Two Halves to a Hole

George blinked, feeling partially paralyzed. Where was he? All of his appendages felt wooly and distant, but he could clearly make out Fred's angry eyes hovering in front of him. Thankfully though, Fred wasn't directing the ugly look towards his brother. No, someone else was in the room with them.... Suddenly, a deep, familiar voice chimed in:

"Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing up things for the Order."

Sirius? Here? Alive?? George twisted to his right--the motion felt like it took a long drawn-out time in this liquid state. But indeed, there stood Sirius. His hair was unkempt, and it appeared that he was lacking days of much-needed sleep, but it was indeed Harry's godfather. George tried to call out, but his vocal chords produced nothing in the heavy atmosphere. "You could seriously damage the Order's reputation..." Sirius continued, his lips moving angrily, but George could no longer make out any specific sounds. Looking back at Fred, he could see the lividness flash across his twin's face and watched as Fred balled up his fists in reply to whatever Sirius was saying. Suddenly, Fred's voice shot through the white space: "We don't care about the dumb Order!" he shouted.

"It's our dad you're talking about!" The third voice was strangely recognizable, and George realized it was his own. Then he could see himself standing at his brother's side, looking almost as aggravated. It was a very odd feeling, but the fuzzy state had him convinced that nearly anything was possible. Slowly casting his eyes back to Sirius, he heard the man's heated response long before he could re-focus:

"This is how it is--this is why you're not in the Order--you don't understand there are things worth dying for!"

Fred's lips drew back in response, teeth bared, looking extremely hateful. And then came the maniacal laughter that tore straight at the strings of George's heart. A laughter that wasn't from that Fred, a Fred from days long ago in a very different time, but from the brother and twin he had become. The wretched sound was familiarly devastating, and George felt his lungs ache in a scream that the misty white world would not penetrate...

"George! George! Stop it! Stop screaming!" a frantic voice soon matched a frantic face, and George felt his violent thrashing cease. Molly had him partially in her lap, cradling his head gently. Her whole face was creased with worry, and her cheeks were wet. Beside her, the trio had his arms and legs pinned in an ungraceful jumble.

"Oh--is he awake?" asked Ron, peering up from where he had pinned his brother's left arm.

"George--lie still, okay? Don't move. Just don't move yet. We can't tell how injured you are." Hermione's neurotic take-charge tone was actually a comforting noise, but of course, George ignored her. Struggling to sit up, he could hear her twittering angrily.

" 'Mione, I doubt he's that badly crippled if he could throw us all about like that," Harry said, smiling down at George. As George felt his back muscles groan, and felt the mounds of disheveled books about him, he knew something was a little off. But it was Harry's weak smile sealed it: something very unpleasant had happened, and it had happened to him.

"What...?" he asked, feeling Molly's gentle arm slide around his waist for support. She, Hermione, and a Ron looked at Harry for an explanation. Harry looked annoyed that this chore fell to him, but he still answered the red-head:

"Well, mate... it seems that you were on the wrong end of Fred's stupefy spell. He wanted out of here pretty badly..."

"Fred wouldn't ever..." George stopped. His hands had come across something warm and wet as they rubbed the back of his head. Oh no.

George could tell by the other's faces that he was the last person to get the full story. That meant he had been out for a while. As his memory flooded back to him, George remained silent. The images, Harry's shouts, the wayward disarming spell, Fred's alarming smile... then a thud and now this--awaking to your pitying friends because they know you're all, all alone, and the person you cared most about in the whole world did it to you. George felt his shoulder's shrink.

"Is he gone?" he asked finally, dry-mouthed.

"Yeah... I'm really sorry, George," said Harry. With one look, George knew the Boy Who Lived had taken most of the blame onto himself. Like George hadn't been there, wand in hand, and had failed to do anything useful. And now his brother really was gone--and he certainly wasn't coming back. If a Weasley twin had ever felt despair in his whole life, then this was that moment.

"I'm so sorry, George--I didn't know. I should have realized, but I had no idea..." began Molly, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. He could imagine it had been very traumatic for her, realizing so suddenly that Fred was, well ... broken, and being the one to have ignited his escape. George wanted so badly to speak kindly to her, to wrap her in words as comforting as her embrace, and to assure her she wasn't at fault in any way. Don't worry. Everything will be fine. We'll all live happily ever after. But like in the dream, George felt the words get caught in his throat.

"Look, I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news, but the longer we sit and gab, the farther Fred's getting away," said Ron, standing up.

"Your right," agreed Hermione briskly. "I'll get the floo powder." She headed for the shop's countertop.

This behavior baffled George, sinking groggily back onto the floor. "What are you... I mean, what can be done?" he asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Hermione. "Were doing what we should have done ages ago--we're going to Dumbledore, and we're telling him everything."

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Dumbledore's mouth twitched. Harry had caught it, and it startled him much more then he had anticipated. Well, what did I expect? he wondered. Hermione had been able to contact Dumbledore at his Hogwarts office through the fireplace, and after a few seconds of her frazzled expressions, he had agreed to meet them in the Black's old family house--the headquarters for the Order. Molly, still shaken, had decided to stay behind, watching as each of the four took a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the flames.

Although, before George could throw his pinch (he was up and about due to a few of Hermione's quick first aid charms), Molly had reached out to lovingly stroke his arm. When he looked, she smiled, and he felt himself automatically tug the corner's of his own mouth upwards in response. It was a grim attempt, but he was drained. With that being all he could muster, he had thrown the powder and disappeared, leaving her alone in an empty shop with only a broken book shelf to keep her company.

Upon meeting up with Dumbledore, they had found an empty room in the Order. Thankfully, most of the house's inhabitants were traveling elsewhere, or were otherwise too occupied to pay any little league wizards much mind. It was a lot busier of a place then any of them had remembered.

Dumbledore had shut the study door completely, turning and frowning in concern. He had turned to each of them, with all of them nodding in return except George, who was staring dully towards the window. Harry could tell that Dumbledore was well aware there was a problem, but could not pinpoint the cause of their anxiety. Brushing Fred's mocking tone from his mind, Harry decided to be the first to speak up. His escape was my fault, after all.

"Sir, we have a big problem," Harry had said, breaking the silence.

"Actually, we've had a big problem.--but we thought we could handle it without the Order's intervention," interjected Hermione, looking rather flustered. "Now we've lost him, and we realize how terribly stupid it was not to have come to you straight away. I'm so sorry, professor." It sounded like a plea from the class pet, but one look at Hermione and anyone could tell she was being completely sincere.

Now Dumbledore was looking quite perplexed. When he spoke, his words were carefully chosen and spoken slowly: "It's quite alright, Miss Granger--there's no need for you to you fret too terribly. I can tell that there's a situation, but let me remind you that the Order is equipped to deal with almost any difficulty." His eyes glittered within the wrinkles and creases of the older wizard's brow. "Now then-- Harry, can you please identify the 'he' is that Miss Granger is speaking of?"

Not me... groaned Harry inwardly. "Professor Dumbledore... er... well, it's Fred."

"The strapping young Weasley twin? Didn't we go through this only a few weeks ago, what with him 'disappearing'? I believe it was George Weasley here that took credit for that stunt, wasn't it?"

"That's just it, Professor," exclaimed Ron. "He really was gone. He--" Ron scratched his head, trying to sum up the last few weeks in a sentence. The idea was exhausting, and rather then attempting it, he fell silent. It was George who finally spit it out:

"Fred's a Death Eater." He never looked up, eyes still cast to the window.

That was when Dumbledore's upper lip had twitched. Harry had been around the Headmaster enough to know his mannerisms, and this unrepressed sign of surprise was not only unusual to Harry, but it sent a chill down his entire spine.

"How can you be certain?" asked Dumbledore, his gentle voice now edged with something much more urgent.

"I saw the Dark Mark myself," George said, now staring hard into Dumbledore's eyes. Anyone watching could tell that the Headmaster was visibly shaken with the news. Then again, who wouldn't be? thought Harry. Dumbledore lowered himself into a chair.

"So it begins..." he sighed.

"What do you mean, professor?" Hermione asked.

"I mean to say that Tom--Voldemort--is a very convincing wizard. That was how he rounded up his army so many years ago. I had expected converters, but this..." his brow wrinkled even further. "I have forgotten how alluring the promise of power and fortune is to certain members of the wizarding world."

"Yea, but Fred?" Ron asked, incredulous. "He's not like that. He can be a hard-headed, strong-willed prat sometimes, and he is fond of making galleons, but my brother would not turn to Voldemort to do it. I know him."

George made a soft noise that resembled a snort.

"Perhaps your correct, Mr. Weasley. But right now I need you to tell me how this happened. I need every element recounted so that we can move forward. Don't spare me any detail," Dumbledore said, and leaned forward as the trio began to tell the tale.

They started with Fred's first disappearance and didn't finish until they had arrived in the Headmaster's very office. They even shared their fear that Fred was involved with Lucius Malfoy's escape. All throughout, Dumbledore kept a stoic face. Harry and Hermione were the key speakers, with Ron interjecting his odd comments sporadically. George had flinched in memory several times during their description, but other then that he had kept to himself.

Hermione would glance at him, so uncomprehending of the turmoil and regret raging inside of the twin, that she didn't even try. The most I can do now for him now is be clear-headed when he can't.

Once the trio had finished their explanation, Dumbledore arose out of his seat. He moved past each of them until he reached George, who stared up at the wizard with clouded eyes.

"I can imagine how you're feeling about now," said Dumbledore, slowly. His words reminded Harry greatly of a time not too long ago. Harry had reacted in anger then, but now George just shrugged. "When Tom was first gathering up his minions, we all felt a little betrayed by someone we knew, George," the wizard continued. "Sometimes we were surprised by the people we held dearest." His voice was warm and comforting, but George hardly blinked.

"But we're not saying Fred has turned!" Ron interrupted. "Those people might have--but isn't there any chance that Fred is under the power of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Ginny was, and that was just a few years ago!"

Dumbledore nodded at Ron, but turned back to George. "What do you think, George?" he asked quietly.

George looked up then, definitely surprised. It looked as if Dumbledore had read his mind; his eyes watered like he had been slapped in the face, and his usually faint freckles stood out like ink upon his paper-white complexion.

"I don't know!" he cried out suddenly. Dumbledore rested his hand on the twin's shoulder as he buried his head in his hands. "I don't know at all. I mean, Fred and I were alike in so many ways, but we also had out differences. Even mum always said Fred was like the fire and I was the wind, controlling which way his crazy flames leapt... And I've always seen Fred as the leader-- running ahead like he does. But you know--I was always so sodding proud to think that I was right behind him, making sure he doesn't trip himself up. Now this has gone an' happened, and I don't know what to think. Now I find myself doubting how well I really knew 'im at all. It all just makes me ill."

This outburst made Hermione and Harry very grateful that Dumbledore was there to intercede for them. But Ron stood up abruptly, his fists balled.

"Well I do know Fred. He's my brother too, and I know he would never turn on Harry or the rest of us. He would have never hurt George on purpose, or call He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named his 'master'. He would never..." Ron trailed off, apparently too aggravated to continue. Hermione was mildly surprised. I've forgotten how difficult this must be for Ron. He constantly knocks the twins, but out of all his brothers, they've always been the closest to him. Poor thing...

"Yea, but Ron--" George replied, looking extremely anxious. "Fred would say these things..." he stopped suddenly.

Dumbledore gazed down at the twin and patted his shoulder in reassurance. "Please continue, George," he requested gently, even though it was apparent that the red-head didn't want to.

"It's just... Fred would sometimes become really angry with the Order," said George quietly. "I guess it was hard to tell, but after what happened to dad last year with the snake, he was furious for a long time about it. It was something I couldn't understand, but he was pretty bloody angry that it had "been allowed" to happen. He was angry with you a lot after that..." George mumbled, looking away from the aged wizard. "Sometimes he would say things about hating how weak the Order was... He hated being restricted from things, but we all know that was just Fred's way." He attempted a smile. "Do you remember how we blackmailed Ludo Bagman? I was against it, but Fred was always getting these ideas into his head. Recently, the ideas have been getting a little wilder and a little more dangerous... but of course, that's what everyone expects from Fred as he gets older..." His eyes took on a misty gleam. "Percy gave him something else to fume about, of course. We would talk about how our own Ministry was corrupted and ignorant... nothing groundbreaking. We're just able to see from ground level exactly how many stupid decisions have been made by the Ministry because we're so involved with everything--like them denying His return and all that bullocks..."

"Did Fred ever advocate Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked, devoid of emotion.

George's eyes widened. "What? You have to understand--Fred an' I used to tell each other everything. He would say lots of crazy things... But I was who he could say em' to, and he wouldn't be judged, you know? It's not like he was a supporter--"

"George," interrupted the Headmaster. "Did Fred ever say anything about Voldemort that was positive? Did he ever sympathize with him? Did he ever advocate him in any way?"

George's eyes closed and his lips tightened in anxiety. Finally, he breathed:

"... yeh... you could say...."

Ron was appalled--he couldn't even exchange a glance with Hermione and Harry. He just stood there, fists clenched.

Dumbledore immediately straightened up and smoothed the front his robes. Then, after a fitful silence, he spoke:

"Well then, there seems to be hope," he said.

"What?" asked George, shocked by what he had heard. He was expecting condemnation, not the word "hope" to come out from Dumbledore's mouth.

"Not right now, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore answered briskly. "It is time to act. You will go with Harry and contact the Burrow through the hearth in the next room. Tell your family that they need to report to headquarters immediately; I want to keep them far out of harm's way. Hermione, you and Ron go with me to the library. I'm going to need a little assistance finding the right spell."

"What?" asked Ron, clearly stupefied.

"Get on with it, Ron," snapped Hermione, standing up. Finding the right spell was her forte, and the business-like tone in the Headmaster's voice was invigorating. It gave her hope.

As requested, Harry and George made their way from the study to the next door. Harry had recognized the extra bedroom immediately due to an especially angry toadstool population he had cleaned out of it last summer-- but now was not the time for that. As Dumbledore had said, it was now time to act.

George was thankful he had been paired with Harry instead of Ron, but he still felt a mite funny after what had just been said next door. Guilty is the word. As Harry kneeled down next to the fire to prepare the connection to the Burrow, George leaned against the wall.

"You know, Harry... it's not like the way Dumbledore made it sound. You know Fred wasn't a supporter of You-Know-Who. What he would say... it was just talk. Speculation."

Harry glanced up at George briefly, a little snoot from the fireplace smeared on his nose. "Yea, I know that. And I'm not angry at either of you for speculating. It's hard for me to remember that others haven't been inches away from Voldemort before... not everyone knows the death an' evil that radiates off of him." Harry's wand's tip glowed as the fire started rippling with a magical light. "Things are a little bonkers in the Ministry right now... I can see how some people would be looking for answers in other places." Harry beckoned George to get beside him; the fire was ready. "Besides, George-- I know that you and Fred are true to the Order. Heck, I would have expected you to be in the Order by now." Harry finished and leaned into the flames. As his torso disappeared, George grimaced.

"This is how it is--this is why you're not in the Order--you don't understand there are things worth dying for!"

With Sirius's voice in his ear, George followed after The Boy Who Lived.

Moments after Harry felt himself "land" in the Weasley's kitchen fire did he hear the familiar and boisterous voice of Mrs.Weasley.

"Harry! How good it is to see you!" she exclaimed in a gloriously cheerful tone. Harry felt superbly refreshed to hear a tone that wasn't full of dread, but then he remembered what he would have to tell the Weasley mother. Damn.

"George!" she cried again as he appeared next to Harry in the fireplace. George couldn't help but be delighted to see his mother bustling about in her normal fashion--dishes cleaning themselves eagerly in the sink and the warm smell of roast saturating the small space. He was also glad to see anger didn't immediately cross her features when she saw him--they hadn't spoken since the Fred "prank".

"Why are you boys bothering with the fire for? You just floo yourselves down here in a hurry, alright?" She put her hands on her healthy-sized waist. "What with all my boys running about, I haven't ever seen The Burrow this empty. It's not right--I don't know how to cook for less then nine."

Harry was very, very tempted. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Mrs. Weasley wouldn't let him have a word in edgewise.

"Now I don't mean to nag--I'm sure you all are having fun in Diagon Ally, but you need to tell Ron I have a bone to pick with him. We never agreed that he would be spending the night over with you, George--and I've only heard from him once in two days. You tell that boy to pick it up and come home today after work, alright?"

"Mum, we're not at the shop right now," interrupted George. "We're at Headquarters."

Mrs. Weasley looked at George, tapping her wooden spoon against her lip in thoughtfulness. She hesitated before asking:

"Why is that?"

This is it, thought Harry, dreading this more then telling Dumbledore. Her own son... how bloody awful can this get?

"It's Fred," answered George. "There's something very wrong--but I can explain it all right now. Dumbledore says everyone could be in danger--he wants our whole family to floo here now. He said--"

"George Weasley!" interrupted his mother, apparently very angrily. "Don't you dare start this with me again! I can't even tell you how upset you made me last time you tried this. Your father was going out of his mind with worry!" Her eyes flashed. "And dragging Harry into it this time? Horrible! Obviously, you didn't learn your lesson at all--"

"Mum! Stop--I'm serious this time! I was even serious last time--you have to get out of The Burrow right away--"

Harry saw that George was losing his creditability fast, and he also knew that they needed to hurry this up. Time was of the essence--and they didn't have much of it to waste. He wanted his surrogate family to be as safe as possible as soon as possible, so he stepped in:

"Mrs.Weasley--George is telling the truth. There really is something wrong with Fred. Please believe us."

She just looked down at their fiery faces with bewilderment and shook her head. "What are you two talking about? Fred's just fine."

"You don't understand--" began George. But he stopped short when Fred appeared in the kitchen.

He was laughing and carrying Ginny on piggyback. Being only a few years younger then the twins, she looked silly and lopsided on his back, but she was still clinging and giggling as he stumbled through the doorway. He bent down and she swooped up two hot rolls from the dinner tray; one went into her mouth and one she stuffed in his. His eyes twinkling, he didn't stop his extravagant hobble until he caught sight of the two faces in the fireplace. When he hesitated, Ginny slid down and peered around his slender frame.

"Harry? George?" she asked, still swallowing the piece of warm, buttered bread.

The identical expressions of astonishment must have been bizarre, perhaps even amusing to the casual observer, but to those fiery faces, it was nothing but horrific. Harry felt the cool taste of fear slide down his throat, remembering how quickly Fred had thrown his twin ten feet and into a bookcase.

George just blinked; seeing Fred behaving this normal--in the home that they grew up in together--made hope spring up inside him. Perhaps... Perhaps the Death Eater wasn't really Fred! Maybe Fred had just here the whole time! Oh God... maybe the Death Eater was nothing but an imposter. Maybe--

"See, there's nothing wrong with your brother. I'm furious you would even try to do something so soon after your last--" she droned on, but George and Harry had both stopped listening. They were too busy watching Fred. It was incredibly difficult to mentally match up the sneering-in-the-basement-Fred with this one, standing with one arm around Ginny and looking anything but dangerous.

But then Fred slowly lifted his right hand. His index finger went to his lips, his smile easing from sweet to toxic in one smooth second.

"Shhhhhh...." He mouthed, his teeth glinting viciously. The he gave Ginny's shoulders a gentle squeeze.

...you don't understand there are things worth dying for...