I. Rose Minerva Granger-Weasley

II. James Sirius Potter

31 July 1998

It was midnight. The Burrow was dark and silent against the outline of the moon in the darkening sky.

"Merlin's beard, Harry!" Ron's scandalized whisper echoed down the Burrow's backyard. "You really didn't hold back, did you?"

Harry grinned at his friend. Then, he plunked himself down in front of the garden shed, gesturing for Ron to join him. A six-bottle crate of Ogden's finest was propped open on the grass by his feet.

"It's my eighteenth," Harry reasoned, picking up a bottle and flicking the cork off with his thumb. "I reckon we deserve a treat."

Ron snorted, but did not object. Sitting cross-legged on the overgrown lawn opposite his best friend, Ron too popped open a bottle of Firewhisky and raised it.

"To being alive," he said quietly.

Harry's smile faded slightly, but he nodded, following suit. "To being alive."

Lifting the bottle to his lips, Harry tried to take a lengthy swig of the beverage, but ended up inhaling half of it up his nose. Coughing and spluttering, Harry keeled forward onto the grass.

When he looked up, Ron was shaking with laughter. "You take on the darkest wizard of all time, no problem," Ron snickered. "But when it comes to drinking a bottle of Ogden's…"

"Shut up," Harry said hoarsely, his eyes streaming. Straightening, he took another, more careful sip of Firewhisky, and Ron grinned.

"Happy birthday to Harry Potter," Ron said warmly, thumping his friend on the back. "Savior of the Wizarding world, the Boy Who Lived, but most importantly, future godfather to Ronald Bilius Weasley's first child."

"Thanks, mate," Harry beamed at him. Then, innocently, he added, "And don't worry—I'm sure Ginny will agree to naming you godfather to our first child, too."

This time, Ron choked on his Firewhisky, and Harry fell over, laughing.

III. Victoire Apolline Weasley

3 May 2000

"Thank you so much for 'elping out zis past few days, Charlie," Fleur said warmly, leaning up and kissing his cheek. "I don't know what Bill and I would 'ave done without you. You weel be a wonderful godfazzer."

"Anytime, Fleur," Charlie grinned. "I'm sorry I have to leave so soon, but…well, the dragons aren't going to keep themselves, are they?"

Fleur laughed, and Bill—who was standing next to her, holding a sleeping, one-day-old Victoire in his arms—rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"We understand," said Fleur. "'Ave a safe journey, chéri."

"I will," Charlie promised, hitching his bag up his shoulder. After leaning down to kiss Victoire's tiny forehead, he straightened, smiling from Fleur to Bill. "I'll see you all at Christmas."

Turning on his heel, Charlie headed for the front door. He was just about to leave, his hand reaching for the front door, when, quite suddenly, Bill called, "Hang on a second, Charlie, I'll walk you out."

Charlie looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. "You don't have to—" But Bill had already tucked Victoire safely into her mother's arms and hastened to join Charlie at the front door.

Charlie gazed at his elder brother. Then, shrugging, he swung open the door and walked into the cool freshness of the spring morning, Bill at his heels.

For several moments, both were silent, as they made their way towards Shell Cottage's front gate.

But then— "You know, it's too bad you can't stay longer," Bill said quietly.

Charlie's pace slowed slightly, but he did not stop. "I wish I could, Bill," he said ruefully. "But like I said—"

"Yes, I know the dragons won't keep themselves, Charlie," Bill interrupted, sighing impatiently. And finally, Charlie stopped short in his tracks and turned around, crossing his arms. "But that doesn't mean you have to!"

Charlie glared at his brother. "It's my job, Bill," he barked. "I'm sorry, but I'm not ready to abandon everything I've been working on for the past decade of my life and move back to England like a good, little boy!"

Bill opened his mouth to retaliate, but closed it again almost immediately, expression hardening. After a tense moment, during which the two brothers glowered at each other, equally defiant, the pair turned abruptly and continued the rest of walk to the garden gate in steely silence.

Finally, at the gate, Charlie grabbed Bill's shoulder. A prickle of shame was gnawing at the back of his neck. "Look, Bill—"

"No, mate—you're right," Bill said softly. "I can't expect you to move back." He paused, biting his lip. "It's just…well, with Gabrielle in France and you in Romania—"

"Bill," Charlie interrupted firmly, and the elder man fell silent. "Listen, I could live in Antarctica and it wouldn't make me any less of a godfather to Victoire—no, listen!" he said sharply, for Bill had started to protest. With a sigh, Bill quieted again, gazing expectantly at his younger brother.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie continued, "Bill, I'm going to be there for her, all right? I'm going to help her with anything I can, and—Romania, or not—I swear, I'm going to be such a big part of her life that—that she'll be bloody sick of me by the end!"

At long last, Bill grinned. "Unlikely," he conceded. "You're going to be the cool dragon-taming uncle from the mysterious land of the dragons, remember?"

Charlie burst out laughing. "Now you're getting it!" he exclaimed, thumping his brother's back. "My bedtime stories are going to put yours to shame, Billy."

IV. Fred Jordan Weasley

29 July 2003

"George, I'm going home," Lee announced, stifling a yawn behind his hand. He had spent the evening assisting George at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes after a family emergency had sent Verity home unexpectedly. Side-stepping a half-empty bin of Puking Pastilles, he approached the front door of the joke shop and glanced over his shoulder, frowning. "George?"

Silence.

Frown melting into a grimace of uncertainty, Lee turned around completely. "George?" he called again. "Did you go upstairs already?"

More silence.

Shrugging, Lee pushed open the front door. He had one leg outside when the sound came—a resounding CRASH from the direction of the shop's basement. Gasping, Lee ducked back into the building, eyes wide.

CRASH.

CRASH. CRASH. CRASH.

In a flash, Lee sprinted to the basement staircase, drawing his wand and taking the steps two at a time. Swinging around the corner, panting, he saw George kneeling on the floor, hunched over five upset cardboard boxes of Canary Creams, trembling.

"George!" Lee's face drained of color as he bounded into the room. Dropping to his knees beside his friend, Lee reached out and clutched George's shoulder—but George shrugged Lee's hand off roughly.

"Don't touch—!"

"George," Lee interrupted, his tone steely. "George, mate, pull yourself together." George stiffened, inhaling sharply. Lee gazed at him. "D'you mind telling me why you've just ruined five perfectly good boxes of Canary Creams?"

There was a long, tense silence, during which neither man moved a muscle.

Then, finally, with a small cough, George straightened, his bright brown eyes rimmed with red. With a slightly trembling finger, he reached out and pointed at the invoice attached to one of the overturned Canary Creams boxes.

Lee leaned forward, frowning. It was a very old shipment, nearly six years old; for some reason, it had never been sent. And there, under the list of goods, was a signature of verification—faded and weathered from years of dust and inactivity, but still very much apparent: Fred Weasley.

Lee looked up, his expression softening. But George had leaned back against the nearby wall and was determinedly avoiding his gaze.

"George," Lee began quietly.

"How the hell am I going to do this?" George asked hoarsely, unconsciously rubbing a spot on the side of his head, directly above his missing ear. "How can I possibly be a father if I crack up over something as stupid as this?"

"George," Lee sighed.

"We're planning on naming him after him, Lee," George continued, his face turning white. "What if—what if I can't even say his—?"

"George Weasley, don't make me hex you," Lee said sharply. George opened his mouth angrily to retaliate, but Lee quelled him with an uncharacteristically stern look.

For several, long moments, the two simply glared at one another.

In the six months that had elapsed since Angelina had told George she was pregnant, Lee had watched George swing constantly between terror and elation. On the one hand, George was finally smiling regularly for the first time in years. On the other hand, the closer Angelina's due date loomed, George seemed to be opting for terror a little more often than elation.

"Listen, George—can I tell you something?" Lee asked suddenly.

George glowered down at his knees. "What?" he snapped.

"Nobody," Lee said, gazing intently at his friend, "And I mean it when I say nobody has a clue what they're doing when they become parents. Ask Oliver if you don't believe me. One kid and another on the way, and I reckon the bloke still feels more comfortable holding a Quaffle."

George snorted softly.

"You'll figure this out, mate," Lee said decisively. "Bill did it. Oliver did it. Trust me—your little Freddie is going to grow up and terrorize Hogwarts, like he was meant to."

The corners of George's lips seemed to give an involuntary twitch.

Then, at long last, he looked Lee straight in the eye. "Angelina wanted to wait until after he was born to tell you," he said quietly. "But we've decided to name our son Fred Jordan Weasley."

Lee's jaw dropped. He gaped at George.

"After his godfather," George finished, smiling broadly for the first time.

Lee blinked rapidly, several times. "George, I—that's—" Lee broke off, letting out a strangled noise of amazement and beaming widely. "It's an honor, mate. Thank you."

George grinned. "Now we've really done it, haven't we? You as his godfather, me as his father…" He paused, swallowing, but continued to smile. "Fred, as his name."

Lee laughed, clapping his friend's shoulder. "I feel like we should send McGonagall a warning."

V. Molly Constance Weasley

31 December 2007

Percy, George, Ron, and Harry were spending New Year's Eve in the massively crowded Leaky Cauldron. There were fifteen minutes until midnight, and the four were on their seventh round of Firewhisky.

Bill had opted out of the occasion; he and Fleur had taken Victoire, Dominique, and Louis to France for the enormous New Year's Eve party that the Delacours threw every year. Meanwhile, Charlie had been forced to return to Romania immediately after Christmas to tackle a surprise assignment involving two terrifyingly violent Peruvian Vipertooths that had unexpectedly arrived from South America. As a result, he hadn't been able to join his brothers and brother-in-law for their whimsical outing, either.

It had taken a great deal of convincing on Percy's and Harry's parts for their pregnant wives to turn them loose for the evening. But the promise of a quiet, relaxed New Year's at the Burrow had eventually enticed Audrey and Ginny enough to agree.

And so, the evening found Ron, George, Harry, and Percy all slumped across a private booth in a secluded corner of the pub, laughing hysterically at a little song George had just sung to them about what happened when Draco Malfoy, a Grindylow, and a bottle of Amortentia walked into a bar together.

"Merlin, George, can you please sing that at my next birthday?" Ron asked, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Dad would lose it!"

George grinned wickedly. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, Ronnie-kins—I've already got a song picked out for your birthday," he said with a malicious glint in his eye. Then, he pretended to scratch his chin thoughtfully. "Actually, it's pretty much the same as the other one—except instead of the Grindylow, Draco Malfoy falls hopelessly in love with a tall, freckly, ginger prat named Ronal—" he broke off, ducking, as a maroon-eared Ron flung a Firewhisky cork at him. Percy and Harry roared with laughter.

"Hey!" called a familiar voice suddenly, and all four men turned to see Neville Longbottom—pink-faced and glowing with excitement—approach them. "Can I get you all anything else?"

"We're good, Neville," George said, smiling. "Can't go home too drunk—you know who our wives are."

Neville chuckled. "All right," he said. "Just holler if you need something. The countdown starts in ten."

"Thanks, Nev," Ron grinned. "Say hello to Hannah for us."

"Yeah, give her a good kiss for me," George winked, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Ron.

Suddenly, Neville looked over George's shoulder and waved. "Hi, Angelina!"

George spun around in horror, while Harry and Ron burst into laughter.

"I'll get you back for that one, Longbottom," George said breathlessly, shaking his head as he turned back around. Neville smirked.

"How's Alice, Neville?" asked Percy, smiling.

"She's perfect," Neville grinned. "We left her with Susan and Ernie for the night. For some reason, Hannah didn't fancy that our daughter's first New Year's Eve be in a pub."

Everybody chuckled.

"Well, happy New Year, mate," Harry said warmly, clapping Neville's shoulder affectionately.

"You, too, Harry!" Neville waved happily, as he sped off in the direction of the bar.

"Hey, Perce," Ron said suddenly, as though something had just occurred to him. The other three turned to him. "Neville just reminded me—have you and Audrey decided on godparents?"

Percy froze. He hesitated, glancing from one expectant face to the next. "Yeah…yeah, we have."

There was a pregnant pause.

Then— "Oh," George said mildly. "Who?"

"Erm…" Percy bit his lip. "Well, Audrey really wants to make her siblings godparents, since—well, they aren't as close as we are. So—erm—we thought of…Audrey's younger sister, Sally, and…" He sighed, closing his eyes. "Her brother, Zacharias."

Several things seemed to happen at once. Ron spat out a mouthful of Firewhisky, colliding violently with George's shoulder. This, in turn, caused George to swallow too much of his drink; he ended up choking so heavily that Harry had to whack him repeatedly on the back.

It was several moments before any of the men found themselves able to speak again.

Finally, it was Harry who said, tone disbelieving, "Percy, you must be joking."

Percy blushed a vivid red, bristling. "Harry, I understand why you're upset—"

"Percy, are you mental?" Ron blurted out, looking positively beside himself. "Look—I know they're siblings, but—"

"The bloke is a smarmy git, mate," George snapped, eyes flashing.

Percy sighed. "George—"

"You weren't at those Quidditch matches," Ron interrupted furiously. "If you'd just heard the things he said about our family, Percy—"

"Ron, I know!" Percy interrupted hotly, standing up suddenly and glaring fiercely. Ron fell silent, looking shocked. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, Percy continued, "Look, I wasn't on board with this idea at first either—and I'm still not entirely," he added, eyeing Ron sharply. The latter's eyes had widened at use of past tense.

With a sigh, Percy sat back down at the booth, running a hand through his short hair. "But I agreed to it," he said slowly. "Because Audrey loves him, and because he loves Audrey…and because even if he has made some…poor judgment calls in the past, I know that if something were ever to happen to me and Audrey, I'd be leaving my daughter in the care of someone that would raise her well. I mean, you've met his children, haven't you? They're good kids." Percy paused, swallowing heavily and looking each of his brothers and his brother-in-law in the eye. "I think he's proved that he's…more than the mistakes he's made."

There was a long stretch of silence, during which Ron, Harry, and George all gazed at Percy, stunned.

Then, suddenly, Ron's eyes widened. "Wait—daughter?" he yelped, sitting up straight. "It's a girl!"

Percy's mouth fell open. Then, he clapped his hands over his eyes, groaning loudly. "Oh, please don't tell Audrey I told you—she'll murder me! It was supposed to be a surp—"

"Percy!" George looked, if possible, more shocked than Ron. "You sneaky, little wart! I can't believe you never told us—congratulations, mate!"

"All right, occupants of the Leaky Cauldron, it's time to ring in the New Year!" Neville's voice boomed from the bar, where he was standing with an utterly radiant Hannah.

Shouts of glee and surprise emerged from the table, as Harry, Ron, and George leaped to their feet and pulled Percy into a tight hug that he was absolutely unable to escape.

"Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…"

Holding Percy in a headlock, George was now loudly singing a song about what happened when Percy Weasley, Zacharias Smith, and a bottle of Amortentia walked into a bar.

"Five…four…three…two…one…"

Percy clung helplessly to his brothers and Harry as they fell into a senseless mass of tangled limbs and hysterical laughter.

"Happy New Year!" Neville's voice reverberated through the extremely noisy pub.

"Happy New Year!" echoed Harry, Percy, George, and Ron, raising their glasses together in a drunken salute, still laughing maniacally.