Maggie walked beside her brother across the empty lot saying nothing. They rarely needed words to know each others moods, and from Chris's expression, she could tell that he was on the alert, though for what she could not know. When he stopped, she did as well, though she glanced around the Muggle neighborhood, taking in the decrepit houses leaning on one another for support.

"Chris, are you sure-?"

"Shh," he hissed softly, and she swallowed her question as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. "Read this, but don't say anything."

Frowning, she took the slip from his hand. One sentence was written in a tiny scrawl across the middle:

'The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at number 12, Grimmauld Place.'

She glanced up, spying numbers 11 and 13, but no twelve. She was still searching the street when her brother's voice reached out softly.

"Concentrate on what you just read."

When she looked up at him, she found he was watching her, as though silently asking her once again if this was what she really wanted. She wrapped the slip of paper around her finger and concentrated on the words, letting them blaze in her mind. Then she looked up to find that number 12 was pressing up against the walls of the surrounding houses, making its presence known. Chris was already walking toward the front door.

She jogged to catch up with him, and made it through the door just behind him, though she banged her knee rather hard on the ugliest umbrella stand she had ever seen. She reached out to steady it before it could fall over before realizing it was a foot and drew quickly away.

"Maggie," Chris called softly, waving her through a door to the right. She followed him and found herself blinking in a brightly lit kitchen where three people were gathered around a scrubbed table. "Maggie, you remember Harry."

"Hi Maggie," Harry Potter said and stuck out a hand, which Maggie shook, realizing that though they had been at school at the same time and he and Chris worked together, this was first time she'd actually met the boy.

"Mr. Potter," she returned, earning an embarrassed smile.

"You can call me Harry."

"Okay, Harry."

"And Remus Lupin," Chris continued, motioning around the table.

"Professor?" She winced at the surprise in her own voice at finding not just her former professor, but a werewolf in the Order.

"Formerly, Miss Alden. I'm just Remus now." He smiled, though perhaps a little sadly. Pity, that. She had enjoyed his classes during the one year he had taught her at Hogwarts. "Nice to see you again."

"And of course, you know Hermione."

Hermione waved, then looked back at the table. Three? Counting her and Chris, that made five. Were there only five people in the Order of the Phoenix?

"There are more," Chris said, as though reading her thoughts. "We don't often meet all at the same time. Too dangerous. It'll probably be a while before you meet everyone." He motioned toward a chair.

"Who else-?" she began to ask as she sat.

"Ron and his brothers," Hermione answered. "And Remus's wife, Tonks; Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head of the DME; Headmistress McGonagall…" She trailed off, seeing Maggie's surprised face. "We're not a ragtag team, Maggie. Everyone in the Order is completely serious about what we're doing, and everyone has something to bring to the table."

"What about me?"

Hermione could barely contain her smile.

"I'm glad you asked."

The last weeks were tedious for George. He had gotten used to using a cane when he walked, though the experience was still quite painful and slow for him. Not that he told anyone that. If others knew how difficult it was, they may not let him out, and that was one thing George wanted more than anything: out of the hospital. He had been locked up for far too long without breathing in fresh air, and standing next to an open window was simply not enough. He wanted out.

At the moment, however, he wanted his brothers to stop talking about him as though he wasn't in the room.

"He can stay with Fleur and me," Bill suggested. "We have plenty of room and we're on the coast. The air'll be good for him."

"Fleur has her hands full enough with Victoire," Fred replied. "I don't understand why he can't just come to the shop with me."

"Because that's where he was attacked. You heard Healer Parsons. Going back there right away might disrupt his healing process."

"It's not the same place!"

"But it's similar enough," Bill said evenly.

"And he has enough issues with his memories without adding that stress to it."

Fred scowled at his brothers.

"Well then, what do you want to do, Ron? Send him back to Hogwarts with you?"

"I don't think McGonagall would say no to that. And it's the safest place in England."

"He'd be surrounded by people he doesn't know! You've seen him when he's around strangers!"

"I am not a stranger! I'm his brother, just like you!"

George closed his eyes to the sound of his brothers arguing. It was getting to be too much. Their words echoed in his ears, raised and treating him as an object.

"Please, stop," he told them, but his words were lost in theirs. His head was pounding, and he dropped it into his hand, unaware that the motion drew the attention of the last person in the room, who had remained silent to this point.

"Would you two just settle down?"

"Stay out of this, Bill! I'm tired of Mr. High and Mighty here acting like he knows everything just because he works at Hogwarts!"

"I never said-."

But the rest of Ron's words were lost to George. His brothers, the room, even the hand that had appeared on his shoulder, were all lost.

"Tears, Mr. Weasley? Has the high and mighty finally broken? Are you ready to beg me for death yet?" The masked face was blurred through his tears and choking breath as he looked up from the cold floor.

"N-n-no."

"Good." The voice seemed to almost smile. How he hated that voice! The same that had brought him to this place and visited him too often, invoking unimaginable pain with each. "I had hoped not. I enjoy our visits so." The wand pointed down at him. "Crucio."

Harry sighed from his position against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, as he listened to the brothers argue. As close as the family had always been, it seemed that with George's death, this was becoming more and more common. He had hoped that it would stop altogether now that the twin had been found alive and was now nearly returned to a state of health, but it appeared he was wrong in this.

And he had learned long ago better than to step in. His position here was an official one, to act as escort for George as he was released from the hospital. He, like all the former prisoners, was likely to be a target by Death Eaters who might try to garner favor again by repossessing those who had been freed. And though he had volunteered for this one in particular, he began to wonder if that might not have been a good idea.

Movement on the bed from the corner of his eye drew his attention as George dropped his head into his hand. Apparently, he was getting tired of this too. Not that Harry could blame him. He wasn't all too happy with the way this was going either. He waited a moment to see if any of the others noticed before drawing their attention to it, but the argument continued, ignoring the person on whom it should have focused.

"I never said I know everything!" Ron's voice rang out, but Harry was ignoring them completely now, moving unnoticed toward the bed where George appeared to be breathing faster than normal and highly agitated. He dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder, but the redhead didn't seem to notice.

His jaw was clenched as though in pain, one hand clenched at this hair while the other arm was wrapped around his abdomen. George's mouth twisted and trembled, as he attempted stop himself from crying.

Then the rocking began.

"Stop. Please stop." His pleading was soft, and Harry wasn't sure if he was talking to his brothers or to whatever memories were passing through his mind, as he was pretty sure was currently happening.

"George?"

The one word seemed enough to snap the brothers out of their argument and draw their attention back to what was actually important.

"What happened?" Fred asked, the argument forgotten as his voice became instantly soft. He slid onto the bed so he was facing his twin, but seemed unsure how to help him.

"Something must have triggered a memory," Harry pointed out. He didn't want to say that it was probably their argument, but from the looks on their faces, he was sure they figured that one out on their own.

"George?" Fred called gently, reaching out to his wrist. "What's wrong?"

"Should I go get the Healer?" Ron asked.

"Just hang on a minute," Bill answered, dropping to a squat so he was looking up into George's face. "George, do you know where you are?"

He shook his head. Tears gathered under his eyelashes.

"You're at St. Mungo's, mate. Harry brought you here, remember?" Fred rubbed his thumb soothingly over his brother's wrist. "George?"

George's opened his eyes and raised his other hand to his face, though whether he pulled it from Fred's grip or Fred merely took his hand away, Harry was unsure.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." His voice was flat, and nobody in the room believed him. The room was silent as George got his breathing back under control. His hands scrubbed over his face, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes.

"Maybe you should stay here a few more days," Bill offered. "Until we get everything figured out."

"I'm fine," he repeated. "I can't stay here any longer. I feel like I'm going crazy."

His choice of words didn't really comfort anyone.

"Just- just take me back to our flat. I'll be fine there."

Fred shook his head.

"I don't think so, George. Ron's right. You're not ready for that." He pointedly ignored the shocked look on his baby brother's face. "I think Bill might be right about you staying here."

"No." He looked around at his brothers, including Harry in his sweep, as though hoping he might be an ally. "Physically, I'm fine. Okay, maybe not fine, but I'm better. Good enough that I don't have to stay here. And I don't have an brain damage, so there's no point in keeping me here just because I have some bad memories." His face turned pleading as he focused in on Fred.

"What about Grimmauld Place?" Harry offered, including all the brothers in his question, but speaking to George directly. "It's in London, so you can start going back to the shop when you're ready. There's always someone else there if you need anything. And it's well-protected."

"Harry-," Fred started warningly, but George's voice cut across him.

"Yeah. That'd be great, Harry. Thanks."

"You sure, George?" Bill asked.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Then, I guess I'll go get you checked out." He didn't sound to reassured at the prospect, nor look it as he headed into the hallway. Both Fred and George were silent, though George appeared to be lost in his thoughts while Fred was watching him carefully, as though trying to figure out what he was thinking. It was an odd position to see the two of them in, and even the thought of it made Harry hurt inside just a little.

What had the world come to that the Weasley twins couldn't read each other so easily anymore?

Feeling eyes on him, Harry looked over at Ron, who motioned him into the hallway. With a sigh, Harry followed him out, then away from the door so they would not be overheard. Comfortable with the distance, Ron turned toward him.

"Look, Harry, I don't think Fred wanted this."

"Wanted what?"

"George back in the Order so soon."

"Or ever?"

Ron looked away.

"Yeah, maybe that too."

"I didn't offer Grimmauld Place to get George back in the Order."

"I know."

"I did it because it's a safe place where there will always be someone to look out for him."

"I know that."

"And quite frankly, I think George should have some say in what happens to him."

"Harry, I know. You're preaching to the choir here. We just want to help him."

Harry raised his eyebrows at the obviously Muggle term, but said nothing of it. Most likely, it was something he had heard Hermione say.

"I know you do," Harry replied evenly, trying to hide his annoyance. "I don't doubt that, but what you guys were doing in there-."

"What?"

"You were completely ignoring his presence, like he's too incompetent to make his own decisions, or something!"

"Harry-."

"No, Ron. For almost a year, George has had no say in what happened to him. He was denied any human dignity we take for granted, and now, when he has a chance to live his life again, you guys are treating him like a child." In frustration, Harry clenched his hands into fists, tempted to hit the wall in anger at his best friend, but instead, he breathed out and spoke slowly. "Something about what you guys were doing and how you were acting reminded him of being back in that prison. Don't tell me that triggering that kind of reaction was part of helping him."

"You're overreacting! We're nothing like those bastards who tortured him!"

"But something in his mind connected you with them. You may think you're doing the right thing, but you're ignoring how he's viewing it."

"How he's viewing it? Just about everything scares him. I haven't been with him more than ten minutes since he woke up without him freaking out in some way. When I talk to him, I never know if he's going to completely ignore me or try and get away because he thinks I'm trying to hurt him. Don't tell me that we're no better than Death Eaters to him. Hell, it could have been a spider on the wall that reminded him of that place!"

"Ron!" Ron turned his reddened face to look over his shoulder where Fred was striding angrily toward them. "Stop talking right now!" Fred was livid as he stopped between the two men. "We can hear you loud and clear in that room!"

"Maybe he should!"

Fred swung around so he was facing his younger brother, and though he was shorter by several inches, the force of his glare towered over him.

"Do not speak," he growled in a voice Harry had never heard from him before. "Do not say another word, or I swear Ron, I will lay you out on this floor right now." His jaw clenched and unclenched. "We agreed, Ron, that we would do everything we could to help him. We also agreed that we would be nothing but supporting, no matter what. If you can't do that- if this is the attitude you're going to be taking back into that room with you, then stay out."

Ron looked away, unable to look his brother in the face. All his anger dissipated into the brick at which he stared now.

"I'm sorry. I'm just- I'm frustrated. I'm tired of all of this- this stuff happening to our family."

"I meant what I said." Fred turned and started back toward the room.

"Fred! I'm sorry!"

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to." He opened the door and disappeared.

"Damn it."

"Ron?"

"Don't start, Harry. I don't want to hear it." He brushed past him, heading down the hallway toward the lobby.

"Where are you going?"

Ron didn't stop, but spoke over his shoulder.

"Tell George I'll talk to him later."

Harry sighed a headed back to the room.

The Weasleys were falling apart.

Returning to the room, Harry found Fred sitting in a chair, still angry, though silent. He glanced up at Harry as he entered, saying nothing, though when his eyes confirmed that Ron was not with him, his frown deepened. Harry just shrugged in reply.

George was behind the screen, presumably dressing in the clothes Fred had brought for him. Harry could hear the rustle of cloth as he changed. After a few minutes, the sound of a thin piece of wood, George's cane, hit the floor. Fred shot out of his chair, but George's calm voice stopped him.

"I'm fine, Fred."

A moment later, he stepped past the screen, leaning heavily on his cane, and seemingly unsurprised to see his brother standing nearly on top of him with his hand on his wand.

"What happened?"

"I j-just dropped my cane." He did not move as Fred hovered over him, and Harry took the time to examine his friend.

George was still pale, and though his hair covered many of them, the scars on his face stood out in a pink contrast. Having lost nearly all the muscle mass of the twins' stocky figures, he swam in Fred's clothes, looking like a little brother in hand-me-downs, rather than a twin to the man next to him. So much so, that when he raised his right hand to wipe at the light perspiration on his face, the sleeve slid smoothly back to his elbow, revealing the small scars encircling his wrist.

A keepsake of the manacles which had restrained him.

George noticed the scars as well and quickly dropped his hand, maneuvering his thumb inside the bulky sleeve until his hand was completely hidden from sight. His eyes met Harry's, sensing he was being watched, and dropped quickly to the floor.

"Where's R-Ron?"

"He had some stuff to take care of," Harry answered smoothly. "He said he'd stop by later."

George nodded, not noticing the looks Fred was shooting both of them. Instead, he was fidgeting, tightening his hand on his cane, twisting his fingers inside his sleeve, trying to look anywhere in the room he could without actually catching anyone's eye. He seemed distinctly discomfited by even the smallest attention he was being paid by just these two, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how he would react when there were more around him.

He found himself feeling sorry for George, not just for what he had been through, but also for what was ahead. Most people would not realize how changed he was until they called out to him and saw him jump, or paid him the attention he was used to receiving in his former life, not seeing how uncomfortable it made him now. How was he going to deal with all this?

Headquarters might not be too bad for him, as it was a well-protected place and might provide him with some feeling of security, but what about the shop, the street, anywhere there might be strangers or open spaces? George was going to have a tough time ahead of him.

The door opened and George spun around clumsily to face Bill, who stared pale-faced at a highly agitated twin. Apparently, for a moment, he too had forgotten the slow movements necessary when dealing with him.

"George?"

"I-I'm- I'm fine." His voice didn't exactly reflect his words, but then he flashed a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "C-Can I l-leave?"

The other three men frowned at the stuttering, which had become more prominent today.

"When you're ready," Bill answered slowly.

"Now."