This is it, boys, this is war, what are we waiting for?
Why don't we break the rules already?
I was never one to believe the hype
Save that for the black and white
I try twice as hard, and I'm half as liked
But here they come again to jack my style

And that's alright
I found a martyr in my bed tonight
Stops my bones from wondering
Just who I am, who I am, who I am
Oh, who am I?

Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end
'Cause I could use some friends for a change
And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again
Some nights, I always win, I always win
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost
I'm still not sure what I stand for

What do I stand for?
What do I stand for?
Most nights, I don't know

So this is it?
I sold my soul for this?
Washed my hands of that for this?
I miss my mom and dad for this?
No, when I see stars
When I see stars, that's all they are
When I hear songs, they sound like this one, so come on

"Some Nights"
Fun

~

HENRY:

I stopped by the joke shop after a Wednesday afternoon practice. I hadn't been by since the first week of summer because I had been so busy hunting for a flat, but since I finally found one and moved in, I figured it was high time to pay a visit to three of my favorite people.

Even though I arrived about half an hour before they were supposed to close, the shop was deserted, and instead of prancing around the shop as they always did, Lucy, George, and Fred were all perched on various staircases with their chins in their hands and their eyes drooping shut.

"Bloody hell, you all look exhausted," I commented as I strolled through the door. "What happened?"

Instead of answering me, they all looked at each other and started laughing.

I shook my head. "You've all officially lost it."

"No!" George protested. "No, we've — we're brilliant!"

"We are!" Fred added.

Lucy pushed herself to her feet and dragged her hand down her face, still laughing. "We were up all night. Working. New product."

"Sleep is important, you know," I said, painfully aware of how Cedric-like I sounded in that moment. "Essential, even."

"This was more important," George argued with a tired, crooked grin.

"It was worth it, at any rate." Lucy beamed. "We're going to call it the Daydream Charm. One incantation, one daydream, so vivid it's like you've stuck your head in a Pensieve. Without the actual Pensieve part, of course, those are unwieldy. But, well, we thought it would be easiest to execute a trial run if we had... memories..." Lucy's voice trailed off, a contemplative expression creeping over her face.

Fred, who was behind her, didn't see this and assumed she was simply too tired to complete her story. "We figured basing the daydreams on actual memories would make it easier, so we went and made several last night."

"Like what? And how?" I asked, curious and a bit concerned about the legality of whatever they had done.

"We pretended to be pirates from dusk 'til dawn, Mr. Magpie," George answered, "on a borrowed pirate ship."

"Pirate ship?" I repeated.

"Well, not a real pirate ship. I don't think so, anyway. It looked like one, though, wouldn't you say, Cub?" When Lucy didn't answer, George tilted his head to the side. "Cub?"

"Memories," Lucy said slowly. "Mem... I think I know how to make this work."

I blinked. "Wait, you aren't even sure if this product will work yet, and you stole—"

"Borrowed!" George interrupted, getting to his feet and stumbling down the stairs. "We had it back where it belonged by sunrise, not a scratch on it!"

"Borrowed," I corrected myself, "a ship? Just in case you figured out how to make the product work later?"

"That's right! We're rather determined to fill Lucy's summer with ridiculous and risky but fun and foundational life experiences, if you hadn't heard," Fred piped up. "Fun experience first, functional product later."

"How could this work, Cub?" George asked, jumping down the last couple of steps and only barely managing to stick the landing.

Lucy closed her eyes and massaged her forehead with her fingers. "I don't — well, I — Merlin, I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's alright," he said as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He's always so quick to reassure anyone who needs it, I noted. "We're all exhausted. If you just realized your idea doesn't work after all, it's perfectly alright and understandable."

"No, I — I'm sure it — well, it's not an idea I have currently, but — bloody hell, I can barely string a sentence together." Lucy opened her eyes and lowered her hand and glanced at me.

I recognized instantly that look in her eyes.

"It has something to do with Cedric, doesn't it?" I asked softly.

She nodded. "A book. I know he — had a book on memories," she finished in a mumble. "I don't — I'm not exactly sure where it ended up, but... a whole book about memory? I'm sure something in there could help us."

A heavy moment of silence passed as we all absorbed what Lucy had said.

"Well... anyone up for a trip to the Diggorys tonight?" Fred asked.

George's knuckles whitened a bit as he gripped Lucy's shoulder slightly harder. "We don't have to do this right now. The book will be there whenever you're ready to go get it. I know you haven't been there since... Merlin, has it really been since last summer?"

"Think so," Lucy said, her face growing paler by the second.

"George is right, Lucy," I said. "The book will still be there whenever you decide you're ready. Besides, I think you three are all too tired to actually figure anything out anyway... no offense, you're all brilliant, but you all look as if you haven't slept in far too long."

Fred grinned. "Couldn't agree more. Hey, why don't we close up early and find a pub? I doubt any of us feel like cooking, since three of us haven't slept in two days and Henry's just been at a professional Quidditch practice."

"Two days?" I asked. "Why not?"

"Well, two days ago was when we had the idea and we stayed up all night working on plans, then last night — and this morning, technically, I suppose — was when we were playing pirates."

I shook my head. "We're finding a pub or a restaurant or something and then immediately coming back here, and I will not leave until you are all in bed. I will tuck you in myself if I have to."

George reddened a bit at that, and he glanced away from me to study Lucy. "Are you up to that, Cub? We could eat here, too, if you don't feel like going out."

"Pub food sounds good, especially if it's that one by the record store," she replied, offering up a small, remarkably brave, smile. "Only if we're all in, though."

"Brilliant!" Fred clapped his hands together. "Let's close up shop then head out!"

"How can I help?" I asked.

"You can go reserve a booth big enough for the four of us, if you want," Lucy said with a shrug. "It's been a quiet day, so there's not going to be much to do. Or, you know what, take George with you. I think Fred and I can handle closing up."

With that, she practically shoved George toward me, and she dragged Fred into the back room, loudly talking about everything she needed to restock so there was no room for protest.

Not that I would have protested anyway. George's company was always delightful. Even when he was clearly more asleep than awake. Perhaps especially then — the way he slurred his words was far more entertaining and endearing than it had any business being.

"You should have seen her, Henry," he said as we walked down a Muggle London street, "Lucy, last night. She was having so much fun. After years and years and years and years of us trying and trying and trying and trying to convince her that she is allowed to let loose and break free and have fun and just be a kid — well, I guess she's not a kid anymore because she's 16 now and that's almost 17, but she's always going to be our little Cub — well, you know what I mean, don't you, Henry?"

I smiled and nodded patiently. "I know what you mean. That conversation happened quite a bit with her brother. We were never as successful with him as you've been with Lucy, though. Well done, mate, really. She needed that."

George sighed. "She really did. Still does. We will take her on more adventures."

"After you've slept plenty," I said with as much (loving) force as I could. "Can't have you toppling asleep into the sea, now can I?"

"We didn't topple," he replied indignantly. "We all tossed each other off like sacks of potatoes."

"You... what?"

"Tossed each other off. Overboard. Into the water. Like sacks of potatoes. For the memories."

"All of you? Lucy too?"

"Yeah, why?"

We had reached the front door of the pub, but I fully stopped, grabbed George by the shoulder, and pulled him to the side to look at him directly. "Hold on. Lucy, who had a panic attack after the second task, let herself be thrown overboard, and she was okay?"

"Yeah." George's eyes widened, and he grinned. "Yeah, she was. I didn't even realize that."

"Good for her," I said with a smile as I steered George into the pub and we found four seats.

Lucy and Fred stumbled in about ten minutes later, laughing about something. Dinner passed in much the same way, all four of us laughing as Lucy, George, and Fred took turns telling me about the shop shenanigans I had missed. Once they ran out of stories, George asked me what it was like being a true Montrose Magpie.

"The manager's quite the character," I said, shrugging. "A bit intense."

"Intense how?" Lucy asked.

I met her eyes. She had that same searching look, the one that Cedric always employed when I was being intentionally vague.

"He makes Oliver Wood look like a pushover," I replied with a grin. "My teammates say you get used to it, though. The Keeper I'm replacing has been sticking around for practices to help me figure out how the team functions. Next Tuesday, the 23rd, is going to be his official last day — I'm on my own a week from today."

I could tell that Lucy still knew there was more to the story, but I could also tell that she was absolutely too tired to push me. She smiled. "You're awesome. Cedric would be so proud of you."

"He'd be proud of you too," I said. "I heard you let these buffoons toss you overboard."

"What can I say, I'm committed to the product," she replied lightheartedly, but I could tell she was pleased that someone had recognized the significance of that. "Harry was so excited that he ripped his page writing me back."

I cocked my head. "Your letters send that quickly?"

"Oh, no." Fred jumped into the conversation with a grin. "No, no, no. Those two have their very own special method of communication. Lucy's always been a little inventor. We didn't even find out about this until she started living under our roof. Apparently Ron already knew, but—"

"Anyway," George interrupted, "they have these diaries that Lucy made ages ago. Messages go back and forth instantly. Direct line of communication there."

"That's — I can't decide if I should call that brilliant or adorable," I said, laughing. "It's both. It's adorably brilliant."

"Keep your voices down, we're in a Muggle pub," Lucy groaned. "It's neither of those, for your information. It's come in handy over summers. Harry gets into trouble, everyone knows this. It's a foolproof way to make sure he's okay. Well... almost foolproof." Her eyes grew sad as she busied herself with her food again.

"Her mum locked down their house last year," George explained softly. "Wards so strong even Dumbledore was impressed. Something she used was strong enough to block even the diaries, so last summer, Lucy had no word pass in or out through those wards. It was awful, for all of us, but Harry and Lucy especially. Anyway, the wards damaged Lucy's diary, so Harry found a way to make them himself for Christmas last year. So that, my friend, is the long story of how they're staying in touch with such efficient communication."

I nodded slowly. "I understand." I nudged Lucy gently under the table. "It's still adorable and brilliant, though. You two are something else."

"I'll have you know I did it even before I fancied him," she mumbled, looking somewhat put out. "It wasn't meant to be adorable, and I didn't think it was brilliant at the time. It was just what needed to be done. If anyone made it adorable and brilliant, it's Harry, he's the one who managed to recreate it. I don't even remember what I did."

"Where did you even get that idea?" I asked.

She winced. "Long story. Very long story. I'll tell you another time, when I only see one Henry Furl instead of two Henry Furls."

I shook my head, grinning. "I am, in fact, only one Henry Furls. I can't help the fact that my last name ends with an S."

"That's confusing," Lucy said with a pout. "I still love you, though."

"I love you too," I replied, shooting an amused glance at George. "I think it's bedtime for everyone."

George nodded, gaze flicking back and forth between Lucy and me. "I agree. We need to do this again, though."

"Preferably when Lucy's not falling asleep into her potatoes," Fred added.

"They don't taste the same without pumpkin juice," she mumbled, looking absolutely forlorn as her face tipped perilously closer to her plate.

"Pumpkin juice?" I repeated as I shot my hand forward to catch her by the forehead before her nose made contact with the untouched mound of mashed potatoes. "Who in their right mind would ruin perfectly good mashed potatoes with—"

Lucy didn't lift her head from my hand as she pointed at the twins. "They did it. They corrupted me. I'm ruined forever. No going back." She pulled her hands back and wrapped her arms around her middle. "No going back. It's okay, though. I like being corrupted by you."

"Corrupting you is one of our proudest accomplishments." Fred gently tugged on one of Lucy's braids to pull her over to him, where she landed on his shoulder and promptly closed her eyes.

"Is — she asleep?" I asked.

"Not quite yet," George replied. His eyes, though sleepy, had widened with concern. "In a minute or two, yes."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, just tired," Fred answered. "George and I have gotten somewhat used to not sleeping on occasion. Starting up your own business in Diagon Alley is no small feat. Lucy's all-nighters, on the other hand, are usually fueled by... you-know-what. So I think it's more difficult for her."

George looked as if he wanted to add something, but he didn't.

"We'll do this again," I said with a smile, bumping George's knee with my own under the table. "When everyone's more awake."

"I like the sound of that," he replied as he returned my smile. "Next week, sometime? You can tell us all about practices where you're the only Keeper."

"It's a date!" Fred declared on my behalf, grinning as he swung the now-sleeping Lucy onto his back. "Until then, Mr. Magpie!"

"Hey, that's my nickname for him!" George protested. "That's our thing!"

I smiled and shook my head, determinedly ignoring the pulse of warmth in my chest at George's use of the word "our."

~

In the days that followed, I was increasingly glad that Lucy had been too tired to push for details about Cormack McLeod.

It meant I didn't have to tell her about the first conversation I ever had with him, in his office before my first day of practice.

"So, Henry Furls," he said, glancing up from his paperwork to study me with piercing hazel eyes. He was younger than I had been expecting, early 40s at the most. When he got to his feet to shake my hand. he was shorter than I was expecting, too — the top of his head barely reached my shoulder. "You're the Hufflepuff Captain and Keeper my scouts have been gushing about for months now. Pleasure to finally meet you. Please, sit."

"Pleasure to meet you too," I replied with my best smile as I lowered myself into the chair he had summoned on the opposite side of his desk. "Let's hope everything you've heard about me is true."

"Is there any reason that wouldn't be the case?" he asked. His already-piercing eyes sharpened.

"I, er... no. I suppose that depends on what you've heard about me, sir."

"A great deal, largely positive. I did hear that you lost the game my scouts attended, but they were clearly impressed enough to sign you on right away even without my explicit approval, so you must be something of an impressive player. They told me you were Captain?"

I got the distinct sense that how I navigated this unexpectedly-difficult conversation was going to be just as important to Mr. McLeod as my actual playing ability. He was studying me the same way a predator studied its potential prey. Was it going to be easy to take down? Difficult? If it was going to be difficult, was it even worth eating?

I didn't know what he wanted from me. I did sense, though, that he would appreciate a full honest disclosure above all else, so I opted for that.

"I did lose the game the scouts attended, yes," I said with a nod, "and while I can't objectively speak to my playing ability, especially not on this new professional scale, I can say that I'm a hard worker and always play to the best of my ability. And I was Captain my seventh year, yes, following the — the death of our previous Captain, Cedric Diggory."

"Ah, so that's your story." Mr. McLeod narrowed his eyes. "You Hufflepuffs always fascinate me. I will tell you now, Mr. Furls, hard work and trying your best means little if the results do not reflect this. You have to work so hard nobody can doubt that you're doing your best. We are the Montrose Magpies, the best team in the league. We did not come to be where we are just by 'trying' to be the best. We made ourselves the best. There was hard work involved, of course, but hard work means nothing without something to show for it. Do you understand?"

I nodded, unsure of what to say next.

"It must have been difficult, filling your friend's shoes last year," he continued. "Tell me about that. What did you do?"

I forced myself to take a deep, steadying breath before speaking again. I felt as if I were going to explode from the intense scrutiny in his unrelenting gaze. "Well, Cedric had taken the time to draw up new plans and practice schedules, before he knew that the Triwizard Tournament was going to cancel Quidditch our sixth year. I relied on those at first, but I started to figure out my own style as the year went along."

"Well, in that case, I'm glad our current Keeper is sticking around for a couple of weeks to show you the ropes. If you're not capable of coming up with your own ideas, follow his lead as long as you can. Keep in mind, though, it won't last forever." Not giving me a chance to defend myself, he got to his feet and smiled. There was not an ounce of sincerity in the expression. "I'm looking forward to seeing what you can offer this team, Mr. Furls. Let's hope you really are more than just a second-choice replacement."

Those words haunted me in the weeks that followed. And, worse, they reappeared, ringing in my ears once again, at my first solo practice.

McLeod didn't need to use a Sonorous Charm to be heard. For a short man, his shouts could be heard even outside the stadium.

"I thought we hired a KEEPER," McLeod roared, "and NOT a pathetic Hufflepuff Captain SECOND-CHOICE REPLACEMENT! Come ON, Furls, get it TOGETHER! That's the THIRD one IN A ROW that you've let in!"

I ground my teeth together to will the tears away. I was dehydrated enough from how long it had been since a water break and how much I was sweating in the late-July sun — I refused to lose any more water.

Practice wasn't going well, but it wasn't going as badly as McLeod seemed to think, either. I wasn't performing any better than I had been when the former Keeper was still around, but I wasn't performing worse either. At least I didn't think I was — McLeod had a way of getting in my head and making me question myself in ways I never had before.

"Oi, Furls, don't let him get to you," one of the Chasers, Alasdair Maddock, called. He was always the friendliest to me of all of my new teammates. "I was a Hufflepuff too. He's just looking for something to blame."

"Thanks," I choked out. I didn't know how to explain that it wasn't the Hufflepuff comment that was really getting under my skin. I wondered if McLeod had included the Hufflepuff Captain part as a red herring, so no one would think too much of the "second-choice replacement" comment. Did anyone know the truth of how I had become Captain in the first place?

"HECTOR KELLY ISN'T DEAD!" McLeod bellowed suddenly. "UNLIKE THE SECURITY OFFERED TO YOU BY THE NATURE OF YOUR PREVIOUS POSITION, MR. FURLS, WE CAN BRING HIM BACK IF YOU DON'T MEASURE UP!"

"Do you honestly think I would have wanted that? I wish Cedric had been Captain, I wish, I wish, I wish, you bastard," I whispered furiously. Alasdair Maddock was on his way to fire off a shot, though, so I forced away the tears in my eyes and swatted it away with more force than I'd ever used on a Quaffle.

"Oh, thank Merlin. I was afraid I'd need to call my old granny to teach you how to do your damn job!" McLeod's sarcasm was apparent even from how far away I was. "Don't let your one lousy success get to your head, Mr. Furls. There's a lot of practice still to go."

Unfortunately, he was quite correct. My anger would sustain me for a few minutes at a time, then the reality of what McLeod had said would set in, and then he'd start shouting at me all over again. I knew how he operated at that point. I'd seen him use anger to motivate my teammates, I'd seen how rapidly he could switch from praise to criticism and back to praise. In the past, he'd always harped on different people, switching between multiple targets for the duration of practice. But actually experiencing it? And on top of that, being the sole recipient of his too-personal criticism for the entire practice? Nothing, nothing could have prepared me for such a taxing six hours of my life.

Finally, blessedly, it was over. Feeling physically drained and emotionally violated, I made a beeline for the ground and practically sprinted into the locker room, wanting to get as far away from there as soon as possible.

Alasdair, however, was right behind me.

"Furls," he said, tugging on the back of my robe. "I'm sorry, mate, today was rough. He gets in his moods sometimes. I'm sorry you were the one who got the brunt of it today. It's not fun."

"You're right, it's not," I managed as I tried to force a grin onto my face. I failed spectacularly.

"You'll get used to it eventually," he continued, sitting on the bench next to me and staring at me as I stripped my robes and climbed into normal clothes. "You can't let him get under your skin. Easier said than done, I know, but he's ruthless. If you let him under your skin, he'll haunt you forever."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak without crying.

"I wish I could say something that would make you feel better, but I think it's best for you to just get out of here and clear your head. I'll take you out for drinks tonight, if that's something of interest to you? If you don't drink, we can head back to my flat and order a pizza. I got myself one of those Muggle phones, and they bring the pizza right to your flat door!"

"I—" I swallowed hard and met his earnest eyes with my watery ones. "I appreciate it, I do, just — just not tonight. I'm sorry. Maybe tomorrow night, or Friday?"

"Hey, it's alright," he said with an easy grin. "I understand. You want your friends right now, I'm guessing? People who understand exactly why McLeod said what he said and know enough about you to prove him wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt?"

"Something like that would be nice, but I'd settle for..." George, I almost said. George, my mind answered. George, my soul screamed. I'd settle for George. "I'd settle for a distraction."

Alasdair grew serious. "Magic or Muggle?"

"Magic," I replied. "Why do you ask?"

He glanced back and forth before leaning in to whisper, "I need you to know that I don't care one bit if she's magic or a Muggle, but there aren't any Muggle-borns on this team. If you understand what I mean."

I felt my eyes widen. "McLeod's a blood supremacist?"

"I don't think he's working with You-Know-Who or anything, but... these days, it can't hurt to be careful. I still would advise you not to tell McLeod about her because by now you know what he does when he learns personal information about someone, but if you're ever dating a Muggle girl, never let McLeod find out."

"What about the others on this team?" I asked. "Is there anyone else who might cause a problem? If — I were to be dating a Muggle?"

"These days, it can't hurt to be careful," he said again. He sighed. "I say this because I'm a half-blood who was dating a Muggle girl before You-Know-Who returned. I still love her more than anything, but we're taking a break until this all blows over. I needed to keep her safe."

I nodded. "I understand. Thanks for the warning."

"Yeah, you got it." Alasdair pushed himself to his feet and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Enjoy your distraction. I'm sure she's lovely. And if you ever want to talk about McLeod said, just let me know. I'd have your back."

"Thank you. I appreciate it, I really do, I just... you were right, I need friends tonight. But we could be friends. Really."

"Starting on Friday?" he asked with a smile. "I know we're supposed to be careful and wary of strangers and wary of friends and all that these days, but I saw your name in the papers in regards to that whole Department of Mysteries event with Harry Potter, so I'm sure you're alright. Feel free to do your research into me, I'd understand, trust me."

"Friday sounds great," I replied, nodding, smiling back with more success than the first time I had tried. "We can decide on a pub, until we get to know each other better. Can't be too careful. And, er, I'm single. Just so you know. I thought you were asking if I was going to visit a magical place or a Muggle place."

Alasdair looked as if he didn't believe me, but he nodded regardless. "Alright, Furls. Let me know when that's no longer the case, though, okay? I can tell you're in love."

"How?" I asked. "No offense, but you barely even know me."

"Has anyone ever told you that you wear your heart on your sleeve?" he asked as he began shuffling through the contents of his own locker.

I didn't answer aloud. My face was burning. I thought that was answer enough.

I felt a little better after my conversation with Alasdair, but McLeod's were still ringing in my ears and making my throat feel uncomfortably tight. I apparated back to my flat, and as soon as I was safely alone, I let myself break down crying for the first time.

Cedric would have been so much better at this.

He could have played Quidditch professionally.

I miss him. I want him. Here, with me, right now, somehow.

McLeod's right, I'm just a second choice, I'm just a replacement.

"What do I do now, Cedric?" I choked out.

The answer, though, was quite clear. The joke shop and its inhabitants would make me feel better. I let myself cry a little longer, too exhausted to move from the place where I had dropped to the floor. Once I pushed myself to my feet, though, I was suddenly aware of how disgusting I was after six hours of practice, so I jumped into the shower.

Ten minutes later, I was walking through the doors of WWW, feeling physically refreshed but still emotionally raw.

Lucy was looking much better than she had looked a week ago, with a pink pygmy puff on each shoulder and a purple one in her hands. Her head whipped in my direction when I entered, and I saw she was already smiling. She smiled wider, though, when she saw it was me.

"Hi, Henry!" she called.

"Hi, Lucy," I said, walking over to where she was standing.

"Here." She placed the pygmy puff she was holding in my hands, then reached down and grabbed another one, still beaming. "You look as if you could use one. They're all quite cuddly, but that one is the best cuddler."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." I studied her out of the corner of my eye. I have to ask. "I don't mean to suggest that you're a gloomy person, because you're not, but you seem particularly sunny today. Is there a reason for that?"

"Yes, absolutely," Lucy said with a happy sigh. "I've had this recurring nightmare every 24th since the night of the second task. I'm on the bottom of the Black Lake, waiting for Cedric to come and get me, but in the nightmare, he never does. Last night was the first time it didn't happen."

"That's great! Well, it's not great that you had that nightmare so many times, it sounds awful, but I'm glad it didn't happen last night."

"I think it might be because I let the twins throw me overboard," she continued. "Or maybe it's just the fact that this summer is the happiest I've been for a long period of time since Cedric died. I don't know, but whatever the reason, it didn't happen. I — I think I'm free."

"That's great, Lucy, I'm happy for you. You deserve it."

Lucy's smile widened. "Thanks." She glanced up at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. "So what brings you here, Henry? Are you here to see our darling Georgie? He insisted upon buying a fourth plate and bowl and fork and knife and spoon, you know, in case you stopped by."

I felt heat climb into my face. "Did he really?"

"He did, really! He's upstairs cooking now. He cooks dinner while Fred counts the day's money and I restock the shelves and take care of the pygmy puffs. It's a great system, we're all very happy with our jobs. We always come up to help him once we're done, but just between you and me, I think he'd prefer if we didn't."

"Why?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"George is a doer," Lucy replied. "He feels best when he has something to do. He enjoys working with his hands, and being able to tangibly help people, and doing things for people. He's never really been one to just talk abstractly, Fred is really the dreamer of the two. He's good at talking about feelings — other people's feelings, though, he doesn't express his own very often. For George, if there's a bad feeling, there's something he can do about it, to cheer someone up. If there's a good feeling, he maximizes that by sharing in it and doing whatever he can to prolong it. Anyway, back to the cooking bit, he really enjoys being able to do something tangible and real for others. I think he gets the love of cooking from his mum specifically, but I think he insists upon doing it and would rather have us not help because it's something he can consistently do no matter how crazy the world becomes. Everybody needs to eat, and everybody appreciates a good meal."

I nodded slowly, trying to absorb everything she had said. "George is a doer. He feels best when he can tangibly help with something. Cooking gives him something consistently helpful to do."

"Yeah, that's exactly it. And don't worry, he's a good cook. He gets that from his mum too. C'mon, let's head upstairs so George knows he's cooking for four tonight and he can finally put his fourth set of dinnerware to good use."

I tried to protest, saying I'd eat back at my flat and I just wanted to stop by to say hello, but Lucy was having none of it. We intercepted Fred on the way and brought him upstairs with us.

Surely enough, George insisted that none of us help him cook. I offered to set the table, at least, but Lucy shook her head.

"No, you're family. Family eats on the floor."

George made a strangled sound. "We can eat at the table tonight like proper British people," he started to say, but I interrupted him by laughing.

"I can set the floor instead of the table," I insisted. "I was on a broom for six hours today, anyway. The stability of the floor sounds brilliant."

A short time later, the four of us were gathered in a loose circle on the floor in their den. Lucy was right; George was a good cook. The food warmed me from the inside out, but what made me even warmer was seeing the family Lucy had found in the twins. I had seen it that night in the pub when she was exhausted, the way Fred was so quick to pull her to him, the way George was watching her like a hawk. But I saw it in the typical Wednesday night too, the way George passed her whatever she needed without her even having to ask (the salt, the pepper, the pumpkin juice, and no of course I didn't try it on my mashed potatoes), the way Fred kept a steady point of physical contact with her at all times (interlocking their purple and orange and blue stockinged feet, resting a hand on the top of her head as he walked past her, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with their backs against the sofa, and yes George and I were sitting cross-legged perpendicular to each other with our knees touching). I kept waiting to feel like an intruder, because I was so very aware of the familial intimacy of the setting, but I never once felt like I was on the outside looking in. George kept drawing me in. Lucy kept smiling at me. Fred kept being Fred, meaning he kept all three of us effortlessly entertained.

Lucy and Fred were strategic, though. Once the food was gone, Lucy jumped up to bake cookies and instructed Fred wash the dishes, and they barricaded the door to the kitchen with so many locking charms and protective enchantments that George and I were effectively trapped on the other side.

"It's not such a terrible fate, really," George said with a sweet smile. "Not for me, anyway."

I echoed his smile right back at him. "Not for me, either."

"What's bothering you, Mr. Magpie?" he asked.

I released a small sigh. "Noticed, did you?"

"Of course. So what's wrong?"

"The Magpies manager is... difficult," I managed.

"You said he made Oliver Wood look like a pushover," he said, nodding.

I glanced down at my hands and started tugging gently at the carpet. Not hard enough to pull anything loose, but enough so that it grated against my fingertips, the small amount of pain grounding me. "You remember that?"

"Of course."

"You were so tired, I was half-hoping you'd all forget that night happened."

"Of course not. So what did the manager do? Wait, first, what's his name? I want to cuss him out first, middle, and last name when I find out what he did to upset you."

I blinked. "Er, Cormack McLeod. Not sure about the middle name. And, well, I — I shouldn't be as upset as I am, it's not that big of a deal, he talks like that to everyone, it's just the first time he's talked like that to me, and it was for the better part of six hours, and—"

"Hey, slow down," George said. I glanced up, and his brown eyes pulled me in. Steady like the earth. Warm like hot chocolate. "However you're feeling right now, you're not leaving until you feel better, alright? No matter how awful you feel right now, you're leaving cheerful. Let's assess the damage together, shall we?"

Lucy's words echoed in my mind. "He's good at talking about feelings — other people's feelings, though, he doesn't express his own very often. For George, if there's a bad feeling, there's something he can do about it, to cheer someone up. If there's a good feeling, he maximizes that by sharing in it and doing whatever he can to prolong it."

McLeod's words echoed in my mind. "I thought we hired a KEEPER, and NOT a pathetic Hufflepuff Captain SECOND-CHOICE REPLACEMENT!" "HECTOR KELLY ISN'T DEAD! UNLIKE THE SECURITY OFFERED TO YOU BY THE NATURE OF YOUR PREVIOUS POSITION, MR. FURLS, WE CAN BRING HIM BACK IF YOU DON'T MEASURE UP!"

I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. "It was my first day on my own, without the former Keeper. And, well, on my first day, I explained to McLeod that I was only Captain because Cedric died and — and today, I didn't have a good practice. He said that unlike Cedric, Hector Kelly wasn't dead, so they could bring him back if it turned out they hired, and I quote, 'a pathetic Hufflepuff Captain second-choice replacement.'"

George's warm eyes turned fiery. "He said what?"

"That was the gist of it," I said with a shrug. "He started with that, then continued for the next six hours with variations on that theme."

"What the hell?" George's eyebrows knit together as an angry flush crept over his face. "How dare he? Oh, he's — if you give me his address, I'll make sure he never knows a day of peace as long as he lives. Lucy and Fred would help, I know they would. I want, no, I need his address. What a—"

And then, George proceeded to describe Cormack McLeod in the most colorful language I had ever heard a human being use. By the time he was done, I was cheered significantly.

"You've never even met the man," I pointed out with a weak laugh.

"And for his sake, I hope I never do. That interaction would earn me a one-way ticket to Azkaban. How dare he? How DARE he? Henry." George's eyes widened suddenly, went soft again. He reached forward and grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me back and forth. "Henry, not a word of that was true. Nothing he said was true. You're a brilliant Quidditch player, and you're a much better Keeper than Cedric ever was so don't even bother trying to compare yourself to him in that sense because that would be ridiculous anyway, and clearly you're a better Keeper than whoever their last Keeper was because the scouts chose you. And even if none of that were true, you'd still matter to me, and to Lucy, and to your family, and to so many other people. You don't need to be a brilliant Keeper, you don't need to be a brilliant anything to be worth something in this world, and you are." He leaned closer, squeezed my shoulders harder. "You're worth so much more than what you can or cannot do on a Quidditch Pitch. Never forget that."

I felt something deep within me relax. Tension I hadn't even realized I was holding, just... dissipated. "Thanks, George."

"It's just the truth," he said softly, letting me go. "You know what else is the truth, though? Cormack McLeod is a—"

As George verbally shredded my manager a second time, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. George was far more helpful than I had been expecting. I thought he'd be able to make me laugh, distract me from how upset I was, but Lucy was right. I had given him something to do: defend me, and thoroughly offend someone who had been mean to me. I wasn't sure if I was disappointed or relieved that McLeod wasn't around to hear George, but I appreciated the colorful language because it was on my behalf.

Cedric never would have helped like that. He would have been reassuring, of course, and he would have said McLeod had no reason to say what he did. He would have been gentle and kind and sweet, and he would have been sure to shower me with Quidditch-related compliments for the next several weeks and make a small gesture of friendship to remind me just how much I meant to him outside of Quidditch.

George was not gentle, kind, or sweet in his description of McLeod, but he was gentle, kind, and sweet to me in between bouts of anger at my manager. George wasn't Cedric, but he was George. George was exactly who I needed him to be in that moment, and I loved him for it.

George was halfway through his third round of swearing when the door opened to reveal Lucy, bearing a plate full of cookies, and Fred, carrying a pitcher of milk.

"Oh, who are we attacking?" Fred asked cheerfully.

"Henry's evil manager," George answered.

Lucy leveled me with a look that seemed to scream I knew I should have pushed you, Henry Furls. "So are we lighting his house on fire or seducing his wife? Both can be arranged, there are three of us. We could divide and conquer, seduce his wife while lighting his house on fire."

George's jaw dropped. "There's no way that evil bastard is married."

"Married with two kids," I mumbled.

"Oh, those poor children." Lucy offered me the plate. "Here, Henry, have a cookie, have a dozen cookies if you want, but save three for us. We have crimes to commit."

I shook my head. "Not tonight, please. It isn't worth it."

"It is wor—" George started to protest, but I shoved a cookie into his mouth to shut him up.

"We can commit our crimes once the cookies are gone, I suppose," Fred commented.

Lucy lowered herself down next to me, setting the plate in front of me. "Snickerdoodles. Cedric's favorite. You need to tell me what your favorite cookies are, though, so I can make those next time you're here."

"Snickerdoodles, actually," I replied softly. "Cedric convinced me they were the best. Haven't had once since he died, though."

"Well, thirteen months is far too long." Lucy managed a small smile. "I will say that mine were his favorites."

I understood why as soon as I took a bite, and I told her so. She smiled, her blush showing since she had removed the makeup that was covering her scars.

The conversation then turned to the topic of birthdays, since Harry's was in seven days and Lucy was significantly distressed, at a complete loss for what to get him. She wasn't terribly fond of my idea of an engagement ring, unfortunately.

"Neville is always so easy," she said. "He loves plants, so I used to send him one of my mum's. Last year I sent him a new Herbology book, and—"

"Wait, which one?" I asked. "I just bought one for him yesterday that came out last year, thinking he might not have it yet. I don't want to send him a duplicate."

Lucy smiled. "Honestly, Henry, Neville would just be so excited that you remembered his birthday. You could send him a rock with a note attached saying 'Happy birthday' and he would be thrilled. But the book I got him last year was one about magical American plants, so you should be safe."

"Okay, good, I definitely got a different one," I replied. "Yes, of course I remembered Neville's birthday. It's still July 30th, right?"

"Exactly, one day before Harry's." Lucy rested her head back against the sofa, closed her eyes, and groaned. "Harry's birthday is seven days away and I still don't know what to—" Lucy's eyes snapped open. "Merlin's beard. I've got it."

~

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger! This next part really needs to be from Lucy's perspective, though, I swear. It'll be worth it, I think, I hope. (Can you tell my anxiety has been debilitating lately?) (I do in fact have Harry's birthday fully sorted, I promise. In a perfect world, this would have been a double update. Alas, homework.)

I'm interested to hear what you all think of this chapter! Introducing new characters and new dynamics is always nerve-wracking for me. Please don't be shy, I genuinely need the feedback because I'm currently trying to figure out the trajectory of Henry's story over the next couple of years. Thank you in advance for your comments!

Mini life update for me, I've been having a bit of an existential crisis (I have a lot of those, though), I've been reading Best Friend's Brother by zeppazariel and loving every minute of it, I've been listening to the same three playlists on repeat (consisting almost entirely of Sleeping At Last and CHPTRS songs), and, well, I found out that my best friend is in love with me. So life around here has been interesting, to say the least. This story has been the only constant in my life lately. Thank you for being here, week after week.

I hope you're all having a great week! See you next Wednesday with Chapter 193, featuring Harry's birthday! As always, thank you for reading!