Sticks in a Bundle

Chapter 2

As soon as George Weasley was safely away from Number Four, Privet Drive and the eyes of any nosy neighbors who might be watching, he broke into a run. He forced himself to go at least three streets over before he stopped to Apparate, knowing Harry was probably very right in his assessment of Fudge's current feelings toward the teenager. The less trouble the boy had to deal with the better, especially now.

He was unbelievably shocked and appalled at what he and Fred had just discovered, what Harry was living through. How could they have let this happen? How could no one notice? And how could Harry just stoically endure it, convinced there was no better option? Had anyone know about this? The Order? Dumbledore? His parents? It was unthinkable that any of them could have known Harry was being abused and left him there anyway, but then again until half an hour ago he would have thought it impossible to find Harry in such a situation to begin with.

Feeling angry and frustrated, George shook his head to clear it. He couldn't do this, start casting doubt on everyone he looked up to and trusted, even his own parents. He had to assume Harry had managed to hide this, that the adults in his life would never willingly make his friend suffer through this. But if he ever found out otherwise, people would see a very different side of George Weasley.

Taking a calming breath, he turned on the spot and Apparated to the lane outside the Burrow. Quickly, he ducked into his father's shed. His dad kept a varied assortment of Muggle tools hidden there. After several minutes of searching, he stuffed the ones he reckoned would be most helpful inside his jacket and headed for the house. Light shone brightly from the kitchen, and he could smell fresh bread baking as he opened the backdoor.

"George!" his mum cried, turning from the stove as he came in. He glanced around to find Ron and Ginny sitting at the table which was also set with several empty places.

"Hi, Mum," he said quickly. "Dad here?"

"Not yet, dear. I expect he won't be home for another hour or so. Come on in and have some dinner. And where is your brother?"

"Fred's busy," he said evasively. "And I can't stay for dinner, sorry Mum. I'll be back later."

He ducked back out quickly before his mum could launch into the fury of protests he could see coming. He hoped they enjoyed their calm, peaceful meal because if things went according to plans and they brought Harry back here later, that mood was sure to shatter the instant they saw him.

Once he was beyond the Burrow's wards, George Apparated again. He reappeared at the Apparation Point for Ministry of Magic guests.

"Name and purpose," said a bored, disembodied voice.

"George Weasley, here to see my dad Arthur Weasley," said George quickly. He was used to this now as Fred and he had been to visit their dad at work several times while they were setting up their shop.

He caught the shiny badge that appeared out of nowhere and pinned it on, then hurried through the atrium toward the lift. It being rather late in the evening, few people were around and George had an unobstructed view of the cavernous room. Most of the damage from Harry's fight with You-Know-Who had been repaired, but George could still see places here and there where problems remained. He wondered if Fudge blamed Harry for that, too - defacing his beloved building. Apparently, blaming Harry for things he didn't do was a popular pastime these days.

The lift was empty and he fidgeted slightly as it seemed to take forever to get to his dad's floor. He couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to hurry, needed to get back to Harry and Fred.

The door to his father's office was slightly ajar so he only knocked out of habit before striding in.

"George!" his dad said, looking up from his desk, a bit startled.

"Hey, Dad," said George, glad his father was alone in the tiny room. He came fully inside and closed the door behind him.

His dad took one look at the serious expression on his normally cheerful son's face and set down his quill.

"What is it, son?" he asked.

"Fred and I went to visit Harry tonight," he said directly, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

His dad's eyes instantly narrowed. "You didn't use magic, did you?" he asked quickly, patting down his robes as if looking for something. "I didn't feel the warning go off, but I have been rather distracted tonight," he muttered more to himself than to George.

"No, we didn't use magic. He wouldn't let us," George assured him. He dropped his voice slightly. "He figured Fudge might be a tad sore at him and looking for any chance to cause trouble."

"He figured right," his father said, eyeing him shrewdly. "Our sources tell us that Fudge might be about to take a mighty fall from grace and he knows it. He'd love to take Harry or Dumbledore with him, or even better to somehow use them to reclaim his prestige."

"I promise we didn't do anything to get Harry in trouble with Fudge," he assured his father again. "But, Dad, I need you to come back with me to his house. Harry does need your help."

"Why?" asked his dad, rising to his feet. "What's going on?"

"I'd rather not say too much here, Dad, but it's serious, and it's more than Fred and I knew how to handle. Fred stayed with him while I came to get you."

George felt a great rush of love and gratitude for his father when he didn't even question him. He was stacking papers away and grabbing his hat and cloak before George even finished speaking. Then his dad flicked out the lamp with his wand and reached for the doorknob, but they both jerked back in surprise when the door opened before he could touch it.

"Dad!" said Bill, standing in the doorway on the other side and looking just as startled. "I thought I was supposed to meet you - " His eyes fell on George. "George, what are you doing here? Where's Fred?"

George fought to hide an eye roll. Why was it that the second thing out of anyone's mouth whenever they saw him alone was to ask where Fred was? Did people honestly think they never went anywhere alone? He shook his head, remembering the very serious reason for his visit, filing his thoughts away for later. There had to be the genesis for a good prank in there somewhere...

"There's been a... Something's come up, Bill," his dad said softly, gesturing for his older son to move back down the hall. "George came to get me. You should probably come with us anyway."

"Is Mum all right? Is it Fred?"

"Everyone's fine, Bill," snapped George, unjustly annoyed at his brother for wasting their time with pointless interrupting.

Bill eyed his brother curiously at the frosty tone but shut up and followed them down the hall.

They only stopped once outside a door that read "Portkey Authorization Department: Mabel Mallard, Head; Ephraim Smyth, Jr. Assistant." George watched his dad duck inside after telling them to wait in the hall.

"Arthur! What a surprise!" he heard a man say through the crack where the door hadn't closed tightly.

"Ephraim, good to see you. Mabel in her office?"

"No, she went home ages ago."

"Good. Ephraim, I need a favor..."

George felt someone staring at him and turned to find his oldest brother eyeing him strangely.

"What?" he snapped.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" Bill asked coolly, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. "What did you and Fred do this time, and what does Dad have to do to bail you out?"

"Why do you automatically assume we did something?" George asked, offended.

"Just a little something I've picked up on after eighteen years as your big brother."

George resisted the urge to hex him, but only barely. "We haven't done anything so why don't you just shut it!"

"Then what is this all about? Why won't you just tell me?"

George's annoyance with his brother slipped away as he remembered why he was there to begin with.

"I will, but not here," he said meaningfully with a quick glance around.

Bill understood immediately and nodded. Barely a minute later their dad came back out into the hall, slipping something into the pocket of his robes as he closed the door.

"Let's go, boys," he said solemnly.

They took the lift to the atrium in silence, but when they stepped out into the room, his dad pulled him aside.

"Did you Apparate here?" he asked, something like worry shining in his eyes.

"Yeah," George answered.

"Straight from there?"

"Erm...no. I stopped at the Burrow first. Thought you might be there."

George knew he wasn't imagining the relief that flashed through his father's eyes. "Good," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Come on, we're taking the visitors' exit."

He hadn't used the phone booth exit since he was a little kid coming to see his dad at work, but he didn't say anything as he followed his father and brother over and squeezed into it. He had to admit it seemed much smaller than it used to, and it was a relief to finally step out into the Muggle street.

"Follow me, there's an alley over here where it's safe to Apparate from," his dad said, pulling them along.

They walked until they arrived in a dingy, dead-end alley. "All right, George, now tell us exactly what's going on."

"Harry's in trouble, Dad," said George at once, again feeling the overwhelming sense of urgency. Something told him they needed to hurry. "His uncle went ballistic on him after we all showed up at the station and threatened the Muggles. He's been locked in his room since the beginning of summer!" he spat, anger for his friend returning full force. "And, Dad," he added furiously, looking right at his father, knowing that what he was about to say would shock and anger the older man deeply, "they've actually got him chained up! Shackles on his feet and hands and a chain fixed to his ankle that's tethered to his bed. He can't walk more than three feet in any direction."

George didn't bother to hide the disgust and fury he felt as he explained what they had found, and he wasn't surprised at all when Bill let out an angry curse even as his dad paled.

"There's more, Dad," he continued grimly, anxious to be done with his gruesome story. "They've crossed all the lines this time. They've been starving him all summer, and his uncle's been beating him."

George could count on one hand the times he'd seen his father truly livid, but as he finished speaking and watched him now he knew without a doubt that he would have to add to that count. Arthur Weasley the Muggle lover might seem odd and easily outdone, but Arthur Weasley the father was a force to be reckoned with.

"Let's go," his father said flatly through tightly pressed lips. "Where have you been Apparating?"

"To a street about three over from Harry's."

His dad nodded once with approval. "You lead then."

George took his dad's arm with one hand and grabbed Bill's with the other, sparing a glance at his brother's face to find a stone, cold furry almost identical to his father's etched across his features. Vernon Dursley picked the wrong family to mess with George couldn't help thinking as they all turned around and disappeared, reappearing moments later in Surrey.

"He's been there long enough, hasn't he?" he asked his dad as they started hurrying for Privet Drive. "We're taking him home with us, right? 'Cause Harry flat out told us he'd rather spend the summer getting knocked around by his boar of an uncle than risk You-Know-Who getting him."

"He's been there long enough," his dad said firmly. "But we'd be taking him even if he hadn't. The only way Harry will ever enter that house again is over my dead body."

The cold seriousness of his father's voice reassured George. There was no way his father could be this angry and have known anything of what was going on in Number Four, Privet Drive. George felt his world right itself just a little, only to have it knocked askance one more as they turned the corner and Harry's house came in sight.

There was a car in the drive and lights shining from inside.

"Crap!" he cursed. "The Muggles are back!"

He broke into a sprint, tearing down the walk and up the steps, trusting his dad and Bill to follow. In a panic, he ripped open the front door and raced through the house, passing Harry's massive cousin who seemed frozen in place in the sitting room as he headed for the stairs. Screams, curses and the sound of blows came from upstairs, and George ignored Dudley as he took the stairs three at a time, skidding to a stop at the top in Harry's doorway.

The scene before him was utter chaos and straight out of his nightmares.

Harry was cowering back into the bed as his uncle stood over him, screaming and delivering blow after blow with his fists and some strange orange rope. The boy was covered in welts and small trickles of blood but trying his best to scream and strike back in defiance at his uncle, who was bleeding from a cut on his own head. Off to one side, Harry's aunt was sobbing over a pile of what looked like shattered china, and crumpled in the corner, sporting his own welts and leaking blood at an alarming rate from a wound on his temple lay Fred, unmoving. A frying pan with dark liquid on the edge lay abandoned nearby.

"Fred!" he screamed, his heart stopping as he dashed into the room, heedless of Harry's uncle whirling toward him at his cry.

"I TOLD YOU NO BLOODY MORE OF THEM!" Vernon Dursley screamed. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"No, Uncle Vernon!" cried Harry hoarsely, reaching out chained hands to try and stop his uncle as he advanced on George even though he was so injured he could barely move.

George looked up from Fred just in time to dodge the frying pan swung by a murderous Dursley. Frantically, he dug in his pocket for his wand as he rolled to avoid another blow.

CRACK!

Everyone froze as the sound shattered the air. George looked to the doorway to find his father and Bill standing there, both filled with cold fury. Bill was holding a Muggle pistol, and there was now a bullet sized hole in the Dursleys' ceiling. Silently, his brother turned the gun on Harry's uncle, his aim unflinching.

"Mr. Dursley, put the frying pan and rope down now, and get away from my children!" his dad ordered, his voice ringing with authority.

"No freak's going to tell me what to do in my own house!" screeched Dursley. "And he isn't your child!" he ranted, flinging an arm out to point at Harry. "He's my bloody nephew, and I can discipline him how I see fit! The freak's had it coming to him!"

A look settled over his dad's face that made even George want to take a step backward. "Get away from my sons!" his dad bit out through clenched teeth. "All three of them -

this instant!"

"Or else what? I know for a fact you lot can't do magic without getting that brat chucked out of his precious school."

"Last time I checked it didn't take magic to operate one of these," said Bill coldly, raising the gun a little higher so it now pointed right at Dursley's head. Reading the fury on his brother's face made George very grateful they were related, and doubly thankful he wasn't meeting Bill alone in some dark alley at night.

"Mr. Dursley," said his dad, stepping farther into the room. "Your wife and son are in this house. Do not force my hand or I promise you they will see something they shouldn't, and you might not live to regret it. Now, back away!"

Dursley hesitated, fury warring with fear, but finally he seemed to realize he'd picked a battle he wouldn't win. He dropped his impromptu weapons to the floor with a clatter and raised his hands.

"Bill, take care of Mr. Dursley and his family. Put them somewhere they won't be in the way," his dad ordered. George had to wonder if he told Bill to do it because he didn't trust himself not to harm the Muggles if he was left alone with them. George knew that's where his own thoughts were running. Of course, there was no accounting for what Bill might do either...

Bill nodded. He gestured with the gun for Harry's uncle to proceed him out of the room. "You, too, Mrs. Dursley," he commanded, glaring at the woman who was still kneeling on the floor beside the wall, clutching the biggest pieces of broken china to herself in resplendent grief. "Up we go."

When Bill spoke to her, her eyes that had previously been hazy and tear-clogged narrowed sharply with open hatred and anger. "This plate came from my mother!" she hissed scathingly. "How could you!"

As George watched, Bill returned her gaze with an icy one of his own. "And that child," he said quietly, "came from your sister. How could you? Fancy explaining to your mum how you care more for her broken plate than her battered grandchild? Now get up."

Her face paled and she gazed slack-jawed at Bill, perhaps never having considered things in quite that vein before. She let the broken bits of china slip through her fingers to the floor, her gaze suddenly drawn toward Harry as she rose to her feet.

A little late for remorse now, George thought bitterly. Bill and his father apparently shared his view because Bill simply motioned for the two Dursleys to walk out of the room, and his father didn't even spare them a passing glance as they left.

As soon as they were gone, George rushed to Fred's side. With shaky fingers, he reached for his brother's neck and almost cried with relief when he felt a steady pulse.

"Mr. Weasley," gasped Harry weakly, sagging back into his grotty bed in obvious pain. "I tried to make Fred leave, I really did."

He sounded scared, and it dawned on George that even after all they had said Harry still believed his dad might blame him for Fred's injuries.

"He just wouldn't go!" Harry finished desperately.

"Hush, son," his dad said gently, his eyes unfathomably sad as he moved to the bed and sat down beside the dark-haired boy. Trusting George to take care of Fred, his dad simply asked him the unspoken question with his eyes.

"He's alive," George quickly answered, more relieved than he could express to utter those words. "He's got a nasty head wound and could really use a Healer, but I don't think there's any immediate danger. I reckon he's just knocked out. Gonna have a bugger of a headache when he wakes up, though." He grimaced, gazing at the wound and the dark bruise and lump that were already forming around it. Tearing a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt, he started tying it around his twin's head in an attempt to stop the bleeding while he listened to his dad speak with Harry.

"See, Harry," soothed his father, "Fred will be fine. George is taking care of him, so let's worry about you for now."

"I'm fine, Mr. Weasley," responded Harry.

"Yeah, right," George muttered, stealing another glance at his friend. Harry was liberally covered in welts and gashes from where the orange rope had bit deeply, many deep enough to ooze blood which ran in trickles down his pale skin. "You're barking if you expect us to believe that."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, sinking back into the mattress. "This isn't exactly how I envisioned seeing the lot of you again, y'know," he muttered abashedly.

George's dad just brushed a gentle hand through Harry's dirty, matted hair. "I know, Harry, I know," he sighed.

Having patched Fred up the best he could manage without magic or a first-aid kit, George checked once more to make sure his twin was breathing fine and his pulse was strong before standing up and walking to the bed to join Harry and his dad.

"Brought you a present, Harry," he said pulling the tools from inside his jacket.

"Lucky me," the boy said weakly.

"I've locked the Muggles in the basement," said Bill, entering the room as George fiddled with the bolt-cutters, trying to decide the best way to proceed without hurting his friend more.

"Did they give you any trouble?" his dad asked.

"Dursley ran his mouth off the whole time, but that was about it."

"So, Bill?" George asked as he fit the cutters over the chain attached to the bed, reckoning it might be wise to make his first attempt away from his friend's skin. "Exactly when did you start carrying around Muggle weapons?"

"When I started crawling around inside dark tombs and pyramids where you never know what's about to jump out at you, or how it will react to magic."

George was trying to think of a reply to that when they all heard distant sirens coming through the open window.

"And that is the sound of more trouble for us approaching," said Bill grimly. "I figured someone would have heard the ruckus. We need to hurry."

"Harry, do you know where they might have put your things?" his dad asked.

"Yeah. Look in the cupboard under the stairs. Anything he didn't just bin will probably be there."

"George, go," his dad ordered taking the tools from his hands. "We'll take care of things here."

Once again, George sprinted down the stairs, this time rounding them to stop in front of the small, locked door. He could hear the Muggle sirens getting closer as well as the racket as Harry's relatives pounded on the basement door.

This was no time for finesse. George simply backed up and kicked the door, letting all his pent up anger and fury from the day fuel the blow. With a satisfying crunch, the door splintered. Two more kicks and it was lying on the floor in pieces. He was hauling Harry's trunk out of the cupboard when his dad and Bill came down the stairs.

Bill carried Fred, who was still out cold, while his dad cradled Harry in his arms, a blanket wrapped protectively around the smaller boy. The soft chink of metal told George they hadn't had time to deal with all the chains yet.

"Quickly!" his father hissed as several vehicles screeched to a halt in front of the house, sirens blaringly loudly. "I've got a Portkey to the Burrow! Don't worry," he added at Harry's panicked expression. "The Ministry can't detect Portkeys unless they're unauthorized, and this one is perfectly legit. Hurry!" he urged, shifting Harry's weight to hold out a tiny rubber duck. "Be sure you hold tightly to the trunk, George."

George, Bill and their dad reached for the toy just as they heard the please-men bursting in through the front door in the other room. Thankfully, the magic activated and gripped them, hurtling them through space, before the loud pounding of footsteps had reached the end of the hall.

They landed with a grunt in the field behind the Burrow, his dad and Bill barely managing to keep their feet and not drop either Fred or Harry.

"That was too close," Bill muttered, shifting Fred more securely into his arms. "And this is going to cause all sorts of problems."

"Yes. The Order's sure to have gotten wind of something happening on Privet Drive by now," his dad said. "The Ministry probably has as well. I'm going to have to go in and try to help contain things, but first let's get up to the house."

"I can walk, Mr. Weasley," Harry tried to say as they all started toward the brightly lit Burrow in the distance, but his argument lost any force when he broke off into harsh coughing.

"Harry, you are sick and injured, not to mention barefoot and wearing hardly anything. I'm going to carry you, just as I would any of my other children."

Harry fell silent at that.

As they passed the boundary of the Burrow's outer wards, George's dad turned solemnly to Bill. "The wards will need to be strengthened, as soon as possible."

"I know. I'll get right on it tonight, once these two are taken care of."

His dad nodded approval, and then they all headed for the kitchen door. George entered first, hauling Harry's trunk in behind him. Ron was the only one in the room. His brother looked up from rummaging through the icebox as he came in.

"George, 'bout time you came back. Mum's been in a tizzy all night for how rudely you left before and... What are you doing with Harry's trunk? Is he - " Ron's rambling broke off abruptly as their dad entered carrying a weak and bleeding Harry, followed by Bill carrying the still unconscious Fred.

"Bloody heck! What in Merlin's name happened?" Ron demanded, rushing to his friend's side even as he threw worried glances at his injured brother.

"Harry's uncle happened," George bit out, still seething and unwilling to hide the truth as Harry would no doubt try to do.

Ron swore vehemently.

"Ronald Weasley!" their mum's voice came from the stairs, scolding loudly. "You will not use words - Oh, sweet Merlin!" She stopped suddenly as she rounded the last landing and had a view of the kitchen, clutching her heart in shock.

"Fred! Harry!" she cried, rushing down the last flight. "Arthur, what happened? Who did this?"

"I'll explain later, Molly. You need to Floo Healer Winkworth and ask if he's available to make a house call."

His mum looked very much like she wanted to stay put right where she was, but she took another look at her husband's extremely serious face and nodded. "Of course," she said, rushing off to the sitting room.

"Ron, run get the twins' room ready. It'll be easier just to put Fred and Harry together in there for now as there's already two beds."

Eyes wide, Ron raced up the stairs. After a moment, George abandoned Harry's trunk in the kitchen and followed him. He was pretty sure he and Fred had left some products up there that needed careful handling.

He entered his room to find Ron shoving things indiscriminately off the beds and out of the way.

"Hey, careful with our stuff, little bro!"

"How can you be worried about your stuff when Fred and Harry look like that?"

"Because some of it's liable to explode if you drop it, Ron."

"Oh," said his brother, setting the box he'd been about to chuck into the corner down rather gingerly.

"Here, move over," said George, pushing Ron out of the way. He pulled out his wand and uttered a quick cleaning spell followed by an organizing one. Clothes flew from the floor, boxes stacked themselves against the wall, and the bedclothes straightened.

"Can't wait 'till I'm of age," muttered Ron, stepping backward as their dad and Bill entered the room.

Bill laid Fred down on his bed while their dad set Harry gently on George's.

"Would you like me to have everyone leave, Harry?" his dad asked the trembling boy.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said roughly, fighting the urge to cough. "Most of you've seen the show already and the rest will find out soon enough. Just...maybe keep Ginny out, since I'm...you know...a little sparse on clothes..."

"I'll go head her off," Bill offered, standing. "On my way to work on those wards."

As Bill left the room, George moved to take his place at Fred's bed. His twin looked very pale and still, bruises covering his arms and face and blood still oozing slightly out from under the makeshift bandage.

Just to be sure, he checked Fred's pulse one more time, before he eased his brother's shoes off and straightened his limp form so he rested more comfortably in the bed. As he worked, he listened to the conversation going on between his dad and Harry.

"Let's get you out of the rest of those chains before the Healer gets here, okay?" his father said quietly, eyes brimming with sadness.

Mutely, Harry nodded, not meeting his gaze. His face was flushed scarlet from shame.

His dad unwrapped the blanket from around the boy, revealing the bloody, bruised, starved body underneath once more and the wrists and ankles still locked in iron chains. At the sight, Ron gave an unintelligible exclamation of fury and anger, his eyes flashing as he stared at his friend. For several long seconds he was frozen there, then suddenly he whirled and stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Harry squinted after him in confusion.

"Don't worry," his dad said as he took out his wand. "He'll be back."

After he's kicked the crap out of something, George thought, almost wishing he could go with him.

Acting as though Ron's behavior was nothing new, his dad simply continued what he was doing. He muttered two quick spells and the chains fell from Harry's hands and ankles. He picked them up with a hateful look and put them in his robes.

"Thanks," said Harry softly, rubbing his bruised wrists gingerly.

Sadly and very gently, George's dad traced a few of the bleeding welts on the boy's arms and face.

"Harry, what was that rope he was hitting you with?"

"Oh, nothing nasty," Harry shrugged. "Just an extension cord. Muggles normally use them with electricity."

"What was on the end of it?"

George remembered the weird, pronged end of the rope that had cut his friend quiet badly.

"Um...a plug," muttered Harry.

George saw his dad rock back as if he'd been slapped.

"A...plug?" he stuttered, paling. His dad collected plugs. "I thought...how could they be used...?"

"It's okay, Mr. Weasley," Harry hurried to assure him. "There's nothing wrong with plugs, really! He just got really mad at me one day and the cord was handy. That's all."

His father didn't answer, just closed his eyes and let his head drop forward. George tried to think of something to say to that, but nothing came to mind. In the end it was only the bedroom door bursting open that broke the awful, pained silence.

His mum bustled into the room and over to the two beds but then froze, apparently completely torn over whom to go to first - Fred or Harry.

Behind her strode Healer Woodrow Winkworth, the tall, grandfatherly man who had tended to George and his siblings for as long as he could remember. The man took one look at his current charges and ordered them all out of the room.

"I will work much better without the lot of you underfoot - yes, even you, Molly. Shoo, all of you! I'll come down when I'm finished."

Reluctantly, George left Fred's side and followed his parents out of the room and down to the kitchen. Ginny was sitting restlessly at the table.

"What's going on?" she cried, jumping to her feet. "Bill said Harry's here and he's hurt, and so's Fred!"

"Sit down, Ginny, dear," his mum said tiredly. "We don't know anything yet. Healer Winkworth just went in with them."

"But how did it happen? Who hurt them?"

"I think we'd both like to know that," George's mum said, gazing right at him.

He sighed, not excited to explain again, especially to his mum and baby sister.

"It was Harry's uncle," he said wearily, slouching against the edge of the table. "He's had Harry locked up all summer and been hurting him. Fred and I just went by tonight to try and visit and when we found out what had been going on, things went a little South."

Ginny went deathly pale but his mum was livid.

"That man did this to them?" she shrieked. "After everything we warned him about?"

George nodded.

Unexpectedly, she rounded on her husband. "He's fifteen years old! The Order was supposed to be keeping an eye on him! Did they know about this?"

"Molly, do you honestly think anyone would have insisted he stay there if they did?"

Tired of the endless questions about something that had him just as shocked and angry as the rest of them, George took advantage of his parents' distraction and slipped outside.

The night air was cool and soothing and he relished it. He wandered aimlessly until he noticed a shadowy figure out beyond the broom shed, sitting slumped on an old stump. Silently, he came up beside him, turning over a bucket to use as a seat and folding his long, lanky form down onto the low top. For a long time they just sat there, not speaking.

"How's Fred?" Ron finally asked in a hoarse voice.

"Dunno," muttered George. "Healer Winkworth kicked me out." As he spoke, the ever-present worry for his twin that he'd been trying to ignore swelled back up. He'd never seen his brother lie so still and pale...

He shook his head. Dwelling in worry wouldn't help anything. "How're you?" he asked his younger brother.

Ron let out a snort. "My brother's up there unconscious and my best friend has spent the last three weeks chained up while his uncle beat him to a bloody pulp. How do you think I am?"

It was a fair point; George himself was still outrageously angry.

"They're here now," he said, trying to make them both feel better. "I'm sure they'll be okay." They'd better be, he added silently.

"That's just it, George!" cried Ron, finally turning to face him. "Harry's not okay. He hasn't been okay since Cedric was killed, even though he tells you he's fine. Then Umbridge and Fudge and last year at school happened. Add the mess at the Ministry and Sirius dying on top of that, which Harry still feels responsible for by the way, and he's barely hanging on by a thread. How's he supposed to deal with this, too? Why should he have to? Can't he ever get a break?"

"I dunno," said George again in a quiet voice, solemnly meeting his brother's furious eyes. "Because he's Harry."

Ron gave a sort of hollow laugh. "Because he's 'The Chosen One'," he scoffed.

"It's bloody unfair, isn't it," agreed George.

"Unfair doesn't even cover it." He fell silent and George let him, both lost in their own unpleasant thoughts.

A little later Ron spoke again, his voice barely audible. "You know what he's going to do, don't you?"

It wasn't really a question so George didn't answer.

"He's going to take this and do just what he always does with all the crap that happens to him - pretend it never did, or it isn't that bad. He'll go around telling everyone he's fine, he's okay, not to worry, but in reality he'll be a little sadder, a little older, a little more closed up, and I hate it!" He practically spat the last words.

George still didn't say anything. For one, he wasn't used to such profound insights coming form his younger brother, but he also wasn't sure how to respond. Ron knew Harry better than anyone; if he was this worried...

"I'm going back in to check on them," Ron said getting to his feet. "You coming?"

"Go on, I'll be there in a bit."

After Ron left, he sat there staring out at the night sky. The stars twinkled brightly in the velvety background completely unaware of the drama playing out below them or the emotions whirling and colliding inside of him. How could one little evening spark so many huge revelations and changes? How could life, which for him had always been so colorful and exciting, be so ugly at the same time? It made his head spin.

Shoving his careening thoughts aside, he got to his feet and headed for the house. As he passed his father's shed, something near the trash bins caught his eye and he stepped closer until he could see clearly in the moonlight.

It was his dad, face set in disappointed anger, binning his collection of plugs.

For a second, George watched, then silently he backed away and turned toward the light of his home.