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Fred and George met the infamous Harry Potter at Kings Cross. The second they managed to lock themselves in a compartment, they stared at each other incredulously for a good, long minute in complete dumbfounded shock. Lee was across from them, tickling his pet spider, and normally that would be enough to distract them, but today, Fred murmurs under his breath, “He's tiny.”
To be fair, all firsties were small, including their gangly little brother, Ron, but Harry was something else. He came up to Fred's waist, and if he was a betting man, he'd say the kid looked more like an eight year old than a first year. He pictured Ginny, who was probably an inch or two taller, and she was ten!
George nodded, “I know.” and then he pursed his lips, seeming to decide something, “Let's keep an eye on him, yeah?”
Fred grinned, “You read my mind.”
And that was that. But Fred couldn't help but consider those children's tales about The Great Harry Potter and compare them to the little, ickle first year that had stood behind Ron at Platform 9 ¾. He had seemed so lost out there.
Maybe, Fred reasoned, it was nothing to worry about. Only time would tell.
-
Most of the craziness that occured during their 3rd year at Hogwarts wasn’t due to the twins. A lot of it had to do with a certain Defense professor’s Turban™ and, the Golden Trio, or better said, the first years with a goddamn death wish.
Fred kept his mouth shut for the most part cause’ pulling their little brother out of trouble was bad for their image. The chaos twins weren't much for keeping the peace, though after seeing the two punks knocked out in the hospital wing, they had to start reconsidering their stance. Obviously, this wasn’t working.
He took a seat next to Ron, carding his long fingers through the kids messy red hair with a contemplative look spreading across his face.
Next year, he’d step in. There was no excuse for three first years being, apparently, the main defense for a gigantic castle full of well equipped adult wizards who could just as easily handle it. It was a scary thought, the idea of his brother on the front lines-
Ron yawned then, peacefully shifting in his sleep. George hovered on the other side of the bed, and he just knew that his twin had concluded the same thing. Trouble followed them like sheep, so the two of them would have to read up on herding.
Fred glanced at the other occupied bed of one Harry Potter. As if Quidditch wasn't bad enough, the poor guy had to have every other disaster occur against him, too. Fred swore he wouldn't fail next time. He couldn't stand it.
-
(They knew, deep down in their hearts already, that the danger Harry must face wasn't just contained within the walls of Hogwarts. Neither Fred or George were dense, they could observe Harry's symptoms and deduce that the muggles who had ‘raised’ him were the worst people he could possibly end up with. If Christmas wasn't enough, the point debacle would have tipped them off due to Harry easily ignoring and evading attackers.
So, the visit to #4 Privet Drive wasn’t necessarily a shock to the system, but the confirmation…seeing it was a whole other beast.)
-
Pretending to be nothing at all was increasingly difficult to do, and Harry mournfully stared up at the ceiling, twisting his head and making out the individual cracks in the surface. He’d woken up only an hour before, and hadn’t moved since. The dangerous spiral of negative thoughts was enough to make him completely still, and Dudley’s second bedroom (currently his room, or better said, his prison) wasn’t going to have a shot at entertaining him.
He was nothing, of course, while he was at “home”, and whatever stubborn resolve he’d initially had to piss off the Dursleys fell away over time. He didn’t regret the summer choices that had led him to this, but perhaps he could have been smarter about it all. It was hard to feel anything over something that currently felt so distant. After all, he hasn’t had a spec of food in four days.
It was utterly pathetic how much that was hurting.
The soiled and broken toys Dudley had made were definitely not worth his time, and even looking at them made his chest hurt, so why bother moving up from the mattress? No, it was the persistent hunger that made him barely twitch as he lay, half crooked.
Harry figured that if he didn’t exist, then he simply wasn’t hungry. But if not, if reality decided to show up, he could manage to deal with it, like, he'd survived even longer without a single complaint. And now, he was shriveled up in bed, unable to move due to cramps.
Harry shifted, grabbing a fistful of his hair in mild frustration, watching the lackluster shadows of the barred windows reflect on the wall in front of him. The grey shadows were like prison bars, and that’s exactly what this was, really. Harry Potter, the worst evil to ever grace this house, huh?
He didn’t think about Hogwarts, or friends from far places or the family just below him, talking and smiling and possibly, loving each other, far more than they’ve ever dared or certainly cared to do for him. He thought about that ceiling instead.
The little physicalities were an easy distraction, and he kept his breaths quiet and slow, puzzling over the minuscule details. Like a spot in the corner damaged from rain water. He’d felt droplets from that spot before but had never considered looking up. The pattern of damp grey looked like a map, or, close enough to one that Harry pretended it was. He let his thoughts drift, let the pain drift, falling into his own mind. He hadn't been tired, or at least, he hadn’t thought he was tired. The air was thick with his pain, and Harry leaned away from it all, falling into a fitful sleep.
-
To be able to survive in the Dursley house, you had to be quiet.
To survive in Hogwarts, you had to be sure, or sure enough for somebody to follow you through. Harry knew things worked in contracts, in promises, and the days of pretending that love was a free gift had passed. He had gotten something that resembled love, that wore its ties and mannerisms, but if love could exist as purely as it was spoken about, then how could he be here?
He doesn’t have an answer.
At first, the only thing he could hear was the sound of a low engine, purring in the back of his mind. And he faintly registered a hand near his head, not touching, but close enough that he could feel the electric sting of near contact. He could also faintly hear a conversation, a startlingly angry one.
“Y’know, if only we had made time to come sooner-”
“We could have chucked those bars at his uncle ourselves-”
“-And served Harry, here, a platter fit for a king for the trouble of dealing with these-these-”
The voice faltered, stumbling on the words and now that Harry was coming to, he connected the dots of just who was sitting beside him. He was uncomfortably laid in the backseat of the (probably) Weasley car, the seats down to allow him to rest more comfortably, with Fred right beside his head. His hand gently rested in his hair, with little weight or force behind the motion. The other voice had been farther away: maybe George had driven them here, wherever here was? But if the twins had truly escaped with him, then surely-
“And you think he could stomach it?” Ron. The relief of hearing him there was palpable, though he wasn't sure why. He didn't mind the twins at all. “No, really, why would—who would do this to someone-?”
“Who would do this to Harry?” George cut in, voice tight, “Cause I saw no similar bars on any other window.”
“Nor any other empty rooms of raggedy clothes and broken junk.” Fred added. He started moving his hand through his hair in a complete manner opposite to his tone of voice. And though Harry tried to stay still, he stiffened without permission, and Fred jumped in surprise, moving away and Harry whined.
In an attempt to right himself and get over that embarrassing noise, he knocked Fred right into his seat, shoving him out the way.
Oh God, what the fuck was wrong with him? He'd been attempting to figure out just what was going on, but instead of staying low and gaining any information, he'd both flinched away and begged for affection in one fell swoop. No wonder he was a Gryffindor.
This is it. Someone outside of the Dursley’s is finally hit me.
He flinched as Fred quietly spoke, “Harry?”
The car didn't stop running, but the radio, which had been rolling nightly muggle news, swiftly was shut off and Harry heard the sound of bending springs from Ron and George turning around.
He bit his lip, knowing prolonging it wasn’t gonna make it go away, or make them go away. Rationalize it, go on. He was perfectly fine, wasn't he, and it's not even like the Dursleys had truly treated him that bad? And at least Uncle Vernon didn't make himself so unclear. Other than the tentative speaking of his name, Fred had gone deathly quiet. And he assumed Fred would-well wouldn't he want to get some kind of revenge for feeling a need to go out here and save him and for Harry being so despicable ?
He opened his eyes and turned to look at Fred, who blinked at him, looking so undoubtedly serious that Harry couldn't help but feel afraid. He closed his eyes again and sat up just a bit so that he could have a more open target.
If Fred would just get it over with and-
But Fred didn't raise his fist or anything like that. Painfully warm arms wrapped around him tightly, and Freds hands pressed against his back, frantically holding him like he might just disappear. Harry wasn’t in the habit of disappearing. There wasn’t anything to worry about, least of all when it came to him.
“Oh, mate,” Ron whispered from the front seat, and Harry opened his eyes to stare at him, finding uncharacteristically wide eyes staring back, “You're a right mess.”
George flicked his hair, and Fred continued to hold him. Ron squabbled at his older brother in protest, and that was the only thing about this odd car ride that made sense.
“Be nice to him,” Fred demanded, and Harry was so confused, “Especially now.”
Ron nodded, before fixing a false stern look in Harry's direction, “Free pass for now, alright, but don't abuse it.”
Fred and George winced. Ron sighed, “Sorry, didn't mean to-” He stammered slightly, turning away, “Aw, bollocks.”
And George continued to drive, white knuckles harshly holding the steering wheel, though none of his supposed anger affected the car ride. It was dark inside the car, bright light of the dashboard notwithstanding, and Fred traced soothing shapes into the small of his back, the kind touch feeling electric.
“Why are you hugging me?” Harry whispered, “Or better yet, why’d you come get me at all? I'm okay.”
Fred scoffed, “Okay? Yeah, and Ronnie's bound to end up with a Slytherin themed birthday party. Are you pulling my leg?” He let out a little sigh, sounding sad and…still angry, even now, “You're so small.”
Harry didn’t know how that would relate to his questions, but Fred was being nice, and honestly, he always has been, so he said nothing, which turned out to be a good thing cause Fred continued talking.
“And I cannot believe how terrible those-those-”
“Monsters.” George said, “That's the word you're looking for.”
“But brother mine, monsters can't help but give into their nasty ways. Now, what's the Dursley’s excuse?” He spat, sounding outraged. The emotional connection clicked. Fred was…angry for him. Not at him, like he'd previously thought.
But, he couldn't help but ask it out loud and confirm. What's Gryffindor bravery for if you never use it, right? “So, you're not mad? At me?”
Fred pulled back for a moment to look at him. His eyes were wide, hair a mess, with dark blemishes for eyebags telling Harry everything he needed to know. He sunk into himself just a bit, almost apologizing, but Fred's eyes wrinkled in disapproval, one hand gently holding his face in an almost motherly fashion. He opened his mouth once, then shut it, unable to speak.
Eventually, he murmured, “Never you, Harry. Never you.”
“Just your shitshow of a family-”
“You are far too kind, George.” Fred said, “They bloody well deserve worse terms. We're not angry at you, love, promise, just trying to resist the urge to turn the car around and-” He cut himself off, and took in a very purposeful breath.
Harry was lost again. Fred was calling him---he cringed instinctually at the wonderful nickname that didn't fit him at all. He didn't deserve to be called something as sweet as love. Slowly, the rest of what had just been said, as well as the entire car ride, flooded back into Harry's ears like moths.
“So, you guys saw…everything, then?” Harry shivered unnaturally, blinking fast to try and hide the worry, the hurt, that had enveloped him all summer. Fred folded him back into his arms instead, grip unforgiving and protective as all hell. “Where-also, where are we heading? This isn't just a joyride, right?”
“I'd rather die then return you to that house,” George swore from the front as Fred tightened his grip, “And yes, we did, but don't worry—we're only bloodthirsty on occasion, and like we said, never you.”
“What about me?” Ron asked, and George looped a hand through his hair, messing it up, and the easy affection was a great response, though based on Ron's glare, he hadn’t seen it the way Harry had.
“So, this is what we're going to do,” Fred whispered in a controlled tone, “The Burrow's brimming with life, far more than that shack of a house. George and I will take the blame, fight tooth and nail to keep you out of their reach, and then I'm going to continue to smother you.” As if proving his point, Fred pressed a chaste kiss to Harry's forehead, before retaking his place in the boy's arms.
Harry nodded, knowing already that he didn’t have a choice. He wouldn't fight it, anyway. It was safe here, in Fred's arms, in the car, at the burrow. Safer than Privet Drive, certainly.
After a long moment, Fred pulled away. In an ever quieter tone, Fred added, “And I will never hurt you, love. Not ever.”
Harry flushed, suddenly embarrassed, looking down at his sleeves. Before, he'd been dressed in just his favorite old T-shirt, but a frayed and older looking Weasley sweater had been put on top of it, with a large, red ‘G’ on the front. Huh. He was wearing George's sweater.
He glanced over at the front seat, at George, who'd gotten all calm and relaxed, and then to Ron, who had started ranting about a neighbor who kept stealing from their garden, and Harry let out a small sigh, trying to relax.
It dawned on him that someone had carried him into the car, slipped the sweater over his shoulders and gathered his things, which were neatly piled around Harry. This was…Harry stared incredulously at the three of them. How were they so nice? Why did they even bother?
When they landed, Harry could make out a furious looking woman rushing towards them, face pale and already shouting venom.
Ron grabbed his arm, carefully pulling him out of the car and George materialized on his right, wrapping an arm over his shoulders, steering them in the vague direction of an irate Molly Weasley.
“She’s all bark, Harry.” Ron said, and then paused, shivering, “Well, I might as well kiss my summer goodbye. Though you've got nothing to worry about.”
Harry ducked his head, “Sorry” he muttered.
Ron shrugged, “Not your fault, mate.”
George nodded, “Yeah, let us take care of it, alright Harry? She'll see reason, eventually.”
Fred made it to his mum first, talking a mile a minute and throwing his hands around, stance firm and tall. Mrs Weasley gaped at him, hands turning into fists. George stiffened, and then stopped abruptly a few feet away and glanced down at him.
“I’m interested in asking you a few questions to pass time?”
Harry looked over before nodding, standing awkwardly in front of the taller boy. Ron had bravely continued forward, adding his hat to the mix. The voices got noticeably louder.
“So,” George started faux seriously, before letting a small laugh, “My dear brother is a koala bear.”
“What?”
“He's a koala bear, what more would you need to know?” George sighed, letting the tiny smile drop from his face, “Look, we're both really worried and Fred tends to hold everybody he cares about as closely as possible. Just like ol Billie. You can always tell him to back off.”
Harry blinked. “He's fine. It's not bad, or anything.”
“Of course it's not bad, but it can be a lot to handle. Just know that he won't actually smother you if you're not okay with it” George hummed, and then added, “Also, the Weasleys tend to use…sugary sweet nicknames. We usually check in first, so I reckon I should warn you that its-it's not just Fred that favors them.”
“Oh, okay.” Harry nodded to himself, “That's fine too. I'm just-why?”
“Why?” George looked at him incredulously, “Why am I assuming any family will keep sending affection your way? You are killing me, Potter, don't you know that we care about you? Ron and I love you. Fred's probably halfway through an attempt to adopt you-”
Harry's ears were ringing. “You-you-”
George's eyes softened, “Yeah, we do.” He took in a deep breath before continuing, “Okay, just one last question. Should have asked this first, but, are you hurt anywhere?”
Harry was reminded of the Dursleys' threats to his person should he ever tell a living soul about everything, but they'd already seen it, so Harry hesitantly nodded.
George sucked in a breath, not looking surprised, but more like he wanted to go back in that car and teach his relatives a lesson. It made the burning anxiety wither away.
“Where do you think it's at its worst, sweetheart?”
Harry's face burned at the nickname, but he shook it off and lightly traced his right shoulder, “I think my arm might be….broken? And a few of my ribs are bruised, for sure.”
George nodded, gently continuing to lead Harry to the house, “Is calling you sweetheart okay with you?”
“Yeah,” Harry murmured, “Though it makes you sound like a mother hen.”
George laughed, shrugging to himself, “Don’t you know that's always what I wanted to be when I grew up!”
They finally reached the front entrance. Mr Weasley had joined Mrs.Weasley's side, though he had a spacey look on his face and he seemed to be biting his tongue. Harry still flinched at the sight of him: anyone who was bigger than him could be a threat, but George's presence at his side calmed him, if only a little. Last year's mess with…with Quirrelmort as he's taken to calling him was pure dumb luck, and at best, all due to his mum. He could tell his luck was running short.
Mrs. Weasley turned sharply at them, “And you-” She cut herself off, and Harry gingerly turned to look at George, who had started to glare at his mum.
Harry pulled lightly on his sleeve, subtly shaking his head as if to say ‘It's not worth it.’ George shook his head back.
He lifted his chin, steady hand warm on Harry's back, “Ground us later. Harry here is hurt.”
The words made Mrs Weasley silent, and after freezing in place, she ushered everyone inside with a frantic energy. George set Harry delicately down on the couch, and Ron raced to sit next to him, offering him a shaky smile.
“Only got a week of additional chores.” Ron whispered in a conspiring tone, “Think she's going soft?”
Harry smiled weakly, “Maybe. That's really lucky, though.”
Ron beamed, “Yeah, it is. She might even drop them entirely. It's been a weird night.” He doesn't mention that the whole reason the nights’ been weird is due to Harry, but Fred comes over then, and he's reminded of George's words.
He'd confirmed that they loved him. Sure, Hermione had said she loved him, but that wasn’t quite as crazy, considering the life or death situations they've lived through together. Ron wasn't all that surprising either for the exact same reason, plus they were best mates. But the twins?
One look at Fred was enough to say, yeah, he probably did love him. That was going to be a lot to get used to.
Freds smile went from soft to wicked, “I think I've managed to get my point across. Mum’s on our side.”
Harry's eyes widened, remembering just how angry she'd looked, “Are you sure?”
Fred nodded. “Absolutely certain. She's not mad at you, just remember that.”
Fred didn't move till Harry affirmed it, and he goes to leave the room, and Harry was hit with a sudden affection for the older twin. He smiled shakily, and said, “Thank you.” in a quiet voice.
Fred ruffled Harry's hair, expression openly warm, “No thanks needed, love. I'll be back in a bit.” He ran upstairs, suddenly gone in the blink of an eye. Ron gently shoved his arm.
“Love? Oh, he's laying it on thick, mate. He doesn't go for “love” unless he's really worried sick,” Ron grimaced slightly, before adding, “Better you than me. Three years ago I got dragons pox—worst mistake of my life.”
Harry laughed a bit at the idea of Fred mothering Ron by his sickbed. Knowing that this was just a thing Fred tended to do made him feel normal and, oddly enough, accepted.
Mrs. Weasley came back in with potions and balms, and Ron clutched his hand the whole time, talking nonsense in his ear. She muttered a few harsh words about Albus Dumbledore that made Harry's eyes widen before she redirected her attention to the boy.
“You'll be with us, then dearie. It's far too late for much more conversation.” She looked him over carefully, “How do you feel, Harry? Still in pain?”
Harry slowly shook his head. Nothing really hurt, and wasn’t that amazing! Mrs. Weasley smiled.
“Good. Why don't you room with Ron, then, for the time being. Off you go, dear, come on.”
Harry followed Ron up into the higher parts of the Burrow, wrenching open a crooked little door in supposedly Ron's room. Something snapped and sparkled in front of Harry, making him cough viciously.
“Seriously, George, what's wrong with you!”
Harry looked over to see—Oh, Ron was blind, “That's Fred, Ron.”
“Oh.” Ron shook himself out of his shock, “Still, their really pranking you right now? Though, the red does suit you.”
“Red!” Harry looked down at his hands, and then his clothes, but nothing was out of the ordinary. A figure stepped out from behind him, the actual George, who swept a light hand through his mop of tangled hair.
“Just made you a proper member of the Weasley clan. Can't exactly do a blood adoption, so close enough.” George grinned evilly, “But, we have been researching—”
“—So just say the word, love, and we will do it, no questions asked.” Fred finished, fluffing a pillow as he spoke.
“That sounds…illegal?” Harry said.
The twins stared at him brightly, “It does!”
Ron rolled his eyes, muttered something that sounded like “welcome to the family” and dropped half-dead in his bed. Five seconds later, Harry could faintly hear him snoring. He'd honestly kill to be able to fall asleep that fast.
All of sudden, both twins looked serious once more. They stared at him very closely, as if seeing right through him, So Harry waited for one of them to speak.
Finally, George managed to say, “You're not going back.”
Harry frowned, and then nodded, “That's good news.” He looked away, rubbing his arm, “But, are you sure?”
Fred sighed, “This isn't about being sure what the world will do—”
“—And by world we do mean our well-meaning mother—”
“—And our current Headmaster.”
George met his gaze, “It's a promise.”
“A-a promise?” Harry repeated.
They nodded in unison. George continued, “No matter what it takes, no matter what happens, theres no way in fucking hell your going back.”
“And even if the worst happens, and you are sent back—” Fred grinned, eyes full of anger and revenge and Harry nearly jumped at the sight of it, “Well, we have quite a few prank ideas in limbo…”
“And we know just who to test them on.”
Harry smiled. Wow, they…they were really doing this. Harry was out of that house. He was safe! “Thank you.”
“Of course, Harry.” They said as one, but the words weren't enough, they didn't convey what he actually meant—
“No, thank you, I-” Harry took in a soothing breath, before racing forward, falling into their arms. The twins immediately held him close, like he was special, like he was…
“We love you, too.”
-
Of course, the worst did come to happen, and Albus Dumbledore was a very stubborn man. But at King’s Cross next year, Fred and George flanked Harry and whispered a promise: he was not going back to that house. Even if it meant kidnapping him again.
Was it really kidnapping if the child was perfectly willing? Harry shrugged. He wasn’t exactly against it.