Lumos

Chapter Eight: "The Burrow Is Burning"

George

June 20th, 1996

George laid on the floor, his arms and legs sprawled and limp. He and Fred had spent the last several hours levitating, boxing up, and moving all of their possessions into their storefront and the small apartment above it. Some of the goods were quite reactive, and they'd had to take some extra precautions. Mrs. Weasley had refused to speak a single word to them during the process, still too frustrated with them to give them her blessing. She had, however, packed a few sandwiches into a small basket, which she'd left on top of the last crate of boxes. Good thing, too. They didn't have any food or running water at the flat, yet. That would have to be for tomorrow. For now, his body would gracefully decompose into the horrid shag carpeting that covered ever square inch of this apartment—even the loo.

"Fred! George!" a frantic cry echoed from the fireplace. George stumbled over a set of boxes, ignoring the painful twinge in his neck. Fred was closer, so he reached the hearth first. There, in the embers was Lupin's panicked face. "We've just received word, Harry and the others—"

The traces of weariness fled his body.

"We're coming through," Fred cut in. Lupin hesitated, but then his face backed from the hearth. Fred and George grabbed for a handful of floo powder, tossed it in, then shouted "Grimmauld Place!" in tandem.

The world whirled, then their feet hit the familiar stone of Sirius Black's home. It was pandemonium—and not the good kind. When they'd departed hours before, a couple of Order members had milled about (mostly Sirius and Mrs. Weasley). Now, bodies were rushing between the kitchens and entry way. Moody was standing on a kitchen chair, shouting instructions.

"I'm going!" Mr. Weasley shouted.

"No, you're not, Arthur!" Sirius shouted back. Mrs. Weasley stood by the window, wringing her hands.

"What's happened?" George said to the only person standing still.

"Harry's gone to the ministry to confront the Dark Lord," Lupin said, the words spilling out fast and frantic. A rushing filled George's ears.

"Alone?" he said. It felt as though all the air had gone out of the room. It bloody well might have, with all the people crammed together.

Lupin shook his head. "No, some of the other students are with him—"

"They're my children!" Mr. Weasley shouted. George wasn't sure if his dad was speaking about Ron or Harry at this point. If both boys were there, Hermione was as well. Sirius brushed past Mr. Weasley without responding, raising his wand to help Tonks caste some protective charms over the grounds.

"The floos into the ministry will be blocked. Grab your brooms," Shacklebolt roared. George looked around for his, but it was missing from its spot in the kitchen. Oh. They'd moved it to the flat earlier.

"We'll need brooms," George said.

Lupin stopped. "No. Absolutely not," he said. "You're not experienced enough. We need to get in, get children, and get out. We can't be worried about you two as well."

"We aren't—" Fred shouted over the noise.

"You're staying put," Moody said, shouldering between the twins and grabbing a handful of black powder from the mantle. He stuffed it into a pouch on his hip. Then, he rushed through the front door of Grimmauld Place, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and Shacklebolt at his side.

George worked his jaw, holding back the fire that threatened to burst forth. Holding the group up could mean lives. But, so could staying behind. Ever fiber in his being protested as the group kicked off, hurtling into the night without them.