

"How is it that you and Ron keep disappearing off the map?" Fred asked, gripping Harry's wrists tighter, "we've never managed it, and we've been roaming these halls for years!"

"You're not a student," said George, "there's no 'Harry Potter' listed in any of the house rolls, not even the old ones."

"You asked a teacher about me?" Harry asked, his voice full of terror.

"No, no, my invisible friend," Fred assured him, "we just checked the list in Filch's office. We realise you're doing your best to stay hidden."

"We just want to know why," George continued.

"And what you're doing with our brother and that Granger girl," added Fred, "after all, Ron hates her."

"Or so he claims," winked George.

Harry paused, "let me up," he said, "I'll make myself visible again."

"We're not that foolish," George leaned on Harry's shins again, "you'll scarper off."

"I won't," said Harry, "keep a hold of one of my arms, if you like."

Fred shook his head, "and have you whip out a wand and curse us? No fear!"

"I need one hand," Harry grumbled, "just let me stand up, okay?"

The twins looked at each other, then, after a moment, Fred got off Harry's chest and the two of them lifted Harry bodily to his feet. Fred refused to let go of his wrists, but he allowed Harry to move his hands so that he could pull the invisibility cloak off his face.

The twins gaped as first Harry's head, and then, as Fred released his hands, the rest of him, melted into existence. Harry rolled the invisibility cloak up and glared at the twins, "you can see me now. Happy?"

"Who are you?" Fred frowned.

"I'm not telling you," Harry replied, "I'm trying to keep a low profile, remember? Ron and Hermione are helping me hide."

"Oh, go on!" George grinned, "let us in on the big mystery! Fred and I are great at keeping secrets."

Harry rolled his eyes, "sure, just like you're great at attending class, too. Which I assume is where you're meant to be right now?"

Fred laughed, and clutched his stomach, "we both came down with 'a spontaneous case of the runs' and had to go the 'the hospital wing'."

"Flitwick's such a dear, I wish our Mum was that gullible," George shook his head.

"How did you know I was there?" Harry asked, and his eyes fell on the piece of parchment that had been discarded when the twins jumped on Harry. Before either of them could intercept him, he dodged around them and picked it up.

It seemed to be a blank, square, crumpled sheet, without any marks or writing on it. Harry turned it over, frowning, "what is this?"

Fred made a grab for the parchment, but Harry held it out of his grasp, "you give that back, invisible boy," Fred growled, "that's our most precious possession."

Harry raised an eyebrow and pulled out his wand. He tapped the piece of parchment, "reveal yourself," he said. Nothing happened.

"Oh, give me that," George grabbed the parchment out of Harry's hands, "look," he said, glancing at his twin, "here's a boy who can become invisible. It's probably best we make him our ally, don't you think, Fred?"

"An ally like that is never a bad idea," Fred agreed, "and it's better than having him as an enemy. Shall we show him?"

"Show me what?" Harry asked.

George cleared his throat. Then he tapped the parchment and said, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Harry's eyes widened. Thin, spidery lines were spreading across the parchment as if someone was writing in an unseen hand. At the top, curly green letters were forming like slime oozing out of cracks in a wall. They declared, in proud swoops of writing, the words:

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs – Purveryors of Aids to Magical Michief-Makers – are proud to present – THE MARAUDERS MAP

Below these words was a complex and beautifully-sketched map of Hogwarts. However, Harry was not looking at the map. He was staring at the words at the top with his eyes wide, mouthing the names that were written there.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Fred said fondly, stroking the map in his twin's hand.

"A true work of art," George sighed, "with rather more practical uses."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," Fred smiled wistfully, "we owe them so much."

"So do I," whispered Harry faintly.

"What's that?"

Harry shook his head, "where did you get this map? I never knew it still existed. I can't even believe it has survived all these years…"

Fred and George looked at each other, "now, this is a curious coincidence," Fred frowned, "he says he knows about the map, George."

"How can he?" George said in melodramatic confusion.

"It's a secret."

"A prankster's heirloom."

"But, then how?"

Harry touched the heading with gentle fingers, "Prongs," he said, "was my father. And Padfoot," his index finger moved across the word, "is my godfather. He raised me. Moony lives in our house when he isn't working. Wormtail," Harry's face grew grim, "is another story."

The twins' mouths were hanging open, and suddenly George fell to one knee, his hands clasped as if in prayer, leaving the marauder's map in Harry's hands, "Fred!" he cried, grabbing his twin and pulling him to his knees by the back of his robes, "show some respect! We are looking at royalty!"

"Blood of the lords!" Fred went one step further and knelt in front of Harry with his face pressed flat to the floor, "he graces us with his presence!"

"Oh, no, don't, I really don't need that," Harry offered his hand to George, to help him to his feet, but George merely took the hand and kissed it. Harry heard Fred sniggering.

"Don't do that," Harry said angrily, looking away, "I'm not even that much of a prankster. Padfoot always said he'd failed in training me as a mischief-maker."

Fred sat up again and he looked at George, his eyes alight, "do you see, George?"

"I see, I see!" George clapped his hands together, "he has been sent for a reason!"

They both got to their feet and each put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "clearly, the glorious Marauders sent you here themselves, my invisible friend," George declared, "in order that you learn their ways, as they must have intended."

"What?" Harry raised his eyebrows, "what d'you mean by that?"

"We mean," said Fred, rubbing his hands, "we will guide you. In the arts which your noble ancestors practised with such success."

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Hermione and Ron looked up as Harry opened the door to the Room of Requirement. He draped the invisibility cloak over a nearby chair and shut the door. They had been waiting for him for half an hour, and lunchtime was almost over.

"Where've you been?" Ron asked, dropping the sneakoscope he had been playing with onto Harry's bed.

"You didn't get caught by a teacher, did you?" Hermione asked anxiously. She was doing her homework at the table.

"I met your brothers," said Harry, looking at Ron, "Fred and George."

Ron sat up, "oh, no. And they saw you?"

"Are they going to tell anyone?" Hermione gasped.

Harry shook his head as he dropped into a seat across from the table, "no. Actually. They started bowing," Harry looked at the ceiling bemusement, "apparently, I'm the descendent of their 'mighty teachers' and I'm 'to learn the Marauder trade'. They say they're going to train me in the ways of mischief and Hogwarts espionage."

Hermione glanced at Ron, "what on earth is he talking about?"

"I dunno," said Ron, who was still staring at Harry, "but with Fred and George, it's hard to tell anyway. They didn't hurt you?" he asked nervously, "they'll really keep you a secret?"

"I think so," said Harry, "they swore a very long oath of loyalty in front of me."

Ron looked very puzzled, "an oath of loyalty?"

"Yep," said Harry.

The red-haired boy shook his head, "those two are mad," he muttered, "mad as a pair of hatters."

Harry laughed, "I think I figured that out for myself."

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TBC