Falling Forward

A cool gust of evening wind raddled the window, a whistle coming between the frames. Fred looked at it with annoyance, as though it was the wind's fault that Voldemort had returned and they were at the mercy of wind spirits that could raise the dead and paralyze people with fear.

It had been a colder summer than the year before when they were at the Quidditch World Cup. While the muggle papers supposed the wet, chilly air that seemed to seep into their bones, was the fault of El Nino, he knew different. London didn't have the same issue as the Yorkshire moors of fog and dementors, but that didn't mean they were safe. It was only last week that there been the collapse of a bridge near St. Paul's Cathedral and the Dark Mark seen in the evening clouds. They had been children in the first war. Bill had said he could remember seeing it as a boy, he and George had never thought they'd see it. Not in their life time anyway. It was that day that old Ollivander decided enough was enough. The next morning when they took their walk through the alley, boarded windows had greeted him and George. A" Closed Indefinitely" sign at the wand shop's window.

The Order wasn't sure if he had left voluntarily or not. The way the shop was boarded up and the magical protection put around it made it seem like he had left it on his own accord. But Dumbledore was under the impression Ollivander would be a sought after by Voldemort for his knowledge of wand lore. Either way, his disappearance had been unsettling. There were some in the Order that had been charged with finding him, but even they seemed to belief that if the enemy didn't have him, it was a fools errand.

There was less than three weeks till Hogwarts term would resume. He was grateful; he and George could barely keep up manufacturing with all the kids coming through the doors. While laughter kept the dark at bay, after hours the dangers hung over their heads, fueling their inspiration. U-know-poo had been a hit they come up one night when they were listening to the radio and drinking fire whiskey. The flashing purple sign plastered to the window to him was a spit in the enemies eye. Regardless of the worried letters coming from his mum and the critiques from Muriel, he'd take defiance and death over fear and living.

The store had been closed for a few hours now. The quiet hum of the alley was drowned out even farther by the wind. They had take out from a muggle shop down the street scattered on the cupboard as their latest products sat at the work stations, intermixed with their now melted ice cream from Fortescue's they had gotten earlier in the day. George was looking through their books, seeing how the summer sales were lining up. They had talked about buying out Zonko's shop in Hogsmede and they were well on their way. Zonkos had turned out to be falling competition. They just couldn't keep up with the double punch that had been Fred and George Weasley.

Next to his desk, was a diluted cauldron of Amortentia simmering. The Teen Witch Line they had started advertising in the last weeks of Hogwarts term couldn't stay on the shelves long enough with the summer crowds. He was as familiar with brewing this potion as he was making his evening tea, each batch selling out before the replacements could be shelved.

"Sounds like Mum's kicked us out," George said looking up from today's Epistle from their Mother. She insisted on sending them daily lists, notes, silly little scribbles of incomplete thoughts. Fred thought part of this stemmed from not keeping in touch with Percy so much when he went off into the world. Not fighting enough to anchor him back home. It was as though the letters were to be an anchor for them. We're not that git, you don't need to worry mum—he wanted to tell her, but with all the stress in his mother's life, he took the letters without complaint.

"You mean we didn't move out when we moved here?" Fred asked, looking away from the window and to his twin. "Good of her not to charge us rent for our old room."

"She says she's put Harry in or old room for now, but she might move Hermione in there" George skimmed, throwing a owl treat the size of Pig's head at the bird mid-flight. "I suppose if it's the Chosen One it's alright. And we're not at Hogwarts anymore, so it's not like Granger can take points from Gryffindor or assign us detention for providing future class room distractions to another generation of kids."

Fred's thoughts turned to Hermione, peaking through the boxes that lined the wall and tiptoeing to see their shelves. He could almost imagine it now. She was different. He couldn't put his finger on it. She was more confident. More determined. Had it occurred after he left Hogwarts or at the Department of Mysteries? Or had it always been there and he just never noticed it? But then there's the Hospital Visit…

"She was off her rocker when I dropped off their sweets, you know." he said, thinking back to the exchange in the Hospital Wing. "Kept insisting it was 1999, looked like she was about to be in a state."

"It's what staying at Hogwarts under Umbridge's regime did to her," George guessed, taking the Peruvian Powder and weighing it on a scale, "Running an illegal resistance while studying for O.W.L.s and putting up with the two of us couldn't have made for the easiest year."

But Fred had been impressed with Hermione with her new found disregard for the rules. He had always been fond of her adherence of rules, she made for the perfect test subject on how their products would play out in McGonagall's class room, but the past year he had seen a different—a daring Hermione. He had grown incredibly fond of Hermione's resistance. That fire of standing up to something, even the Ministry of Magic itself, seemed to have given her an exhilarating glow during DA meetings. It had led to so much more. She was becoming more than the know it all muggleborn who had idolized their prat of a brother Percy. She was becoming a spitfire witch who could and did stand on her own, regardless of the consequences. Prolonged exposure to your Mother, but even that thought didn't fit. She was becoming this all of her own.

"She's something else, that Hermione," Fred said to himself, thinking of her arms around his neck when they parted at the station. That had been another oddity. They never hugged. Not that he was opposed to it, but he couldn't think of a time she had shown blatant affection on anyone, save Harry and Ron a peck on the cheek before a Quidditch game.

The memory had danced like a veela in and out of his mind throughout the summer. Her hair had smelt of Lilacs and honey. He must have thought of her longer than he meant to. The cauldron next to his desk, a shade of brilliant summer gold now carried a faint echo of the smell, mixed in with the smell of fireworks and rain. Must have spilt some on me earlier today. We'll have to have Vertiy look at it in the morning, he dismissed. He looked down at his drawing board for their Autumn Prank Line.

There was a knock at the side door that called him back to the present. "Lee!" George laughed as their friend crossed the threshold, a brown bag in one hand and a bottle in another.

Lee set the bag on the table next to their half eaten sandwiches, "So you guys ate already," Lee sighed, waving his wand and send the contents of the bag and the sandwiches to the ice box under the cupboard. He saw the cauldron and knew any chance of a night out was going to be on hold, "I'll be back with another bottle in a minute. Angie, Alicia and Katie are back from vacation and they wanted to meet up tonight before Katie went back to school."

"Here, I'll come with you. You alright Freddie?" George asked, looking around to his brother.

"I'm fine. Get something good for Katie's sake. I'll stick around in case they turn up first" he replied. George nodded, following his friend out the door, Fred staying incase the girls came first. He looked down at the potion on more time, inhaling deeply, to see if the smell was still the same. Fireworks—that was the shop, their pranks, their victorious departure from Hogwarts under the rule of Umbridge. Rain—Quidditch on a stormy morning. A little witch running from the stands and charming the glasses of a certain seeker. And still lingering—lilacs and honey.

He looked down at his desk to the letter tucked in the corner that had come last week. The slanted scribble, fit her just right even if the content didn't, still caught his eye.

Fred,

I'm looking for a journal, diary, etc. that will only be visible to the reader. Do you have anything in the teen witch line close to that? I have something I need to write but don't want Harry or Ron to see it—I'll explain later. If you could use the Protego Maxima, Protego Totalum, Fianto duri, etc., it should to ensure the text is never conjured up for someone else to read.

I'm planning on coming in before term starts; I hope both you and George are doing well. I'll see you both soon.

-Hermione

He wasn't quite sure what to make with the request. It was coincident enough that she was actually referring to a product that they had only thought about earlier in the summer and just started producing. It was twisted, but they got the idea from the Riddle Diary Ginny had been taken by. He knew Voldemort wouldn't be hidden in the pages, the idea was it would be a place to hide thoughts and have them come back to you when you wrote a certain phrase into the corner of the cover page. If someone tried to read it, it would spout lies and insults. If done repeatedly the sneak hex Hermione had conjured for the DA would surface on the intruders face. They were going to introduce it in two weeks. Hermione's book was going to be a test sample, but he hadn't told George that. No need.

But there was still something about her he couldn't put his finger on. He hadn't thought he'd see the day where Hermione Granger was seeking out a Prank rather than seeking away to get them in detention. He knew his parents had started taking to ask each other questions when they were reunited at days end; perhaps he needed to start doing the same. But what question would he ask? The idea seemed ridiculous. Who could even suggest that Hermione Granger, founder of Dumbledore's Army and best friend of Harry Potter, would be dabbling in Death Eaters and Dark Magic?

He had an old looking book in front of him, blank pages. He had chosen this style especially for her. On the outside, it looked like it could be a book from the Hogwarts Library. But, if they had done the magic right, the moment someone wrote a page, the words would sink into the paper and appear blank once completed or when other eyes looked upon it. He had no problem giving her the book, but the spells she had asked for slightly alarmed him. Why did she ask for so many defensive spells to protect the text? What did she mean by that? Did she actually think Ron had such ambition to dig that hard through her words? Harry might, but Ron? Not at all.

The door began rattling again and this time he drew his wand, nearly jinxing his brother as he appeared before him. "Freddie, we need to go," George looked panicked, shutting the door behind him and waving his wand at the lock.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, looking out the upper story window, "George, where's Lee?"

"He already left to get the girls out—" he nodded his head towards the window, "We're going to be crashing at the Burrow. There are Death Eaters on the street—"

A loud explosion raddled the apartment and both rushed to the window. A plume of smoke was coming from up the alleyway. Flashes of light and screams intermixing with the weary wind. He couldn't quite pin what shop it was, Fontescue's was up there, Flourish and Blotts, and he could see the towers of Gringotts unmoved. It was late enough the Alley wouldn't be crawling with people; injuries would be at a minimum—

Fred jumped from the window and headed to the door, "Come on George, we got to go, what if they need help, eh?"

"The don't need to up the body count," George dismissed, blocking the door "we'd be going in blind and you know it. There's enough defense charms on the store I'm not worried about a raid."

"Then what are you worried about?" Fred asked annoyed, "We're members of the damn Order, we go running towards danger, not a way from it."

George was turning a shade of red that took after their mother, "I'm not loosing my twin to a mad man's wand. There are two of us, and at least a dozen of them. Those odds sound familiar?"

There had once been another set of twin brothers who rushed into a fight, not knowing it was a trap. And only their watches and wands had been returned to their grieving sister.

"Prewetts don't far well with those odds," George finished, "Come on, we'll alert the order from the Burrow. But we got to leave quick, before the anti-apparition jinxes go up."

With a slight pop the two brothers disappeared, Their cauldrons extinguishing as their masters left

((*))

Everything was different.

When she came back to the Burrow, she was greeted by Fleur who she greeted as she would an old friend. Ginny now called her a traitor, having witnessed the scene from a top the stairs. There wasn't a chance for her to correct herself, as Fleur now had decided Hermione was the godsend friend who would help her improve her English and the ways of the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley didn't seem as annoyed as her daughter; probably grateful for the buffer Hermione was proving to be.

Knowing what was to come, she didn't mind being there for Fleur. Hermione remembered it was Fleur who had helped her into a dress gown at Shell Cottage when they arrived in an instant on the shores near Shell Cottege. She could remember how in her injured state she apologized for blood getting on the collar and the sheets and how Fleur dismissed the apology, softly musing in her ever improving English, "Rest m'cher, we'll make them pay when you're better" before she set to work cleaning her wounds as she passed out.

And that was a Fleur who had dealt with her and Ginny shunning her the summer before. She couldn't do that a second time around.

Harry and Ron were somewhat the same. In the week Harry had been there, the two had become tan by living on the Quidditch Posts. Ron was being somewhat more polite to Hermione. Had that happened last time around? Why hadn't she noticed? Was it because she was being so cold to Fleur she just blocked any notice of his civility? She had noticed he took it easy on her as they played Quidditch, now two on two in the same pitch the Weasleys had grown up on.

Reliving this year had proved like re-reading a book. She was picking up on things more than she had before. Especially how tired Molly looked. How she kept her eyes on the clock after six, waiting to see Mr. Weasley's hand on the clock move from mortal danger to traveling and back again. How she had a roll of parchment she'd scribble on in the afternoon and then give it to Pig to drop with the twins. Sometimes Errol would depart with a package she knew had a warm meal wrapped inside for her two younger sons. there were creases in her eyes that she had only remembered as laugh lines that now seemed to be laid down and weary. She would never have called Molly old, but she was definitely worn down since they said goodbye at Kings Cross.

Remus had been at the house when she arrived a week ago, adding more worry to Molly's load as he told the breakfast table that Ollivander was missing. There was always a member of the Order checking in. Usually Tonks, occasionally Lupin. Never together, always passing. That's probably another thing wearing down Molly, the two of them—

She wanted to tell them. She wanted to tell Tonks that he'd come around, just give it a near death experience at Hogwarts. Well maybe not tell her that part…but she had agreed, for the moment, to listen to Professor McGonagall for now. She had stuck to her timeline as much as could be expected. She had even squeezed the looking glass left behind in the Twins room and gotten a black eye when she spoke with Harry the first morning. He was filling her in on what Dumbledore and he had discussed on his way to the Burrow. She had even done her greatest rendition of getting her O.W.L.s but it seemed an empty echo. The letters still on the kitchen table, flattened by Molly's medi-wtich books Fleur's attempt of bread rolls.

When she dreamed, she still dreamed of the past, her past. She had her first nightmare of Malfoy Manor since the accident her first night in the Burrow. She lied to Ginny and told her it was just a nightmare from the Department of Mysteries. That seemed to silence her for now. She had laid in bed for a moment before hearing Ginny reply, "I was afraid I was the only one that did."

That day they had all gone to bed early, Her, Harry, Ron and Ginny being charged with de-gnoming the garden. Mr. Weasley had come home after a particularly long meeting at the Ministry. The house was still and quite when they all retired at ten. She had been asleep for an hour or so before waking up from another nightmare.

She got out of bed and put on one of her sweaters she had packed. It was warmer in Devon compared to the rest of the country but the house was still chilled. She made her way up the stairs from Ginny's room to the window seat on the second floor landing of the Burrow. Crookshanks, no longer wary around her, sat at her feet as she looked out the window. Both of them glancing at the pond in front of the yard or the gnomes jumping back over the fence. She had sat here the night before the wedding, a white ten in the distance, billowing in the night air, the faint illuminating blue lights visible thru the white canvas.

She hadn't been there for too long at all when two pops in shattered the still of the night with shouts in the yard. She could see light streaming from under Mr and Mrs Weasley's room upstairs. She squinted her eyes, to see Fred and George, none looking too amused with the other, walking to the house.

Mrs Weasley frantically came running down the stairs in her dressing gown, "Fred, Geoerge," Mrs Weasley identified, looking at them and then looking at Hermione, "What the devil—"

She followed Molly down the stairs more than their steps echoing in the staircase. The others were up as well, and everyone was waking up, coming to the kitchen.

Mr. Weasley was on their heals, pushing his way forward as they reached the back door the boys were emerging from. Standing tall, he held his wand pointed towards his sons,

"Mr. Weasley—" she called out, but Fleur held her shoulder, keeping her in place beside her. She had never seen Arthur Weasley pull a wand on any of his children. This has to be a dream, this is till a dream. You'll still wake up in Switzerland. This can't be real.

"Where did you boys go when you left Hogwarts?" he bellowed, looking at the two as though they were anyone but his children, "Where?"

George clinched his teeth and stared at his father while Fred answers, "You and Lupin met us in Nottingham before we took the portkey back to London. You told us not to tell mum and snuck us mattresses from Grimmauld."

George wheeled out his wand, "Do you want us to ask you a question dad or can we just assume that all of you in this house are our family and not Death Eaters?"

It was Mrs Weasley's turn to call out. "Georgie—"

"Sorry son," Mr. Weasley lowered his wand, his posture relaxing as he did so. "Now—what the devil is going on here?"

"There was an attack in the alley," Fred said gruffly, looking at the Weasley's assembled around the room and then the clock. "It was in the South corridor, we left—"

"Because we would've been out numbered," George interrupted, looking at his brother annoyed. "Do ve know 'vho?"

Fred returned his glare, to his brother, "We left before the anti-apparition charms went up," George explained, leaning against the table, "It was up the alley a bit, passed Gringotts—probably closer to Flourish and Blotts. Lee and I were headed to the Cauldron and didn't make it past the Apothecary without someone telling us to turn around and run."

"You didn't even see what happened?" Fred asked, "We ran like cowards and you didn't even see how many where there? You said there was at least a dozen! You said it would've been six on two."

"Your brothers right, you could've been out numbered," Mr Weasley agreed. He took his wand and bellowed, "Expecto Patronum" and spoke to the weasel before it floated out the room. "The Order's been notified. That's the first priority. We'll get our people in there." He headed to the coat rack and grabbed his work robes. "I'll be one of them."

Mrs Weasley wheeled her head, "You have no business going out there Arthur Weasley," she insisted. "There were no Muggles no artifacts—it was one of our streets let Magical Law Enforcement sweep the scene…"

"There could be someone trying to profit from the accident," he explained, "I'll be back in an hour, Remus is on call tonight. I won't be alone." He wasn't out the door a moment before Mrs Weasley followed, her voice echoing in the night.

Fleur looked at the lot of them and sighed, "I'll make ze tea," and went to work with Mrs Weasley's red teakettle waving her wand and a set of blue flames warming the spot. Harry was looking at Ron who seemed to have shrugged off the scene and heading back up the stairs. Ginny was giving George a hug; as though he had just saved the both from would've been their certain demise. She had seen a hug like that before between Ginny and George, but it was when there had been certain demise.

And he was looking at her curiously.

"Hermione," Fred started, "What did you do to your eye?"

"She vas playing vith vone of you're silly toys," Fleur explained, "You left something in zee room."

"The spy glass, wasn't it?" Fred winced, walking over and putting his hands on her temples looking at the bruise, "it doesn't hurt does it, just looks like it?"

"Yeah," she hadn't noticed how his eyes were the lighter kind of the Weasley brown. There was flecks of gold. Or perhaps it was just the lightening.

"Here, I think I have something in my room to help with that," he explained, his thumb gently brushing the corner of her cheek, "Come on, follow me."

((*))

She followed him into the bedroom, Fred rifling through the dresser drawer. Hermione took a seat in the desk that sat between the two beds watching as he did so. "George and I developed a knack for making salves with all the stuff we came up with when we were starting out," he explained, looking up from his search, "If we hadn't, mum would have put a stop to us long before we ever got the gold for the start up."

"He's right you know," Hermione called out from his search, "George."

"Hmm?" He fished out a small little jar and unscrewed the lid. He walked over and leveled himself with her eyes. "Close your eyes," he ordered, dabbing his hand in the jar, "Now, what are you agreeing with my brother about?"

"About running rather than fighting," she felt the near chill of the cream and then the warmth. She kept her eyes closed, "Fred, if something happened to you—your family—"

He might be missing the panic she was sure would be flooding her eyes, but she couldn't hide her voice cracking. His thumb stopped on her cheek again, and she could assume he stiffened. "They'd be fine," he said flatly, before he continued brushing the cream on her black eye. "Not right away, but they'd be fine."

She opened her eyes with a start and was surprised how calm his face was. He was looking down at the cream, and she could see how stiff his features had become. "How can you even say that Fred?" she argued, hitting his shoulder, " What about George? What would he do?"

"I have a feeling we'd go together," Fred said evenly, still facing the floor but she could notice his face had lost some color. " And we'd be sure to take as many of them as we could before they took us."

"But what if you didn't—You shouldn't say things like that," Hermione glared, cross her arms and leaning into the back of the chair, "You two—you— would leave so many people behind. they wouldn't know what to do without you—"

She couldn't explain the look he was giving her, but she was sure she hadn't seen either him, or George for that matter look at her that way before. "I'll be careful then. For their sakes," he promised, his voice even now. He rubbed the last of the salve into her eyebrow, and twisted the lid back on. "Now with that take care of, I suppose we can talk about that book you wrote about?"

AN: Ah ha! First Cliffhanger of the story!

I will apologize that this is coming sans beta and rushed. I got sick last week and was unable to update on the usual time table. I'm hoping to get back on track ether this Friday or Saturday.

So there are part of this chapter I'm proud of and others that I'm a little unsure. I don't want George to seem cowardly, but I think given the situation, his actions were warranted. I know when we read and reread the series, we (or at least I know i do this) set the characters to our age and our standards. But Fred and George were all of 18 in this chapter. And if I had seen an attack on my street, I would've wanted to run to a place I was safe. So I felt it was justified. I'm sorry this chapter went long; but I'm going to try and quicken the pace in the coming chapters. We've got quite a ways to go! As always, any and all feedback welcome; feel free to shoot a PM.

Until next time,

KH