a/n: i saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and it was very good. except i thought the Malfoy Manor scene was lacking emotional depth on the part of Ron and Harry, which upset me. other than that...

here is the chapter. thank you to all who reviewed!

Chapter Five

George wanted very badly to look at the map.

So badly, in fact, that he was missing most of Professor Flitwick's lecture on the lock-opening spell, which was unfortunate, really, because that seemed to be about the only useful thing they had started to learn so far this year. Not that the spell to turn vases into flowers hadn't been utterly thrilling—but then, that was Transfiguration, not Charms.

And Transfiguration promised to turn into a rather frightful class, especially since McGonagall had given them two straight weeks worth of detention. And assigned them to help Filch on their days off. And had taken twenty-five points from Gryffindor.

Each.

"I want to look at that map, mate," Fred whispered under his breath. George watched as, beneath the table, his twin's leg bounced up and down with barely concealed energy. On the wooden surface Fred's lock, which he was supposed to soon begin practicing on, bounced around haphazardly, making small clanking sounds.

"I know, I know," George hissed under his breath, thinking about the apparently blank parchment that had, since last night, been shoved underneath Fred's bed, buried in his robes. "If we just make it through our classes, and then that detention tonight—"

"Mr. Weasley!" The shrill voice cut into George's sentences and he turned, in unison with his brother, to eye the diminutive charms professor. "A little less talking, if you please!"

"Yes sir," George mumbled, feeling his ears turn red as the Slytherin first years in the front of the classroom turned to jeer back at them. He felt Fred's glare even though he couldn't see it.

"Now, as I was saying, Alohamora is a spell to only be used in great need. We teach it to you at Hogwarts not to promote stealing—which will be, if so caught, punishable by detention or suspension from extracurricular activities—"

George thought simultaneously of the blank parchment sitting in their dormitory, Wood's reaction were he to be kicked off the Quidditch team, his mother's reaction were he to be suspended, and the fact that Fred's reaction to the entire situation seemed a tad bit too joyful.

"—as seen fit. Now, Alohamora does become an important spell in a wizard's arsenal, and, in these times, it is important to be as well prepared as possible. I'd like you to take up your wrists now—no, no, Mr. Jordan, no wands yet—yes, and now, imitate my swooping motion."

George pushed his hand into an odd sort of swooping pattern, hitting Fred in the arm as he did so. On his other side Lee Jordan attempted the motion a little to enthusiastically; looking like he was being stupefied, he flailed sideways into George, who bit his tongue to keep from laughing. "Wow, mate," Fred snorted, peering around his twin to grin at his friend, "are you excited or what?"

Lee Jordan could barely conceal his glee behind an attempted frown as he said, "Excited? Of course! Do you realize what you could break into with this spell?"

"It's reassuring to hear the extent to which you listen to Professor Flitwick's lectures." Angelina hissed from in front of them.

"He's got a point, though," Fred's eyes lit up with the thought of it all. "I mean, if we had had this last night, we wouldn't have needed Peeves to—"

George elbowed him in the stomach and stepped roughly on his foot, causing him to bite his tongue in pain. "Peeves to what?" Angelina turned around and narrowed her eyes. "I know you actually went through with that idiotic plan with Mrs. Norris, Weasley, but consorting with Peeves?"

"Did Peeves help you last night or something?" Jordan inquired. "He's tricky, that one—I'd avoid him, if I were you."

"No, he didn't help us...Fred had a dream last night, after we got back from Filch's. About...Peeves. Helping us break into Filch's office." The lie sounded blatant and poor in George's own ears and he even winced. It was now Fred's turn to elbow him.

Angelina's mouth opened, in preparation for some retort, but Flitwick chose that moment to speak up, "Alright, class, please pick up your wands."

With no feeling of satisfaction at all George heard the lock on his desk click open.

"I cannot believe you two!"

George did not know how much more of Percy's yelling he could handle. Lunch in the Great Hall was normally a pleasant experience, but Percy, spectacles askew, face an ugly, mottled red, screeching at Fred and him from across the table, was severely hindering the experience.

"Shaving! Shaving Mrs. Norris! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"

"Charlie seemed to find it quite funny." Fred noted, casually biting into his sandwich. He made a face. "How did I pick up roast beef?"

George took a sip of his pumpkin juice, but it did nothing to wake him up. The late night was finally catching up to him, and his eyes felt heavy, scratchy, and uncomfortable. Percy seemed more angry at the fact that his brothers were not heeding him at all than the fact that they had defaced Filch's most holy cat.

"Well." Percy sniffed, and it was indignant, condescending, berating, all in one. "Thanks to you two, we've lost fifty points. That means we're behind Hufflepuff!"

George was sorely tempted to point out the fact that it was not even a month into the school year yet, so the winner of the House Cup was hardly decided, but he was too tired. Instead he peered at the point counters, golden hourglasses standing tall and proud in the corner, and winced, "Bloody hell."

Fred followed his gaze and hurriedly reached for his previously discarded roast beef, shoving a large mouthful down his throat.

The ruby red of Gryffindor had settled at a rather lowly position not even an inch from the bottom of the hourglass, barely noticeable, and yes, George noticed with a cringe, even the yellow gleam of Hufflepuff outweighed their own accomplishments. He took another sip of juice.

"Well, on the bright side," Fred attempted to choke through his food, "Angelina has been slightly nicer to me."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, yet, mate," George spotted Angelina gesturing down to them from the end of the table. "It hasn't even been a day yet."

"I know, but did you see her face last night?"

"No. I was too busy being tackled by Filch."

"Well, Georgie, it was one of pure love, absolutely—"

"STOP CHANGING THE SUBJECT!" Percy nearly lost it.

"Stop being so uptight," Fred intoned.

"And maybe we will." George finished, grateful when, exasperated, Percy left—he finally seemed to have given up lecturing the twins as a lost cause.

"I have no hope for him," Fred sighed, "he wouldn't know the meaning of the word 'fun' if it came and bit him in the ass."

George couldn't help but agree.

The end of the day rolled around slowly, and George lived out the rest of it as if in a daze. By the time he and Fred reached McGonagall for their detention, after dinner and a quick (failed) attempt at homework, night was descending, and George was exhausted.

These late nights were going to kill him.

"I don't want to do this," George sighed, nearly falling into Fred as they slowly made their way towards their Transfiguration classroom.

"Yeah, I know," Fred seemed as weary as he was, "because I don't want to either."

George managed a small snort before they reached the door to their destination. The old, mahogany wood swung open before them, and in the front of the room sat McGonagall, severe and austere as always, straight-backed in her wooden chair and taking what seemed to be an unnecessary amount of notes.

"Ah, good," she set her quill down at the sight of them and took off her spectacles. "Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley. Please have a seat."

She gestured to the two desks closest to her. The twins moved forward rather reluctantly.

"The incident of last night was," she began, "uncalled for, and wildly out of our normal disciplinary issues. If two weeks of detention is not enough for you, I will be delighted to assign you to Professor Snape's command for another two—"

"No!" The two shouted. McGonagall seemed taken aback.

"Well then, you had better show repentance in these two weeks worth, won't you?"

"Hardly likely," Fred muttered beneath his breath, and, slightly delirious, George began laughing rather loudly and wildly. Fred, awed by this unnatural display, began laughing equally as hard, until the two were hunched together letting out wheezes as they tried to catch their breath.

"Snort funny, George," Fred giggled, "snort funny—do you get it? Snort. Like 'not'."

George burst into new laughter, the absurdity and reality of the past twenty-four hours coming into sharp focus as he gasped, "That was your worst joke ever."

McGonagall watched the entire scene with a raised eyebrow, unsure of what to make of the two boys. Finally she snapped, "Alright, alright, enough! Mr. Weasley—I mean, Fred, you will be staying with me and helping me with copying work. Mr. Weas—George, Professor Dumbledore requires your assistance in his office with some tidying up."

The tired, punishment driven laughter stopped immediately. Fred became deathly serious. "You mean…we aren't going to have detention together?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Weasley, as together I doubt the two of you could manage finishing any work whatsoever." She pursed her lips, and George regretted the heavy laughter of the past minute. "Added to that fact is the one where I can't imagine you not getting into trouble were you both together."

"But Professor," George didn't like the thought of having to spend any time away from Fred, much less time that they could spend together discussing the one thing on both their minds—the map—"we work better together—"

"It would be more beneficial for the school," Fred interjected, "if we were both there—"

"I'm sorry, boys, but my decision has been made and it is final." She sighed, reaching for her spectacles on her desk and adjusting them on her thin nose, checking a small, graceful pocket watch that had been sitting on her desk. "Now come along, Fred, I need you to begin this copying. Pull that desk up, the one you are sitting in. Ah Mr. Filch!"

George sunk a little into his seat as Fred, now moody and grumpy at the thought of separating from his twin, eased out of his own and began to tug it forward. "I trust you are here to take George to his detention?"

"Yes ma'am," Filch growled, with barely concealed hatred.

"I expect him to be delivered intact, Mr. Filch," McGonagall noted dryly as she handed Fred a quill, a piece of paper filled to the brim with writing, and a stack of blank parchment. "As does Albus."

"Yes ma'am," Filch mumbled.

"Good. Off you go, Mr. Weasley, Argus will show you to the Headmaster's office."

With one last look at Fred, George sullenly stalked from the Transfiguration classroom, feeling, if possible, less awake than before.

Filch led him to an old gargoyle that stood sentinel in front of what turned out to be a spiral step of stone stairs which, as Filch spoke the password and the stone beast sprang aside, began to move lazily upwards, towards a heavy wooden door. The entire time George was feeling out of place, as well as empty. Fred would have loved to see this; neither of them had been to Dumbledore's office before, and neither had even known where it was located in the castle.

The logical part of him knew that it was only to be for a few hours, but not having Fred around seemed to George very similar to not having an arm. He remembered the train ride here, his nerves at the thought of getting into a different house than his brother, and shuddered as the stairs pulled to a halt and Filch knocked on the door.

It pulled slowly open, and, without stepping in and continuing to glare at George as he had done for the entire journey, Filch said, "Mr. George Weasley for his detention. Sir."

"Ah," said a mild old voice from somewhere in the room beyond, "thank you, Argus. Come in, Mr. Weasley, come in."

George slowly stepped into the room, aware of the groundskeeper's evil glare even as the door swung shut behind him, blocking Filch's entrance inside. Shaking off the strange feeling, George finally allowed himself to look around.

The room was circular, and very large, lined with portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses who were currently engaged in various activities within their magical canvases—he saw chess and poker and one or two were even sleeping. The last activity, for a moment, made him extremely jealous, but he stopped being tired when he looked around at the rest of the room.

It was filled to the brim with magical devices which he had never seen. A small, odd-looking basin was sitting on the headmaster's desk, which the man unhurriedly removed to a cabinet as George stepped farther into the room. A musical note startled him and he jumped, peering sideways at a beautiful red bird that was regarding him, head cocked to one side.

"That would be Fawkes," the headmaster said, settling back in his large chair and steepling his fingers beneath his chin, "he has a beautiful singing voice, I am honestly jealous."

George still said nothing. He wasn't quite sure what to say. This was Albus Dumbledore, after all.

"Please, sit," he motioned to the chair in front of his somewhat circular desk and George, grateful of something to do, missing Fred more than ever, settled into the chair across from Dumbledore.

"You look very much like your brother, Mr. Weasley," he mused, blue eyes glittering behind half-moon spectacles.

"Percy's been in here?" George was startled into speaking, torn between being somewhat in awe that his bad-tempered brother had seen the inside of Dumbledore's office before and horror at being compared to, in looks, to said brother.

"I was not speaking of Percy Weasley, but of your other brother, Fred."

George coughed, choking on air and spit; sitting up abruptly, he tried to breathe normally, but found himself looking incredulously at his headmaster, who was staring benignly and somewhat amusedly back at him.

"We're…we're twins, sir," George tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"In looks, it would seem." Dumbledore nodded. "But I did not bring you here to discuss such matters. It seems you and your brother had some part in the traumatic experience recently inflicted upon Argus Filch?"

"…yes, sir."

"What exactly was the offense?"

Had Dumbledore brought him here to interrogate him? "Shaving…shaving Mrs. Norris, sir. And petrifying her."

"Ah. A worthy cause for a detention, I am sure."

George looked down at his shoes, idly kicking the legs of the chair he sat in.

"So how about helping me with some copying work, Mr. Weasley? I believe that is what Minerva is having your brother do, at the moment."

"Alright, sir."

"Good, very good."

Dumbledore did not seem in the least bit angry as he handed George a quill and some parchment, showing him exactly what to copy onto the yellow-ish paper. "An important grocery list," he explained, "that must be copied several times over, I fear. I will need one in every room, in order to prevent my forgetting about it."

George did not question this odd reason, instead dipping the point of the quill into the bottle of ink Dumbledore had provided and beginning, in his blocky writing, to copy down what was needed.

He was on his fifth list when the silence that settled over the office was broken by the headmaster musing, "You know, I once taught a group of students very similar to you."

George, hand already aching, found himself curious. "How so, sir?"

"Oh, always making trouble at the slightest turn, always getting detentions, always making things difficult." He let out a little sort of laugh that sounded remorseful, and peered, blue eyes shining, out one of the great floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. "I assume you and your brother will be making a habit of this," he finally said, after a moment's pause, a smile playing across his lips, "this getting into trouble business."

"Yes," George found himself saying, saying something Fred would have elbowed him in the side for, "yes, we tend to do that a lot."

"Well, it will certainly make things more interesting."

George finished the fifth copy of the list and moved onto the sixth, copying down ingredients that still, after so many re-writes, made no sense—pickled mandrake, leprechaun gold, venomous tentacula extract—and peering upwards at his headmaster, who was still scratching away at a letter or something of the sort. "They were Gryffindors too, you know. I probably should not be encouraging you to all this," he suddenly laughed again, quill pausing, "but I do find myself missing them. The Marauder's antics were always quite amusing."

Here Dumbledore seemed to pause deliberately, gauging George's reaction or just thinking about the past, George would never know. His own quill paused, his heart raced, and he thought of the blank parchment sitting under Fred's bed, back in the Gryffindor tower, thought of maroon words blooming out in graceful script THE MARAUDER'S MAP.

"Well, that will be all for today, Mr. Weasley." The sudden change of course derailed George's already wheeling thoughts, and he glanced down, realizing he hadn't even finished all of the eighth list yet. "Thank you for your help."

George left the room, wide awake but still in a daze. It was almost, he thought, oddly, inexplicably, almost as if Dumbledore knew or guessed that they had done more last night than just shave Filch's prize cat. He hurried down the spiral steps, away from the ornate headmaster's office, one word pounding in his thoughts, over and over: maraudermaraudermarauder.

"He mentioned it?"

"Well, not the map, exactly, but he mentioned the Marauders."

"So they were recent members of the school?"

"Well, obviously, if that piece of parchment was in Filch's drawer like that."

"It just doesn't make since—first he has you copy a grocery list, and then he just brings up the Marauders?"

"I know! It was as if…well, as if he knew we had the map."

"That's impossible." Fred frowned, looking down at the blank parchment settled on the floor between them, empty and yellowing and annoyingly blank in the flickering firelight. The common room, other than them, was deserted, and the dead quiet night brings had descended upon the school.

"Yeah, mate, I know, but it was just how he brought it up…" George, annoyed, his tiredness creeping back, rubbed at his eyes. "We've been sitting in front of this map for nearly an hour, and nothing has showed up. Were we imagining it last night?"

"Hardly," Fred looked angrily at the map. "I saw it. Therefore, you saw it: ergo, we weren't imagining it."

"Genius, Fred. Bloody brilliant."

George watched his twin as he itched the back of his neck absentmindedly with his wand. They had beseeched the Marauders to show themselves, flipped through the pages of the map several times, said that Dumbledore himself had mentioned them, and still, nothing. George had even muttered Alohamora in a vain attempt to perhaps unlock the map or whatever was keeping it silent.

"And while you were learning all of this—"

"He mentioned their name, I didn't learn anything."

"—I was stuck copying transfiguration codes for McGonagall. You got to copy a grocery list—"

"It was rather long."

"—while I was stuck with that! Not to mention Dumbledore let you out two hours early—"

"It was—well yeah, he did, actually. I got nothing for that."

"—while McGonagall kept me late." Fred shook out his wand hand and pounded the wood, tip down, against the map itself. George, bemused by his anger, was shocked out of retorting, or admitting that it had felt horrible without his brother there to talk to, as bright maroon words bloomed very quickly, more quickly than last night, across the blank parchment.

MR. PADFOOT WISHES THE OTHER BROTHER WEASLEY TO WATCH WHERE HE POINTS HIS WAND.

"Blimey—" Fred scrambled backwards, his wand dropping with a clatter to the floor.

"Bloody hell," George whispered as the words shrunk, just as quickly, out of existence.

"George, did you just see-?"

"Yeah, mate, what was-?"

The twins were breathing hard, and the silence, in the wake of the scare, seemed more oppressive than ever. Slowly clambering around until he was settled next to George, Fred groped for his wand in the half-light, and together, shoulders pressed against each other as they both leaned for the best view, the two hovered over the once-again blank, yellowing parchment, which they completely unfolded. Taking a deep breath they said, "Who are you?"

Mr. Prongs would like to inform the Brothers Weasley that they are in the presence of royalty.

"Hardly," snorted Fred.

Mr. Moony would like to correct Mr. Prongs' statement. They are in the presence of the Marauders.

"We figured," George said, "as it was the Marauder's Map."

Mr. Padfoot wants Mr. Moony to have more fun.

"Huh, he sounds like you, George."

Mr. Wormtail wonders what to do about the Brothers Weasley.

The words were blooming rapidly across the middle of the page but were not yet disappearing. For good measure Fred lifted up the piece of parchment, swept a hand along the common room floor, and determined that no secret item lay there.

Mr. Padfoot was all for showing them until they shoved a wand in his face.

"He didn't mean it!"

Mr. Moony wonders if they are worthy.

Mr. Prongs agrees.

"Worthy? Of the Marauders Map?" Fred frowned. "Of course we are! We just shaved Mrs. Norris, were thrown into Filch's office, and raided his stuff!"

Mr. Prongs would like to congratulate the Brothers Weasley on a mediocre performance.

"Mediocre?" Fred gaped at the map, looking as if he wished he could punch it without breaking his fingers on the floor below.

Mr. Padfoot wants to inform the Brothers Weasley that that was, indeed, mediocre.

"But we're Gryffindors!" George said suddenly, as if that would help. "Like you!"

Mr. Moony wonders if they should help fellow housemates.

"Lions of a feather...flock together?"

"Isn't that one of those Muggle sayings Dad recites all the time?"

"I think the original one has to do with birds..."

Mr. Prongs agrees. He would like to improve their previously sad attempt at hell-raising.

Mr. Wormtail wishes to inform Messrs. Prongs, Padfoot, and Moony that the only way to do so would be to show them the map.

"The map? There is no map on this thing though."

The words suddenly disappeared, traveling up off the paper as if sucked away by some invisible force. In a darker maroon color, almost black, wide, deep-set letters appeared across the entire middle of the parchment.

WE SHALL HELP THE BROTHERS WEASLEY.

"This is it, George, something big, something huge—"

DO YOU SOLEMNLY SWEAR?

"I still don't understand what this thing will be, though, Fred—"

THAT YOU ARE UP TO NO GOOD?

George peered sideways into his twin's eyes, and, together they smiled. Leaning closer to the parchment the two nearly shouted their response, George not even bothering to try and quiet his twin—excitement at the discovery of some great unknown coursed through his veins.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."