Son's of Marauders.

It was never truly theirs.

Harry paced the corridor nervously. He wrung his hands and wiped them on his cloak. A few minutes later Hermione came out, holding the tattered, assumingly blank parchment in her hands. Harry smiled weakly. She twitched her lips in response.

"You know what this will mean to him, don't you?" Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears at Harry's words.

"Yes. Yes, I do Harry. And I'm so glad you could trust me with this." She threw her arms over his shoulders, pulling him close and sobbing into his shoulder. Harry stomach lurched at the shock, but nothing else and he supported her weight until she sheepishly apologized and prized herself off of him.

"I'd best be going." Hermione nodded at his cold voice, he had just been so cold after the war.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was as quiet as all of the other shops in the early hours of dawn. It wasn't even open yet, and Harry's stomach clenched at the thought that it might never open again. George had been seriously considering closing it down.

The door swung open easily enough. The produce lined the shelves on one side, but was boxed up on the other. George's intensiveness had left him unpacking and repacking for days. The room was devoid of people though, and Harry entered the back room.

George sat hunched over a small box in the supply cupboard. His back curled over and his hands shook as he tore through the moving photograph. A million memories ran through his head. He and Fred when they had tried to enter the Tri-wizard tournament together, and grown those ridiculous ginger beards. He and Fred in that flying car going with Ron to rescue Harry from the Dursley's. He and Fred racing on their brooms around the trees. He and Fred in their first Quiditch match together. He and Fred discovering the Marauder's map. He and Fred cheering as Ron came and joined the Gryffindor table in his first year. He and Fred being sorted, and trying to be sorted together, trying to fit their little red-heads into the sorting hat at the same time. He and Fred planning setting up Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He and Fred. He and Fred. He and Fred. Fred. Fred.

Fred lying, cold stone dead, on the floor of the Great Hall.

George moaned, rocking back and fourth. His head in his hands. The eyes, so like his, so open and glassy and empty. Fred's eyes. George could not look in the mirror. He saw his face; not his own. The last memory of his brother. It was so striking. So accurate. So clear.

Harry placed his hand on George's shoulder. The man looked down at the hand before turning his head to look at the anxiety ridden face. George turned and stood, muttering a hello, letting the pieces of the photograph flutter to the floor unnoticed.

"I don't need it anymore." Said Harry, holding out a shaking hand. George's eyes widened. George wrapped his fingers around the old parchment, his heart hammering in his chest like a humming bird in a cage.


"You don't have to say anything, you don't even have to take it." He took out his wand, closing his eyes and tapping the parchment. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He recited. George looked down as Hogwarts webbed out beneath his wand tip. It was just a shell though, no little footsteps ran up and down the long corridors. It was the summer holidays, no one around.

"Why would I want this?" George whispered. "Why?! Is this some dirty trick, to make me think of him more? To make me hurt? 'Cause it's working, Harry!" He tried to tear through the parchment, but it refused to rip.

"George," Harry caught his wrists and tried to steady him. "Listen to me." He cupped the man's chin in his fingers and forced his face to look at him. "Calm down." George's eyes widened. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make you feel worse, I'm just trying to help." George snorted indignantly.

"Not working Harry-"

"When, and if, you go back to Hogwarts, all of the ghosts will be there, won't they?"

"But only the ghosts of Hogwarts pupils who were murdered or executed will return to the establishment…"

"Precisely, he will be there, George. I'm giving you this so you can find him."

"But you can't see ghosts on the map."

"With a friend like Hermione, who is the best witch in the year, you can even edit the magic that is set in stone."

A tear rolled down George's cheek. It slid over the soft skin, smooth from a million other tears just like this one, and dripped off his chin and onto the floor. He was going to see him again.

George stared at the map. His stomach clenched, then released. Another tear followed the path of the first and before he knew it, he had thrown himself into Harry's arms. Harry took a step back with his left foot to steady himself, George's body shook with sobs. Harry lowered them to the floor and sat, stroking the long ginger hair gently, letting George's head roll in his lap. They didn't move for several hours until George finally feel asleep. Harry picked him up and took him upstairs into his bedroom and laid him on the bed.

"Mischief managed." It felt ironic to say that, because this was nothing like mischief. He was caring for George, and George had been crying with happiness at the chance to renew the loss he had suffered. He laid the Marauders Map down gently next to the pillow. "Knox." The room fell dark and Harry walked downstairs. The shop was dimly lit with magic, which Harry also switched off before leaving the shop.

George awoke with the morning rays over his face. He didn't grope back today, like he always did, in vain hope to find his missing twin. Instead he stared at the map. A smile spread across his face.

"I solemnly swear, that I am up to no good."