Falling Songs
Hermione woke early the next morning.
It was too early. Sunlight wasn't leaking through the canvas. There was silence from outside, only the occasional owl passing overhead, not songbirds composing a ballad to the morning sun. She glanced at her watch and it read a bleary and bleak 3:00 back to her bloodshot eyes.
She knew quite well she wasn't going to be able to go back to bed. She didn't remember how she had gotten to bed to begin with. All she could remember was dissolving into tears on the forest floor as Harry tried to hold her steady. She shook her head, trying to uproot the memory. Had she really cried like that? That wasn't like her. She was Hermione Granger, she didn't shed tears-at least, not in good company.
Unless, it would seem, they were tears for a Weasley boy.
Harry must have helped her back into the tent after Ron left. And Harry must had guided her to her bunk where she had passed out. She could see him from where she laid, his profile cut in the night. He was asleep in the chair facing the door, as though perhaps he thought Ron would have come to his senses and come back to them before he made breakfast.
She didn't need to look at his bunk for the answer. Ron was gone. And it was her fault.
Her body creaked as she got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen area. It wasn't fancy, but she waved her wand and blue floating flames filled the furnace of the oven. She took out the kettle and poured some of the water they had gathered last night setting it to boil.
A cup of tea wasn't going to fix this night, but it wasn't going to hurt it either she thought as she fell into the chair at the table, melting into it, collapsing like she was about to give up the ghost.
"You look like hell," a voice croaked from the darkness. The shadow of light from the stove illuminating Harry's outline.
"Your eyes aren't that good Harry," Hermione answered, waving her wand as more little balls of blue light began to bounce overhead. "Especially not in this lighting."
"Call it a hunch," Harry said as he sat in the chair opposite. Her eyes were adjusting but she could tell she wasn't the only one who looked rough. Harry raised his hands to his eyes as though he was trying to shake sleep from them.
She didn't respond, but waved her wand for another teacup and saucer from the cabinet stopping gently in front of Harry. "Fancy a cup?"
He nodded, and Hermione could feel that familiar silence that had filled their lives when Ron had left before. Sometimes silence between friends was understandable; expected, occasionally desired. Other times it was as if you were filtering thoughts, editing what you were going to say before you actually got to say it because you were afraid you couldn't deal with a blow if what you said was wrong.
But Hermione had a feeling that's what had led her to this point.
If you had told Ron and Harry after the Department of Mysteries-it would have been hectic, and messy. She could imagine the two of them giving her dirty looks when misfortune came and she hadn't prewarnd them. About Dumbledore. About the Horcruxes. About the Half-Blood Prince. There would have been no clean way to go about it.
They wouldn't have lived naturally. And if they didn't do that, they wouldn't have blazed into paths they needed to travel. Hadn't Dumbledore once said they needed to copy the timeline, at least Harry's timeline, as carefully as they could to ensure they were successful a second time around?
But Fred knows. And he's corrupting the timeline. And you have too, she thought looking again at Ron's spot, your corrupting it all the same, no matter how careful you think you are.
Maybe Fred was right. Maybe she should say the hell with it and go rouge.
Last time Ron had left them because the horcrux made them think there was something between Harry and Hermione.
This time, Ron had left because he had found out there was something between Hermione and Fred.
"How'd you sleep?" Harry asked, his voice still heavy. He should go back to bed. They could have this conversation later. Maybe he doesn't need to know.
She shrugged her shoulders, "It wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst either."
He nodded, the silence returning. The Kettle whistled and Harry got up to get it, reaching for Hermione's cup
"It wasn't your fault," Harry said as he poured her tea. "You didn't seem to want to listen to me last night when he left, but I want you to hear it now. It wasn't your fault. I didn't think he'd overreact like that-"
"Really, Ron overreact?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I knew he could," Harry explained looking at the empty spot at the table and then at her. "Even if you had told him in the spring, he would have done something dramatic and stupid like this."
"But he'd still be here," Hermione said, reaching out across the table and taking Harry's hand. "He would have had time to cool his temper or attempt beating Fred to a pulp. He would've processed however he needed to so he would still have come with us. Ron's loyal-even despite this, you know he is."
His eyes fell to her hand and he gave it a squeeze, "He might've, suppose we'll never know."
Hermione felt her heart contract, and she took a deep breath. "I should've known Harry. He was vulnerable last time. I should have thought somehow he'd leave again."
"Again?" Harry asked, his voice dripping with confusion. "What are you talking about Hermione?"
She took a deep breath. Go Rouge.
"Do you remember when we woke up from the Department of Mysteries last year?" she asked, her heart now fluttering like a hummingbird's wings. " Ron woke up from the Department of Mysteries. I woke up from an Avalanche in 1999."
"1999?" he repeated, looking at her cautiously. "Hermione you're not making any sense," Harry said, his hand still gripping hers. "How did you-"
"I time traveled Harry," her words were clipped, as though if she didn't say them quick enough they'd stay inside her, "There was an avalanche and somehow I woke up in the past. I'm from the future."
The words fell and silence accompanied them. It was late in the season. What she would do to have a grasshopper's song break the night.
For the briefest moment, Hermione was afraid Harry would leave her too.
But his brow knit together and he turned his gaze towards her. "How did-it happen?"
The story came crashing out of Hermione, as though it was a flood long held back by a damn.
She told him everything. About the time turner she had found in her purse after the war, how she had thought it had been the means of her sojourn in the past. She told him about how she struggled over what to do, and who to tell. How she was finally able to confide in Dumbledore. How she had asked Fred to make her a journal so she could keep the future clear in her head. She told him how she had been committed to following the timeline so they'd be successful-that's when she lost him.
"Wait-we win?" Harry said, a crazy man's smile on his face. "After everything we've gone through, you're telling me we win?"
"We do," Hermione said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He needed to know that. She'd have to tell him later how they almost lost. How he almost became one of the lost.
"You've known this for over a year and you didn't tell us?" he asked, his eyebrow raised, "How do I know you're not pulling a fast one and I woke up after you drank whatever liquor you have in your bag?"
She rolled her eyes, the smile on her face falling, "Dumbledore didn't think I should tell you," Hermione said, "He's probably rolling in his grave."
"Why are you telling me this now?" He asked.
"Time is-fluid," she explained, leaning back into her chair, "Imagine it as a river. It goes down stream, but no matter how similar it's path, the River is always changing. You can throw a stone in the river and it'll create ripples. Or you can build a damn and block it's progress. Does that make sense?"
Harry gave her a look that made it clear nothing in their conversation made sense, but he nodded anyway, "Alright, Same but evolving, go on-"
"In the past, Fred and I never got together; Ron and I did," she shrugged. "Last time, we eavesdropped on Ted Tonks, Dean Thomas, the Goblins and Dirk Creswell, this time no Ted. You and Ron had a row-over his family putting themselves in danger, he thought you and I were becoming an item-something silly like that, the horcrux was affecting him. Anyway, he left. Very similar to how he left last night."
Harry looked pained. Like he had been dealt a second blow with news of the past Ron's departure.
"So, Ron leaves no matter which way the river flows?"
"Dumbledore called those fixed points," she explained, sitting up straight, trying not to fidget with her hands "Events that, for some reason or another, are fixed, demanded by Time. Here's another example-you and Ginny-"
"We're fixed points," Harry started, stressing each word as he spoke, "Come off it Hermione-" he rose from his chair.
"No, listen," she rose as well, "The first time, you were the one to curse Malfoy and missed the Quidditch game having detention with Snape. When you got back to the Common Room and saw that they had won-you kissed her," she said with a smile, "Right then and there in front of the entire house for the world to see."
Harry's features softened, remember perhaps how he had kissed her, this time, on the Quidditch pitch, having watched the team secure the victory after being discharged from the Hospital Wing. Or maybe they had grown soft out of reverence for a universe that seemed to demand he and Ginny be together.
But he turned, "Wait-I cursed Malfoy last time? Did you change something?"
Hermione's eyes turned a way for a moment and then back at him, " I wanted you to be able to play that last game," she answered with a weak smile, "I just wanted you to get to play that last game so I nicked the Prince's book, thinking if I had it-you'd already saved Ron's life, no one was at risk except Malfoy-if I had the book, you wouldn't see the spell and you'd be able to play the game rather be
"Anyway, Dumbledore was trying to help me navigate finding fixed points in the timelines. I didn't want Ron leaving to be one so I made sure that we had plenty of food so he wouldn't be irritated-and it worked, he was in such a better mood this time around, night and day in comparison, but-"
"He found another way to leave Hermione," Harry finished for her, "And from the sounds of it, you couldn't have changed this. You tried, and you always try your best."
She had to bite down on the inside of her lip or she felt she'd give an encore performance of her tears the night before, she just nodded as the silence, the good kind of silence, wrapped them both.
"You can't tell me how it ends, can you?" Harry asked.
"I shouldn't," she sighed, "I wish I could Harry-but, I really shouldn't. If I think you're deviating I'll let you know but you haven't deviated off river yet."
He nodded, turning to Ron's spot, "Can I ask you something?"
"I didn't watch any Quidditch Matches so I can't tell you who to bet on when all of this is over-"
"You little Imp," he laughed his smile finally touching his eyes, "Go ahead," she caved.
"Does Fred know?"
And then her smile fell and her stomach dip with it. "Fred found my journal. I had left it at the shop by accident when I went to the Burrow last summer and he-he had reason to look at it, I'm sure," her mouth felt dry, she took a drink of her tea and remembered how George used to spike it with fire whiskey. "Anyway, he read the journal and he put it together. He found a list-who dies, who I was trying to save and-"
"He died, last time didn't he?" Harry finished for her. He looked at her and she could feel her insides run chill as she tried to find words.
"We lost a lot of good people before the end of the war," Hermione said simply, trying to keep her voice from breaking, "Fred was one of them." Her heart seemed to be thundering, and soon her words were too, "But I thought, this time I know. This time I know how they die, I can keep them from dying. Deaths don't have to be fixed-I can fix them, I can save them-and we did, those Passports are getting Muggleborns out, like Colin Creevey, he's safe by now. And the fact Ted Tonks wasn't at the fire last night, I bet Fred got him out too-I wasn't sure how I was going to save Fred, but that was always the goal. That was always the battle cry. Save Fred. Save them all-"
"But he didn't see it that way?" Harry asked.
"He didn't let me explain," she growled, throwing her hands in the air, "All he saw was the fact he was supposed to die. And he decided that if I had that knowledge, and I hadn't warned him I didn't truly love him because," she thought for a minute, trying to get the words right, "'The smartest girl of her age wouldn't come back to fall in love with a ghost' or something stupid like that. He decided I didn't love him, that it had been a fake."
She was proud she got through that without crying. Or showing an echo of emotion. Perhaps it'd been better if she had cried.
Harry didn't say anything. He just sat there. She had dumped a lot on him. But there was a selfish peace she seemed to hold on to now that there was someone else who knew her secret. Someone else who she could talk to, to keep her sane. She just hoped it hadn't come at too much a cost.
"Fred will come around," Harry said, words finally returning. "He's a Weasley, which means he's like Ron and probably regretted whatever he said to you the morning after he said it. Perhaps a Weasley is a fixed point for you and time is letting you choose which one?"
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Maybe. Doubtful but maybe. At this point I think I should cash in my chips and go for Charlie," She laughed, sitting up and looked at her friend, "Are you alright Harry? I just gave you a lot to think about."
"I've already lost one friend tonight, I'm not willing to do anything to risk losing another," Harry said simply, "If anything, it's comforting knowing we're not just winging it out here and someone knows what they're doing."
"I'd hardly say that much," she sighed, shaking her head. "Ron leaving helps in one way-when he comes back he brings the sword of Gryffindor and we're able to destroy the horcrux."
"Ron comes back?" Harry said quickly, "I should have asked that the minute you told me about time travel-he's not gone for long?"
"He comes back around Christmas," Hermione smiled, "about six weeks from now I think."
"We're getting Gryffindor's sword for Christmas Hermione!" Harry said with a smile standing up and pulling out some of the pancake mix she had stashed in a drawer, "That calls for a celebration."
"Pancakes at 4 in the morning after you've learned your friend is a time traveler?" Hermione laughed, skeptical that Harry had registered anything other than Ron's looming return.
He gave her a quizzical look, "What, does that mean I need to wait till eight?" Harry asked. "Come on, lets have some pancakes and we'll take a nap before we start again," the griddle was already sizzling as he spoke, "Besides, you can tell me future stories as we go now."
She leaned into the chair and smiled, closing her eyes as she heard Harry merrily clanking dishes together. She had been worried for nothing. All was well.
"Hey Hermione, can we go get the Horcruxes while Ron is gone? That way we could destroy them all at once?"
Hermione opened her eyes and felt a chill. All was not well.
They couldn't do that. They couldn't break into Gringotts yet. There plan hadn't worked out the way they had anticipated last time, she doubted they could do it on the fly this time. And they could hardly march into Hogwarts.
But if you do, if you go to Hogwarts and get the Didem now, maybe you choose your last Battle at a Different site-she thought, perhaps you could be somewhere in the open. Somewhere where walls wouldn't fall.
They'd have to kill the snake. How did they figure that out last time? She wasn't sure, Harry had just guessed it was the snake-If they went and got the horcurxes would Voldemort figure it out and rush his hand as well?
"Hermione?"
"Sorry?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Can we go get the horcruxes, you know where they are right? We can just get them and destroy them when Ron gets back." Harry said with a smile "Be back at the Burrow in time for Christmas dinner."
"Harry, we can't-the timing isn't right," she tried, hoping he'd be as understanding with this as he had been with everything else.
"But Hermione, we can end this now. The War. We get the horcruxes, Ron comes back, we can be done with all this by New Years," he answered, his voice hinted with irritation "Think of the lives we can save."
"We could but we can't." she explained, trying to stress her words. "Harry, I'd love to-You have no idea how much I'd like this to end, but the timing isn't right. We still need-"
He still needs the death stick. He still needs the Elder Wand. We still need to go to Malfoy Manor for that-
She could feel herself sweating in her seat. This wasn't right. This wasn't going right. How was this going so wrong.
"We need to save people Hermione, and we can. You know how we can," his voice was growing sharp, and abrupt. Each word pounding into her. "If we can't, what's the good of knowing?"
"We can't-" she said softly, the room spinning around her, "Harry, we can't-"
The room was spinning. She was trying to focus on something, anything. That's when she looked to Ron's seat and saw Fred sitting there with his impish smile. His eyes dancing as he looked at her and her confusion. "You sure you want to tell him?" he asked, his voice echoing in her ears, as the scene before her began to swirl, nothing making sense. "What are you thinking?" he asked.
And then Hermione woke up.
((*))
She woke up to darkness. The sun still hadn't risen, the painting dews of sunrise were still hours away. She was lying in her bunk, sweating, her heart racing as though she had been running.
She looked up and saw that Harry wasn't sitting in the chair, staring at the mouth of the tent. Instead, he was in the bunk across from her, his glasses skewed across his face, breathing in and out.
It had all been a dream.
She had dreamed that she had told him. And for the first bit, it was good. She had felt so good about it. He knew about everything. He knew and had felt good telling him-until he started wanting to rewrite things.
There was no way for her to know ahead of time how Harry would react. She couldn't tell if he would be swayed one way or the other. But she recognized that once she told him, there would be no going back. It was only natural he would want to get a move on and act on what she knew.
But Hermione didn't know what she could and couldn't change. She wanted to end the war, and she wanted to end it with people she cared for still alive. But she didn't know how she could change it without risking things. Could she try and lure Malfoy away for Harry to duel him for his wand? Could they sneak into Hogwarts to get the diadem? They had only found about the Diadem from Luna before the Battle started, how could she convince him of Ravenclaw's horcrux? And she still didn't know how he knew about the snake.
She couldn't tell Harry. She thought, looking at him as he slept. He had lost his friend one night, he shouldn't have to send one away the next morning. He'd think she was crazy, or worse, a coward.
She looked at her watch, it was a blurry 4 in the morning. She rolled over on her cot, staring at the wall, hoping for sleep to come and claim her and this time, to carry her to some sleepless dream, or perhaps to one where she was again sitting at a table with Fred talking about happier things.
((*))
Fred was running.
He had been running for a while now. He had been running since had left the cafe where he had met with Justin. It was just a quick check in. Justin had taken over the first of the families and older Muggleborns the week before. He had wanted to hear how Ted Tonks was doing in particular-Tonks had somehow managed to talk her parents into at least trying a few weeks abroad, all based on the condition that she too make plans to join them in Calais. Fred doubted she would make the move, she was still hoping Remus would come around and when he did Fred highly doubted the pair would leave the fight, no matter how much he wanted them to.
But before Justin could begin, Fred had noticed someone lurking in the corners and it was enough for him to send Justin off to the loo to apparate as he snuck out the back, trying to disappear amidst the uni students going up and down the road..
He had made it down the side alley when he felt the anti-apparation wards go up, a chill down his back and his arm hair tingling. He didn't know so much that the wards were up. There wasn't any way to really know other than trying to apparate. But it was as if he could sense it. He wouldn't be able to escape that way That's when he started running. He thought he had shook them going down another alley, but he could hear the steps pushing behind him, mixed in with the disapproving tut of muggles passing by.
The softest pinks of sunset made the scene feel less foreboding. But night was coming on, the shadows of the buildings swallowing the town as familiar skylines melted into night. Fred took a sharp turn off of Bainbridge and turned on to the little side ally that traversed the two large buildings. There was a large, red roll away door that was open about a foot and a half, enough for him to roll under.
Using the twilight to his advantage, he dove down behind a lowery and rolled into the building, quickly getting up and wandering further into the building before his pursuer could follow.
It was very dark. He could hear someone talking in the distance but he couldn't understand what they were saying. He shuffled further in the darkness before casually lighting his way with his wand.
He walked towards the noise. He didn't realize where he was until he listened to the words, and at that point he was so engrossed he walked straight into a work bench. Swearing under his breath, Fred looked around again, his eyes having adjusted to the dark to realize he was backstage of a theater. And not just any theater, Hermione's theater. Their theater.
He sat on the bench and looked down. There in front of him was the Werewolf Waterbuffalo-or Beast, whatever it was it was called. Fred didn't have to squint like he had last time, he could see him standing and walking across the stage from where he sat on the work bench of a cat walk. The band was picking up as they did before one of their soulful little ballads to themselves.
Fred could remember this part. It was when the girl Hermione had wandered into the room she wasn't supposed to wander in and nearly touched the rose she wasn't supposed to touch. Beast had just yelled at her to get out and was now lamenting his lot in life-being a werewolf-water buffalo-while the band strung the tune.
The Beast's problem wasn't that big of a problem in Fred's point of view. He was acting as though having to fall in love with Belle, this charming, educated, strong willed woman, was a death sentence, when really she was the only saving grace in that castle. Having a tea pot, candle stick and clock for company was no where near as appealing as someone like Belle. It was a silly song, Fred thought, watching the werewolf actor lamenting that he is doomed to the curse if he can't learn to love Belle.
To know her is to love her, Fred thought, remembering the actress who had popped around the castle. Only, he couldn't remember the actress. He could just remember seeing Hermione on the stage, their characters were so similar. He couldn't see the actress now, she wasn't on stage, but if he closed his eyes, she had Hermione's face. Her brow would have furrowed like it did at the Ministry when the Beast yelled at her to get out.
Fat chance Mate, I tried that, he thought, remembering when he had told her to leave. Maybe he wasn't too different from this Water Buffalo Werewolf-both doomed to love a girl that didn't love them. He hadn't remembered feeling so badly for the creature before, but he did now. Because only a few short months ago, sitting next to her, her head leaning on his shoulder as his arm fell asleep, he had been convinced he had her love, and that was the fortune of any man, whether he was in an enchanted castle or not.
No pain could be deeper, No life could be cheaper, No point anymore, if I can't love her-
Is it wrong if you loved someone who you weren't sure loved you back? Fred wondered from his work bench. Because Fred did. He still loved her. Wasn't that why he was still he was still running the passport operation with Justin? Yes it was the right thing to do, and yes, he and George would have been working the resistance regardless if Hermione had ever given him a passing look-but she had given him something to fight for. She gave him something to believe in. Wasn't that why he had initially left her to do her asinine mission in the ministry?
It was Halloween. He wasn't sure where she was exactly, Her journal was useless in the realms of "we camped here on this day." He assumed she was in the North, camping somewhere in his father's tent, making cozy dinners and spending the evening with Harry and Ron.
That's another thing the Beast didn't need to worry about. He hadn't had to worry about a slimy git of a younger sibling stealing his girl. He just had to worry about that village brute and he never had to doubt Belle liked him more than the pretty boy.
If she didn't though, if she didn't love him still, then the Water Buffalo was right. No pain could be deeper, no life would be cheaper-what would his life be like if he survived the war and had to deal with Ron and Hermione together? He wouldn't be able to stand that-he couldn't. He'd be somewhere in America opening a joke shop. Somewhere sunny like Orlando or Hollywood.
There was once a time he was so sure of her love, that he had it. He would have bet anything on it. But that damn journal-
Maybe she hadn't meant to fall in love, he thought to himself, maybe it was a delightful accident-maybe she had been miserable with Ron and it was real with me.
The audience began it's thunderous applause, calling Fred back to the present. Perhaps it had been an accident. Perhaps she had really loved him. But he doubted that after everything he had said and done she still did.
But then again, a voice seemed to whisper in his heart, perhaps she did.
He burrowed into the curtains as people came off stage and in the gentlest of pops he disappeared into the night.
((*))
The Grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour. Lee walked towards the window and peaked through the curtain down to the front walk. "He's late," he muttered quietly, turning back to George.
George had a screw driver behind his ear and working very carefully to hook two very thin and fragile components for the radio which seemed to be a degree harder than threading a needle. Biting down his lip he connected the components, put them down on the table in front of him and turned back to Lee.
"What'd you say?" George asked, allowing his eyes to refocus.
"Fred, he's late," Lee said nodding to the window. "Should we be worried?"
"Should we? Most likely," a familiar voice said walking through the back door, "Are we? Not at all."
"Where were you?" George asked as Fred took off his jacket and folded it over Mrs. Granger's dining room chair. Fred seemed not to have listened, instead he was walking towards the kitchen poking his head through the door before turning around, his face slightly crestfallen. "You ordered Italian?"
"We like Italain, remember?" Lee smiled, "Go for the lasagna, it's divine."
George noticed the shadow of a scowl of Fred's face and he remembered Fred had brought the same lasagna home for Hermione earlier in the summer. It had been an Italian place Lee had recommended for the occasion.
"Come on, we should get this finished before the two of you carb load, you'll be asleep when you should be on air," George said, his brother walking back into the room away from the accusatory lasagna.
They had set up the radio system on the dining room table rather than the one Hermione had placed in her room upstairs. The switchboard took over a good chunk of the Granger's table and with George's component the last of the microphones should be good to go. They had decided that Halloween, what would have been the seventeenth anniversary of Harry defeating You-Know-Who, was worth commemorating. But there was something eerie about the night. George wasn't sure if it was the Holiday or the reality of what they were doing finally setting in. It was excitement dipped in a sense of foreboding coursing through his veins.
"We're all sure we want to do this," George asked, looking at the microphones, "We're all aware of the consequences if we get caught?"
"Tortured in a Death Eater's basement?" Fred asked, lazily looking over to Lee.
"Surely. Threatened with death daily until we break or they get board?" Lee asked, turning to George.
"Absolutely," George nodded gravely. The words felt heavier in his mouth than they had when they had talked about this previously. For the past six months, the radio broadcast had almost seemed like a dream, an idea that would only ever be that. But now the fruit of their labors sat before them. All they would need to do is flip a switch and they'd be live to any radio who came across their frequency and gave the password, phoenix.
They had placed postcards in their usual spots, hidden messages in flyers, inviting people passing by to tune in at 7:30 for a message from the underground. He didn't know how many, if any, would. Fred was more confident, as usual. Fred kept telling George that they were lighting a flame that the Death Eaters could never snuff out, that Potterwatch was going to be a beacon for others to follow. It's as if he had consulted with tea leaves and knew without a shadow of a doubt that even Harry would listen to this somehow. George had taken Divination with Fred and he knew he shouldn't be providing any shout outs to Harry any time soon.
George Weasley thought he was brave, but looking at the switchboard before him, knowing what could come of it, he could feel acid climbing his throat.
Rather than let it spew out, he swallowed hard and carried on. "So, tonight we're just keeping it simple," George said, opening a manila folder infront of him. "We introduce ourselves as River, Rapier and Rascal-"
"Who am I again?" Fred asked, leaning against the chair, "Can't remember."
"Doesn't matter, we can figure it out later," George shrugged before moving down the paper, "We read the recently deceased and missing-did Justin have any names to add to that?"
"Oh yeah, he wanted it radio'd Dean Thomas returned to England last month and his friends in France are eager for his return," Fred explained, his face a grimace, "Apparently our Gryffindors at Beauxbatons are struggling with what they call forced exile and are jealous Dean got away-Justin thinks they want him to come back so they can join him over here."
George raised his hands to his eyes and let out a sigh. He couldn't blame them. If it had been the three of them shipped to France to avoid the war, George was convinced he, Lee and Fred would have been back in the country by the end of the week. It was only because there were a few years between them and the exiled students George felt it was his right to judge them from afar. Sure in France they were exiled, but for all of them they were alive and in exile. And free. If they had stayed how many of them would now be calling Azkaban home?
" I've got that bulletin Remus set for us," Lee said, pulling a paper out of his pocket. "Death Eaters destroyer the bridge to the Isle of Skye last week, Order things their trolls, were working on getting it fixed but some Muggle politician is dragging it out," he sighed. "Some Saxon bloke; anyway, Remus did say that the Order was able to control the flooding in the Lake District and the Grindylows have all been rounded up and removed."
"Missed that bit," Fred grimaced, pouring a drink, "Next thing you know the Death Munchers are going to deploy Red Caps."
"Don't give them any ideas," George said raising a finger, "Bon Fire nights coming up and that's the last thing I'd want to find." Fred handed he and Lee their own glasses and George took a swig letting the fire burn its way down.
"Any updates on the Muggleborn laws?" Lee asked, "Gringotts accounts?"
"It's officially illegal to be a muggleborn," George answered, his voice near empty. "We overheard from the Percy Pod yesterday morning. I figure they have a third the muggleborn population in Azkaban, Fred and I figure we've smuggled out nearly 300–as for the rest."
"I had a thought about that," Lee started, "Justin and his team have done a good job getting the kids and some of the older ones out, what if we turned the operation towards going through the registries one last time, glean the field, make sure we haven't missed anyone."
George puckered his brow, "One last look over wouldn't hurt," he said slowly "But we'll be on the defense this time. We were on the attack with the kids getting out, this time we'll be going over the same ground the ministry's already salted over."
"Suppose Harry sticks with his theme and this isn't over till June," Fred started, "Means eight more months of hell for muggleborns in Britain. I'm with Lee, I say we glean them out."
"Right," George nodded, scribbling the word "Gleaners" on the side of his paper. He tapped his pencil against the desk, turning to his brother, "Harry does have a tendency to have all his show downs in June doesn't he?"
Lee laughed and Fred smirked, "I'd say he's in hibernation the rest of the year but we all did Quidditch with wood, no one could autopilot through that."
Lee clapped down of Fred's shoulder, "That reminds me. Do we still want to do a Friends of Potter segment?"
"A what?" Fred asked looking at George.
"We we're talking about this before you came in," George explained, waving his hand, "Just a three minute blurb. A little story about Harry, give people hope, make them believe in him, you know. Make it where people see him as the Chosen One and not Dumbledore's killer."
Fred nodded, "I like that. Any story you have in mind?"
"I was thinking of our fifth year, remember the year Sirius was on the run. Remember that story about him taking on 100 Dementors?"
George smiled, "I remember; Hermione told me about it that year at the Quidditch Cup waiting for the game to start—a lot better rendition of Ron telling it."
"13 year old kid against 100 Dementors. NEWT level charm," Fred said simply, folding his arms "if that's not going to inspire you—"
"Well and that wasn't even his first time!" Lee said draping his arms between the two, "Remember when that Malfoy kid and the Slytherins dressed up as Dementors at the game against Ravenclaw? You could see something, just not the shape because of the sun that day."
"I say we lead in with the Quidditch and then go to the Sirius story," George nodded, scribbling it down on the paper in front of him. He looked over the show and then up at Fred and Lee, "I think we've got it," he said softly, looking down at their death warrant, "I guess it's now or never."
A stillness filled the room and George could feel his heart beating in rhythm to the clock in the hallway. He looked up to see Lee also staring at the paper while Fred looked away.
"Hang on," Lee said, breaking the silence. "Should we pick a song to play before the broadcast? You something we can play before every broadcast so they're ready."
Fred walked over to the record table in the Grangers living room and pulled out a slender record book. "How about this?" He asked handing it to George.
George looked at the record and then his brother, "This, really?" He asked, "It's not your usual muggle choice."
Fred shrugged, taking the album and putting on the turner. The melancholy guitar picking up as a country twang voice filled the room. Fred looked at Lee and his brother and smiled, "Please don't take my sunshine away."
Lee started laughing "I was feeling more Led Zeppelin or maybe Queen?"
Fred shook his head, "Nah, we can do better than that," he started. Taking both Lee and George by the shoulder he smiled wider, "Come on boys, let's make it sunny again."
AN:
I know! This is two weeks late! I'm sorry, the summer travels had started and life, as always, is up in the air. Meaning you guys are getting another chapter writing on an airplane (thank you Alaskan Air).
For Hermione's bit, I'm sorry. I had every intention on making it not a dream, and our girl coming clean to Harry but I couldn't come up with a clean break that didn't speed things up. I'm rereading the Potter series and as much as I love Harry patience isn't his strong point. Neither is sticking to script. I won't rule it out for later, but at this time it's on hold.
Also this should be one of the last moping Heavy chapters for Fred. Promise.
Because next chapter: Hermione and Harry continue their travels through the winter and make their way to Godric's Hallow. Fred and Lee begin the Gleaners task, and Fred finds an out of place face when he stops by Shell Cottage, one that definitely should not be there. Buy your tickets now. Weasley brother smackdown is coming. There can only be one.
You are all the best souls on the internet. Thank you for giving this story(and me) your time and love. XO, Kait