Author's Note: I made a point of saying I probably wouldn't do any multi-chapter fics right now, but then someone came to me with a multi-chapter fic request and it was too intriguing for me to pass up. So here we are ;)

Thank you to the lovely booknerd162 for letting me adopt your plot bunny! I hope I do the story justice and I hope you enjoy what I come up with :)

Since we're going through DH, I do use some lines directly from the book and movies but I do not claim them as my own. I do not own anything HP-related. I'm just a fan who is thankful Ms. Rowling lets us play with her characters :)

XxX

Chapter One

George and I stood close together on the dark street just outside number four, Privet Drive, waiting while the others of the group chatted in hushed voices, discussing last-minute details of the plan to move Harry to The Burrow.

"You ready to do this?" George said in a quiet question to me.

"Of course," was my immediate reply. But catching sight of the unsure look in his eyes, I frowned. It wasn't like George to be timid about anything. "Why? Aren't you?"

"Course I am," he said, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest a little to support this claim.

I flashed an easy, reassuring smile. "Don't worry. Old Voldy has no idea we're doing this tonight. We'll be fine. I promise."

George nodded like he wanted to believe me. "It's just–" he went on, his frame shrinking again, "–I can't shake this feeling in my gut. Something feels off."

"Probably because you're feeling with somebody else's gut," I said lightly with a quick poke to George's stomach to prove my point. The flesh there was scrawny and less defined than that of our own torsos. I frowned and withdrew my hand, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at having such extensive knowledge of the state of Harry Potter's stomach muscles. "I'll just be glad when we're in our own bodies again."

"You and me both." George laughed, his shoulders visibly relaxing. "It would be tragic to get stuck like this. All those years of keeping fit gone to waste."

I laughed with him, glad to see my twin at ease and joking again.

Ahead of us, the group began to disperse, wishing each other good luck and breaking off into pairs for the journey.

I bumped my shoulder into George's. "See you at the house."

He nudged me back. "Yeah," he said. "You better."

And then we reluctantly split up, George moving to the front of the group to join Lupin, while I stayed behind with our dad. We'd wanted to ride together, of course, but the others had argued against it and, although I'd been incredibly irritated by the whole thing at first, I had to admit now that it may have been for the best. With legs that were much shorter than those I was used to possessing, even climbing onto a broom felt odd and unusually challenging. I could imagine that manipulating the foreign limbs to fight off an attacker would be even more difficult. (Not that it would come to that.)

On Mad-Eye's count, we all pushed off from the ground and took to the dark sky.

Where we were met immediately by a group of Death Eaters.

I heard my dad breathe out a swear, but I was too stunned to speak. This wasn't supposed to happen. Voldemort believed the Order was moving Harry on his birthday. The attack was supposed to happen then. Not tonight.

I lurched in my seat as the broom suddenly sped forward, my dad pushing the broom as fast as it would go in an attempt to break through the circle of Death Eaters. But there were too many and they were closing in too fast.

I craned my neck looking for George, twisting this way and that, but was unable to find him in the chaos, my vision a blur of billowing black robes and flashes of red and green light.

One of the Death Eaters was drawing nearer, hurtling after us, and when the rushing wind blew his hood back, the man made no move to conceal his face, too focused on his task, too desperate to be the one to find the real Harry.

My eyes narrowed. I knew this one, this twisted and pathetic excuse of a wizard who was notorious for the way he toyed with muggle women before killing them in the name of blood purity.

The man raised his wand and took aim at my dad. But I was quicker.

"Stupefy!"

The spell found its target in the center of the Death Eater's chest before whatever curse he'd been planning had even left his lips, and the force of the blow knocked the wand from his hand and unseated him from his broom, sending him careening to the earth far below. The man's life would be over in a matter of seconds, unless a fellow Death Eater swooped down to rescue him.

And Death Eaters were not the rescuing type.

The man was little more than a dark speck below us now, still falling, moving closer and closer to the death that awaited him, and I just looked away, unable to conjure up any remorse.

The battle was long and loud, the voices of both friend and foe crying out, mingling and echoing amongst the clouds until it was impossible to separate them.

A shock of pink hair that must have been Tonks streaked past on my right, but a Death Eater trailed too close behind and Tonks and Ron swerved and dropped out of sight in an attempt to shake the unwelcome follower.

Pursued by a couple of Death Eaters ourselves, there was nothing my dad or I could do to help. We could only hex and stun and keep moving forward, hoping that all the others would make it safely through to meet us back at The Burrow.

But I knew that was a lot to hope for. There were too many green flashes of light. With so many killing curses flying about, could we really be lucky enough to all make it out alive?

It was the fact that I'd still caught no glimpse of George that forced me to believe that yes, we could all make it out alive. Because the alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

My dad and I were both breathless, our skin pale and clammy with sweat, when the Death Eaters began to fall back at last. There had been some turn in events, clearly, though whether this was good or bad, I couldn't yet tell. Still, I was thankful for the chance to finally catch my breath.

Delayed by the attack, we missed our portkey and were forced to fly straight on to The Burrow, and by the time the house came into view on the horizon, the polyjuice potion had begun to wear off. My body was morphing back to its normal appearance and, with the return of my own skin and limbs, there also came a slight, unpleasant tingle in my left forearm.

I loosened my grip on the broom and tugged at the now-too-small sleeve, stretching it until it reached my wrist.

"We're through the barrier," my dad said on a relieved sigh as we began our descent, passing through the protective wards the Order had put in place around The Burrow.

I scanned the faces of the people waiting on the ground below, anxious to see George, to see my mum and everyone else, to make sure they were all alright and to let them know that dad and I were still in one piece as well.

As the broom dropped steadily lower, the three figures staring up at me came into focus. There was Kingsley, his face stoic and unreadable, Hermione, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth in a way that told me not everyone had returned yet, and then there was Lupin.

And he was covered in blood.

My stomach dropped like a lead weight and I was swinging my legs around and dismounting the broom before it had even landed. I fell the last couple of feet and stumbled forward but quickly righted myself.

The same fear that I felt was made evident in my dad's words as he asked in a tense voice, "Where's George?"

And when Lupin took a step forward, gently lifting his hands in an attempt to soothe while starting his explanation with a too-careful, "Arthur..." my heart stuttered in my chest.

And then I was running.

There was blood on the ground. A lot of blood. Too much blood. A dark, glittering trail that lead to the house, and I knew it belonged to my twin. Even so, as my dad and I rushed through the backdoor, I was not prepared for the scene in front of me, for the sight of George, lying unconscious on the sofa, his neck stained scarlet with blood and a hole in the side of his head where his left ear used to be. I faltered a moment, the blood draining from my face until my skin was the same sickly-pale hue as my twin's.

I forced my feet to move again, crossing the room to be at George's side. I didn't even register the dull ache in my knees when I dropped to the floor in front of my brother.

At this close distance, I could see the slow but steady rise and fall of George's chest, and I reveled in the relief that flooded me. And then George's left arm moved, just a weak lift of his hand, but still a good sign that he might be coming around, and so I fixed my gaze back on his face.

"How you feeling, Georgie?" I asked, the words strained with my effort to keep them sounding calm.

George stirred at the sound of my voice, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks, and his response came out as little more than a whisper. "Saint-like."

I swallowed, momentarily slipping back into panic. Had George's brain been damaged in the attack? "Come again?"

"Saint-like," George repeated, more firmly this time, his eyes finally opening and finding mine. "I'm holy." A pained smile spread across his face. "I'm holey, Fred. Geddit?"

The air left my lungs in a relieved whoosh, and the tension that had wrapped around my ribs and held my chest in a vice-like grip, all melted away. Under other circumstances, I might've tackled George in a crushing hug, but everyone was staring at us, so I resorted to a casual shake of my head instead.

"I'm holey?" I repeated in an incredulous tone even as my mouth stretched into a grin. "That's pathetic."

But George was only spurred on by the taunting, his smile widening. "Reckon I'm still better looking than you."

xx

One by one, the others began to wander off, heading out into the garden to await the arrival of Ron and Tonks, Bill and Fleur, and Mad-Eye and Mundungus, all of whom were still missing. George, however, was under strict orders not to move, so I settled myself down on the floor by my brother's head.

As we sat in silence, waiting to learn of the others' fates, I kept my gaze trained on George's face, watching him as if I was afraid he might keel over at any second in spite of our mum's assurances that he would be quite alright. The smile that I had worn as George laughed off his injury had long since faded, replaced by a frown that deepened with every passing minute.

"I was wrong," I said at last, finally breaking the silence.

George just looked at me with his brow slightly furrowed, clearly having no idea what I was going on about, something that was highly unusual for us.

"I told you it would be fine," I muttered. "I told you that they had no idea we were moving him tonight. I promised..."

George's mouth drooped into a frown to match mine. "This isn't your fault. You couldn't have known."

I turned my head and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

"Fred," George said with a laugh. "You're not serious, are you? You can't actually be blaming yourself for this."

"Your ear is gone," I pointed out.

"I remember. I was there," George said, his tone light.

I let out a shaky breath. "Bloody hell, George. You could've bled to death."

"Fred," George said again, all seriousness this time. "I'm alright. It's okay."

"It almost wasn't."

"Yeah. But it is."

I finally allowed myself to look at my brother once more.

"It's okay," George said again, his eyes locked onto mine, forcing me to listen. "Really."

I hesitated a moment, but then gave a single, curt nod. "Yeah," I said. "I guess it is." And I knew it would be. Because we were both still there. It was a close call, but we were still alive. And as long as that was the case, things would always be okay.

"Fred?" George said, his brow suddenly furrowed again as he contemplated something.

"Yeah?"

"I don't reckon you have a pair of extendable ears on you, do you?"

I raised an eyebrow, bemused. "I didn't think to put any in these pockets when we changed," I said, realizing for the first time just how uncomfortably tight the Harry-Potter-sized trousers had become around my once again Fred-Weasley-sized waist. "Why?"

George shrugged. "Just wondering if we could charm one in place of my missing ear. That way, we'd still match and I would have amplified hearing. Could come in handy, that."

xx

When the others came back in, George and I were laughing together, but our mirth was cut short when our dad broke the news that Mad-Eye had been killed.

Stunned and grieving, we all had a drink (or several) in his honor, and I found myself thankful for the firewhiskey, the strong drink helping to distract me not only from the pain of Mad-Eye's passing, but also from the pain in my left forearm which burned so fiercely that it began to throb.

The Order members who remained gathered at The Burrow spent the rest of the evening making plans for Harry's protection while mum repeatedly attempted to steer the conversation to something more pleasant (namely Bill and Fleur's fast-approaching wedding) and George made stupid ear-related jokes for my benefit every chance he got. But eventually the others began to leave, departing for their own homes, and those who stayed behind started to stumble off to their respective beds.

It looked as if George and I might be staying the night as well. No doubt The Burrow's floo connection was being monitored and George was in no shape to apparate or to fly. He was too weak already and, thanks to the firewhiskey, he'd been snoozing peacefully for just over twenty minutes. An injured and drowsy George certainly wouldn't be up for the trip.

I briefly considered leaving my brother as he was since he appeared lucky enough to have found a deep sleep, but the sofa was small and, even hunched into the fetal position, George's long and lanky form still left his neck bent at an awkward angle and his feet dangling off the end. If he stayed like that the entire night, he wouldn't be able to move the next day.

I leaned down, putting my hand on George's shoulder, and shook him gently. "C'mon, Georgie." At first, the only response I got was an incomprehensible grunt and I smirked. George never was one to appreciate having his sleep disturbed. "You'll thank me in the morning, brother dearest," I said through a laugh as I bent over, carefully tugging on my twin and positioning him until I had his arm draped across the back of my shoulders.

George grunted again but it was louder this time, the sound less-sleepy and definitely more-annoyed, and I knew that he was awake now. Offering my own shoulder as support, I pulled George briefly to a sitting position before putting all my weight into it and hauling us both up to stand on our feet.

George's eyes, which had finally been coaxed open, slammed shut again. "Oww. My head."

"Sorry," I said, swallowing down the guilt I felt. "Wanna stay down here?"

Another grunt conveyed his displeasure at the thought. "No way. My back is already killing me."

"It'd be a tight fit, but I could levitate you up the stairs if you think that'd be easier," I offered, knowing it wasn't the best idea I'd ever had. "Wanna try that?"

George laughed. "And risk having my already-pounding head smacked against the walls on all those tight corners? No, thanks." He tightened his hold around my shoulders and forced his eyes open again so he could see where we were going. "I think walking might be safer."

So I gave another careful tug on George's arm, hoisting him up for a more secure grip, and we made our way to the stairs.

For the first time since the fire, I was actually thankful–not that the old house had burned away to almost nothing–but at least that this new one was not quite as tall. Still, it took some effort to get George all the way up to the top landing and, by the time we reached the doorway of our room, we were both breathing harder than usual.

When The Burrow was being reconstructed, we'd argued against having a bedroom built for us, considering we had our own flat above our shop and apparition meant we could pop in and out at a moment's notice for visits, but our mum wouldn't even entertain the suggestion, insisting that The Burrow was our home and we would always have a place to sleep there.

Now stumbling with George through the door and laying eyes on the two spacious beds within, I found myself thankful that the woman had been so stubborn on the issue.

Gently as I could manage with my own limbs beginning to ache under the weight of my twin, I lowered George onto the mattress.

He worked to remove his jacket and, when the collar of it brushed painfully against his wound, I helped him shrug it the rest of the way off. Then George's hands went to work undoing the button and fly of his jeans and I finally backed away, leaving that task to him, though I did look on, observing the struggle as he was forced to wiggle and shimmy and then peel the tight denim from his calves. If George hadn't been injured, I would've been doubled over laughing at him. But George was injured and as soon as he was stripped down enough to sleep more comfortably, the only thing I could do was bend over to check the bandages bound around his head.

When George was settled, his eyes closed and his breathing slow, I took the chance to slip away.

"Where you going?" George asked, his voice rough with exhaustion, and I froze in place, my hand on the doorknob, my back to my brother.

I closed my eyes, steeling myself. Because this–lying to George–it never got any easier.

I fixed a small smile in place and forced myself to turn around. "I just want to pop over to the shop and make sure everything's alright there."

The words came easily and they sounded confident, but they tasted like bitter ash in my mouth.

"Alone?" George said, his tone making it clear that he didn't care for the idea. And, really, he was right. Nowhere was safe anymore. "It can wait until tomorrow."

But I couldn't wait. I was hours late already. "I'm not scared of them," I said. "And anyway, we do loads of things that are insane and dangerous all the time, don't we? Piece of cake."

"It's only a piece of cake because you have me there to bail you out," George said, now pushing himself up onto his elbows. "If it's that important, I'll come with you." He rolled out of bed and up onto his feet, but the action made him woozy and his bum fell back onto the mattress again. He groaned, raising a hand to cradle the side of his head.

"Don't be a git," I said, crossing the room and gently pushing George down by the shoulders until he was horizontal again. "You need to rest. I'm just going to check that the wards are secure, and I'm going to get a couple changes of clothes." I lifted a finger to point at the heap of wadded up denim on the floor. "You look ridiculous in those."

George scoffed. "Yeah?" he said, looking me up and down because I was wearing the exact same getup. "Might want to avoid looking in the mirror then, brother."

I reached across the small space and grabbed the pillow from the empty bed, turning back to [carefully] smack George with it. "Go to sleep. I'll be back before you even wake up."

George huffed but rolled onto his side and got comfortable on his pillow all the same. "Fine," he said. "Git."

I indulged him with a tiny smile... but the moment I stepped out into the hall and a door stood between us, I let it fade.

Now that the shock of battle had worn off, and the initial emotional high over George surviving his injury, I was finally able to feel my anger.

Someone betrayed The Order. Someone exposed our plan to Voldemort. Someone had nearly killed George.

And they were all going to pay.

xx

I crept through the house, careful to keep my steps quiet so as not to wake anyone. There wasn't any time for their questions.

I made my way back through the garden, fists clutched tight, fingernails digging into my palms as I tried to ignore the trail of my brother's blood still visible in small pools in the dirt, and I stopped only when I was sure I'd reached the edge of the protective border. With a glance back at the house to make sure no one had followed, I stepped beyond the wards.

Finally alone, I allowed myself to suck in a pained breath through my teeth. I winced, yanking the tight sleeve covering my left arm up to my elbow, and rubbed my palm over the newly-exposed skin on my forearm, trying to ease the burn of the Dark Mark branded there.

XxX

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