The twins weren't in their room.

That was a problem. If they weren't in their room, then where they were?

I spun in a slow circle, observing said room. It was pretty bare; there were two beds, the twins' school trunks, and a few piles of dirty clothes. In other words, nothing out of the ordinary except for a pair of missing teens.

There was a pop outside the door. Someone knocked, and the door creaked as it swung open.

"We're in the kitchen," Junior said. "Or Fred is. I was."

Oh. Right. The twins had followed me downstairs. I knew that. Forgot it, but I knew it.

I gave Junior a mock disappointed glare. "It's much easier to find you two if you're in your room all the time."

"Much easier for everyone else to find us, too." He grinned, and I knew right then he'd somehow won the round. Cheeky bastard.

"I need your help."

His grin disappeared. "Now? I haven't even finished eating!"

"Yes, now. I need Fred, too."

He muttered something under his breath which I'm positive would have made Mum (his and mine) scourgify his mouth, and Dissaparated with a crack. Where had the twins learned this many curse words? I didn't remember knowing that many as a teen.

I was a teensy bit impressed at his colorful language, but I had other things to do. If the twins didn't show back up in a minute I was going after them, which would kind of defeat the purpose. Unfortunately, it had to be done.

I was just about to pop downstairs when the twins arrived with loud cracks and a plate of towering, unbuttered toast.

"What is it?" Fred grouched. "Can't you even wait five minutes? I'm starving."

"Shut it," I told him. "I have something I need to do, and I can't do it without you." I checked the room for charms or listening devices, checked myself, checked both twins, and set up another silencing ward. "Right, we're good."

"Are you sure you're really George? You seem a whole lot more like Moody."

"I said shut it, Fred. Do you two know anything Dumbledore has in his office?"

They looked at each other. Fred perched on the end of a bed, balancing the toast on his lap. "What's in it for us?"

I was utterly gobsmacked. I mean, it was good and all that the twins wanted to know why exactly they should do something—especially since it was me, someone they could, ideally, trust without thinking. I wanted them to think for themselves, and that was good.

I just didn't expect it to happen quite so soon.

Had Fred and I been that suspicious? No. But…come to think of it, we had been pretty rebellious teens.

Merlin's pathetic wimpy hippogriff with gout. What had I gotten myself into?

"I can get you up at five o'clock every morning," I threatened.

"What do you need, good sir?"

It is truly amazing how well I know myself at times. Of course, the twins seemed not to realize I would never willingly get up at five o'clock myself, but that might have been because they seemed to be concentrating on nothing but the pile of toast.

"I need you to distract Dumbledore for me."

They looked up.

Junior spoke around a bite of bread. "Dumbledore? Why?"

"You don't actually want us near him, do you?" Fred took another bite. "I mean, you just spent the past hour telling us how dangerous he was and all the bad stuff he's done."

I shrugged. "You've got great Occlumency, so I seriously doubt he can do anything lasting that I can't fix, not without you knowing about it. Besides, you've always trusted him before. It'll be a little strange if you don't now."

"What are you doing?"

I grinned. "You'll find out."

~!~

Fawkes leaned forward rather precariously from his perch on my shoulder. He peered around Dumbles' office warily.

"Crrrk?"

"Yeah," I said. "Gonna rob him blind. Anything I don't take, feel free to set on fire."

He chirruped cheerfully, bopped his head against my chin, and hopped over to his old perch. He looked at me sorrowfully, and struck it a few times with his foot.

"You don't need another perch."

He chirruped again.

"There's dozens of places for you to perch around the house."

The bird narrowed his eyes.

I didn't want him setting my clothes on fire again, so I caved. "Fine. I'll bring the bloody perch."

He chirruped happily again.

I shook my head. Fawkes was a good friend, but he was also a spoiled brat at times. Of course, most of that was my fault, but still.

A piece of ratty fabric shifted on the self. "I wondered when you would be stopping by."

The Sorting Hat. I had forgotten it stayed in the Headmaster's office. It could cause some serious damage to me if it told Dumbles I had been here, so I had better play it careful.

"Hat," I said. "Fancy seeing you here."

It nodded its brim at me. "Mr. Weasley. I assume Dumbledore doesn't know you're here?"

"I'm hoping not."

The Hat seemed to think over this for a moment. "You know, sometimes I wonder if I was mistaken, and you are better suited to Slytherin, like your brother, instead of Ravenclaw."

I raised my eyebrows. "I assumed the twins here would've belonged in the same house."

The Hat made a sound somewhat like a snort. "They may share thoughts with each other, Mr. Weasley, but they are still two people. In fact, I think you'll find not much is different here in this world at all."

"How so?" I asked, Fred's wand starting to slide down into my hand. "I thought you couldn't see in my head unless you were on me?"

"You are naïve as a child. Albus was ranting for two days straight about your behavior. Also, Fawkes has been quite informative. His counterpart and I quite appreciated it."

I glared at the phoenix. He was lazing on his perch with an air of innocent amusement.

"Right. Did the Great Bumblebee say anything he shouldn't have?"

The Hat chortled (which was just strange). "Oh, he's said many things. I am very excited to see what you will make of this new world. After all, few things are different. You've already met most of them, whether you see it or not. You have, however, set quite a few things in motions, Mr. Weasley, which I must say I am quite pleased about. Fabric and fire do not get along, no matter what your pet seems to think."

Fawkes chirped at it, irritated. He'd been up to his own plans, then…but of course he had. Fawkes had considered Dumbledore a great friend and wonderful man, only to realize he'd been tricked by someone even worse than Voldemort (arguably).

"He told you about the battle?"

"I cannot believe any one of my former students actually had the nerve to set me on fire!" it said. "Do give Mr. Riddle a good hexing for me, won't you?"

I grinned. "Why, of course. Now, did Fawkes tell you why I'm here?"

"No need. Feel free, of course, to loot everything. Take me, too—we need to talk. Just make sure I'm back in time for the Sorting."

It took a bit of negotiating to get the Hat away. It refused to be shrunk, and it didn't seem keen on being balled up to fit through the opening of my pocket. Even if my pockets were rather larger than normal, it didn't mean the openings were. We finally settled on Fawkes flaming him to the house.

It wasn't a second later Fawkes flamed back in. Just a moment after that, another column of flame appeared on the perch next to him. We both jumped back, and Fawkes let out a disturbed caw.

"What the bloody—?!"

Alternate-Fawkes tilted his head as he studied us.

"Crrr?"

I didn't know phoenix-speak, but I did know Fawkes.

"Hi!" I smiled widely, and tried to pretend I wasn't in the process of robbing the headmaster blind. "Good to see you, Fawkes!"

Fawkes (my Fawkes) shook his head. He flapped his wings at me and cawed. The mental image he sent of me rooting through Dumbles' desk drawers was a little much, but I got the point.

"Right. I'll leave you two to talk it out then."

With the twins pestering Dumbledore about apprenticeship contracts and other odd things only old insane people like him should know about, I had plenty of time. I started with the desk first.

"Oh dear Merlin," I said. "Fawkes, come over here a minute."

The birds were making a racket over in the corner, both squawking and flapping their wings. They both quieted and turned to me when I called.

"Crrrk?"

I gestured at the wide array of silver instruments on the desk. "Are these what I think they are?"

Fawkes nodded, looking grim (although how, I'm not sure. It was quite a feat). A picture of Harry popped up in my head, and then another of Harry bleeding.

I had found the blood equipment.

I stared at Fawkes—both of them. "What do I do? I can't just destroy them; if he found the smashed pieces and everything else gone, he'd know someone was here who knew about these—there's not that many people around who know what these things are."

Both birds lit themselves on fire. I stumbled back away from the flames. Ten years of being bonded to a phoenix, and I still forgot I was fireproof.

"All right! I'll leave it to you two when I'm done."

The birds, apparently done with their talk about manipulative bearded wizards, flew up to the higher parts of the office, where Dumbledore lived. What havoc they were planning on causing, I didn't know.

The first thing I did was to cancel all charms on the desk. Aside from the tracking devices, there was only one: a sturdy sticking charm on the bottom drawer. I emptied all the books, papers, parchments, and odds and ends in the rest of the desk, and yanked open the drawer. I'm not sure what I was expecting: maybe ancient books or scrolls full of hidden knowledge? A diary full of his evil plans? Details of Harry's situation with the Dursleys, or notes about my summoning?

Why Dumbledore felt the need to secure his lemon drops so, I wasn't sure. I took them anyway, just to spite him.

I moved on from his desk, figuring I'd go over everything later when I wasn't on a time limit. I hit the bookshelves next, removing everything. I paused before going on, and, after thinking it over, shrunk and stuffed the bookshelves into my pockets too.

They were very nice bookshelves.

The little caches of strange things he had hidden all over all the place were the next to go. That is, the things hidden in the caches, not the caches themselves. I wasn't about to try to fit every nook and cranny in Hogwarts in my pockets. Things like his pensieve, however, I definitely nicked. That was important. Of course, I would have to give it back to the next headmaster, as it technically belonged to Hogwarts.

The Fawkes' were waiting for me. They were impatiently perched on the edge of Dumbledore's rather lumpy bed, staring at me and ruffling their feathers.

"Crrrirk?" asked the one on the right. I think it was mine, but I wasn't entirely certain.

"What?" I asked. "Something important?"

They tilted their heads in unison and chirped again. It was a tad bit eerie, even after dealing with (and being) a twin(s) for so long.

Fawkes (right) chirped a third time, hopped off the bed, and flew over to a large, violently painted tapestry which looked like someone had thrown up on it. Repeatedly. He prodded it once, spat some flame on it, and waited until the fire had died down, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

There was a hidden archway. And, presumably, a hidden room behind the hidden archway. That was usually the way of things.

Fawkes (right) hopped through the archway. It glowed gold, and then faded. So the room was warded, was it? It must have some impressive goodies in there if Dumbledore warded it. He didn't expect people to have another phoenix, and the only other way to enter his office was by passing the gargoyle or climbing through the window. Actually…I now had a way to get in here whenever I needed to and Fawkes was busy.

"The window!" I said jubilantly, earning strange looks from the feathered counterparts. "Sorry. Don't mind me. Any idea what's in here?"

Both birds shook their heads.

Interesting.

I strolled toward the room, and cautiously took a step through the archway. The room had obviously not been used in a long time; everything was dusty, and the place stank of mildew. There was one fresh set of footprints, but they led back out of the room and matched Dumbledore's heeled boots.

"No…bloody…way…" I muttered. The things in here— "Fawkes? Am I seeing things?"

A phoenix perched on each shoulder. Both chirped.

An old mirror on a tall, elegantly carved frame stood in the corner of the room with the words Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi set deep in the top. Opposite that was a simple wood box with a glass top, housing a blood red, glittering stone. The Sword of Gryffindor (blimey, it looked strange sitting here gathering dust instead of strapped to Neville's back) was hanging on a wall.

"This is…" I couldn't find words. "I thought the Flamels gave up the stone. I should've known better.

Both birds leaned forward and simultaneously crooned right in my ear (and the hole in my head). Normally it would have sounded reassuring, but right then I would have swatted the pair of them if I hadn't been so shocked. Fawkes likes to be loud.

One of the Fawkes (left) stiffened. He pecked me on the top of my head—hard.

"Ow!" I yelped, waving my arms to no avail. I had been trying to dislodge them, but the phoenixes were surprisingly heavy, and they clearly weren't going anywhere.

The other Fawkes (my Fawkes) also stiffened. He sent me a picture of Dumbledore chatting to the Gargoyle—

"F*ck!" I cried, racing around frantically, shrinking and shoving the priceless artifacts into my pockets in a way which would have given every person in the world heart attacks if they saw how I was treating these things. The stone wasn't a problem, and—surprisingly—the sword wasn't either. Shrinking the mirror took a few tries, but I managed it.

A minute later and I was back in Dumbledore's living quarters. I used my wand, checked the books for charms, and summoned them off the shelves. Then, for the heck of it, and because Fawkes was going to destroy it all anyway, I summoned everything else from his quarters—and office. I had thought I had everything from his office, but figured it was better safe than sorry—and right I was.

I wasn't surprised by all the knickknacks Dumbles had hidden around his place, but I was surprised when dozens of loudly griping portraits zoomed into my pockets.

Fawkes (mine) gave me an irritated glance; although how I had managed to forget the constantly complaining headmasters and headmistresses was beyond even me.

The rooms were bare. It was me, the two birds, and a pair of footsteps slowly coming up the stairs below.

My second-to-last last thought before the birds flamed me out was that I really hoped they knew where they were going. I didn't need to get splinched because of faulty phoenixes.

My last thought was how beautiful Dumbles' office was when everything simultaneously burst into flames. I almost wanted to cry.

~!~

Fortunately for me, the phoenixes did seem to know where they were going. The Fawkes' dropped me off at my house, right in the library.

I looked around the room. For a charmed hall closet, it was coming along nicely—Dibbley was obviously working very hard. It was huge, about thirty square feet, and every inch of the walls was lined with tall shelves, most of which were already full with books or scrolls. There were three more rows of bookcases lined across the middle of the room, front to back, which were also mostly filled up. Good Merlin. Did I really have that many books?

Well. Now I had a whole lot more.

The birds hopped off my shoulders and flew up to perch on the shelves.

"Are you leaving?" I asked the one I was pretty certain wasn't mine. "You'll have to ask your counterpart, but I don't mind you sticking around."

The phoenixes looked at each other.

"Crkkk," Fawkes (mine) cooed.

The other one responded, "Crrrk?"

They both looked back at me.

"I suppose you could do whatever you want and stop by when you feel like it." It would be useful having two phoenixes around—useful, but annoying. One Fawkes was enough of a handful.

The bird (not mine) perked up, gave a cheery whistle, and flamed away.

"And that's that," I said to the remaining Fawkes.

He tilted his head, and looked at me patronizingly. I groaned, and started taking the things out of my pockets.

Most of the books appeared to be about Alchemy, which was good. I didn't know much about Alchemy. I haphazardly plopped the bookshelves any place I could fit them, and with a flick of my wand, the books and scrolls zoomed onto them in no particular order. I sent the portraits, knickknacks, pensieve, artifacts, and other things into my workroom.

I was about to go sort those things when a very irate elf popped in. Apparently, Dobby had neglected to tell me Dibbley had a temper. Which was probably why he'd been freed.

"Master George leave bookroom sortings to Dibbley!" The elf stomped his spindly foot. "Dibbley spend all night on prettying bookroom—now you's cluttering it ups!"

I put my hands up, hoping to placate the elf. "Sorry, Dibbley! I'm not normally that organized a person, I didn't think about it. Sorry."

"Master George should let Dibbley know before he get more books!"

I sheepishly scratched my head. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing. It looks like you did a very nice job, though."

He stared at me through narrowed eyes.

"And since you did such a nice job," I went on. "Maybe you could tell me how you had things sorted? And, maybe, sort these things too?"

"Dibbley sort by subject, then writer."

He'd sorted by subject? That was actually rather clever. It should be far easier to find things when I needed them, that's for sure. Looking back, I probably should have done that to my things ages ago.

"That's brilliant, Dibbley. Can you…?"

He relented, albeit slowly. "'Tis Dibbley's job to sort and clean bookroom. But Dibbley not finish storeroom yet."

Sweet Merlin. He'd already moved to the storeroom? Elves were speedy little things. "You can finish it later. If you come across any books with curses, don't touch them. I don't think there are any, but better safe than sorry."

The elf nodded. I Apparated to my workroom to sort out the—

"Wow," I said.

All the stuff I had materialized there was scattered everywhere. Otherwise, the room was even more organized than the library. Dibbley had set all my measuring tools and cheat-sheets out on the counters in organized piles, and cleaned my cauldrons. He'd watered the plants (which looked a good deal healthier for it), set the cages up for little animals, and enlarged the windows for better natural lighting.

"The cages can't have shaved bedding in them," I muttered to myself. Well, I only planned on using the Prophet for laughs, so I could tell Dibbley to use that for the Pygmy Puffs.

I assumed Dibbley would figure out a way to sort the loot from Dumbles, so I didn't touch it. The only thing I did do was conjure a sheet and use a sticking charm to adhere it to the Mirror. I had never looked into the mirror myself, but I knew exactly what I'd see, and I didn't need to be distracted now.

Especially not by that.

The silver blood ward thingies (even I wasn't really sure what they were—normally I'd ask Bill, but I seriously doubted this one had studied dark magic yet) were still beeping and whirling and doing whatever silver blood ward thingies do. I threw them on the ground and stomped on them, grinning wider at every crunch.

With that taken care of, I went to get the twins.

~!~

Tom poured more firewhiskey into my empty cup. I downed it, and he absentmindedly filled it again.

Bill watched me with a cautious, worried look. "George. You alright? That's your thrid shot."

"Yeah, I know."

"Are you alright?"

I checked to make sure the privacy ward was still up. "No. No, I'm not—I just got dragged to another world where everyone I hate is still alive, Fred's not dead but he's not my twin either, Mum's a total fireball, and I'm supposed to fix everything. I miss my kids, I want to go home, I really wish you were about fifteen years older, and I wish my alcohol tolerance was way lower."

"George, Weasleys can't hold their alcohol. You—"

"Long time tolerance build up, Bill."

He was quiet for a moment as that sunk in.

I coughed out a shaky laugh. My cheeks were damp. Unfortunately, I still wasn't drunk yet. "Merlin's frilly pink panties, that makes me sound like a right old drunkard. I'm not, by the way. It's just—every time it hurt, every time someone died, someone else broke out the firewhiskey. Drink a shot or five pretty much every day, you get used to it."

He looked at me. His eyes were half-lidded, which meant he was thinking hard. "Tell me about them."

Tom filled my glass again.

"About who?"

"Your kids. You said you had two."

"I already talked about them."

"You told the twins. I want to hear it."

I sighed and set down my cup. "Freddie's eight years old. He's going to be nine soon, in my time—March 10th's his birthday. He looks a lot like Fre—d." I hiccupped. There was a tiny buzz in the back of my brain. Sweet, sweet Merlin's baggy pants, why was the alcohol not working yet? "Roxanne just turned seven three months ago. She looks like—forget it."

"No, I want to know. Unless it hurts?"

I shook my head. My eyesight was blurry now, but that was from restrained tears, not drunkenness. Thankfully the only people there were me, Bill, and a half-awake Tom, who for once was more focused on not falling over than eavesdropping.

"Nah. Just—don't tell anyone, ok?"

Bill nodded.

"Right. Well, Angelina Johnson—she was in my year, played on the team with us-chaser. Fred dated her for a bit—not serious, though. The whole Quidditch team was kind of—" I stopped talking. My face burned, and Bill grinned.

"Quality team time, huh?"

"Er…let's just say the girls were enthusiastic if we won, and leave it at that. Anyway, after Fred…you know…she and I kind of started it up. Not sure why, I think everyone just expected us to and we caved to the pressure. One thing led to another, and Freddie shows up, then Roxie. Three years ago I realize we're happiest when I'm working all day and Angelina's away with the Harpies, so we talked. She agreed with me, but she got really sick, so we went to St. Mungo's. Turned out someone had placed an obsession charm on her keyed to me and him."

Bill closed his eyes. "Sweet Merlin. Really?"

"Yep. Anyway, we're still friends, but we don't have time to talk much. We swap the kids every week, unless one of us is too busy."

"Did you ever find out who cast it? And why?"

I nodded and stared glumly at my cup. I pulled out my wand and jabbed at the wards. They fell with a few sparks. "Tom, can we have a room?"

The bartender jerked away from where he'd been sleeping against the counter. "Huh? Wha? Oh, yeah. Sure. Jus'…go pick one."

Bill led me upstairs. I swore I was fine, but he refused to let go of me anyway until we were in a room.

"George, drunk or not, you're a mess. You're crying, you're shaking, and I don't think you slept last night."

I shook my head and fell back on the lumpy bed. "Nuh-uh. Too busy. I had the twins warding the rest of the house—the windows and stuff. They got a few rooms done before I kicked 'em to bed. I spent the rest of the night working on work stuff."

I hadn't gotten a chance to talk to the Hat yet, unfortunately, but the night had still been lucrative.

"Work stuff?" he asked. "For the shop?"

"Yeah. Wanna reopen it, have the twins keep it up. 'Sides…"

"It's the shop." He sat down next me. "So. My niece and nephew. Come on, tell me more."

I groaned. "Bill—"

"No," he said. "George, I know you're probably a lot more experienced with grieving than I am, but I know you, and I know right now you need someone to trust, and I know you need to talk. Say whatever you want. I'm not telling anyone."

This was why Bill and I had stayed in touch. Even now, when I was nine years older than him, he was still the big brother. The most responsible Weasley, the one everyone went to when they needed…

"I don't need to talk."

"That's a load of dragon dung and you know it."

I pulled myself into a sitting position using the rickety headboard. I got a handful of splinters for my efforts. "You're a bastard, you know that?"

"Oi! I'm legitimate!"

I snorted. "Barely. Three months after the wedding doesn't cut it, mate."

"Quit distracting me."

"Fine. Freddie…Freddie's clever. I mean, really, really clever. He's not as outgoing as we were, but he loves taking things apart and putting them back together in brilliant ways—to cause trouble, of course." My eyes crossed as I pictured my son. "He's—that's what he is, Bill. Just brilliant."

"Mmm. You're not going sappy at all, are you?"

I punched him. "Shut it. You're the idiot who asked."

"True. What about the other one? Roxanne?"

"Oh sweet Merlin," I said. "She's a troublemaker. Gets into everything she shouldn't. Talks back a lot more than Freddie, too—but she's not mean about it. It's actually really funny when she's not being frustrating."

Bill didn't say anything for a minute. "Did I—?"

"I'm not telling you whether or not you had any kids."

He sighed. "Fine."

There was a pause.

"So…you promised to explain some things. I hope they don't include more firewhiskey and grownup talks."

I snorted. "The first, probably. The second, no. Tell me, Bill—what do you think of Dumbledore?"

He frowned. "Eh…I think he could have done a lot more for the war effort. I think there's a lot of things he should have done anyway. Sirius, for instance. He was Chief Warlock for years, and Sirius never had a trial. I don't get that. And Mum. She's always talking about how wonderful he is—I get worried sometimes. She never thinks when it comes to him—says he's got to be right all the time."

"So it's no surprise to you that he's planning to get back on top of the world and continue ruling it like he has been?"

"…Not really."

"Right. First of all, I need you to quietly get someone from the DMLE looking into Harry's home situation. Tonks and Moody should be able to help you with that—just tell them you think the Dursleys are abusing him and that, theoretically, the blood wards are useless since Riddle used Harry's blood to resurrect himself."

Bill's eyebrows shot up. "The blood wards? I told Dumbledore they were never a good idea. But—if You—Riddle…can walk right through them, why hasn't he?"

I shrugged. "Might not know. Anyway, it gets worse."

His eyebrows furrowed.

"There are no blood wards. He only had watch wards—of a sort—on him."

"He what?! The blood wards were bad enough—but watch wards?"

"Yeah. So he knew exactly what Harry's been going through at the Dursleys. Did you know when we got him fourth year, there were bars on his window?"

Bill growled, which brought back rather unpleasant memories of sitting at his bedside after his face had been ripped up.

"There were half a dozen locks on his door—keeping him in—and a cat flap for food to be passed through."

"I'll get Tonks and Moody in on this no problem."

"Try Kingsley, too. Just make them swear not to tell Dumbles. Did you know that for his first ten years there, he lived in a cupboard under the stairs?"

Bill tensed. He slowly exhaled, and his shoulders relaxed marginally. "I don't think I'm really surprised. Always knew something was wrong with that kid—I mean at home. And Dumbledore's interest in him—prophecy or not, it's not right. It's almost sick. Harry's just a kid, he—"

"The prophecy!" I stared at Bill. "The—I knew I forgot something. That's in the Department of Mysteries, right?"

Bill narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

I smiled winningly. "Because no one has to guard or attack a prophecy that's not there."

He stared at me. "…What?"

"Nothing."

Bill spluttered. "But—you're joking. You can't break into the Ministry! Especially not that department!"

"Already did. Ah, I…" I grimaced. "I didn't mean to say that."

"You—you—you're impossible."

"No, I'm mad."

He collapsed forward, and his head smacked loudly into his waiting palms. "Yes. Yes, you are. Ok, so you already broke into the Ministry. I don't want to know why."

I grinned sheepishly. I hadn't meant to let that little tidbit slip, but I suppose it could be used to see whether or not Bill would tattle.

He groaned into his hands. "You broke into the Ministry."

"That reminds me. I should say hi to Percy."

"You sure about that? He really doesn't want to see any of us right now."

I remembered Percy's betrayal well enough—one of the last things Fred had done was welcome Perce back to the family. My twin had stayed with Percy the rest of the night—stuck to his side like a determined piece of spell-o-tape until the explosion.

"Doesn't matter," Bill said. "I'm not telling you what to do. You probably won't listen anyway. Just—I want to know what you're doing with the twins."

I shrugged. "Like I said, I had them warding the house last night. Small things, like window sills and door frames. Simple runes. It's good practice, and I didn't tell them how it actually works, so I'm interested to see how much actual work gets done 'til they raid my library to find the runes."

Bill snorted. "You want my help?"

"I want you to get moving on the Triple-Wards."

"Alright, fine. I can go through the goblins—"

I didn't trust the goblins. It was hard to get a solid deal from them, and I'd never bothered trying before. Bill might be able to, since he was used to them, but I'd be staying far away.

"—or I can try to find an independent dealer."

"Or," I said. "You and your team could become independent dealers."

He stilled as he thought about it. "You actually think one ward system would summon enough income to make it worthwhile for half a dozen curse breakers?"

"Sure. We did pretty well last time. And I could slip to Skeeter about it; that would help."

"Yeah…about that—are you sure she won't do anything to you? I mean, I know she's been keeping low regarding Harry or Dumbledore, but…"

I flicked my wand to brighten the lights. "We have an…arrangement."

He didn't look reassured. "Right. So, you want me to convince the team to sell the wards."

"Yep."

"Right. I can to talk to them about it. Now, you said something about the prophecy?"

I kept my face steady. "I thought you didn't want to know?"

He growled. "Goddamn it, George! Stop being so bloody difficult! Sweet Merlin, mate, when was the last time you actually got to sleep?"

"I told you, night before last. Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"Fine, then. You're going to run yourself into the ground, you know."

I'd heard this from him before, but I couldn't help it. Either I slept, or I didn't. I tended to forget if I was busy, but most nights were fairly restless for me anyway, between the nightmares and the never-ending remembrance of the war.

He sighed. "Fine. What about the prophecy?"

"Dumbledore knows it, Snape and Riddle know some of it, and I know what it means."

I waited for him to absorb that.

"But…" he frowned and shook his head. "Snape? I don't—none of that makes sense."

"Of course it doesn't make sense," I said. "It's a prophecy."

He shook his head again. "George, there are two prophecies."

My world stuttered to halt.

Two. Two prophecies. How on Earth could there be—? Two? What by sweet Merlin's holy knickers…two prophecies? No. Just…no. I couldn't handle…

"What's the second one about?" My throat felt like someone had just poured the drought of living death down it.

Bill shrugged. "No one knows. It showed up in the Ministry, but the closest anyone got to hearing it was McGonagall when she walked in on Trelawney giving the tail end of it."

I swore loudly enough to wake the magic mirror on the wall. "That's not good. Any idea what it says, or who's it for? Any idea at all?"

"Nope. No one ever found it in the Ministry—at least, none of us-and they won't share it. We heard it was there, because there was a big to-do about it. No one was paying attention; they almost lost it."

A prophecy…I could try asking Croaker about it. He was head of the department—he should know a thing or two.

"Ok," I said. "So there's a second prophecy. We don't know that it's necessarily important to us, or if it'll even take place within a thousand years. So…moving on. The one concerning Harry; do you know what it says?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Only Dumbledore knows. And apparently Snape."

"Snape only knows part of it. You don't need to worry about that; I'll be changing the future up pretty quickly, so if I can help it, there won't even be a war. And in that case…" I rubbed my hands together, and gave him a crazy grin. "Wanna see the twins?"

He snorted. "Right. Before we do…listen, George, I barely know you. And you're, what, fifteen years from the future? And from another world. I want to see how you work, and I want to know what your plans are. I don't need details, and I won't tell anyone, but I want to make sure the twins won't get hur—in any trouble."

"I won't hurt them!" What kind of self-harming, suicidal idiot did he take me for? It had been years—never mind.

"I know that, idiot." Bill rolled his eyes. "That wasn't what I meant. But if you're involved in something dangerous—which you are—you know just as well as I do the twins will jump in headfirst. Or you should. It has been a while since you were seventeen."

I grimaced. "It hasn't been that long."

He raised an eyebrow.

"…Fine. Shall we go?"

~!~

I hadn't exactly been preparing for any visitors, so the house wasn't…well, it was exactly the same as it had been when I left. Which is probably what it would've looked like if I had been expecting to bring Bill over…

Not that it mattered.

"Oi! Wake up!" I banged my fist on the twins' door. "We got company!"

"Nice place," Bill said, eyebrows raised as he took in the hallway. "Are those space extension runes?"

"Yep. For the library and storeroom. And possibly other things as well—I kind of let Dibbley decorate how he wanted."

"Dibbley? You have an elf?"

"Six, actually." I banged on the door again. "If you're not downstairs in five minutes, I'm coming in and hexing you two!"

There was a loud thump.

"Take off your cauldron," someone muttered. "We're up."

"Come on," I said to Bill. "We'll wait downstairs."

"So…how are you planning to handle Hogwarts with Dumbledore there?" Bill asked as we made our way down.

The second stair from the bottom gave a loud squeak as I stepped on it. "Planning on warding my rooms like crazy. I doubt the twins will want to leave Gryffindor Tower, but if he tries anything tricky they're not getting a choice. Otherwise…well, I'm not really letting them out of my sight."

Bill laughed. "They're going to be thrilled."

"They're going to deal with it until I know they can handle themselves."

"Right." He paused, looking unsure. "George…except for being slightly drunk at seven in the morning, you seem a lot better than yesterday."

Did I? That was good. "Really?"

"Yeah…you told me you were about to have a…breakdown…" He scratched the back of his head. "Could you expand on exactly what that means? It doesn't sound good."

Right. I'd forgotten just how bad yesterday had been. Could I tell Bill, explain to him exactly what my life had been like the past twelve years? More importantly, could I do it without worrying him too much or causing another episode?

I sighed, and sat down heavily in a chair. "Bill, after Fred…you know…died, everything went back to normal."

He blinked. "Normal? But—"

"Yeah, that was the problem. Everyone was trying to make it seem normal. Ron used to stop by at least twice a week to tell me 'straighten out and get back to normal so Mum wouldn't worry'. The problem was, my normal was dead."

My voice was hollow. My throat burned.

"I never cried for Fred, Bill, not really. I couldn't. It was…it was like a never-ending nightmare, like he was just around the corner but I could never find him. Losing him—losing the person I'd been with since before I was literally born—Bill, it was-it was horrible."

My hands were clammy, and I could barely see. I felt a calloused hand rest on my shoulder and gently squeeze. I needed to stop talking—my dignity couldn't take it, my paranoia couldn't take it, every instinct I'd gained during the war was telling me to just shut up, but I couldn't.

This was Bill. I'd talked to Bill before—told him exactly this, so many times before—but this Bill had only met me a few days ago. Yet I'd already taken the leap. I'd taken him to my house, I'd told him what had happened, and now I was telling him literally everything. I was treating him like I had my brother—like I trusted him.

Did I trust him?

"I didn't—I couldn't—Mum and Dad had lost almost everything. It was me who stayed and helped them, when everyone else went back to their own lives, it was me who stayed. I didn't grieve, because I was too busy cooking and cleaning and lending a shoulder or an ear—I never stopped. It wasn't just Mum and Dad, either—Percy hasn't looked me in the face for twelve years, but I visited him every day until he met Au—his wife. When Angelina was gone for weeks at a time 'cause of practice, it was me who watched the kids. I—"

My voice broke. "I didn't give myself time. So…it tended to build up. Still does. And then it just—explodes. Or wears off—both have happened."

There was no noise from either of us for a horribly long moment. The sitting room seemed too large and empty, and I found myself missing the flat.

"So that's it?" he asked.

I inhaled. The faint aroma of toast and bacon was slowly saturating the room, and a small trail of smoke leaked from the kitchen. "I…yeah. I guess. Everyone tried to give me time—Dad insisted. But…I dunno…it didn't work. Being alone, not doing anything…"

"Right," he said. "Well, I highly doubt that's going to happen now. You're watching the twins, after all." He paused. "Merlin, George, they've just got to make it worse. How do you…?"

I shrugged. "Same way I can look in the mirror." That was a lie. I could only occasionally look in the mirror. "I know they're not him. It's been too long, anyway—we'd changed so much by the time we were twenty that they're literally different people."

Bill was quiet a moment longer. "Can I—how'd he—?"

"Die?" A large lump was stuck in my throat, and I bitterly wished I had more firewhiskey. Or something interesting to do, like rob Dumbledore again.

Where was Fawkes, anyway?

I tried to swallow the lump, and severely regretted it. "He—died in an explosion."

A warm breeze drifted about the room, ruffling our hair as if comforting us. Bill didn't move, and neither did I.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. His voice was hollow and hoarse. "Merlin, George, I'm so…so sorry. Has it always…?"

"Ever since," I whispered back.

We jumped suddenly at the sound of thumps coming down the stairs. The twins pounded down the steps, looking absolutely exhausted; Junior was wearing his shirt inside out, and Fred had a pillow crease on his cheek.

"Morning," I said, not bothering to sound cheerful.

"Morning to you, too," Fred said. "So, are we going to Harry's funeral after all?"

I blinked, and looked at Bill. "Wha…?"

Bill tossed me his sobering potion. "Harry's trial."

It took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about. Harry hadn't had to worry about Ministry trials since the war. "Oh yeah…what was it again? Dementors?"

Bill nodded as the twins made their way to the table. Plates of steaming food appeared before us all, even Bill.

"Yep. Dumbledore—" Here everyone looked at me expectantly. "—is going to be his defense."

"That ought to go over well," I mumbled. I knew Harry had come away from this one relatively unscathed, so I wasn't too worried about Dumbledore, but I was positive there was something about this trial I should have remembered…then again, it's not like I routinely hung out at the Wizengamot during my teenage years to watch the trials of famous heroes. All the same…

I nibbled my toast thoughtfully.

"You aren't going to do anything?" Junior wanted to know.

"Nope."

"But it's Dumbledore!"

"Yeah, and Dumbledore wants to keep Harry in Hogwarts, so he's going to make sure this trial goes his way."

The twins looked confused (and even more tired), but Bill nodded in understanding.

"'Tis a shame, though," he said. "I mean, it'd be interesting to see how he'd handle it being sabotaged. I'd give the matter more thought, but I don't want to risk Harry getting expelled."

I nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Just imagine, if we could change the time or something without him knowing it, then he'd show up late. The Wizengamot would probably continue right along without—"

Uh-oh.

I dropped my toast (which landed in my coffee), and pushed my way off my chair. I gulped down the sobering potion (not that I needed it. Just in case) and started running upstairs. "Bill! Gotta go! Watch the twins for me?"

I didn't stick around for his answer. Instead, I raced headfirst into the bathroom, stripped as fast as I could, and plunged into the shower. It was ice cold, which meant I'd need to either research plumbing or hire a professional. The only thing I knew about plumbing was how to rig a toilet with explosives.

I washed as quickly as I could and hopped out after a record time of two minutes. My skin was blue, but I somehow managed to get dressed and brush my teeth and hair enough so that I looked halfway presentable.

Making my way towards my room, I called, "Dobby!"

The elf popped next to me. "Yes, Master Wheezy George?"

Oh, not again. "Dobby, it's not—oh, never mind. Do you know what I should wear to a Wizengamot trial?"

Dobby nodded vigorously. "Yes Master Wheezy George! Dobby knows."

I marched into the bedroom and started shifting through the wardrobe. "Do I have anything that could work?"

Dobby peered into the closet, winced, and shook his head. "Nope, sir. Dobby can get some."

"How quickly?"

"When does Master Wheezy George need his robes?"

"Today?"

Dobby grimaced. "No. Dobby cannot get any robes. Dobby a bad elf!"

He looked ready to grab a lamp and start whacking himself, so I quickly grabbed his shoulder instead. "No, Dobby! Listen, um—Bill—my brother—is here. Help him keep an eye on the twins, all right? And…and if Sippy argues, then just help Bill."

Dobby nodded again, and popped off. I spun on my heel and Apparated downstairs.

The twins were in the middle of a discussion with Bill, but the moment I appeared, they all jumped up.

"Something's happening at the trial?" Bill guessed.

"Yeah," I said, glancing at my watches. I had a half hour to get Harry and go. "I'm heading to Grimmauld—you two listen to Bill. He can help you with the rest of the runes."

All three of them immediately started protesting.

"Fine!" I said. "Fine, you can go to Grimmauld, but I'm not helping with Mum. I've got to go!"

I fished my soggy piece of toast out of my cup and Apparated out.

~!~

Grimmauld Place was cold, dark, and seemingly empty. It was times like this I really wished I had something like Moody's eye so I didn't have to search the house.

"Sirius!" I called. "Sirius, you here?"

There was a thump, a crack, and Sirius appeared on the stairs. He gave a mighty yawn.

"George? What is it?"

"Do you have any robes I could wear to a Wizengamot trial?"

He frowned. "Yeah. My brother had a ton, and no one's touched his room yet. Why?"

I bolted up the stairs. "No time! Tell you later."

Regulus Black's room was near Sirius' on the third floor, down the hall and around a few corners from where the twins (and me) had stayed. I bumped into Harry on my way up.

"Harrykins!" I said. "Brilliant timing. Come with me."

I dragged the complaining kid into the room, which was probably the cleanest room in the house, thanks to Kreacher's creepy devotion to the guy. The wardrobe was against the far wall, and (thankfully) its doors weren't glued shut, as I had feared.

"What are you doing?" Harry hissed. "I've got the trial today!"

"I know," I said, digging through the piles of robes and trying to find some which would fit both of us. "They changed the time; they're trying to throw you and Dumbledore off. It's at eight. Luckily, I'm prepared, so we have lots of time and nothing to worry about."

Harry looked slightly more panicked, not really relieved, and not at all convinced. "Really?"

"No, but I know exactly what to do, so don't worry."

"I'm going to get expelled!" he said, cheeks and ears turning a brilliant shade of magenta.

"No, you're not," I muttered. "Just do exactly what I say—say yes when I nod my head at you, and no when I shake it—got it? Ah-ha!" I pulled out two sets of robes. "Here, put this on."

He did so without complaint, slipping the slightly too-large garment over his clothes. He would've looked better if it wasn't black, but I didn't think he'd want to show up in bright plum. "Why?"

My robes were practically identical to his, just slightly longer. It was surprising Harry hadn't asked who these belonged to…but he was used to wearing the Dursleys' hand-me-downs. Wearing a dead man's robes mustn't be that different. "I'm your defense, and I plan to lie my arse off. If I defame Dumbledore, he knows about it, so don't worry."

Might as well start lying my arse off now.

The teen looked horrified. "But—"

"Ah-ah, Harry," I said, buttoning the last button and wagging a finger at him. "Fudge is going to go hard on you. Just do as I say, all right?"

He frowned. "All right?"

"Brilliant. Don't throw up." I grabbed his arm and Apparated downstairs.

He collapsed in a rather inelegant pile atop the table. "Wha—what was that?"

"Ah, Harry, your first Apparation!" Sirius said, beaming. "I was hoping that would be me, but I suppose a Weasley twin will do just as well."

I inhaled the rest of my toast (which tasted a bit funny after a dump in a coffee cup, two Apparation attempts, and three minutes in a wardrobe). "We've got five minutes. Eat breakfast and go brush your teeth."

Harry gave me a creeped-out look, and warily picked up a piece of toast just as Mum spun into the room.

"Oh! Harry! George!"

"Morning Mum," I said. "They changed the time, we've got twenty minutes 'til it starts."

Her hands flew to her face. "What? No! But Dumbledore—"

"Assigned me to defense instead," I said, my face straight as ever. "He can't make it that early, and I've won defense before."

She blinked, the floating tray of eggs and bacon forgotten. "What? You've gone up against Amelia Bones before?"

I summoned a piece of bacon, tapped it with my wand, and inhaled it. The continuous smell of food was making me hungry. "Nope. She died before I left school, but I've gone up the Wizengamot before. Ki—the Minister at the time needed my help to verify a few things." True, that, but everyone had agreed with Kingsley even before he brought me and Harry out. Umbridge had paid with much more than a few lines that day.

Mum gaped. "The Wizengamot? But Harry just has a small trial."

Harry, Sirius, and Dad (who'd just come into the room) all stared at me.

"Like I said, they changed the time. It also happens to be in front of the entire Wizengamot. Fudge wants Harry expelled—and so does Lucius Malfoy."

"But Dumbledore—" Dad began.

"Put me as defense!" I said, growing readily tired of the questioning. Merlin knew I'd have enough later when Dumbledore showed me as a liar. "Harry, that's enough. Go brush your teeth."

The kid dropped his toast and ran upstairs, face white and eyes wide. I prayed he would keep a cool head and listen to me.

Sirius cocked his head. I couldn't read his expression. "Will the twins be stopping by?"

Mum's eyes grew beady, and I bit back a groan.

"Yeah, 'course. Bill's with them. They're eating breakfast now, they'll be by later."

Mum's glare intensified, and she opened her mouth.

"Ah, gotta go! See you later!" I turned and bolted for the stairs.

Harry was spitting into the sink when I raced into the bathroom. He ignored me as I slammed the door shut and clicked the lock. He didn't look up until he was done.

"Geo—er…Mr. Weasley, what's the Wizengamot?"

Right. Harry didn't know squat about the magical government; just great. I inhaled deeply, and tried to take comfort in the fact that he had survived this once before, and with Dumbledore on his case.

"It's a judicial branch of wizarding government. Dumbledore was Chief Warlock—head of it—until about a week ago. Now it's pending. Anyway, Harry; Amelia Bones is the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She's stern but fair, and you can bet your britches she's as upset about the trial change as we are. The important thing to remember is to keep your temper in check. I know this summer's been hard—tell me about it—but we can't have you expelled."

Harry's face was still white, and I think that's the only reason he didn't start yelling then and there. Which brought to mind; where were Ron and Hermione? You'd think his best friends would do their damn best to wake up on the day the boy-who-lived might well be expelled.

"So what do I do?" he asked. "Just tell them what happened?"

"Answer yes or no to questions. Fudge is probably going to be giving them so fast you won't have time to speak, and I'll be the one trying to slow him down. Now, Harry, this is the part you won't like."

This was also the part where I'd be as manipulative as a snake. Not like Dumbledore, however, because I was completely prepared to explain things to the kid afterwards and not treat him like a delicate five year old.

"What part?"

I took another deep breath, and turned to face him head on. Merlin, he was scrawny. He barely came to my chin, and I, being several inches shorter then Ron, was around average height and had nothing to boast about. "Dumbledore came up with a plan, but it's tricky. You and I are going to lie our arses off, and we have to make it convincing, all right?"

He blinked.

"Our story is that you were in so much shock from seeing Cedric be killed that you have no clear idea what happened, and you think you may have passed out or been affected by some sort of poison. Dumbledore saw what happened, found the Death Eater, and jumped to conclusions. He spirited you away to your relatives as quickly as he could, where you had no contact with the outer world for the rest of the summer."

Harry frowned. "The last part's true, but we have to tell them about Volde—"

"Riddle," I corrected. "And no, we don't."

He opened his mouth.

"Harry, shut it and listen to me. Dumbledore told everyone, and they chose not to believe him. There's nothing more we can do unless Riddle himself makes it known, and I plan to kill him before he does that, so you have NOTHING to worry about."

A bit of color appeared in the kid's cheeks. I hoped it was from relief, and not anger.

"Because of this, Dumbledore cooked up another plan, but we need you to defame him in front of everyone, because Riddle needs to think everyone—you included—believes you hallucinated or something and Dumbledore's a crackpot old fool." Which he was. Well, an old crackpot. Dumbles was rarely a fool. "All right?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed, making him look like a silenced Fwooper. "What? But…what about Dumbledore?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. He didn't say. I do promise you one thing, though."

That caught his attention. "What?"

"If we make it through this, I'll tell you everything I know about what's going on. Probably at Hogwarts, since we don't have much time left here."

He lit up like a Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Really really. I'll even get Bill in on it—he thinks you ought to know."

"But Dumbledore—"

I had forgotten just how devoted to the White Bee the kid was. Dumbledore's man through and through, it had been said. I really had my work cut out for me.

"—Doesn't need to know what won't hurt him." I winked, and he gave me a small grin. The kid was the son of Prongs and Lily Evans, after all; he liked knowing things, and he wouldn't tell anyone that he did know if they'd try to punish him for it.

"Cool," Harry said. "But…the trial?"

I glanced at my watches. It was ten of eight. "Yep, let's go."

I offered him my arm like I would a lady, which made him grimace at me, but he took it. Off we popped.

~!~

I Apparated us to security desks. The guard there was half awake, and he had a large blue stain on his lime green robes.

"George Weasley and Harry Potter," I said. "Here for a disciplinary hearing."

"Mmhmm," he muttered, fishing around under the desk. He pulled out two badges, and handed them to us. "Wands."

I gave him mine (not Fred's, because it was that one which had some…slightly illegal…spells on it), and Harry, imitating me, set his on the desk as well. The guard scanned them, produced the slip of paper, and returned our wands.

"I keep this, you get these back," he said, his voice sounding like something from the radio on a stormy day. He glanced at Harry. "Hold on a minute…"

"Moving on," I said, and gripped Harry's shoulders to direct him to the stairs. The lift would be packed this time of day, and would probably be moving slower than one of Hagrid's giant slugs.

~!~

"Do we have to take the stairs?" Harry complained as we descended the sixth level. "I think I saw a lift back there."

"You did," I said, brushing some cobwebs off my robes. "But unless you want to be gawked at by passerby heading to work, you'll be glad we took the stairs."

He sneezed, and a column of dust billowed up like a mushroom. "You sure about that?"

We reached the bottom of the seventh level, and I started strolling down the hall. He jogged to follow me, panting lightly. The large doors of Courtroom 10 were directly in front of us, and there were several people in plum colored robes standing nearby. Some I recognized, some I didn't, and several I did and wished I hadn't. I couldn't deal with any loose Death Eaters, but knowing they'd be participating in the trial just made my job at least ten times harder.

Upon seeing some faces (the said Death Eaters, though I doubted he recognized them as such), Harry hissed, and put a hand to his scar.

I slowed, and pulled him into a small alcove. "Give me a minute." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small potions bag. Three spots were empty, but I found a numbing salve and handed it to him. "Here, rub this on that. It'll feel weird, but it should numb it a bit."

I didn't know how much use it would be against a horcrux, but it would hopefully do something.

He accepted the salve gratefully, and rubbed it on. "Hey!" he cried. "That's ice cold!"

"Haven't you ever used a numbing salve before?"

He shook his head. "No. Hey, it feels better."

"Brilliant." I pulled him back out into the hall. More people were in front of the doors now. They seemed to be gathering around something—or someone.

"Honored people of the Wizengamot," Fudge was saying.

"Hello!" I cried cheerfully, as I strolled towards them all, ready to burst Fudge's happy little bubble.

Everyone froze, stopped muttering, and slowly turned to me and Harry. Percy, who was standing next to the Minister, turned purple, and refused to look at us. I'd talk to him later.

"George Weasley and Harry Potter," I said, coming to a halt in front of a plum colored Fudge (the green hat didn't match his face or his robes). "Although I'm sure you already knew that. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Minister. How are you this fine morning? Good, I hope."

Fudge's face was now a deeper purple than his robes. "Er—yes," he stammered. "A good morning it is indeed."

Ha. More like it had been a good morning, until Harry showed up on time and with me instead of Dumbledore.

"And where might Dumbledore be?" he asked, sure enough. He peered behind me, as if expecting Dumbles to jump out and start tap dancing. Could Dumbledore tap dance? "I thought he was to be Mr. Potter's defense?"

"Dumbledore has other things to worry about. Mr. Potter requested me. I do hope that is no problem, Minister."

Fudge swallowed. It looked painful, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

"Er—no, no, not at all, my dear boy. Say, have you met my Undersecretary?" He gestured, and—she came forward. "Dolores Umbridge."

Harry gagged behind me, and I tried not to snarl at the woman. I clenched my fists. My scars were still there, carved deep by the blood quill: I will not set people on fire. They seemed to hurt just from looking at her.

I forced a smile. "It was a long time ago, and not this world, I'm afraid. How do you do, Madame?"

She forced her lips up over her pointy teeth to form something akin to a smile crossed with a snarl. "Mr. Weasley. I do hope your stay here has been satisfactory?"

Ah… I had wondered whether or not someone would eventually make a dig at the fact that this was not, in fact, my world of origin. Naturally it would be her.

I inclined my head, still not letting go of Harry. "Quite fine, Madame. Now, if you would excuse us?"

I pushed my way past the staring, gaping, and glaring Wizengamot members, making sure to step on a few toes as I did so. (Travers and Wilkes gave distinctly girly squeals.) The doors were waiting for us, large and impossibly dark; I wondered who'd made them. I wanted a slightly smaller pair for the front door.

The doors silently swung open as we approached. Harry glanced at me once, and I gave him a small smile.

His trial would begin in less than five minutes. I wasn't the least bit prepared. If something went wrong, it would be on my head.

This was going to be fun.

AN: Wow, long chapter! Over 10,000 words! Any guesses as to what the second prophecy is? *evil grin. I already know.
Please review. It's make George upset if you don't, and we don't need that, now do we? :)