Hey, girl, I'm waiting on you, I'm waiting on you
Come on, and let me sneak you out
And have a celebration, a celebration
The music up, the windows down
Yeah, we'll be doing what we do
Just pretending that we're cool and we know it too
Yeah, we'll keep doing what we do
Just pretending that we're cool

"Live While We're Young"
One Direction

~

LUCY:

The first week of life with the twins settled into a routine almost immediately.

Wake up at 6.

Write to Harry. Wish him a good morning. Offer jailbreak. Hide diary underneath pillow.

Read a chapter of Lord of the Rings. Then read another and another and another, because stopping after just one was impossible. Take a swig of wideye potion from the flask beside my bed. Realize it's almost 7 and rush through the routine of getting dressed, applying makeup, braiding my hair, brushing my teeth.

Brace for impact. Twins come bursting in because they hear the water running from wetting my toothbrush, "Killer Queen" by Queen blasting from Fred's Walkman as they serenade me. Make vague threats about places I could shove said Walkman. Never actually follow through on said threats because I secretly love their good morning routine.

Head downstairs as a three-person unit. Try coffee with a new ingredient, and hate it. Attack the nearest twin with a retaliatory wandless spell of one kind or another. Smile as both twins comment on how impressive my wandless magic is and how it's getting stronger by the day.

Have a hurried breakfast. Drink more wideye potion. Head downstairs. Make sure all of the shelves on the third floor are in order and fully stocked while Fred checks the first floor and George checks the second.

Open the shop at 9:00. Do whatever needs to be done. Close the shop at 6:00. Restock the shelves while Fred counts the earnings from the day and George gets started on dinner, then go help with dinner.

Eat dinner, usually sprawled on the floor of the den instead of in the kitchen while music from someone's Walkman provides a soundtrack to our conversation. Attempt to wash the dishes, and end up with more soap on our uniforms than on the dishes instead due to sudsy warfare. Listen as the twins brainstorm new product ideas while baking a batch of cookies, with or without their help depending on the complexity of the recipe, and offer a few ideas of my own. Eat a bunch of cookies, say good night, go upstairs, shower, talk to Harry as long as my eyes are capable of staying open. Go to sleep, hope the nightmares stay away, read more Lord of the Rings if they don't, and do it all over again in the morning.

And so forth and so on.

I learned a lot that first week.

I learned that I hated coffee, even with mint, cinnamon, honey, butterbeer, or pumpkin juice in it. I learned that Fred was incapable of making toast without burning it but he had perfected the art of making waffles. I learned that George's scrambled eggs were absolutely incredible but he couldn't flip a pancake to save his life. I learned that George had the worse bedhead but Fred had the uglier pajamas.

I learned that Fred's favorite cookies were white chocolate macadamia nut — and I learned what a macadamia nut was that same day. I learned that George claimed to love all cookies equally, but I noticed that he always had the most chocolate chip cookies when they were available. I learned that George went to bed late and woke up early but that he was a deep sleeper for the short time that he was in fact asleep. I learned that Fred went to bed earlier and woke up later than his twin, but his sleep was much more fitful and he often wandered the flat in the middle of the night because he had an idea or something on his mind and the only way to find any kind of consolation was through movement.

While the morning and evening routines were generally consistent and the twins were becoming increasingly predictable, each day was a new adventure. On Tuesday, I organized the back room. On Wednesday, I was back behind the cash register and helped a Ministry official purchase 500 Shield Hats because many of their employees couldn't even cast a proper Shield Charm. On Thursday, a boy I recognized as a Ravenclaw decided to sample every Skiving Snackbox product at once, so we had to close the store for an hour in order to properly sort him out and vanish all of the, ah, various bodily waste products that were violently ejected from him. On Friday, Henry and Gretch paid us a visit, so George gave the two a grand tour of the store after hours while Fred and I counted the day's earnings and made sure to blast "Come and Get Your Love" by Redbone from George's Walkman throughout the shop on a loop. Saturday was the busiest day, and it passed in such a whirlwind of activity all three of us fell asleep in the back room the second we closed up shop and didn't wake up until well after midnight.

Early Sunday morning, once we had all stumbled off to our proper sleeping places, I wrote Harry a short note explaining what happened and told him I'd be around more the next day because the shop was closed on Sundays. I dropped off into sleep again right away, on top of the covers, still in my WWW uniform. Maybe that was the reason for the nightmare. Maybe the nightmare didn't need a reason.

I was back in the Department of Mysteries. Harry was on the ground, looking up at Professor Dumbledore with Voldemort's eyes. I lunged forward, held onto Harry as Voldemort passed into me. Unlike the actual event, though, there was no Harry when I opened my eyes again. Only darkness and pain.

I realized after several long seconds that I was awake, that it was just a nightmare, that I was in my bedroom in the twins' flat above the twins' joke shop, that everything was okay, that Harry was okay.

The rest of my body didn't get the memo, though, because involuntary tears rose to my eyes as my stomach seemed to do a somersault. I raced to the loo and got there just in time, as my body rejected all of the horror of my nightmare, of my memory, of my fear, of Voldemort inside of me.

No more than three seconds later, I heard running footsteps, and the door banged open.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Fred asked, hand on my shoulder.

I shook my head. "I'm okay. Just a bad dream." I wiped away the tears that refused to stop coursing down my cheeks. "Just a bad dream."

"It's okay. You're okay. Whatever it was, you're safe here."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." I flushed the toilet and turned around so I could rest my back against the wall. Fred moved so he was sitting across from me, brown eyes wide and concerned in the darkness. I swiped away my involuntary yet unrelenting tears again before speaking. "I swear this doesn't happen every time I have a nightmare, this one was just — it was Voldemort. Inside of me."

"Yeah, the thought of that makes me want to hurl too," he said with a chuckle. His face lost all humor suddenly, and he looked sheepish. "Sorry. George is better at comforting people, but he also sleeps like the dead so you're stuck with me."

I laughed in spite of myself and sniffled. "I'm not 'stuck' with you, idiot. See, you just made me laugh."

"Yeah, well, that's what I'm here for," he replied with a sheepish shrug. "You know, Lucy, if you weren't so obstinately obsessed with Harry James Potter, you and George would have worked really well together. Together together, I mean. He cares a lot about you. He'll probably feel awful for sleeping through this."

"Well then let's not tell him that I dissolved into a pathetic weepy mess at... whatever time it is."

"You're not pathetic or a mess. Weepy, yes, but that's understandable. Anyway, our little secret?" Fred asked.

"Yeah." I nodded. "Our little secret."

He grinned. "Want to hear another secret?"

"Uh, sure."

"George fancied you when he took you to the Yule Ball."

I blinked. "No bloody way."

Fred's grin widened. "Yes bloody way."

"I don't believe you."

"If I told you his reasoning, would you believe me?"

"Try me."

"Think about it, Lucy. He could have asked anyone. He asked you."

"And Professor McGonagall."

"Shut up, I'm not joking."

"You forgot to add a 'for once.'"

Fred snorted. "Yeah, fair. Shut up, I'm not joking for once. Anyway, my point stands, he asked you."

"He felt bad that Harry asked someone literally right in front of me," I protested. "He also didn't have a date yet and figured why not."

"Cub, he wanted to ask you from the beginning, but he knew you'd want to go with Harry. Didn't you wonder once why he didn't have a date yet, so close to the dance?"

"Er..." I paused. "No. I guess not."

"He said the same bullshit you say about Harry every day. He said you were worth waiting for, if it was really meant to be. That kind of thing, you know. He did feel bad that Harry was literally dense as a doorknob right in front of you—"

"Dense as a doorknob? Fred, all due respect, but what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Hell if I know. I heard a Muggle say it once, or something like that, and thought it was humorous. Point being, he cares about you, Lucy, a lot. He told me that night that even if you never actually saw him that same way, he was determined to treat you the way a true man should so you'd never settle for anything less, whatever and whoever your future relationships may hold."

My face flushed as I sighed. "Alright, I believe you now. That sounds a lot like George."

"Told you so," he said, grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, you did." I bit my lip as something occurred to me. "Say, does he... still? Fancy me?"

"Nah. No offense."

I laughed. "None taken. This is a relief." I raised my eyebrows at him. "It means Henry's good to go."

Fred raised his eyebrows right back, and we exchanged a conspiratorial smile.

He chuckled, then grew serious again. "He still cares a lot about you, though, of course, which is why I must now insist you go back to bed if you're through barfing your brains out and bawling your 'balls out."

"Bawling my..." I blinked. "Fred, what?"

"'Balls. As in eyeballs. Bawling your eyeballs out."

I shook my head. "You are the dumbest genius I know, Fred Weasley."

"Thank you!" he replied, beaming.

"No, thank you. Thanks for checking on me, and telling me about George."

"Of course. You know, we're aware there's nothing that can replace Cedric, and George and I have never tried to do that, but I hope you know we love you like a sister. You're practically a Weasley, even if you don't have our last name yet."

"Yet?" I repeated.

Fred grinned. "Yeah, 'yet.' If Harry doesn't get his act together soon, it's only a matter of time before one of us sweeps you off your feet."

~

George was awake before me the next morning, as I discovered when I headed down to the kitchen and found him humming along to "Come And Get Your Love" by Redbone — which was blaring from his Walkman — as he poured himself a cup of coffee, utterly lost in his own little world.

I grinned, unsure of how to proceed. On one hand, it was absolutely hilarious and sweet and unexpected and entertaining and I wanted it to continue. On the other, I felt like I was intruding on an oddly personal moment, and I didn't want him to be too embarrassed whenever he realized I was there.

"It was nice having Henry here the other day, wasn't it?" I commented as I hopped up onto the counter next to him.

George yelped, nearly spilling his coffee. "Bloody hell," he chuckled, "you can't just sneak up on a bloke like that!"

"I didn't need to sneak, Georgie, I reckon a dragon could pass through here and you wouldn't hear it."

"I didn't wake you up, did I? I did a silencing charm—"

"No, no, you didn't wake me up, it's okay," I said quickly. I laughed. "That's why I was so surprised when I opened the door and there you were. Anyway, you didn't answer my question. It was nice having Henry here the other day, wasn't it?"

George nodded. "Of course. Always nice having Henry around. I've had this song stuck in my head ever since." He sipped his coffee a couple of times, looking at me over the top of the mug with a contemplative expression.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked.

My conversation with Fred just a couple of hours prior was still at the forefront of my mind, and I searched George's expression just as he searched mine. As much as people tended to think the twins were just the same person in two different bodies, they had always been different people and had always treated me differently. Fred was always in front of me, clearing a safe trail for me through whatever dangers lurked ahead. George was always behind me, making sure I didn't trip and fall as I followed the path. I loved both twins equally, I did, but George and I had always been just a bit closer. Fred and George always watched out for me, but George was the one who always made an effort to watch me. For what it was worth, I had always watched George too, more so than Fred. I knew what it was like to feel like the inferior half of a sibling duo. I realized in that moment that even though our hearts were leading us in different directions, to different people, we would always end up together somehow. Watching out for each other, and watching each other.

"Just trying to figure out what to put in your coffee today," he replied, narrowing his eyes.

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"What's so funny about that?"

I tried to talk in between bouts of laughter. "I just — you looked so — I don't know, focused? Like this was the most important decision you'd make all day."

"Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?" George's eyes widened suddenly. "I'VE GOT IT! STAY HERE. I'LL BE RIGHT BACK!"

And just like that, George Weasley was dashing down the stairs in nothing but the baggy t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms he wore as pajamas. I shook my head, grinning, and waited patiently for his return as I listened to the music Henry had chosen for his Walkman. I wasn't familiar with all of the songs, but they were enjoyable nonetheless.

He raced back up the stairs only a couple minutes later, a Chocolate Frog in one hand and a large carton of something in the other.

"I think this'll do it!" he declared with a wide grin. He started throwing a drink together immediately, chattering as he went. "I think of everything, you liked the butterbeer the best, but the butterbeer itself wasn't strong enough to completely dilute the coffee taste, which is the part you dislike. I've been asking random customers if they drink coffee and how they like it if they do, and someone the other day suggested this — this 'half-and-half' concoction — instead of regular milk, because it makes the coffee creamier and you said that drinking it as is was like drinking watery mud. But I thought that just making the coffee creamier would do nothing about the flavor of it, which is the other factor in this equation, but I think the combination of a melted Chocolate Frog and the right amount of half-and-half might just—" He placed the mug into my hands, an apprehensive yet hopeful look on his face. "—work. I think. I hope."

"Cheers," I said, clinking my mug against his as I lifted my own to my lips. The drink that danced across my tongue tasted nothing like coffee. I laughed as I set it down. "You're brilliant, George Weasley. That's delicious."

George whooped. "YES! You don't have to actually drink that if you don't need it since it's been a week since the moon, but—"

"No, no, it's okay, I'm still tired, this will be very helpful," I said as I sipped it again.

"You're still tired?" he asked, cocking his head in concern. I had to bite back a smile. Henry cocked his head all the time. George was adopting Henry'ss mannerisms, probably without even noticing. "Like, from the moon?"

I nodded. "Yeah, a bit."

"Is it our fault? Should we go easier on you next month?"

"No, no, it's not you. I do that with Ginny every moon, more or less, and I — this feels different. It's okay, though, you don't have to look so worried, Georgie," I added. "I wasn't as cold this month. I wasn't really cold at all, come to think of it."

George continued looking at me like I was a product that wasn't working for a reason he hadn't figured out yet. "We should ask Remus about it."

I shook my head. "No, don't. I only mentioned it because this—" I lifted the cup and drained the rest of it. "—is a little miracle, and you are a miracle worker."

"Happy to hear it," he said with a smile that was very obviously forced.

I opened my mouth to ask him why he did that — why he smiled when he didn't mean it — but before the chance, he was talking again.

"Do you want to do something?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "As in one of those 'ridiculous and risky but fun and foundational' activities Fred mentioned?"

"Yes. Well, no, because this is entirely my idea, I've only just had it. But yes, this fits into that category of activity. Do you want to do it?"

"Obviously," I replied. "What is it?"

Five minutes later, George and I were creeping down an alleyway in Muggle London.

"This is the one," George whispered, extracting a hairpin from his pocket. "D'you want to do it, or should I?"

"I wanna try," I replied as I plucked it from his hand and knelt in front of the door handle.

After about a minute of fiddling with the lock with the hairpin, the Muggle "alohamora," the door slowly creaked open, so the two of us ducked inside. George stepped in front of me, surveyed the dark room, then gestured for me to follow him.

"How many Galleons did you bring?" I asked in a whisper.

"Well, they're not Galleons Galleons," he replied, opening a pouch to reveal that he had magically altered the gold coins to be perfectly smooth. "We can't risk drawing any attention from the Ministry by leaving wizarding currency behind."

I nodded. "Right. Makes sense. But Muggles still think gold has value so this'll be good enough even though we don't have their currency?"

"Yeah, they'll just sell this and whatever their paper money is called in exchange. At least that's how I think it works. Anyway, who doesn't love gold?"

"Banshees."

"Banshees?"

"A gold dagger to the heart kills a banshee."

"Huh. I never knew that. Should we add gold daggers to our Defense Against the Dark Arts line?"

I rolled my eyes. "Right, because selling gold daggers would go over really well, no one would possibly use those for any other purpose during wartime."

"Ah, right. Our darling little common sense filter, where would we be without you?"

"Prison, most likely," I replied. "Alright, where is this table-turner you mentioned?"

"Over here, over here." George beckoned me to a shadowy corner of the shop. "Henry said this shop sells records too, upstairs. I say we leave most of the blank Galleons in the exact spot where we nicked this, then head upstairs, grab a couple of records to get us started, leave the rest up there."

I grinned. "Excellent. How do you plan on getting back to the flat?"

"I reckon we could apparate well enough. And by we, I mean you hold onto me while I apparate. Ickle firstie."

"Oh, shut up. I'll apparate you to the Arctic in your sleep next summer."

George pressed a hand to his chest, pretending to be scandalized. "You wouldn't dare!"

"I guess you'll just have to find out, Georgie!" I replied. "We're wasting too much time, this was supposed to be a quick in-and-out stealth operation. C'mon!"

We worked together to lift the table-turner from its display. It wasn't terribly heavy, but it appeared to be rather fragile and neither of us wanted to risk breaking it in a way we didn't know how to magically fix. We left several gold pieces in its place and made our way up the stairs.

Crate after crate after crate after crate of vinyl records greeted us in the loft.

"Bloody hell, how are we supposed to look at all of these?" George asked.

I shook my head. "No bloody clue. I guess we just look until someone shows up to open the store. Then we can disapparate out of here."

"Works for me!"

We started on opposite ends of the room and combed through the records as best we could, grabbing anything that looked familiar or interesting. I was truly lost in my own little world, but I was jolted back to reality when I heard the sound of a key in a lock downstairs.

"We need to go," I hissed, tossing a couple of blank Galleons onto the nearest counter.

George wordlessly scooped the table-turner up, balancing his choices of records on top, and held out his elbow, which I grabbed with my free hand. With a crack, we were standing in the flat's kitchen again.

Fred, who was awake at that point, choked on his coffee in his surprise. "Bloody hell, you two! What the — where have you been? And — what is that?"

"A table-turner," I announced proudly. "With a couple of records to play on it. On it? With it? In it?" I sighed. "We got a table-turner and records. George's idea."

"How'd you 'get' it?" Fred asked.

George smiled. "Modified a couple of Galleons to look like regular gold pieces since Gringotts is closed this early in the morning."

"And the clerk accepted those?"

"Not sure," I replied with a shrug. "We left as soon as I heard someone fumbling with the lock. I think about 20 Galleons should be enough to cover it, though. I'm sure it'll be a fair trade. I suppose I could ask Harry if he thinks we should go back and leave more."

Fred chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, I'm glad you two had fun. Say, does anyone know how to actually use a table-turner?"

I looked blankly at George. George looked blankly at me.

We turned in unison to look blankly at Fred. Fred looked blankly at us.

And then all three of us started howling with laughter.

~

Mrs. Weasley invited us to spend the day at the Burrow on Sunday, knowing it was our day off, so we headed that way after figuring out how the table-turner (which was called a turntable, apparently, according to Harry) worked. Dinner was interrupted by the arrival of Professor Dumbledore himself, saying that Rufus Scrimgeour had replaced Fudge as the Minister of Magic. He clearly only intended to inform us of this then leave, but everyone who had taken a stand against the Dursleys at King's Cross was there at the table.

"When will Harry be joining us?" Mrs. Weasley asked, a cutting edge to her voice nearly hidden beneath the false innocent sweetness of its exterior.

Professor Dumbledore shot a meaningful look at me. His words from a few weeks ago echoed in my mind, something about "As long as you call that place home, Voldemort can't touch you," but they seemed so empty when I was sitting in the Burrow, safe and happy and well-fed and well-loved, knowing Harry was experiencing the exact opposite on Privet Drive. That place wasn't home for Harry. It never had been, and it never would be. He looked at me for another long moment before turning back to Mrs. Weasley. "Soon enough, Molly."

"We have plenty of food tonight," she continued. "He is always welcome here, surely you know that?"

"We can go get him right now," I said, glancing at the twins.

"There is no need for that, Lucy," Professor Dumbledore asserted. He didn't look at me. He glanced around the room. "Has he said anything to anyone to suggest he is in any danger?"

We all shook our heads slowly.

I opened my mouth. "But—"

"Then we must assume that his home is the best place for him to be."

"This is home, we are home," I insisted.

"They are his family, Lucy." He finally turned to look at me again, unspoken meaning in his eyes. "Surely you understand the importance of that, better than most."

I found I had nothing to say in response. My mouth snapped shut. I shot a despairing glance at Remus, then at Alastor.

"We've retrieved him once, Dumbledore, I say we do it again," Alastor said.

"He is always welcome here," Mrs. Weasley repeated.

Fred started to get to his feet, George following half a second later, and it was this movement that led Professor Dumbledore to hold up a hand.

"I appreciate the concern everyone is showing for Harry, but seeing as we have no reason to believe any harm has come to him—"

"Just because it hasn't yet doesn't mean it won't, sir," I interjected desperately. "He belongs here. We treat him more like family than his ever has. I'll go fetch him myself, if I must."

Everyone around the table voiced their agreement.

"He's just a boy, Albus," Mrs. Weasley said, "not a soldier in the field. We shouldn't need to wait for a distress call to go rescue him, we shouldn't need to rescue him at all."

I jumped to my feet. "So let's go now, we could have him back here before the food is cold if we all—"

"I will fetch him by the end of the week," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice suddenly loud though it remained gentle. Deceptively gentle. "There is something with which I will need his help. I will owl him immediately. Good night."

And with that, he left.

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Mrs. Weasley was the first to speak. "I trust him, I do," she said with a heavy sigh, "but why he allows that poor child to return to that sorry excuse for a home every summer when our doors are always wide open..."

"What was the 'but,' Lucy?" Ron asked.

I blinked. "Hm?"

"When Dumbledore asked if Harry said he was in danger and we all shook our heads, you started to say a 'but.' What is it?"

"But I know he's not safe from the Dursleys, or happy, or well-enough-fed, or..." I lowered myself back into my chair and dropped my head into my hands. "Just because he hasn't mentioned anything as drastic as bars being put on his window or being forcibly put on his cousin's diet or You-Know-Who appearing on his doorstep doesn't mean he's safe. Safe would mean he's here."

"For what it's worth, I agree with you, Lucy," Mr. Weasley said. "There's nothing we can do about it right now, since Dumbledore said he needs Harry's help with something. He'll be here soon. Try not to worry."

"And since I know you're going to worry anyway," Ginny commented, kicking me under the table until I looked up at her, "I'm going to remind you that he's never been in a situation so bad he couldn't escape it. He's going to be okay."

But he's had ME in almost all of those situations, I wanted to scream. We've been in those situations TOGETHER. We belong together.

We belong together, I wanted to whisper. Being apart is killing me. Being apart is killing him, too, I just know it.

I didn't say any of that. Instead, I nodded and reached for my fork.

The twins slowly sat back down on either side of me, and the meal continued, almost as if nothing had happened. Almost.

None of us spoke about the chair between Ron and Hermione that had been left empty. Just in case.

The second week of employment at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes brought about new kinds of adventures — only a handful of which were illegal. George and I didn't commit any more break-ins, but I did get my first taste of Muggle alcohol, and I did ride on the back of a motorbike that Fred "borrowed," and I did chase George in Animagus form through the famous the Eagle and Child pub where Archie told me the Inklings used to meet on Tuesdays (yes, through). The best part of the week, though, was when the twins introduced me to the pygmy puffs and put me in charge of taking care of them.

I talked to Harry through it all, often writing until I fell asleep and the spilled ink across the pages informed Harry that the diary had become my pillow. He still always wrote good night, though, even if he had to squeeze it in tiny letters in between the massive black splotches leaking from my knocked-over inkwell.

Harry told me about turntables — because apparently they were called turntables and not table-turners — and explained how they worked.

I told him everything about the joke shop, and how the products worked.

Harry told me he missed me.

I told him I missed him too.

Harry told me that Dumbledore was coming to take him to the Burrow on Friday night.

I didn't tell him that I was the reason why.

I waited for Friday. I waited, and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited.