Dusk Till Dawn: A Fred And George Story

July 15, 1997

"Time to get up," said my magical calendar on the wall. "It's Monday, get up for work."

"Alright, alright." So I got up, took a quick shower, put on business clothes, and walked to the kitchen.

"Morning, Izzy," said George from his seat at the counter, sipping coffee and reading The Daily Prophet.

"Morning," I responded as I took a pan from the cupboard and set it on the stove. I used the spell Hermione had taught me to light a fire beneath the pan. I pulled the door to the cold room open to retrieve the items I wanted and returned to the stove. I began to crack eggs one by one into the pan. "What's the story today, George?"

"The nasty kind, as usual. Two dead in Yorkshire." I sighed as I scrambled the eggs. Why did the Prophet publish nothing but tragedy? I understood that bad things were happening. Old Moldy was back, after all. But it wouldn't kill the Ministry to bring awareness to all the good left in evil's wake. Or would it?

I was pulled out of my pit of brooding by the waist. I had felt hands slide around my hips and arms squeeze me into a hug. I smiled and Fred put his head on mine. This, I thought, should be spread. Fred's unconditional love for me. This is what the public should be hearing about.

I swayed left to right as I finished scrambling the eggs, and he followed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. I changed from fixing the eggs to bacon and his chest stayed pressed against my back. He had become more touchy-feely since our talk in the butler's pantry, becoming more and more like his old self every passing day. I took this as a very good sign of his recovery.

"Okay, okay, break it up," George said. We turned to look at him. Then he confessed, with a smile he couldn't quite hide, "It makes me feel bad about my singularity."

I laughed and set the food on the counter. "You sound like my grandmother." Then Fred and I walked penguin-style to the other side and, splitting up, sat down to eat.

"How was the Order meeting last night, Love?" Fred asked me.

"It went well. They've decided on a new plan to move Harry to the Burrow."

"What are we doing?"

"Seven Potters. Six members will take Polyjuice Potion to be Harry and will have escorts. Each set will head in different directions so as to confuse any followers. At each destination, a Portkey will transport them to the Burrow."

"Great," said George, mouth full of egg. "Who's taking the Potion?"

"Mundungus, Fleur, Hermione, Ron, and you two."

"And who will you be escorting, Love?" Fred asked, his mouth also full.

I scowled. "I'm supposed to be at the Burrow, waiting. Like I could just do that!" I rolled my eyes.

"Well, it's probably best, Love. We don't want you getting hurt."

"And what about you? I don't want you getting hurt either! Or anyone!" I crossed my arms and sat back in my chair. "Hermione gets to go. I'm older. I am older than her!" When they exchanged glances, I got up and went downstairs to work.