Mapmakers

While the summer wore on and the brewing war began to quietly take its casualties, Fred started writing to Harry about, of all things, a map.

Fred and George had owned it once; they'd left it to Harry over two years ago now. It was a map, in detail, of the Hogwarts grounds and everyone there. Over the summer, when none of them were at school -- Fred and George wouldn't be returning anyway, which was still a strange thought -- it wasn't much use.

So it might have seemed strange that Fred was asking about it now. But he'd learned that year that he knew the mapmakers... two of them, anyway. Now one was gone and one had tried to follow, and in trying to understand why, he'd take whatever answers he could get.

So Fred paused with his quill above the paper, wondering how to ask Harry this particular favor.

Dear Harry, he eventually wrote. That stayed solitary on the page for a couple minutes. Fred stared at it, wishing briefly that he'd told his brother what he was plotting so they could brainstorm this together. But for once, George had wanted more than he had to let this go....

So finally he twitched the feather across his chin, made a face, set the tip to the paper and began scribbling in earnest.

Hope you're well. I know you've heard the news about Lupin, and I hope you're all right. He'll be okay, I mean, and we're making sure he's not alone -- but it shocked everyone, so I can guess how you feel. Your aunt and uncle better let you visit -- I think that would help.

He stopped again to think, then plunged ahead.

I've been thinking over this a lot too, and I guess I had some questions left. You know more about Sirius and Lupin and all the Marauders than I do, which is damn funny considering you found out about them from George & me, but there you go. And I don't want to ask you for more, not now anyway.

I did wonder, though -- you know how the old Map writes messages sometimes? From them? I've seen it; I bet you have too. What all does it say? Does it really tell you anything?

Maybe I shouldn't be asking you this. It's an idea, though.

Fred paused, then added:

Hope Dudley isn't being insufferable. Let me know if you need any Canary Cremes or whatnot. We could all use a laugh, I'm sure.

Best,
Fred

He stared at the letter while the ink dried, still wondering if this was a good idea, then folded and sealed it into an envelope, and went to find their owl.

He was expecting a long wait for a reply.

It only took a couple hours. Harry's reply was brief, which in and of itself told Fred too much. But there was more to it than that....

I don't really want to read the Map myself right now, Harry said. There's nothing in it I want to see. But if you want to borrow it and try, go ahead.

Fred watched as the Map fell out of the package and lay there on his desk -- nothing more than a blank piece of parchment, just a potentiality yet, waiting for its secrets to be unlocked.

***

It was my idea to make the Map.

Pads might tell you differently, sure, since we discussed it after about five Butterbeers each and we were both talking crazy. But I told him, not the other way 'round, that we could use detection spells like the one we used on Moony that month when we Figured Things Out -- but that we could make it... bigger. And cover everybody in the school.

He told me I was off my head, but then he started thinking and by the end of the night we had a plan.

For the whole project I made sure things were under control. I helped do research, worked on the spells, sent Wormtail scouring for new places, and did the aerial surveys for the Hogwarts grounds, while people thought I was practicing Quidditch. I held all the pieces of this thing together and made it work.

And I finally signed it when it was done:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDER'S MAP

(...pretty modest of me to put my name at the end, really.)

***

Fred and George hadn't talked much about the Marauder's Map or its makers, not since giving it to Harry. But occasionally it would work its way back into conversation. One of the two, while pondering a new concoction or contraption for the joke shop, would inevitably grin and say, "What do you suppose Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs would think of this one?"

And they'd always, always count themselves as one step down from that genius.

"They'll always give us something to shoot for," George replied once.

But it had been years since they'd bothered trying to figure out who the four actually were. The Map merely snarked back if they asked, and there were no clues anywhere at the school. After a time, George dropped the subject, and Fred followed. It wasn't much fun, after all, to pursue it alone.

It had certainly been the last thing on their minds that late-summer afternoon in Grimmauld Place, almost a year before Fred's letter to Harry.

It was the last thing, at least, until they'd overheard Lupin call Sirius "Padfoot."

Fred and George both stopped dead in the hallway, staring.

Sirius and Lupin had backed out of a second-floor room they'd entered some time before, in search of a boggart. Judging from their laughter, they'd done something particularly hilarious to defeat it. Fred almost wanted to ask what it was -- but the name "Padfoot" was still echoing madly in his ears, so instead he grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him into a shadowed corner to hiss, "Did you hear what I think I just heard?"

George murmured, "Padfoot."

Fred took a deep breath. "Yeah, you did."

Down the hall, oblivious to their watchers, Sirius and Lupin were still talking.

"I can't believe you did that," Lupin said. "Not just turning it into Snape, but Snape wearing a -- a --"

"Sarong," Sirius supplied. "Come on, Moony. It made you laugh. And he certainly looked fetching in that shade of yellow."

Fred's jaw dropped. He could nearly feel George's do the same, as soon as that name was spoken. Moony?

"Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," George said into the darkness. "The Moony and Padfoot --"

"--are de-boggarting the house?" Fred finished.

Lupin and Sirius were standing close to each other now, with Sirius' left hand gently supporting Lupin by the shoulder as he laughed. "You may think it's funny," Lupin retorted, smiling nonetheless, "but I have to see him tonight for my Wolfsbane. I won't be able to look at him with a straight face!"

As Fred watched, his eyes growing wider, Sirius' hand lifted from Lupin's shoulder and touched his hair in a long, gentle stroke. "That, my lovely Moony," Sirius murmured, "was the entire idea."

The entire mood of things had just changed, all with that gesture -- and Fred was stunned to realize what it had just become. Lupin's head was tilting slightly under the touch, with every evidence of pleasure....

"Are they--" George began to demand, but Fred quickly, and fortunately, nudged him into silence.

They had to be silent now not to be heard, because the other two were clearly not planning on speaking anymore.

Sirius tipped his head forward as Lupin's arms slipped around his waist. There was a moment, just barely, of hesitant, searching silence. And then Sirius seemed to take Lupin's gentle tug closer as permission. They pressed forward, until their lips met -- first gently, then warmly, and then Fred was blushing as Sirius walked Lupin back against the wall, making soft noises into Lupin's mouth as the tension built and their bodies began to rub close.

"Um," was all George managed, before Fred gripped his wrist and pulled him toward the stairs. They should be safe, since Moony and Padfoot were really snogging now, and weren't looking at anything except each other --

-- especially now that one of Lupin's hands was tangled in Sirius' hair, and the other was --

Fred turned away and headed down a few steps, enough that they'd be out of hearing range, too. "Disapparate, now," he commanded. George nodded, following Fred back to their room with a quiet pop of air.

When they landed back on their own respective beds, feeling a world away from what they'd just been watching, it took a minute to catch their breath and stop gaping.

"Ever get the feeling," Fred said, stunned, "that you were about to see something you really weren't supposed to see?"

George, usually the keen observer of the two, nodded fervently. But there was a smile beginning to lift the corners of his mouth.

"Moony and Padfoot," he said. "The Moony and Padfoot. They're... definitely still making mischief."

Fred choked back a laugh, then gave in and let it happen. "Merlin," he swore fervently, still laughing, and tipped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"I had no idea," George said, the smile evident in his voice even though Fred couldn't see it. "Is that -- new? Or were they before?"

"I don't know." Fred quieted a little. "That looked like they were -- you know. Familiar."

He thought briefly of Angelina, and the way she still thrilled with nervous energy every time he kissed her. Sirius and Lupin held each other easily, like they knew everything of each other already. But there still had been that little pause, first....

"And Moony and Padfoot." George's voice was loud again with his own brand of nervous energy. "Part of our illustrious four! The purveyors of aids to magical mischief makers!"

Fred sat up. "All those years we spent aspiring to be like them--"

"Well, now we know not quite like them."

Fred threw a pillow at him. George ducked it and laughed.

"You think they know we had the Map?" Fred wondered aloud, when George came back up. "Or that Harry does now?"

"I don't know. How much does anyone know? Like, who are the other two? I guess Harry would know --"

"And Hermione, then? Ron?"

"Don't tell me Ron knows," George groaned. "I'll have to hex him into next Tuesday if he didn't say."

"He knew Sirius wasn't a murderer, though, and...." Fred trailed off, wondering at the other things Ron had eventually said about that crazy night in the Shrieking Shack. The story was all a mess of dogs and werewolves and rats and traitors, and broken legs, and unconscious professors, and....

There were other secrets here, and he suspected Ron didn't know them all, either.

"Let's not ask him," Fred said. "Or anyone else. It might just get out of hand." He paused, and looked sharply at his brother. "But I want to figure this out."

"Agreed." George grinned again. "And for now, I say we hit the kitchen. After that strenuous bit of spying, I need some nourishment."

Fred gave him an arch look. "Just what were you straining, exactly?"

It was Fred's turn to duck that time as George laughed and pitched the pillow right back at him.

But he kept thinking things over as they made their way downstairs.

***

It was my job to plot out the Map. I mean, everyone went exploring together, and I went along, but I could get places the others couldn't go, so Prongs asked me to do that, and I did. I can -- well, I know how to sneak into places and not get noticed. Quiet as a mouse. Or. Heh.

It was a lot of hard work, harder than anything the others seemed to be doing, but I knew the school better than anyone, before long. I found a couple secret passageways Prongs hadn't figured out yet. Padfoot was even impressed. I don't get that often. I was proud of that.

So I sketched out diagrams, and we talked about how everything fit together, how to make sure the measurements were exact. It's precise business -- good thing Moony's tops at Arithmancy.

So I did the groundwork. And now it's all in my head, just like it is on the Map. Maybe even better than the Map.

After all, it only knows what I told it.

***

Fred and George had assembled lunch and settled into the adjacent dining room, still talking in fragments about what they'd seen, when Fred's mind snagged on an uncomfortable but suddenly-obvious fact.

The identity of Wormtail.

Ron had had to explain when they arrived at Grimmauld Place that Sirius Black was not a mass murderer. To make that make sense, he'd also had to say that someone else had framed him. That someone else was another animagus.

Peter Pettigrew. The friend who'd betrayed James, Lily, and Sirius to Voldemort. Peter, who could transform himself into a rat.

A rat. A little rodent with a long, long tail....

Fred's jaw dropped, rather unattractively exposing what he was chewing. George just glanced up at him and raised his eyebrows.

"What is it?"

Fred stared blankly ahead. "I think I figured out--"

Then he swallowed, hard, as the thought continued. If Peter was Wormtail, then -- James--

But before he could say anything, George's eyes flicked back to the kitchen. Fred followed his brother's sharp gaze and saw what he did: Lupin, who'd just come in and was -- remarkably calmly, all things considered -- getting tea. Fred mimed a lip-zipping gesture and leaned back, trying to stay out of sight.

"Now what?" George whispered.

Fred made as if to stand up when there was another swoop of movement -- and he recognized it immediately as the silhouette of Severus Snape, stepping into the room after Lupin. Fred sat down again, almost feeling cowed by the look of disdain on Snape's face as he strode up to the door between them, and shut it fast. Whatever they'd have been able to hear was muffled for good by the heavy barrier.

The twins peered at each other. As if by unspoken agreement, they at once took out their Extendable Ears, and crouched beside each other next to the door.

"Severus," they could hear Lupin say. "it's nice to see you again."

"Spare me the niceties, Lupin," Snape replied, his voice impatient and cold. "We both know why I'm here. You need me."

"I wouldn't presume that, Severus," Lupin said mildly.

Fred frowned a little, pondering what Severus thought Lupin needed him for, and then it hit him: the full moon was tonight. He meant the Wolfsbane.

"Oh?" Snape, of course, was drawing this out. "Can I take that to mean your lamentable potion-making skills have improved? Or is this another example of ambiguous wordplay on your part?"

"Neither, Severus," said Lupin. His voice had begun to take on an edge. "If you decided, for any reason at all, to withhold the potion, I will be caused inconvenience, but my life will not be at risk. This house has a cellar, and you know Sirius is an Animagus. He is perfectly capable of keeping a werewolf in check."

At that, Snape sounded decidedly displeased. "Really, Lupin, I find myself tempted to spare myself the effort and responsibility required in making a cauldron of aconite every month. It seems to be perfectly clear that you and your... Animagus can manage admirably without it."

George turned halfway toward Fred, giving him a scrutinizing look. They both knew a little about the Wolfsbane. The difficult potion allowed werewolves to keep their minds when they transformed, thereby greatly lessening the threat -- to themselves and everyone else. Without it, and with Padfoot there instead, Lupin could cope, but Fred suspected it wouldn't be easy.

Fred turned back, staring at the door as if he could see through it, to Snape looming over the man at the table -- who was always quiet and steady, even under threats. Which this most certainly was.

Fred grimaced and listened hard.

"I would have thought, Severus," Lupin was saying, "that the safety of the Order of the Phoenix would be your first priority."

"It is," Snape stated.

"Then I would also have thought you would do everything in your power to prevent its members from the risk of attack by a fully-grown werewolf."

Snape said nothing. Fred imagined his face -- lips twisting wordlessly, what little color in his skin leaving it, eyes flashing.

All he could see was the blank panel in the way. Fortunately the words came through loud and clear.

"I may not escape the cellar," Lupin said in a low voice, "but I will turn the wolf's wrath upon myself, and even I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Give 'em hell, Moony," Fred murmured.

For just that moment he felt triumphant. And then there was an interruption, something he couldn't see but could feel, and hear in the sound of an opening door -- the other kitchen entrance. Almost at the same moment, he could hear Snape angrily scraping his chair back and rising to face whoever was there --

There was a faint but somehow dire rush of air.

Fred could picture all too clearly the arc of Snape's arm as he moved, over the table and into what was there... something that broke with a shatter of glass and Moony's sudden, but short, gasp of dismay.

"Ah, Mr. Black," Snape said smoothly. "You show an excellent sense of timing. Your poor pet werewolf has something to tell you."

Both Fred and George stiffened, and caught each other's eyes as their expressions narrowed into glares.

"Looks like tonight you'll need all that exalted lion's bravery, won't you?" Snape said into the stunned silence, and swept out the door. It shut behind him, the sound dull and hollow.

"Remus," they could hear Sirius say.

"He came to give me the potion," Lupin said with a sigh. There was a sound of tinkling glass, as if someone was nudging around the shards. "I suppose I provoked him."

"The hell you did -- nothing you could have said would have deserved...."

There was a silence. George, apparently betting on continued obliviousness to their spying, pushed open the door again, just a fraction. Fred looked at him nervously, but quickly joined to peer in. He could see just a sliver of the table, and Lupin standing behind it, looking at the floor.

He guessed Lupin was looking at the remains of the spilled goblet of Wolfsbane. It couldn't have been anything else.

"I'll have to do what I said," Lupin said quietly. "I'll have to use the cellar."

As they watched, leaning close but trying not to push the door open any further, Sirius came to stand behind him, curling close for comfort. He looked furious -- but also determined. And when Lupin sighed again and sank back against him, Sirius' voice softened. "Don't worry, Moony. You know I'll be there."

"I know," Lupin said, shutting his eyes.

George pulled back slowly from the door, murmuring, as quietly as possible, "Damn Snape anyway...."

Fred took one more look at Sirius gently hugging Lupin, then stepped back -- and he hoped for Lupin's sake that he was right, and that when up against the wolf, Padfoot would really be enough.

***

You're looking at what I did -- all the spells and tricks that make this map work. I turned that one-person locator spell for Moony inside out, upside down and backwards to make it find anyone who's here and say where they are. I spelled us all into it, too, so we can keep an eye on things. Someone's gotta make sure this doesn't fall into the wrong hands. That greasy git'd get a nasty shock if he ever tried to read it -- I built in some surprises.

So I planned it all and treated the parchment, and helped some on the drafting, though I didn't draw anything except the speech bubbles -- that was my idea. The rest I left in the (very!) talented hands of our draftsman.

Mmm, such nice hands.

...yeah, yeah, and sharp elbows! Cut it out, heh.

But then I cast the final layer of the spells on the ink, the ones that made everything come to life. So you wouldn't be reading this if weren't for me. What'cha think -- clever enough for you?

-- ow, fine, shutting up!

***

Fred had a difficult time sleeping that night. George drifted off before him, somewhat uneasily, as they both knew what was going on below: Lupin in the throes of transformation from man to beast and eventually back again. It had happened every month they'd known him, but somehow this night felt different.

Fred couldn't stop listening, as if he'd hear the howls screaming up through the house, but it had been too well sound-proofed for that. Instead he listened to his own breathing, and George's, and the quiet rattle of the window in its frame from the wind, startling him each time.

Eventually he dozed, but he woke again when the first light of dawn was just beginning to filter through.

Grayish light had turned the room to monochromes; even his brother's vivid red hair looked muted, and the window was dark silver. Fred slipped out of bed, tucking his feet into his slippers, and out of habit, crouched down to carefully jostle George awake... then, for some reason, paused.

George was looking at all this differently than Fred was, he couldn't help but think. George seemed captivated by having found the pranksters, but Fred was as interested in the little pieces as he was the big picture, and this particular moment, this thing he wanted to look for, was one of those pieces.

He stepped back, waiting until he was sure George was still sound asleep, and left the room as quietly as possible.

He felt bad for sneaking around as much as he had been, watching from the corners and the shadows. He wanted to speak with Sirius, see for himself what was happening, and know the truth of it face to face.

I couldn't sleep, he rehearsed to himself. And I thought Lupin might be awake, so I wanted to see how he was doing....

Lupin? he wondered next. Do I call him that, to Sirius? Or do I say Remus? Moony -- no. Damn....

He turned at the bottom of the stairs, looking down the dark hallway crowded with portraits of the Black family. He tried not to shudder. A few steps away was the kitchen, and beyond that, the unobtrusive entry to the servants' hallway, at the end of which was the cellar door
--

Fred had walked a little closer when he heard a soft creak, and slow, awkward footsteps. He took a deep breath, backing up almost despite himself.

When the door opened, it was an awkward shoulder push that did it, for it was Sirius coming through, with Lupin in his arms. Lupin was lightly wrapped in a blanket, and very still. In the bleak light, he was so terribly pale --

Fred swallowed, seeing darker marks on the blanket. He knew what they must have meant.

Sirius didn't seem to see him. He walked into the kitchen, laying Lupin down on the table as gently as he could. Fred followed him in, several steps behind, but came no closer than the threshold.

Lupin made an indistinct sound as he was stretched out. His eyes stayed closed until Sirius put a soft hand to his forehead, stroking back matted hair. Fred caught his breath. Lupin's eyes had opened, just barely, still vague and unfocused until Sirius touched him again -- so carefully, so gently, caressing the line of his jaw and then cupping his cheek. Lupin took in a rough breath, watching Sirius' face, and then leaned into his touch, the rest of the tension leaving his body as he slowly slid into sleep.

For a long moment, Sirius didn't move.

Fred could see a thousand expressions flash behind his eyes, though not a muscle moved. He just stood. His gaze was fixed on Remus' face; his breaths were just as rough, as if in empathy. When at last his hand lifted from Remus' colorless skin, his gaze moved to his own fingers, tracing over the dark streaks, watching as his fingers closed against the smear on his palm and then lifted to reveal bloody fingerprints.

There was a terrible, silent fury trembling through him, and his eyes were so dark, so much in pain --

Fred felt terrified to speak, but he couldn't walk away, not from that.

"Can I help?" he whispered. "Anything?"

Sirius didn't look at him. His fingers closed suddenly over his palm again, as if to hide it somehow, but it was far too little a thing to do, and too late. "No," he murmured. "I know what... needs to be done."

His hands, one clean, one blood-smeared, reached to the folds of the blanket at Remus' chest, then paused. At last Sirius looked up at Fred. Fred didn't draw back, although he wanted to, for those eyes were simply too intense --

"We always get through it," Sirius said quietly.

Fred swallowed, his chest feeling constricted, his eyes stinging. He had no idea what to say. Sirius stared back into his silence, then at last lowered his gaze. Some of the eerie tension drained with it, and left only tiredness in its place. "You'd best get your sleep. It's early, yet," Sirius said, his hands still not moving.

Fred had the sudden realization that they wouldn't, not until he was gone. This was private. And Remus needed Sirius' help....

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and turned to go.

He'd made it only two steps before Sirius stopped him by quietly saying, "Fred...."

Fred paused, his hand still on the doorframe. He hadn't even known Sirius could tell them apart. He raised his head again, wordless but watching.

Sirius returned the gaze, then said simply, "Thank you," before turning away.

Fred knew he had to go, but looked once more at Lupin, cold and pale and still trembling in pain, but -- so trusting of Sirius, so comforted by his hands....

He turned away from the tableau a few seconds too late, as the faint sunlight now was just enough to show true red against Remus' skin as Sirius pulled the blanket away.

***

He did sleep again that morning, barely, and woke up late. George was the one who jostled him out of bed. "We've got things to do," George said, shoving at his shoulder. "Mischief to manage. What are you going to do, sleep 'til noon?"

Mischief to manage....

Fred struggled back into the world, which was in vivid color again. George looked a little puzzled at how perplexed he was by this. "You not feeling well?"

He sat up and thought. It almost seemed like a dream -- but reconciling the word "mischief" with that dawn hour, dream or not, seemed impossible.

Fred rubbed a hand over his face. "I'll --"

He almost said "get through it."

He paused, and firmly rephrased it. "I'll be okay."

George shrugged and turned to the wardrobe for his clothes. "Breakfast, then?"

Breakfast. In the kitchen. Lupin on the table--

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Fred went to the wardrobe and pulled out something for himself, almost not seeing what he was selecting. For all he knew, he was grabbing an orange shirt and purple pants -- not that they owned orange shirts and purple pants.

"I'll feel better once I eat something," he said, and hoped it was true.

When they went downstairs, George led, oblivious to what was going through Fred's mind. He didn't see the look on his face, either, when he saw the table, utterly cleaned up and unrecognizable as how it had been used for triage, covered with food and plates and the usual morning clutter of the Order -- and surrounded by everyone, except for Lupin.

Fred cleared his throat.

"Good morning," Molly greeted him, smiling. George hugged her first; Fred had a smile plastered on his face by the time it was his turn. It didn't quite waver when Sirius met his eyes afterward, although it may have faded, just a little.

Sirius, though, just nodded and went back to hunching over his coffee. He looked as detached and sullen as he always did these days, especially when Lupin wasn't around.

Fred sat down slowly at the table, and reached for a roll. Beside him, Kingsley Shacklebolt was heatedly discussing strategy with Alastor Moody; Molly was fussing over the stove again; Emmeline Vance was calmly buttering her bread, while telling Tonks about a new spell she'd learned; and George was telling Harry some new joke even Fred hadn't heard, which meant he'd likely just made it up.

Except for the empty seat beside Sirius, all was normal. Perhaps a bit forcibly so. Lupin was up in bed, sleeping still, and he'd be back... so until then they'd all behave as if everything was okay.

Fred caught Sirius' eyes again, seeing a brief flicker of what he'd seen that morning. Then Molly offered Sirius a plate of eggs; he jumped, then smiled, just a little, and took it. The morning bustle continued, as if nothing had changed, but perhaps, just then, something had.

We'll get through it, Fred thought. As long as there's a we.

And sure enough, Sirius was the first to go back upstairs: him to his duty, everyone else to theirs....

So Fred went on with his day. And his week. And his month. And so did everyone else -- while slowly, the year passed by.

Until there was June, and the Veil.

And what came after.

***

Since you asked, before I go, I have one more thing about drawing up the spells.

The Map was based on a spell we used to find Moony, once, when we realized he was probably a werewolf. We wanted to make sure of where he was going every month. That detection spell was my idea too. We found him leaving the school by one of the secret passages, and when we realized where he was going, we knew.

That's what started everything. The Map, the Animagi spells, us as a real group, everything. We were spying then, I suppose, but since then... it's changed.

Prongs may be the ringleader, and my best friend and brother to the end, but we've always done a lot of what we do for Moony's sake.

I know I do.

So I guess it makes sense that we gave him the final step.

***

Compared to the chaos after the return from the Department of Mysteries, the second event was far quieter.

The first was a jumble of reports and people racing for help, and notifications of injuries and losses and scattered explanations from people who didn't have time to explain: Ron's been hurt and Hermione and Neville and Tonks and and and and Sirius is dead and Bellatrix did it and Sirius is gone and Voldemort got away and Ron hurt, oh God, and Sirius is dead and people are at St. Mungo's and Sirius is gone and gone and gone --

Life didn't make sense for days.

Fred and George stayed close together. They made a half-hearted attempt at the detective work to string everything into coherency; Fred did his best, and George listened, mostly. Eventually Fred quieted too. Life had mutated into the sort of not-making-sense that was so overwhelming it wasn't worth worrying about it.

The school year ended; Harry, who had taken the loss visibly harder than anyone else, went home. The Order went about the business of planning their next move. Fred and George joined in -- and volunteered for more, and more dangerous things, than they'd ever done before.

Somewhere amongst the planning and the insanity, it was the quiet things that slipped by.

Lupin wasn't around much. When he was, he tended to speak only when spoken to, answering questions but not volunteering anything, eating little, smiling less. Everyone knew he'd lost a friend. Fred knew he'd lost more. He tried to spend time with Lupin whenever he could, and he hoped it helped....

But all too often Lupin would slip away to do his job, on his own, and just report when he had to. In the end, everything the Order heard from him was proof he'd been productive.

And on the whole, everyone thought he was doing remarkably well.

It went that way for three weeks.

Fred, caught up in his newest assignment for the Order, almost didn't notice Snape bringing a goblet upstairs one evening, until memory flashed: a memory of the calendar, and the days, and something he'd forgotten to keep track of....

"Professor Snape," he called, when Snape was halfway up the steps. The man turned, slowly, and for a moment Fred had to block the memory of Snape intentionally toppling Lupin's goblet....

But it did remind him to speak very, very carefully.

"How's he doing?" he said to start with.

"I have not yet spoken to him, clearly," Snape said dryly. "Otherwise I would be in that room. And not having this conversation."

"I --" Fred paused. It was intimidating enough speaking to Snape without looking up several feet to do so, but he set his chin regardless. "Be sure he takes care, all right?"

Snape said nothing more, but turned to ascend the rest of the steps. Fred watched until he was out of sight, then sighed, and answered when George called his name from the next room.

He'd regret for weeks that he didn't follow Snape instead.

***

"You up yet?"

Fred cracked his eyes open to see the light of dawn coming in through their bedroom window. "Um." Then he remembered, and sat up suddenly. "Oh."

"We should check on Lupin," George was saying, as he pulled on his jumper. "Volunteered for it this month, remember."

Fred nodded and hurried out of bed, into his slippers, into his robe. He hadn't meant to sleep this late. Almost an hour past what he'd intended....

"Come on," he said, as much to himself as to his twin, and headed out the door.

Lupin's room was locked, which was only halfway a surprise. He always closed and locked it after himself when he was ready to transform. The wolf, of course, couldn't handle doorknobs, especially when his human mind was still working and insisting he not attempt to leave, but the lock was just enough to keep the wolf from nudging the door loose.

Still, he would normally unlock it in the mornings, to let in whoever was checking on him....

Fred jostled the handle, slowly growing nervous. "Professor Lupin?" he called, falling into the old honorific by habit. "Are you awake?"

There was no reply. He glanced at George, who called out, "Lupin, if you're up, could you unlock the door?"

The silence continued.

Fred and George looked at each other, nervousness beginning to build. Fred drew his wand, pointed it at the lock and quietly said, "Alohomora."

The lock clicked, the handle turned, and the door swung open by an inch. Feeling for a moment like he was spying into the kitchen once more, Fred peered through the gap into the room beyond. He could just barely see Lupin's end table, and the goblet atop it....

"Professor?" he said.

George pushed the door the rest of the way open. He and Fred stepped in, looked around, and felt their hearts sink. The room... was empty.

"Did he lock it again from the outside?" Fred wondered aloud. "Why?"

"To throw us off," George said, his voice shaking. Fred turned toward him, and saw why.

George was standing over the goblet. He was very still, and very quiet, and reminded Fred eerily of Sirius, watching the wounded Lupin and his own bloodied hand....

Fred walked up beside him, fearing he knew what he was about to see.

"Merlin," George whispered.

The goblet was still full.

They looked at each other, then all at once dashed out of the room. "You check outside," Fred shouted. "We don't know if he went downstairs or left. Go look for anything you can find. I'll go to the cellar --"

"What's going on?" he heard a sleepy voice say. Fred whirled to see his mother standing in the hall, frowning and trying to push back mussed hair.

"Lupin," he gasped. "Not in his room. Didn't take the--"

Molly gasped. "Oh, Merlin."

"I'm going downstairs," he said, and ignored her cries to wait for help. He just dashed pell-mell down the stairs, down the hall, into the service hallway he'd seen Sirius use to carry the wounded Lupin out, down the dim passageway that he lit with a lumos, and to the door to the cellar itself....

He pushed at it, and it didn't budge. His heart sank. Locked.

"Alohomora," he said again, in a choked voice, and was answered with a duller, more foreboding sound, as the latch came undone.

The opened door released the unmistakable scent of blood.

"Remus," he gasped, and half-stumbled, half-fell in his headlong rush down the steps.

Other voices, farther away but fast approaching, called after Fred -- shouts of "what's wrong" and "what do you see" and "hold on, we're coming." He barely heard them. He heard his own voice, faintly, make some attempt at speech, but whether it was a cry for help or a protest or a demand that this not be happening, he didn't know.

Remus Lupin was on the floor, breathing so feebly it barely counted, battered and torn by his own hands, his own claws -- nothing and no one had been there to mitigate either the wolf's fury or the man's despair....

There was so much blood, Fred thought, nearly choking on the smell and the sight of it. Oh, God. So much blood....

"Remus," he managed, again, whispering the name in desperation. "Moony."

Footsteps at last clattered down the steps behind him. Somehow, the gasps and shouts and his mother's scream sounded more distant now than they had been from two rooms away. Fred almost didn't listen. He just knelt, feeling something warm and sticky seep through his clothes, and reached for Moony's hand.

Even while everyone descended, shouting out emergency medical spells and preparing to get him out of there for help, Fred refused to let go.

And he didn't until he absolutely had no other choice, as Moony was Apparated away to St. Mungo's. With George standing beside him now, demanding to know what had just happened, Fred found he had no words -- just the sight of his own palm covered in Moony's blood, even when he closed his fingers over it, for there was just too much to hide.

***

That had been four days ago.

No one was allowed in Lupin's room for visits, the first two days. No one heard much at all for several hours on the first day. Even when the healers were done with their primary work, they advised everyone to go home.

Once some time had passed, brief visits were allowed. Lupin was still mostly sleeping. All Fred could remember later was that the severe wounds had been healed over, the nightmarish rush of blood had been cleaned away, and Lupin -- Moony -- looked just like he had that morning with Sirius, except no one was there to stay with him.

It was because of that visit that Fred wrote to Harry.

You know how the old Map writes messages sometimes? From them? I've seen it; I bet you have too. What all does it say? Does it really tell you anything?

Would it tell him why Lupin had needed Sirius so much that he would go through this when he lost him again? Even the moments when Fred had watched them together -- the kiss, the morning after, everything else he'd seen -- couldn't account for the severity of this. There had to be history there he didn't understand....

He suddenly wanted the whole story, and he couldn't ask either of them.

But he would take whatever he could get.

***

Fred sneaked back in to see Remus well after he should have, when no one else was watching.

He lay there still and quiet, his still-bandaged arms too prominent atop the coverlet; he was frowning, as if troubled, or hurting. Fred looked at him for a moment and wondered how anyone already sleeping could seem so tired.

He pulled up the visitor's chair beside his bed and sat close, watching.

Remus' breathing was steady, at least. Fred guessed there'd been a sleeping charm -- which meant, he thought regretfully, there'd be no speaking to him. He sighed and fixed his eyes on the small blue light hovering above Remus' right shoulder. Fred knew, mostly from watching one over George when he'd had a concussion once, that it was actually a tiny monitor, which would change colors if Remus' condition changed -- or set off an alarm if anything truly bad occurred.

It's not like he can do anything else to himself now, Fred thought bitterly. But the monitor was there, probably at his mother's insistence... just in case.

Fred sighed and watched it, as its radiance gently increased and dimmed with the rhythm of Remus' breaths.

"You shouldn't be here," he said. "Damn st--"

The word "stupid" died in his mouth. He made a face, and then closed his eyes.

"All right, I think I know why you did it," he whispered. "I know some of why. But you still shouldn't have."

Remus, of course, didn't deny it. Fred slumped back in the chair and thought for a minute. Then he dug in his pocket, almost reluctantly, for the folded paper.

When it emerged, and he plucked a fluffy piece of lint off one corner, he couldn't help but look between it and the man beside him, several times -- the map, and its last living maker, except for one they all probably wished were dead.

"If that rat were there instead of you..." Fred murmured, but with the map in his hands, listening, he had to stop.

Instead he fixed his eyes on the paper and tapped his wand to it -- not to give the instructions to reveal the map, but to provoke.

"Hey, you lot," he said, firmly but quietly. "I know you're in there."

The Map stayed stubbornly silent.

"I don't know how much this spell will let you say or do, but...." He took a deep breath. "Listen, I've seen you insult me before; you might as well do it again."

Again, nothing.

Fred spared a moment to feel silly about ordering around a sheet of parchment, then wrinkled his nose and did it anyway:

"Prongs," he said. "Show yourself."

A thin scrawl of handwriting suddenly blossomed on the page.

Mr. Prongs would like to know who thinks he can use that name so informally.

"Fred Weasley," he said.

Mr. Wormtail would like to interject that he's never heard of a Fred Weasley.

Wormtail's name made Fred grit his teeth, but he was getting somewhere. "I came after Bill, Charlie and Percy."

The Map was silent; then there was an odd squiggle, somehow suggesting laughter, or perhaps a behind-the-scenes discussion. At last it resolved again into words.

Mr. Padfoot isn't surprised to see there's more of you lot, the Map said. Although Fred's heart constricted painfully to see Sirius' familiar handwriting, he plunged on.

"We've met before. George and I used this map for ages, remember? We rescued it -- you -- uh... got this from Filch's cabinet, years ago."

And you convinced us to tell you how to work it.

The words appeared without the preamble of a name, for the first time. But the handwriting --

Fred glanced slantwise at Moony, who was still sound asleep.

"Yes," he whispered.

Mr. Prongs would like to apologize, then.

And Mr. Moony would like to ask why you've started up this little chat.

Fred took a deep breath, fighting the impulse to address his words to the man beside him -- and to ask a whole litany of things the crafters of this spell wouldn't have known yet. Besides, he clearly couldn't talk to Moony and Padfoot without the others interfering.

If he got them all to talk about themselves, though, maybe it would show something....

At last he gathered himself and spoke. "I have... questions about the map," he said. "Not how it works. I know that. Or I know how to make it work, anyway, not how you did it. But I...."

He paused, choosing his words.

"I wanted to know what each of you did," he said. "I want to hear the story."

There was another long silence. Fred waited, then let out a disappointed sigh, and slumped back. Maybe the Map's only good for making wisecracks after all--

Then all at once, across the parchment there was a scribble and a scrawl, and Prongs' handwriting.

It was my idea to make the Map, he said.

Fred held himself frozen. Before him, the story begain to unfold.

Paragraph after paragraph, voice by voice -- or hand by hand -- he read it all: Prongs telling about his ideas, his shepherding of the project, with his youthful brashness and pride so evident -- Wormtail, the clever little sneak that he was, plotting the castle in detail -- Padfoot boasting about his spellwork, his genius so clear --

-- and the affectionate jokes, oh, Merlin, he had to have meant Moony.....

Fred felt his heart clench hard at the words, and couldn't look at Remus when he finally turned his gaze away. The boys who made this map were barely younger than he was now, but they sounded so young, so unburdened by their fates, that it was downright difficult to read.

He glanced back down. ...so you wouldn't be reading this if it weren't for me, the Map was saying in Sirius' script. What'cha think -- clever enough for you?

"Damn right you were clever," Fred murmured under his breath. The paper slowly cleared.

He almost expected a reply, asking about the past tense. But it didn't say a word.

Fred finally continued, very softly:

"And Moony?"

Remus beside him made a soft, unidentifiable sound and shifted in his sleep, looking briefly troubled, then he sighed. There was a long moment of breathless quiet before the faint blue glow of Remus' health monitor illuminated the elegant but sharp-edged lines of Moony's handwriting, spidering across the page.

It was my job to draw the Map.

Fred leaned closer.

Once Prongs and Wormtail laid it out and Pads prepared the parchment to accept the spells, it was just me for a while: me and my quill and my dad's drawing instruments. They trusted me to do it. I pay the most attention to details. And I've always got a sure, steady hand.

Fred glanced sadly at Remus' bandaged hands, just long enough that he nearly missed Moony striking out Sirius' real name, and quickly replacing it with his nickname, as if Fred still didn't know.

Si -- Padfoot and I worked together on this at the end, because he had to take my work and wrap it all in the final spell. I sat there with him in front of me and Prongs and Wormtail to either side, and he looked just as nervous as I felt -- after all this effort, it had to work.

Padfoot told us all to be quiet, then took a breath and touched his wand to the paper while he said the spell. It was... a web of light, streaking out over every line in the paper and making the spaces between them glow. I swear I saw the air around us glow, too, just for a second. Then everything faded out, leaving it to look like blank paper again.

Prongs was the first to say anything. "So who's gonna try it?" he asked. I'd expected him to do it right away, but maybe he was nervous too.

So it was Padfoot who was the first to say, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good" -- and we all watched the map come to life. The lines I'd drawn reappeared, the dots and names scrolled out, and Prongs leapt up with a massive whoop of triumph. "We're all geniuses!" he yelled, while Wormtail pulled the map around to study everything.

"Mischief is indeed managed," Padfoot yelled too, and the Map went blank under Worntail's stare. He glared for a second, then laughed.

"So what's next?" I asked.

Pads gave me a brilliant smile.

"Whatever we want," he told me.

Fred looked up.

The surrounding hospital room was silent, and sterile -- devoid, ironically, of any true sense of life. He could see the rows of instruments and supplies, the monitors, the medicines, the tools of the healers' trade all around them, and none of it, just then, meant anything but this: This came next. Eventually.

Remus turned a little, shifting blankets and wincing.

No one had wanted this.

Mr. Fred, there.... the Map said, attempting to get his attention. Did we answer your question?

"Yes, Prongs," he said softly, imagining Harry's father when he was Harry's age himself: he'd probably be leaning over towards him, knocking on an invisible door like George did when his audience wasn't attending.

Yes, they'd answered. He was holding the creation of four boys with an idea and an overwhelming supply of imagination, skill and restless energy -- and innocence, even about what their roles had revealed about each other and their fates. They hadn't guessed. They hadn't known. Fred supposed it might have been impossible to know, except with the benefit of hindsight, that Sirius' brash talent would be the end of him, that Peter's sneaky cleverness would be the end of James, that Remus' steady hand would hold so much together until they very end -- when it almost dealt his own death.

If only he could tell them.

Fred's hands trembled where they held the Map, wishing the words here were something more than an echo -- that he could just shout back in time and tell them all everything, how to change what they were doing so none of this would happen --

But it just wrote on, its ghosts appearing across the page in transient swirls of sepia ink.

Think it's time to be getting up to your own mischief, then?

Fred ran his fingertip over the line of Sirius' handwriting, and thought of what he'd be doing in truth the next day: starting the war in earnest against his killer, and those she served.....

"The important kind," he said tightly -- then swallowed.

There was, he thought, something more important here than revenge.

The health monitor above Remus' bed pulsed again, its color slightly fainter. True white, when it got there, would mean he was ready to leave -- but it only monitored the body, not the soul. Fred wondered what Remus would think when he woke, discovering that he still could....

And that he was still, and now always, waking alone.

"He loves you, you know," Fred whispered, hoping Padfoot was still listening. "More than anything."

The paper stayed silent. Fred plunged on.

"You knew. I know that now. It's always been there, hasn't it." Fred swallowed. "Padfoot...."

This time, just a single word: Yes?

Fred's voice came out in a whisper. "Moony misses you."

He'd never know quite why he said it. It wouldn't help to tell the Map anything; it wouldn't understand. Fred shut his eyes, then rose to his feet, preparing to fold the map.

A small movement stopped him mid-fold, however, and he pulled the page flat once more. It was a curl of ink, moving slowly, almost hesitantly, as it shaped itself into five simple words:

Tell Moony I love him.

The letters lingered for just a few seconds before the map went blank.

Fred sharply stuffed the map into his back pocket. After a harshly-caught breath, he leaned over Remus' bed. He was still sleeping, shaking a little as if to shove off a bad dream, and Fred wasn't sure whether to disturb him; finally he just sighed and said, quietly, "Message from Padfoot."

Remus didn't make any sign that he heard Fred repeat Sirius' words, but he seemed to quiet a little when Fred reached out one hand and awkwardly, but carefully, stroked back his hair. After a moment the hand slid down and rested on his shoulder.

Fred looked at him for a good long while, under the pale, moon-like light of the monitor, before gently squeezing and then letting go. "We all love you, you know," he said. His voice didn't shake. Almost. "And don't ever do that to us again."

He didn't expect a reply.

With a long sigh, Fred stepped away and to the door, slipping out into the corridor and closing everything carefully behind him. After a few heartbeats he slumped against the wall to catch his breath.

The motion immediately made the Map crumple in his back pocket; Fred made a face and tugged it free. He reflexively smoothed it out, thinking he'd refold it, and put it back away --

-- but he stopped as he saw the fleeting glimpse of a message on the parchment again. It was written in a steady, precise hand, replying to someone dead and lost but clearly never gone.

As he watched he wondered if, in some, strange way, Remus had heard after all.

Always yours, Sirius, it said, before the words vanished for good.

I'm always yours.