AN: Sorry. I know I haven't updated in a REALLY long time. In the last year, I've moved to a new state, started a new job, worked on updated my professional credentials, and started working on my Masters. Do I need to explain further why I haven't had time to write? The good news is, I have about 3 chapters in the works. Don't expect them this weekend, but they should all be up by the end of May. At least, that's my goal.

Fred bit into his sandwich, pretending not to notice as George merely tore the bread of his own apart, popping a piece into his mouth if he felt his brother's eyes on him. Finally, after the meal had been completely decimated, Fred had to speak up.

"Not hungry?"

"Not really."

Containing his sigh, Fred lifted the plate from the table and took it to the sink. The conversation from earlier had tapered off, and what little openness George had displayed had slowly dissipated. He hadn't completely closed himself off again, but he was quiet, answering questions with as few words as possible. It was as if his personality, which had resurfaced for just an hour or two, had disappeared again, leaving behind the shell that had been his brother.

A thump echoed through the hallway, followed by a swear, several more loud thumps, and the high-pitched wail of Matron Black. Fred rolled his eyes. He was going to get rid of that woman if he had to burn up the house to do it. He honestly didn't think Harry would mind all that much.

He moved toward the door, intent on shutting the woman up, but hesitated. George's hands covered his ears, his eyes squeezed shut as a litany of swears and insults were hurled into the house.

"George?" He didn't seem to hear to Fred as he hurried over to him, laying a hand on his shoulder, but taking it away quickly at the flinch. "George?"

The screaming stopped as quickly as it had started. George, however, did not move, though he seemed to struggle to control his breathing.

"George?" His eyes were twitching back and forth, as though he was dreaming or watching a very quick Pog game just inches from his nose. Regardless of whatever it was, Fred knew instinctively that it was not good.

"Tonks, how, in nine years, have you become unable to avoid the umbrella stand?" a voice asked from the other side of the door. It was Remus and Tonks.

"George? George, it was just Remus and Tonks," he pointed out calmly. "They just came in. See?"

The door had opened and the former professor and diminutive Auror were standing it the room, looking curiously at the twins. George had still not moved.

"What's wrong?" Tonks asked, her voice just a touch too loud for the whispered words Fred had been using.

"I don't-"

"I'm fine." George's voice cracked and all eyes fell on him and he lowered his shaking hands from his ears. "J-just a m-memory." Fred leaned over to look catch his eyes, but George quickly swept a forearm across them. He had started crying.

"What was it?"

"Nothing," came the terse answer.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you want-?"

"I'm fine."

Fred's questions stopped instantly. George had shut down again. He was fine again, though unwilling to look Fred in the eyes. He hoped desperately that it was because he had been crying, and not because he knew he'd be caught in the lie they both knew he was telling.

A glass of sparkling orange liquid was set on the table before him, and George looked up at Remus, who set a second glass in front of Fred.

"You should drink something. It'll help calm you."

"I can't drink that." George's voice was hollow again, though his eyes looked sadly at the drink.

"It's just pumpkin juice," Remus explained, "to help calm you."

"It's too sweet," Fred explained. "His stomach can't handle it yet." Fred let the reason why hang in the air, knowing Remus was too smart not to pick it up. After months of having almost nothing in his stomach, George could only really keep down more neutral foods: bland soups; light sandwiches; unseasoned vegetables, depending on what they were.

"I'm sorry. How about some water, then?"

George nodded.

Remus pointed his wand at the glass, but surprisingly, George did not flinch this time. His eyes, Fred noticed, were closed. He must have done so when Remus reached into his robes.

"There you go."

Those haunted hazel eyes opened and a shaky hand reached out for the glass. Fred reached out for his own glass as juice, but his eyes were on his brother as he drank.

He was trying, and Fred was proud of him for that. George was attempting to cope with being in the world again, and if he had to close his eyes when someone pointed a wand in his general direction, well, for now that would have to work. At least he was calming down.

"You are actually the reason Tonks and I came early to the meeting today, George," Remus continued as he and Tonks took a seat across from him. "We wanted to see how you are before everyone starts showing up."

"There's a meeting?"

"Oh, it's just a small one," Tonks piped up. "Draco found some scrolls we're trying to translate."

"Oh." He took a breath. "Who's coming?"

"Just us and Hermione, Bill, Snape, Harry, and-."

"And Maggie," Remus supplied. "You might remember her. She was a year younger than you. Chris's little sister."

"When did she join?" Fred asked. He couldn't remember being at a meeting with her there.

"A few weeks ago," Remus answered evenly. "You weren't around for all that." No, Fred had been at the hospital during that time. He's practically forgotten that the Order had continued to operate while his family had been turned on its ear. "There was a bit of a row over it. Chris didn't want her to join."

"I don't remember her," George piped up, and Fred realized he had been trying all this time to do just that.

"Do you remember sixth year when we set up the feather bomb for Alden before the Ravenclaw match, but it hit someone else?" Fred couldn't help smiling when he noticed the corner of George's mouth twitch up.

"Yeah. Flitwick was livid."

"Yeah. Well, Maggie Alden was the one it hit."

That moment, remembering the prank gone wrong, was the closest Fred had seen George to being the brother he had lost, so he reveled in the moment in hopes that his brother would rise to the occasion as well.

"It started out as an Ever-Stick bomb," he explained to Tonks, whose eyes seemed to light up. "But McGonagall had warned us about destroying school property again, so George had this brilliant idea to cluster an expanding nest of feathers around the core, so when it exploded, she was completed doused in the Ever Stick with thousands of red and gold feathers falling on her. It was masterful!"

He glanced over at his brother, but George was not smiling anymore.

"Why didn't he want her to join?" he asked. "I thought Chris believed in the Order."

"He does," Remus answered. "I think it was a safety issue. His father was killed a few years ago. His mother and sister are all he has left."

George nodded.

"I do remember her now. We went to the funeral, Fred and I. It wasn't long after Charlie. She was the one who stayed next to his mum, I think."

Silence pervaded the kitchen as George stared down at his half-empty glass of water.

"So, George, how are you doing now? You're looking much better than you did in the hospital."

"I'm fi-." George's eyes flicked to Fred. "I'm doing better. Most of my wounds are healed, and my Healer is optimistic about my leg." He motioned toward his cane, hanging off the edge of the table."

"Your stomach is still a little unsettled, though?" Remus supplied.

"Yeah. Hopefully I can start eating stuff that has real taste in a few weeks, so basically Fred's cooking will suffice until then."

Fred on was the verge of indignancy until he realized George had made a joke. He couldn't help but smile.

"That's good," Remus answered. "I'm glad to hear you're doing better." His smile, Fred noticed, was a little forced, like his own. Fred knew for a fact that George was leaving out quite a lot, and Remus seemed to suspect it.

"Are you sleeping at all?" Tonks asked, in her sweet but slightly insensitive way. "You look like tired."

Remus's hand reached out automatically in a tender, but warning manner, to her fingers. Her eyes widened. Perhaps this warning was all she needed.

"Wotcher, George. I didn't mean-."

"A little," George answered, glancing again at Fred. "But I've turned into a bit of a light sleeper." He faltered. "I have a Dreamless Sleep potion I take. It helps."

"That's good, George. We're really happy to have you back." Remus smiled fondly in that way he often did when he spoke of his old friends or his time teaching, and Fred knew it was genuine. "And that you're doing so well."

An alarm went off in Remus's robes, and he dug through his pocket until he found his watch to turn off the soft whistle.

"It's six-thirty. The rest of the group should be here soon." As if on cue, the door to the kitchen opened and a black bat with a pale face appeared, swinging his cloak from his shoulders and folding it on the back of his chair. Snape looked around the table, his eyes stopping momentarily on George before moving on.

"Where is everyone?"

"They're coming, Severus. They should be here any moment."

He nodded, then focused on George again.

"Weasley, how is your treatment?"

"F-f-fine." Everyone in the room seemed to frown at the stutter. Snape glanced at him, then down at his black cloak and robes.

"I see."

"I th-think I'll go to the l-library and w-work for a wh-while." He forced out, reaching for his cane and pushing himself heavily from his chair. "On those p-p-p-."

"The products we talked about?" George nodded. "Do you want me to help you?

"I'm f-fine." He was already making his way across the kitchen, sweeping a wide arc around Snape.

Fred noticed a distinct frown on Snape's face as he watched George go.

He was definitely not fine.

"0pxwsl, 0pxwsl." Maggie pushed her glasses back up on her nose as she flipped through her lexicon dictionary for Aramaic. The language had been dead for generations, making the translations even more difficult. Not impossible, but still difficult. Finding the right page, she skimmed her finger down the list of words and sighed.

Bill looked up from his own portion of the text.

"What's wrong?"

"Destruction," she answered. "Everything in these scrolls is related to destruction in some way. Every language in here is describing it, but none of them tell what or how."

"We've barely made a dent in these," Hermione offered. "The answer has to be in here somewhere."

Frustrated, Maggie scrubbed a hand over her face. She'd been working with the Order for three weeks, expecting to have found something fairly quickly. All she had done was find enough information to make her lose hope. Whatever You-Know-Who had planned, she was no closer to finding an answer.

The people—the flame of blue killed them. Wind of destruction blew over the city. And those who fell not down were cast into a fiery furnace.

The translation sounded oddly familiar. In fact, she was sure she had read it before somewhere. Standing, Maggie began rifling through the pile of books on the table, turning spines to read the titles, flipping through pages to try and discover the familiar language of this text.

Then it hit her.

"The Bible."

"What?" Hermione looked up again.

"The Bible. Do we have a copy here?"

Now Snape's attention was drawn. He looked up from his own portion: a graphic description of a village's destruction in ancient Greek. He didn't say anything, but watched the others carefully.

"I don't know," Hermione answered. "I can't imagine the Black family would have a copy of it here."

"Which part?" Snape finally asked.

"Old Testament," she answered. "Definitely Old Testament. Half of it was originally in Aramaic and it deals with wrath of God. I think this line came from it."

Surprisingly, Snape motioned for the script to be passed down to him. He turned it so he could read it, then frowned.

"I see. This phrase, "fiery furnace," is from the Book of Daniel." He passed the paper back. "The Apocalyptic Prophecies, I believe."

Maggie was so focused on the text and Snape's words, that she didn't notice the looks of surprise the rest of the table was sending to the Potions Master, who steadfastly ignored them.

"How did you know that?" Remus asked.

"Alden, check the library," Snape continued. "I believe there is an old copy in there- at least of the early books."

"Severus?"

"It's one of the few texts written in several ancient languages, Lupin. It's a common text for translative lexicon. Surely, you know that much."

Maggie missed the rest of the argument to follow. She was already heading up the stairs, intent on finding that book. If this phrase came directly from the text, it could be the key to a full translation.

She pushed the door open and her forward motion stopped. The library was uncharacteristically brightly lit, and someone else was in here, bent over a table with several sheets of paper spread around him. She hadn't expected anyone to be up here. She could only see the top of his head and his lanky frame, but she recognized Ron's form.

"Sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to disturb-."

But the face that looked up at her was not Ron. It was a ghost, pale and sunken and scarred. The first name that came to mind was Fred, but she had seen him when she came in. This wasn't Fred. This must be-.

"I'm not Ron."

"No, I'm sorry. George, right?"

"Yeah." His attention went back down to his work.

Barely sparing him another glance, Maggie went to the shelf and began combing it, looking for the desired text. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any real order to the books. This could take all night. Systematically, she moved from shelf to shelf, her eyes raking over the spines.

"What are you looking for?"

"A book," she answered, stepping to the next shelf.

"Genius," the voice answered. She heard the scuff of a chair and the sound of movement, followed by the rhythmic tonk of wood on the carpeted floor.

"Which book?" he asked, standing a few feet away, his eyes on the books.

"You don't have to help me."

"You're distracting," he answered without looking at her. "You were talking to yourself."

"Well, I'm sorry," she answered. "I didn't mean to disrupt you." She knew her tone had taken an acidic tone, but she didn't try to hide it. Apparently, George Weasley hadn't changed at all since school.

"Besides," he continued, "I assume you want it to translate those scrolls. The sooner you do, the sooner we can stop Him."

She glanced over at him, surprised at his seriousness. But then again, he had been a prisoner for almost a year. Of course he'd want to stop him.

"The Bible."

"What?"

"The Bible. It's a book that contains scripture about-."

"I know what the Bible is. I'm not stupid." He focused on the shelves now, reading the spines. "I just wasn't expecting that."

They looked in silence for several minutes, though George glanced over at her a few times when she realized she was whispering to herself again. Finally, it was found.

"Over here," he called, pointing to a shelf well above his head. "I can't get it, but it's right there. Top shelf, third from the right."

She hurried over and found that he was correct. The Black household actually had a copy of the Bible in it. She pulled her wand from her robes, and in seconds, it was in her hands.

"It actually looks worn," she commented, turning the leather tome over in her hands.

"People think it has some kind of power. I wouldn't be surprised if the Blacks were trying to find a way to harness it." He moved away, back toward his table.

"Professor Snape said it was used in translation."

"That too, I guess."

She wanted to say something more, to thank him, but he was bent over his papers again, completely ignoring her.

The kitchen was a little fuller when she entered. Harry and Fred Weasley had returned from wherever they had gone together, and were now leaning over the table, speaking quietly with the other members of the Order. They stopped talking when she opened the door, making Maggie feel instantly uncomfortable. Though she knew it was unlikely, that it was just a throw-back of her self-consciousness in school, she couldn't help but feel they were talking about her.

"Did you find it?" Hermione called.

"Yes. Well, George did."

"George is helping you?" Fred asked, a frown set on his face.

"No," she explained quickly. "He was in the library. He just helped me find this book, that's all."

"I'm surprised he's still up," he muttered as he left the kitchen, presumably to find his brother.

Those sitting around the table seemed to share a look between them. Not quite understanding, Maggie merely hugged the book to her chest.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you're fine, Maggie," Harry answered her, though his eyes were following the sound of Fred making his way up the stairs. "Just a disagreement between brothers."

"Oh."

Fred opened the library door slowly, so as not to frighten his brother.

"Looking for another book?" George asked without looking up.

"Just seeing how you're doing."

George did look up now and, seeing Fred, began shuffling his papers. Fred couldn't help but notice that he took one sheet and folded it, slipping it into his pocket.

"George?"

"You don't have to check up on me, Fred. I'm a big kid."

"I'm not." He stepped closer, but George froze, like an animal cornered. "Maggie said you were still up, so I thought I'd come and see how your product ideas are coming."

George seemed to be weighing his words, as though trying to assess whether or not Fred was lying. Amazing how much of that was happening lately.

"They're coming slowly, but I have a few ideas that might be workable."

"Can I take a look?"

Slowly, George pushed himself to his feet, reclaiming the cane hanging off the edge of the desk. He tapped the sheaf of papers.

"Be my guest. Let me know what you think in the morning."

"You going to bed already?"

"Long day," George answered. "And I need my beauty sleep." He smiled a little at his own little joke, prompting Fred to grin in response.

"G'night."

George's only response was a wave over his shoulder.