DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.
Special Delivery
Fred was not having a good first night at Hogwarts. He and George had decided to sleep in each other's dorms rather than deal with the hassle of showing things to each other on the first night. Salazar's wall and the Fat Lady couldn't tell the difference, anyway. When Fred got back up to the Slytherin, the other first years had decided that it would be good fun to take George's possessions out of his trunk and hide them all over. Fred wanted to cry. These are the people George has to deal with for the next seven years. But he kept his tears back. Slytherin would only be crueler if George was an easy target.
"Where have you put my things?" Fred asked with as much confidence as he could muster.
"I don't know," one of the boys said. "Maybe you should ask a house-elf—oh, wait. You're family's probably too poor to realize what a house-elf even is!"
The others laughed. Once the laughter stopped, Fred asked the boy, "how many siblings do you have?"
"None," the boy replied a smirk. "I don't have to worry about anyone stealing any food from my mouth."
"I have six, three of which are here at school and all of them know more magic than I do," Fred replied. "You have no one but other first years to protect you from their wrath. Now, I will ask one more time: where have you put my things?"
The boy grumbled and pulled out George's things from under his bed and the other boys followed suit, taking things out of their own trunks, behind their wall hangings, and one boy went downstairs and came back with George's textbooks. Fred suspected that they didn't get everything, but he didn't remember every last thing George had packed.
"That will do for the time being, but I expect to have my every possession back as it was when I first got to Hogwarts by morning. Now I'm going to bed."
After George got all of his living arrangements at the Hog's Head out of the way and Aberforth had turned in for the night, George snuck out to the Shrieking Shack. There wasn't a door out of the building, so George had to Apparate in. He'd never gotten around to using the secret passage under the Whomping Willow, but he had heard the story of how Sirius Black escaped Hogwarts enough times that the tunnel was impossible to get lost in. He disillusioned himself as he got to the base of the crazy tree and levitated a stick to the knot that would immobilize it. As he emerged, he grabbed three small pebbles and began transfiguring them as he walked to the castle. He got to the Fat Lady's portrait when he realized that he didn't know the password. He racked his brain, but he'd had hundreds of passwords to remember during his time at Hogwarts and whatever the first one was, he'd need help to remember.
George decided to change tactics. He conjured up some parchment and envelopes and wrote two notes, placing one in each envelope along with a transfigured pebble, saving the last pebble for himself. He then set up a dispenser over the portrait hole that would activate when someone with his genetic makeup passed under it. George, mentally thanking Harry and Ron for being idiotic enough as second years to infiltrate Slytherin, proceeded to go down to the dungeons. He wasn't sure which wall would provide access to the common room, but he was fortunate enough that he was present just as a young Slytherin girl came out looking like she badly needed to use the bathroom. George ran to the hole, barely making it in before it closed up again. George made a note of the future password list and found his way to the first year boys' dorm.
George found Fred asleep in his younger self's bed. Are you just watching out for me? You didn't have to do that, Fred. He accidentally knocked his leg on younger George's trunk and, noticing a slightly hollow sound, opened to see what was missing—there wasn't enough around the bed to warrant its emptiness, that was for sure. The stupid little Slytherins, he realized.
Silently, he said, Accio George Weasley's things, and one by one, the missing items came to George and he placed them in his trunk. Once that was done, George placed a curse on the trunk he and Fred had started working on towards the end of the war. Now try messing with younger me's things.
George turned his attention to the real purpose of coming to Hogwarts that night. He retrieved the transfigured pebble from the remaining envelope and placed it in Fred's mouth. Fred unconsciously fought back against it, but soon the pebble was a part of him.
Now let's test this, George thought to himself as he placed his own pebble in his mouth and took a swig of pumpkin juice. Pumpkin juice came into Fred's mouth and he swallowed it instinctively. George was suddenly awake in the Gryffindor bed he had known for seven years, in the body of his younger self. Since he might as well, George exited the Gryffindor common room and retrieved the letter he had written to Young George and stepped back into the common room before it closed.
Mr. Fred Weasley,
In light of your brother's predicament, I have enclosed means of monitoring it. Place this tooth in your mouth and it will duplicate any pumpkin juice you drink and send it to your brother's mouth through his own magical tooth and vice versa. This way, he may know to expect a change in himself just prior to it and prepare himself for it. We cannot expect solutions just yet, but this may alleviate problems in the future.
Albus Dumbledore
Forging Dumbledore's handwriting had been easy enough, and George had fully intended to confess that he had sent the twins magic teeth after their installation, but now that all George needed to do was install the tooth in the envelope he held, the letters were no longer necessary. George tossed the parchment into the fireplace and watched it turn to ash as he placed the final tooth in his younger body's mouth and allowed it to absorb and take the place of one of his molars.
"I need a house-elf," George said to the empty air. A couple seconds later, a house-elf appeared.
"What does Master Gryffindor need?" the elf asked.
"I'm thirsty," George said, adding a hint of dryness to his voice. "Can you get me a small cup of pumpkin juice?"
"Of course, Master Gryffindor," the house-elf said as he vanished. He returned quickly with a cup of pumpkin juice in his hands. "Is that all, Master Gryffindor?"
"It is. Thank you," George replied. The house-elf vanished again and George's paranoid mind began to wonder if he should have obliviated the elf before he left, but it was a little late for that now. Hopefully Dumbledore wouldn't notice.
George climbed the stairs to his dormitory, laid down in his bed, and poured the contents of the cup into his mouth, careful to not let the liquid touch his magic tooth until he vanished the cup. George got his body comfortable and prepared his mind for the return to his real body.
Fred Weasley awoke to the sound of screaming. One of the Slytherins was running around clutching his wrist crying, "my hand! My hand!" Said hand was covered in blisters and had a sickly hue. And his fingernails had become wood. The crazy Slytherin noticed that Fred had woken up and, with his good hand, pointed at the red-haired boy. "You! This is all your fault!"
"Seriously?" Fred asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. "You think I did that?"
"You put a curse on your trunk!"
"Yeah, except for the fact that I've never cast a spell in my life," Fred deadpanned. "And if you were going to steal my things again, no wonder it got angry with you. One of the older students probably wanted to prank me and they got you instead. I'll have to thank him or her later." The Slytherin tried to clobber him, but Fred escaped the dormitory before the boy could do worse than a bruise or two.
Fred decided that, even though he was still wearing pajamas, it was best to alert a teacher and have them take care of the trunk instead of risking touching it. Since Fred was supposed to be George and he was in the Slytherin Dungeons, that meant talking to Professor Snape. Fred hadn't heard good things about the man from his older brothers, but the professor should be able to deal with the problem. With luck, he might get Hogwarts' most horrifying teacher on his side. At least Snape's office was on the same floor so he didn't have to walk far.
"Mr. Weasley, it is improper to walk about the school without your uniform," Snape said as he glanced up from whatever he was writing.
"I'm aware of that," Fred said.
"Then do not subject me to looking at your night-clothes another moment and change yourself," Snape replied as he turned a sheet of parchment over.
"Someone cursed my trunk—I can't get in without getting blisters and my fingernails turned to wood."
Snape gave him a cursory look. "You do not seem to be cursed, Mr. Weasley."
"I'm not, but one of the other boys touched my trunk," Fred replied.
"Did you see him off to the hospital wing?" Snape asked. Fred shook his head. "Tut, tut. Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of compassion for your fellow student."
"I'm in Slytherin—why take points from Gryffindor?" Fred asked.
"You are no Slytherin, Mr. Weasley," Snape replied. "In the meantime, we must ensure that no other students are cursed by your negligence."
Fred gritted his teeth instead of protesting further and followed Snape back to the Slytherin Common Room and his trunk.
"Are you aware of who has placed this curse?" Snape asked after a mere second of glancing at the trunk.
"It was like that when I woke up," Fred replied.
Snape tapped the trunk with his wand a couple of times. "No student could have applied the charm to your trunk. It's blood magic, though the most benign blood magic I have ever seen."
"How could blood magic be benign? I thought it was dark magic."
"It depends on how it is used," Snape said. "An act of love and sacrifice can be in the form of blood magic and it is decidedly not a dark art. In the instance of your trunk, however, it appears that instead of requiring blood as payment or a power source, it is a mere check required to deactivate the curse."
"And whose blood is exempt from it?"
"Your own, if I am correct, as well as close blood relations. The compatibility requirement is at least 30%."
"But it's safe for me to touch, right?"
"I thought that obvious, Mr. Weasley," Snape sneered.
Fred stretched out his hand with caution—he wasn't about to trust Snape at his word—and touched the trunk. Nothing happened.
"Now that you no longer fear your storage compartment, I will resume my lesson plans, if you don't mind," Snape said as he turned and swooped away.
Fred, for his part, changed his clothes and went up to the Gryffindor common room. "Semper Ubi Sub Ubi," he told the Fat Lady and she let him in.
"What are you doing here, Slytherin?" a female prefect asked.
"There's a Slytherin here?" Fred asked as he looked around in mock fear. "Where?"
She pointed to the edge of Fred's robes. Apparently, they had changed green overnight, which was convenient for everyone else but annoying for him. "I think the laundry elves messed up. I'm Fred Weasley."
"Then who is upstairs, asleep in your bed?"
"The other Fred Weasley. I've been experiencing Spontaneous Duplication lately."
"You have an identical twin," the prefect said flatly.
"He's around somewhere too." Fred definitely had to thank Dumbledore again for the excuse—it was going to be fun claiming there were two Freds in addition to George.
"You're going to lose House Points for this," the prefect threatened.
"For who?"
"For Gryffindor, of course!"
"But you just said I wasn't a Gryffindor," Fred pointed out. "That means I should be losing Slytherin points for my shenanigans, right?"
The prefect just scowled and Fred took it as an opportunity to escape upstairs.
"Rise and shine, Fred!"
"George?" George asked groggily.
"No, it's Fred—the other Fred. We're dealing with Spontaneous Duplication, remember?"
"Oh. Do you know where George is?"
"The Saintlike One?" Fred asked. George nodded. "He's probably wanting me to go scarf some pumpkin juice."
"Is it weird that I woke up with a pumpkin juice taste in my mouth?" George asked.
"You're probably just imagining it, unless… Well, someone placed a curse on George's trunk this morning that only ignores a close blood relation."
"Why would he do that?"
"I don't know," Fred replied. "Some of the other Slytherins tried to steal George's things, but they're all back where they belong now."
"Bribery. He's trying to bribe us."
"I thought I could follow this conversation at first, but now I am just plain confused," a boy said as he got up from bed—Lee Jordan, if Fred remembered right. "Are you two going to do this every morning?"
"Probably," Fred and George replied.
"Well, if you ever need a third Fred running around, I officially volunteer for the position," Lee proclaimed.
Fred and George exchanged glances. Lee was dark everything and clearly of African descent, whereas the Weasley twins were pasty redheads covered in freckles. "You're not old enough," George said.
"And you've got the accent all wrong," Fred added.
"I'm older than both of you and I don't have an accent!" Lee defended. Then his face fell with realization and quickly dissolved into a smirk. "If I manage to fulfill both of those requirements, can I be Fred?"
"Why not?" Fred replied.
"Because we don't want to get in trouble with You-Know-Who—not You-Know-Who, but the other guy who you know who I'm talking about," George told Fred.
"Why would he mind? He probably protected George's stuff far better than we ever could—it's not like he wants us to be miserable. At least, I don't think he does."
"Well, tell me what he's doing with us if you understand him so well," George retorted.
"I doubt we'll ever understand what's going on in that twisted mind of his—it'll be as much of a mystery as what it was about Harry Potter that had him kill He Who Must Not Be Named—the real one, I mean," Fred replied.
"Again, I have no idea who or what you're talking about," Lee said, "but maybe you can try talking to 'him'?"
"No," George replied. "I'm not going through that any more than I absolutely have to."
"Just a thought," Lee shrugged.
"George, it's going to happen again anyway," Fred said. "I really don't want to go the rest of my life without pumpkin juice, and there's already the Scabbers threat. We can decide on terms together before talking to him."
"So you really are George?" Lee asked George.
A grin sprouted on George's face. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Well, since George isn't allowed in here, I guess this Fred calling you that was him accidentally calling you by his not-name," Lee said as he stroked an imaginary beard. "In any case, Fred, Fred's right. Fred, go do what Fred told you to—back me up here Fred?"
"That's right," George said even though it was obvious that Lee was taking sides with the real Fred's opinion that they talk to the Saintlike One, even if Lee had no idea what that meant.
"Fred," Fred said, "putting it off will only make things worse."
"Fine, but only if you promise to be paranoid around him," George said.
"I promise. Let's go down to breakfast."
"Mr. Other-You-Know-Who is at breakfast?" Lee asked.
"No, we just need to do something there first," Fred replied.
"Drink pumpkin juice?" Lee guessed.
"Exactly."
Fred grabbed a pair of cups of pumpkin juice for him and George and had his twin follow him out into an empty corridor. They checked the area twice for eavesdroppers and found none.
"You ready, George?" Fred asked.
"No, but I doubt I'll ever be. Bottoms up."
Fred and George each took a chug of their respective drinks.
"Hello, Fred," the Saintlike One said brightly.
"Don't call me that," Fred replied.
"Okay, George."
"Don't call me or my brother anything!" Fred hissed. So far, Fred thought he was doing rather well at being paranoid.
"What, you think I'll never be in control in public?" the Saintlike One asked rhetorically. "It is better for your twin that the students do not know of my existence or the abuse will be far worse than what he'll get for being a Weasley in Slytherin—and the best way to keep the secret is for me to act just like him."
"You know nothing about him!" Fred insisted.
"That's not entirely true," the Saintlike One replied. "I know he's terrified of me taking control over him. I've had two family members possessed by Voldemort and it terrified both of them despite being two very strong people. I know that I would not like to be possessed by an unknown entity and therefore I know your twin doesn't want that either. If it makes him feel better, I could arrange means of long distance communication. I know you have absolutely no reason to trust me, but I'd be very grateful if you'd keep an open mind about me."
"You don't care about saying the name of He Who Must Not Be Named," Fred noted.
"Neither does Dumbledore. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. If you want a more pleasant alternative, I have it on good authority that the phrase, 'I am Lord Voldemort' anagrams to 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.' My brother-in-law rather liked calling the old snake Tom to his face."
"You're a Death Eater," Fred realized.
"No, I'm not," the Saintlike One snapped. "Death Eaters call their master 'The Dark Lord' and would get tortured if they made fun of him. I, on the other hand, gladly turn my nose up at Moldy-shorts and have memorized a list of ways to annoy him. Number 44: whack him in the arm and say, 'mosquito,' every few minutes."
"Easy for you to say," Fred said. "He's dead."
"Ah, Fred, that's where you're wrong," the Saintlike One said condescendingly. "Tom is only mostly dead. Sometime before you graduate, he'll return. His quasi-ghost is probably somewhere in Albania right about now. If I thought it was a good idea, I'd probably let him possess me and have me attack Harry Potter, as he can't do anything but defeat him again. Harry, however, is not ready to be traumatized for life just yet, so we'll wait on that one. Tom has to find his way to his own body sooner or later—it's the only way to kill him permanently."
"Yeah, right," Fred scoffed. "Resurrect him to kill him—that seems like a great plan."
"Voldemort has six Horcruxes—six fragments of his soul sealed away by dark magic in items he deems worthy of holding a part of him. After they're gone, someone has to finish him off while he has a body—it's rather hard to kill a spirit."
Fred's eyes narrowed. "You're either lying or you must be on You-Know-Who's side to know his secrets."
"Neither—he has no idea that I'm even alive. I have information that can stop him, but I'm not a good enough wizard to use it. Dumbledore needs my information."
"Why are you telling me instead of him?" Fred asked.
"You are your brother's keeper—and I trust you to keep him safe far more than I trust Dumbledore to," the Saintlike One explained. "Dumbledore is prone to do things 'for the greater good' and in the process lose semi-crucial allies because they no longer have reason to trust him. You, however, can hold certain information against him in case he treats your brother unfairly. Don't abuse what I tell you—if you try to manipulate him into going along with stupid pranks—or brilliant pranks, for that matter—I will probably do something to make you despise me even more. Now don't get me wrong: if you want to prank people, that is entirely your affair. But don't use any unfair advantages from me, okay?"
"I don't need any help from you," Fred replied.
"That's the spirit!" the Saintlike One said. "Now, you should probably be aware that I have installed a safety mechanism that will enable me or your twin to trigger the swap."
"You did what!"
"We all will taste pumpkin juice in our mouths when one of us drinks it. It's still up to you to swallow it and it'll assuage your brother's fears about me coming up on him unexpectedly. If your lives are ever in danger, you can call on me, but I'll abstain from pumpkin juice from now on unless one or more hands on your mum's clock ever goes to 'Mortal Peril.'"
"Will you let me tell other people about you?" Fred asked.
"I wouldn't recommend it, but if you trust them implicitly I see no harm. Except maybe your mum, who will probably kill you two for this, even though it's not your fault. The clincher is whether they can be discreet, I think."
"I suppose you don't want people to know you're evil."
"How many times do I have to go over this?" the Saintlike One asked. "I'm not evil, but since most possessors are, people will assume all sorts of things about me and George. I know what the stupid young Slytherins want to do to George—do you want to make it ten times worse by telling everyone he's possessed too? Your parents taught you that you had a brain, so use it!"
"My brain says that you're trying to trick me into doing whatever you want me to do," Fred replied.
"Your brain should also tell you that at least one thing I've told you today is true, otherwise you'll never trust me. The lies, if there are any, can be found out with a little investigation. Or you can ignore me for the rest of your life and only let me go during History of Magic class—which I'm only subjecting myself to as a favor to George. When is that, by the way?"
"Tomorrow, I think," Fred said. "But I'm not summoning you."
The Saintlike One shrugged. "George's loss. Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Did you put the curse on George's trunk?" Fred asked.
"I did. I also made sure all of his things were returned to him. You're welcome." With that, the Saintlike One downed his cup of pumpkin juice and Fred felt pumpkin juice leak from one of his teeth. "Swallow if you want to get rid of me," the Saintlike One advised. Fred did so and George returned.
"So? What did he say?" George asked.
Fred told his twin everything that had happened during George's possession. "I think he's terrified of Dumbledore and that's why he wants us to keep secrets from him."
"So you want to take everything to Dumbledore?" George asked.
"Yes, but it's your call on who can be trusted. You don't have any of his persuasion on you and I'll just keep second- or third-guessing myself."
"I trust Dumbledore far more than I trust the Saintlike One," George decided. "Let's get breakfast really quick and go see him."
This early in the term, Dumbledore rarely bothered with a password. The gargoyle was able to defend itself against pranking students, but there was always a new student or two who wanted to meet the Headmaster before things got rolling and he didn't want to shut them out just because he'd never told them a password. Thus, it was with ease that the twins returned to his office once more.
"Any progress with your parasite?" Dumbledore asked as he gave George Weasley a cursory mental examination to make sure that the Saintlike One wasn't there.
"He told me lots of stuff and said that I should use what he said to manipulate you into keeping George safe," Fred Weasley said. "But I'm not going to hold anything back just because he thinks it's a good idea."
"I thank you for your faith in me. I will nevertheless do my best to honor your wishes about my interference with your lives. What am I to know?"
"There was a lot of stuff. I'm not sure if I can explain it all."
"There is a way to magically extract a memory and allow others to observe it," Dumbledore said as he went to retrieve his Pensieve. "Would you prefer that method?"
"Can George watch too?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Of course."
"That was most interesting," Dumbledore said as he and young George Weasley emerged from the Pensieve.
"That was really weird," George said. "But do you know whether he was telling the truth?"
"I am confident that there was some truth," Dumbledore replied.
"What about the Horcruxes?" Fred asked.
Dumbledore shrugged. "I can certainly consider the possibility that Lord Voldemort split his soul into seven pieces to be a very strong one. It fits from what I know about him and his experiences at school. I do wonder how the parasite could have discovered that secret."
"Well, I guess he was right about you using You-Know-Who's name," Fred muttered.
"The parasite took the words out of my own mouth in several instances. And speaking of mouths, may I see the inside of each of yours?"
The twins complied and Dumbledore examined their teeth. There was one tooth in each of them that had a magical signature identical to the raccoon Patronus. "Very clever. He's integrated a tooth in your mouths that will be impossible to rid yourselves of without making you permanently toothless, and perhaps not even then. The tooth will transmit pumpkin juice to the other two teeth in his and your mouths. If there is a surveillance tool on either of you, though, I cannot detect it. I cannot stop him from changing you two in the future; I can, however, give you each a never-ending vial of pumpkin juice."
"Please," George Weasley begged.
Dumbledore silently conjured two small black vials with flipping lids. "You will have to refill these regularly or you're going to have an endless supply of rancid pumpkin juice, but you should be able to activate or deactivate the parasite at will."
"Thank you, professor."
Such an enigma, this parasite is, Dumbledore thought to himself. So desperate for trust that he'd reveal all of Riddle's secrets to me. 'I am Lord Voldemort.' I never realized that's why he chose the name.
And always so flippant. His fear of Voldemort must be great if he tries to hide it so much that he overcompensates. And Albania? That was Tom's most likely last location before he sought employment—that cannot be a coincidence.
Not to mention the personal details about me and the Weasleys. Molly's temper is fairly well known, but not her clock. While I suppose it is possible he saw the clock before the boys came to Hogwarts, why would he know when the hands changed to Mortal Peril? And for that matter, how did he manage to implant new teeth in the boys' mouths without their knowledge?
A few quick inquires later and Dumbledore learned that the Weasley twin who had slept in Gryffindor Tower the previous night had requested pumpkin juice from one of the house elves. Judging by the fact that neither twin seemed likely to ever drink it willingly again, the parasite had to have planted the false teeth by then. And, unless the parasite had planted it on one of his earlier visits (which seemed unlikely), he had to have come in person or by other proxy.
The Headmaster decided to take the opportunity to walk the halls, specifically the corridor of the Fat Lady's portrait. A complex bit of magic above the portrait caught his eye. "Ingenious," he whispered.
"Hello, Headmaster," the Fat Lady said. "If you're going to ask for the names of students who sneak out, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you once more." Dumbledore sighed. It had never been confirmed, but there were very strong theories out there that said that the Fat Lady depicted in the portrait was that of Godric Gryffindor's mistress and that she would never snitch on someone who probably was just sneaking about in the name of love. It was understandable that the other dormitory guards wouldn't snitch as they couldn't, but Gryffindor students were probably the most likely to be out of bed past curfew. At least she was adept at hiding her sympathy for those who were twitterpated. Waking her up in the middle of the night annoyed her far more than anything else and she played up that annoyance when she was half-asleep, but she never complained the morning afterward.
"I'm merely interested in the dispenser that was recently installed overhead," Dumbledore explained. "Do you know who made it?"
"Whoever she was, she was invisible while she did it," the Fat Lady replied.
"She?" Dumbledore was surprised. He didn't think the Saintlike One was female, but for all he knew, they could be.
"Or he," the Fat Lady added. "I couldn't tell, as they were disillusioned."
"And has the dispenser activated?" the Headmaster asked.
"Once, but I will not say for whom."
"Thank you, my lady, you have been most helpful."
Dumbledore wanted to believe that the Fat Lady only assumed that the person who set up the dispenser was female due to her projecting romantic ideals on young George Weasley, but he couldn't dismiss the possibility that that person—whether hired by the parasite or the parasite themself—could be a witch.
Dumbledore summoned the dispenser and examined it more closely. It definitely was activated by blood magic—a perfect match to the Weasley twins' blood, if he was not much mistaken. Thankfully, it was not blood magic that required spilt blood, but something more towards what protected Harry Potter, albeit nowhere nearly as powerful as no sacrifice had been made. The magic had an interesting crudeness to it, like some refinement had taken place but it had been stopped for unknown reasons. Perhaps Lily Potter was not the only one who had studied blood magic during the war—he would have to get a second opinion from Severus on the matter.
Dumbledore replaced the dispenser and placed a ward on it so that he would know when someone tried to access it again. Hopefully the parasite would make a mistake when he or she made their next step and the Headmaster would have a clue what to do about them.