Not to ntion the Weasley twins’ grand ambitions—at the Black house, they’d finally found their people, because Sirius clearly saw them as the pri candidates to carry on his and Jas’s mischievous legacy.
In any case, Sirius didn’t have much on his plate lately; he was in that limbo period waiting for his work notice to co through. So, he spilled all the wild ideas he, Jas, and Lupin had cooked up back in the day, pouring them out to the twins like beans from a bamboo tube, holding nothing back.
"These are so little gadgets we whipped up back then." Sirius dumped a pile of pristine gadgets out of a trunk that had been hit with an Undetectable Extension Charm. "Give ’em a whirl—you might as well. After all, our flights of fancy—well, let’s call ’em that—do have their rits."
"No doubt about it." The Weasley twins’ eyes lit up as they stared at the jumble of items scattered before them. "We’re regretting it now—regretting being born a good ten or fifteen years too late... If we’d gone to school with you lot, I reckon Gryffindor would’ve been a whole lot more fun."
"Would Gryffindor’s points even have enough left to deduct?"
Hermione’s voice drifted in from the front door. Yes, she’d co to Grimmauld Place for a holiday, too.
"No worries, we can skip winning the House Cup." Fred whistled at George. "Right, George? We’re bloody sick of that routine anyway."
"Hahahaha..." Sirius laughed, clapping his hands.
George picked up a delicate little badge and examined it closely before suddenly turning to Fred. "Oi, Fred, look at this—’Marauders’? That na rings a bell... Have I heard it sowhere before?"
"I rember now!" Fred slapped his thigh. "That map! The Marauder’s Map? Doesn’t the title page say ’Marauders’?"
Fred’s reminder jogged George’s mory, too.
"Oh, yeah, I rember that map." George grinned slyly. "rlin knows we got an earful from it more than once—whenever we couldn’t crack it right, Moony would call a little troublemaker, and that Prongs would say you had no manners, right?"
"He’s the one with no manners!" Fred shot back. "But they were proper geniuses... Making a map like that. I’d bet my wand they were Hogwarts students."
"Fred! George!" Hermione cut in suddenly. "Those two—you know them!"
"We do?" Fred and George chorused, then whipped their heads around in unison. "Miss Granger, we all know you’re the walking encyclopedia, but if you know about this too... isn’t that a bit creepy?"
"What’s creepy about it?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "rlin’s beard, those two even taught you Defense Against the Dark Arts—Moony’s Professor Lupin, and Prongs is Sirius. How on earth didn’t you know?"
The revelation hit like a Bludger; the twins were left gaping.
They’d never imagined their elusive "idols" from afar could be right under their noses.
"You’re serious?" Fred recovered first, firing off questions. "Mr. Black’s really Prongs? Professor Lupin’s really Moony? rlin’s slliest socks, please tell this is real!"
"Of course." Sirius leaned against the doorfra, striking a dashingly dramatic pose. "I’m Prongs—we ford the Marauders with Harry’s dad. That Wormtail’s Peter... Jas... Jas Potter."
Sirius’s face lit up at the ntion of Jas.
"That’s bloody brilliant!" Fred whistled, then—naturally—poked the hornet’s nest. "So, the million-Galleon question: Who’s Wormtail?"
"Little Peter Pettigrew." Sirius didn’t mince words. "As you can see, he betrayed us—"
"Sorry." The twins blurted it out in sync.
"No need to apologize. After all, the little rat spent years skulking around your house as a pet." Sirius chuckled darkly.
Just the ntion of that rat called Scabbers turned the Weasley twins’ faces the color of sothing decidedly unpleasant.
But...
Unlike Ron, they hadn’t been the type to cuddle up with the rat at night. Their favorite pasti had been using it for all sorts of experints.
"You could say we miss the little blighter." Fred said it with a touch of nostalgia. "Whenever we had a mad idea, we’d nick it from Percy or Ron and test it out on him first... We always knew the thing had nine lives, but it turns out he wasn’t a rat at all—just an Animagus."
"Then I owe you a thanks." Sirius said it earnestly. "Thanks for giving the git a proper thrashing whenever you felt like it."
"Oh, you do owe ’em." Ron piped up from the side. "You should’ve seen it—there was a stretch where Scabbers—that bastard—would screech and bolt at the sound of their voices. Left him with so serious trauma, that did."
Ronnie’s words set Sirius and the twins off laughing even harder.
"Mum even bought a cat because of it." George piled on. "Ugliest thing you ever saw—ginger, squashed face like a pug, na of Crookshanks. Mum loves the beast, though. No idea why."
"Probably ’cause it looks like you two." Ron launched into verbal jabs at his brothers.
"Fair enough." Fred and George shrugged in unison.
Life at Grimmauld Place was grand, even if explosions kept rattling from the twins’ room—and the occasional scream echoed from Harry’s.
At first, no one quite knew what to make of it, but after a while, it all beca background noise.
The twins’ room was stacked with long order lists, all fresh arrivals from classmates.
Their days there were gloriously free—no mum popping in to inspect and torch the lot.
About two weeks in, one morning, Mr. Weasley showed up at Grimmauld Place.
"Welco, Arthur." Sirius pulled him into a hearty bear hug. "Bloody good to see you—had breakfast?"
"Eaten, thanks," Mr. Weasley said. "We’ve got to grab tickets. Rember that plan we hashed out? I’ve squared it with Ludo Bagman already."
"He’ll sell to us?" Sirius asked.
"Easy now, Sirius." Mr. Weasley said it gently. "Ludo and I go way back—I like the bloke, proper mate. I did him a solid once: his brother got into a spot of bother—chard a lawn mower with all sorts of dodgy functions—and I sorted the whole ss."
"Ah, got it." Sirius nodded.
They dashed off, then dashed back just as quick.
"Looks like you struck gold?" Hermione glanced up.
"Snagged a top-tier box." Sirius grinned wide. "Plenty of room for the lot of us—even if we doubled the headcount... Maybe I should invite Dumbledore to the match? Oh, and Professor McGonagall—she’s mad for Quidditch."
"You sure McGonagall wants to see you?" Harry demolished his godfather’s ego without rcy.
"Joking!" Sirius huffed. "I was her favorite student—ha!"
Harry thought, Fine, long as you’re not Dumbledore’s favorite—that’d bring a certain Austrian creep down on you to show you what a real "black hand" ans.
"Match day’s the day after tomorrow." Sirius pressed on. "We’ll pack up and head out from here together—Arthur, have the kids and Molly et up here. Plenty of rooms to go around."
Sound logic—Grimmauld Place had abused the Undetectable Extension Charm to the point where it rivaled a proper castle inside.
"Right." Mr. Weasley tucked the tickets into his pocket. "I’ll fetch ’em now... Though Ludo said he can sort tents for us, too—that solves one headache..."
Tents?
No one scoffed at Mr. Weasley’s words—not after Newt Scamander’s tent had redefined what a tent could be.
By noon, the Weasleys tumbled out of the fireplace, luggage in tow.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley erged first, adapting quick as you like and trading hugs with Sirius.
Then Ginny and Percy—Percy in horn-rimd specs, looking peakily reluctant, a sheaf of papers clutched in hand like unfinished business nagged at him.
Bringing up the rear: two redheads Harry’d never laid eyes on, but he could guess—the Weasley eldest and second-born, Bill and Charlie.
"How’s it going, Harry?"
The nearer one—a broad grin splitting his face—extended a callused paw of a hand.
Harry shook it, fingers brushing thick calluses and fresh blisters.
Had to be Charlie; he studied dragons in Romania, which explained the roughness.
Charlie was built like the twins—stockier than string-bean Percy or Ron, shorter but solid.
He had a good-natured mug of a face, weathered and freckled near to brown-black, arms roped with muscle and one scarred bright from a burn.
Bill sauntered over next, flashing a grin and clasping Harry’s hand.
Bill was a surprise, sohow. Harry knew he worked at Gringotts—the wizard bank—and had been Head Boy at Hogwarts.
From the Head Boy bit, Harry had pictured Bill as Percy 2.0, just a few years older: sa fuss over rule-breaks, sa bossy streak with everyone.
But no—Bill was... well, no other word for it: cool. Proper punk.
Tall, hair tied back in a long ponytail, earring in one lobe with a fang dangling like a fan.
His getup could’ve passed at a Muggle rock gig, though Harry clocked the boots: not cowhide, dragon.
In vibe, Bill echoed Sirius from back before the Potters’ fall.
"We finally et, Harry." Bill kept hold of his hand. "Thanks for looking out for Ron, yeah? Bloke says he even took down in a duel once."
"Ambush," Ron clarified, his respect for big brother Bill clearly outranking Percy or the twins.
Bill just had that elder-bro energy.
Blood or otherwise.
"Hahaha..." Bill’s laugh bood, clapping Ron on the shoulder.
Before anyone could chi in, Percy barged through.
"Excuse —any tables around? rlin’s pants... Got to finish this work..."
He muttered to thin air—or himself—looking half-unhinged.
"Over there." Hermione pointed to the drawing room. "Table in the drawing room—you can set up for now..."
"What’s his deal?" Ron wondered.
"Report for the International Magical Cooperation Departnt." Percy jumped in before Bill could, beaming like he’d been handed Excalibur. "Mr. Crouch tasked with it—we’re testing cauldron thicknesses to standard. So foreign imports have bottoms too thin—leakage rates climbing near three percent a year—"
"Impressive. This’ll change the world." Ron deadpanned. "Bet the Prophet runs it front-page: ’Cauldron Leaks.’"
Percy’s face went beetroot; he shook with fury, papers twitching like he might chuck them at Ron’s head.
Spotting the storm, Ron scarpered behind Bill.
Percy shot him a glare and stord off.
"He’s tailing old Barty Crouch now." Charlie murmured. "Turned proper fanboy—drops ’Mr. Crouch’ into every third sentence, like just then: ’Mr. Crouch tasked with it.’"
Charlie nailed the impression spot-on, sending the Weasley twins into hysterics.
"Oh, right." Charlie beckoned the twins over.
Once they sidled up, he glanced at Mum chatting with Sirius and lowered his voice. "You two—best keep your Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes under wraps these days. She already spotted the owl orders flying in; no telling what she’ll do if she catches you tinkering with more of that junk..."
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