0417 The Trouble with Twins

The Burrow bustled with anticipation as the sun began to set on a warm summer evening. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh-cut grass, aromatic herbs from Mrs. Weasley’s garden, and the tantalizing aroma of a feast in preparation. As the clock’s hands crept closer to seven, an air of excitement mixed with mild anxiety permeated the burrow.
“There’s simply no other way around it,” Arthur Weasley muttered to himself as he hurried along the winding country lane leading to his home. His usually neat robes were disheveled, and his thinning red hair was exposed from his rushed journey. “With the Quidditch World Cup final rapidly approaching, the Ministry’s in absolute chaos. Half the staff have been reassigned to ensure everything goes off without a hitch on match day. It’s left mountains of work unattended in other departments.”
He paused briefly to catch his breath, his mind racing with the day’s events. “And if that wasn’t enough, I even had to help Dirk Cresswell in a particularly nasty argument with the goblins from Gringotts. Merlin’s beard, what a day!”
With barely a minute to spare before seven o’clock, Mr. Weasley finally arrived home, panting heavily as he burst through the garden gate. His face was flushed from exertion, and beads of sweat glistened on his balding head. Hastily, he loosened his tie, which felt like it was strangling him after his mad dash home.
His eyes lit up as they fell upon Harry, who was standing awkwardly near the back door. Despite his exhaustion, Mr. Weasley’s face broke into a warm, welcoming smile. He strode over to Harry and enveloped him in a quick but affectionate hug.
“Harry, my boy! How wonderful to see you!” Mr. Weasley exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine warmth. “How are you feeling? Was your journey here smooth sailing? I do hope those Muggles didn’t give you any trouble this time?”
Harry, looking a bit overwhelmed by the enthusiastic greeting, managed a small smile. “No, Mr. Weasley, everything was fine. You know the Dursleys – they couldn’t wait to see me leave, as usual.”
Mr. Weasley’s face fell slightly at Harry’s words, his brow furrowing with concern. “Now, now, Harry,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Let’s not speak that way. I know there’s been some… well, let’s call it a misunderstanding between you and your aunt and uncle. But at the end of the day, you’re family, aren’t you?” His eyes twinkled with an optimism that seemed at odds with what Harry knew of the Dursleys. “I’m certain that deep down, beneath all the disagreements and differences, there must be some love there.”
Harry bit his tongue, not wanting to shatter Mr. Weasley’s naive but well-meaning belief. Instead of correcting what he saw as Mr. Weasley’s absurdly hopeful notion, he simply nodded noncommittally and quickly joined the line of people carrying plates laden with food from the kitchen to the garden.
The Burrow, charming and cozy as it was, simply didn’t have enough space to accommodate thirteen people for a sit-down dinner. So, in typical Weasley fashion, they had decided to turn Harry’s birthday celebration into a grand outdoor feast.
As Harry stepped into the garden, he was struck by the beauty of the night sky over Ottery St. Catchpole. It was a sight quite unlike anything he’d seen before – different from both the magical, star-studded expanse that hung over Hogwarts and the murky, light-polluted darkness of London. Here, the sky was a deep, clear blue, gradually darkening as night fell, with the first twinkling stars just beginning to peek through the twilight.
Two long tables had been pushed together in the middle of the garden, groaning under the weight of Mrs. Weasley’s foods. There were enormous joints of roast beef, glistening hams, golden-crusted meat pies, and colorful salads bursting with fresh vegetables from the garden. The centerpiece of the feast, however, was a cake that stood as tall as a house-elf – a masterpiece specially ordered by Sirius from the finest bakery in Diagon Alley.
The cake was a work of art, featuring a miniature Harry in exquisitely detailed Quidditch robes. The tiny figure zoomed around the cake on a perfectly crafted Firebolt, chasing after a fluttering Golden Snitch. The number ’14’ was inscribed on the back of the robes in shimmering red icing, commemorating Harry’s age. Of course, that was how the cake had looked when it was first presented; now, after the enthusiastic attentions of the partygoers, it was barely recognizable, with large chunks missing and icing smeared in all directions.
Harry leaned back in his chair, a lazy smile appearing on his lips as he enjoyed the gentle evening breeze. He felt a sense of contentment wash over him, a feeling so rare and precious that he wanted to savor every moment of it.
As the feast wound down, the gathering entered its more relaxed phase. People began to move about freely, forming smaller groups for conversation. Hermione and Ginny had wandered off to one side of the garden, giggling as they fed treats to Crookshanks.
Nearby, Remus was chatting with Bill and Charlie Weasley about England’s disastrous performance in this year’s Quidditch World Cup. Remus’s normally calm demeanor was tinged with exasperation as he gestured wildly.
“I mean, really,” Remus was saying, his voice rising slightly, “how could they have fumbled that easy save against Transylvania? It’s as if our Keeper had been Confunded!”
Bill nodded, his long red hair gleaming in the warm glow of the floating lanterns Mrs. Weasley had conjured. The fang earring dangling from his ear swayed as he shook his head in disappointment. “I know what you mean, Remus. I haven’t seen playing that abysmal since my first year at Hogwarts when the Hufflepuff team all came down with Dragon Pox the night before the final.”
Charlie, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, let out a snort. “At least the Hufflepuffs had an excuse. Our national team? They’re supposed to be professionals! I’ve seen better coordination from a herd of Horntails during mating season.”
As the three men continued their lively debate, Percy had cornered his parents near the remnants of the spectacular birthday cake. His chest puffed out importantly, Percy was telling Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with tales of his ‘rising’ career at the Ministry.
“You simply wouldn’t believe the recognition I’m receiving at work,” Percy said, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the lantern light. “Mr. Crouch himself commented on my report about cauldron bottom thickness. Said it was the most comprehensive analysis he’d seen in years!”
Mr. Weasley smiled silently, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of pride and amusement at his son’s enthusiasm. Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, was beaming so brightly she could have rivaled the lanterns illuminating the garden.
“Oh, Percy, that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, reaching out to straighten his already impeccable robes. “I always knew you’d go far. Didn’t I say so, Arthur?”
Before Mr. Weasley could respond, a sudden commotion drew everyone’s attention. Fred and George had risen from their seats, exchanging a mischievous glance that spelled trouble to anyone familiar with the twins’ antics. They stepped back from the table with an exaggerated flourish, their movements perfectly synchronized as if they’d rehearsed this moment.

“Well then, ladies and gentlemen,” Fred began, his voice carrying across the garden with theatrical flair.
“Distinguished guests and common rabble alike,” George continued, earning a mock-indignant “Oi!” from Ron.
The twins bowed deeply, their long noses nearly touching the grass. When they straightened up, identical grins were plastered across their freckled faces.
“We regret to inform you that we must take our leave,” Fred announced, placing a hand over his heart as if the very thought pained him.
“For you see,” George picked up seamlessly, “a great endeavor awaits us!”
Ron, his face smeared with a combination of cake frosting and what looked suspiciously like jam, looked up at his brothers with curiosity etched across his features. He swallowed a mouthful of cake before asking, “What exactly are you two up to in that room of yours? You’ve been at it all summer, locked away like a pair of cursed mummies.”
Fred’s eyes widened in feigned shock. “All summer? My dear brother, you wound us! We’ve at least come down for meals.”
“Most of them, anyway,” George added with a wink.
“But as for the nature of our great work,” Fred continued, leaning in.
“That, dearest Ronniekins, is none of your business,” George finished, reaching out to ruffle Ron’s hair, much to Ron’s annoyance.
“Focus on your food, little brother,” Fred advised ‘wisely’. “You’re looking a bit peaky. Another slice of cake, perhaps?”
With that, the twins linked arms and strolled off towards the house, whistling a jaunty tune that sounded suspiciously like a Weird Sisters’ hit.
As if suddenly remembering something important, Percy glanced at his watch, his eyes widening in alarm. “Oh, is it that late already?” he exclaimed, his voice rising an octave in distress. “I simply must hurry back to my room to work on my report. Mr. Crouch has been most generous with the deadline, of course, but I certainly can’t wait until the last moment to submit it. That would be most unprofessional!”
With a hasty goodbye to his parents and a nod to the other guests, Percy rushed off towards the house.
Harry watched Percy’s retreating figure with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. As he turned back to the table, he caught Sirius looking at him intently. Meeting his godfather’s gaze, Harry raised an eyebrow in silent question.
Sirius jerked his head slightly, indicating that he wanted to speak privately. Curious, Harry asked, “What report is Percy writing exactly? It seems awfully important.”
Sirius’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Something about cauldrons, apparently,” His gray eyes darted around, taking in the various Weasley family members scattered about the garden before he gestured discreetly to Harry.
Understanding immediately that Sirius had something important to discuss, Harry nodded and followed him as he made his way towards the front of the Weasleys’ broom shed.
As they reached the shed, Harry opened his mouth to inquire about Sirius’s suddenly serious expression. Before he could utter a word, however, the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. Turning his head, he saw Remus walking towards them, in an expression of quiet concern.
“What’s going on?” Harry blinked, his confusion evident in his voice.
Remus’s amber eyes met Harry’s green ones, a flicker of something – worry? – passing through them. “We want to talk to you about your scar, Harry,” he said softly, noting the slight widening of Harry’s eyes at the mention of his scar.
Remus nodded, confirming Harry’s unspoken question. “Yes, Sirius told me everything. But what exactly is happening, Harry? I know your scar is no ordinary scar – it doesn’t usually react, does it?”
“Uh, the scar, yes,” Harry stammered, caught off guard by the abrupt shift from the cheerful birthday party to such a serious topic. He quickly gathered his thoughts. “It suddenly hurt for a while – but yes, you’re right, it doesn’t hurt often.”
Touching the lightning-shaped mark on his forehead, Harry spoke more fluently. He glanced at his godfather and Remus, who was also a close friend of his father’s, and said rapidly, “It hasn’t reacted for two years, The last time it did anything was in my first year at Hogwarts, when Voldemort was lurking in the castle, attached to Quirrell.”
Sirius and Remus exchanged a quick glance, sharing their thoughts.
“Is there anything else we should know, Harry?” Sirius pressed, his voice gentle but insistent.
Harry hesitated, unsure whether he should mention the dream. First, he wasn’t certain if the bizarre dream was related to his scar, and second, since waking up, it was as if something had blocked his memory. The events in his recollection had quickly become blurred, and by now, he remembered very little.
“Before my scar started hurting, I was asleep,” Harry began cautiously, weighing each word. “And then I had a dream. I dreamed about… about Voldemort.”
Harry braced himself for looks of disbelief, but to his surprise, neither Sirius nor Remus showed any sign of skepticism. Instead, they continued to listen attentively, their expression was serious and focused. Encouraged by their reaction, Harry continued to narrate.
“I, um, don’t remember it clearly now,” he admitted, frustration tinging his tone. “It’s all a bit fuzzy. But I do remember it started with this old, dilapidated house.”
Sirius nodded encouragingly, while Remus leaned in slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“There was an elderly Muggle man,” Harry continued, the memory becoming slightly clearer as he spoke. “He was walking around inside the house, using a cane. I think. And then he… he discovered Voldemort in one of the rooms. Voldemort wasn’t alone, He was talking to someone… a woman.”
“A woman?” Sirius’s brow furrowed, a thoughtful glint appearing in his stormy gray eyes. He turned to Remus, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. “The Daily Prophet hasn’t reported any more breakouts recently, has it?”
Remus shook his head, his response immediate and certain. “The Daily Prophet only reported one breakout, and that was you, Sirius.” But then, uncertainty crept into his voice, “Do you think the woman Harry saw could be… a Death Eater?”
Sirius crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he pondered the possibility. “Voldemort must have trusted this woman very much, Think about it, Remus. Since Lily and Harry destroyed his powers, he’s been in hiding. And now, he’s willing to expose himself to this woman when he’s at his most defenseless? It doesn’t add up unless she’s someone he trusts completely.”
“Who do you think she could be?” Remus asked cautiously, his amber eyes flicking between Sirius and Harry.
A dark look crossed Sirius’s face, his features hardening. “If my dear cousin were still out there, it would definitely be her, But Bellatrix is still rotting in Azkaban where she belongs. Hmm… Narcissa Malfoy, perhaps?”
“Unlikely,” Remus shook his head solemnly, “If Voldemort were to reach out to the Malfoys, why wouldn’t he go straight to Lucius? He was always one of Voldemort’s most trusted follower.”
“Wait!” Harry finally couldn’t hold back. After a moment’s hesitation between questioning the dream’s reality and Sirius’s cousin, he chose the former. He stared at Sirius and Remus with wide eyes, asking in bewilderment, “You think… you think that dream was real?”
Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance, their expressions darkening but neither spoke.
“But—” Harry was about to press for clarification when a sudden, thunderous boom from inside the house interrupted him. The noise was so intense that even the tables in the yard shook, causing the remaining dishes to rattle ominously.
“I’ve had quite enough of those two!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice cut through the startled silence that followed the explosion. She jumped up from her chair, her face flushed with a combination of exasperation and worry. “I’m going to see what mischief they’re up to this time, and Merlin help them if they’ve blown up another bedroom!”
As Mrs. Weasley stormed towards the house, her wand gripped tightly in her hand, Mr. Weasley hurried after her. “Now, now, Molly,” he called, trying to sound soothing but unable to completely hide the note of anxiety in his voice. “Fred and George are at an age where they should have their privacy. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Privacy?!” Mrs. Weasley’s indignant screech could have rivaled a Howler. She flung open the back door with a resounding bang that made everyone wince. “I’d be more than happy to respect their privacy if it didn’t involve tearing the house apart board by board!”
At the dinner table, the remaining Weasley siblings exchanged knowing looks before following one after another, eager to watch the drama unfold. Ron, his earlier lethargy forgotten, was practically bouncing with excitement at the prospect of seeing the twins get a proper telling-off.
“You should go and see too, Harry,” Remus suddenly said. He winked at Harry mischievously. “If Fred and George get into trouble, you might be able to put in a good word for them with Molly.”
It wasn’t long before heated arguments could be heard from inside the house. The rapid-fire scolding made it clear just how furious Mrs. Weasley was. But Sirius and Remus remained outside by the broom shed, their faces gloomy.
“I share Harry’s doubts,” the impatient Sirius finally spoke up. “How exactly does this work through dreams? Harry was in Privet Drive at the time; he couldn’t have seen it firsthand, could he?”
“Only wizards like Albus and Bryan could figure that out—” Remus said worriedly. “You’ve already written to Albus about Harry’s scar, haven’t you?”
After receiving Sirius’s confirmation, Remus nodded. “Albus should also know about Harry’s dream and the woman who appeared in it. As for Bryan, well, since he’s busy with his own affairs, we don’t need to rush. But, Sirius—”
Remus suddenly fixed his gaze on Sirius’s eyes, their gazes meeting in midair.
Years of close friendship meant they could understand each other’s thoughts without words.
“Yes, that person is likely to return,” Sirius said, thinking of his brother Regulus and sniffing hard.
“How many people will have to sacrifice themselves this time?” Remus’s worried and sentimental voice drifted away on the light breeze, across the boundless wilderness.

Author’s note: I had to go somewhere yesterday and I won’t be able to return until tomorrow, so the updates were late.  The updates will return to regular from tomorrow.
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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep