"Fred Oliver! Come here at this moment!" The woman yelled, hands on her hips. Her face was alight with irritation and around her were bits of a pumpkin pasty scattered over the kitchen counters. In front of her, the tray lay with the remnants of the treat.

She heard soft footsteps, and then the boy rounded the corner into the kitchen. He was the image of his father, with a burst of orange hair and dark brown eyes. He was six and had been a troublemaker from the day he could walk. When he saw his mother's cross face, his wide smile fell and he bit his lip.

"Yes, mum?"

"What do you have to say about this mess?" She raised her eyebrow and crossed her arms, pursing her lips. She had never thought she would be that mother, but she had no other way to control the rowdy boy.

He shrugged, "Must've kept the pasty in the oven to long, eh mum?" He tried to keep the smile off of his face, but she could see the pleasure he was taking in the "job well done".

"I don't think so, Fred," she answered.

"Mum, I don't even know how to blow up a pasty."

She rolled her eyes and looked to the side as she heard her husband walking up the stairs. The door opened as the child's father appeared. Over the years, his eyes had taken on wrinkles, and the skin around his ear had healed as much as it ever was.

"I'm home, Angelina," he called as he entered the home. He caught onto the tension in the room and looked between the joking smile on his son's face and the irritated line of his wife's mouth. "What's wrong?"

Angelina groaned and ran a hand through her hair, "Fred made the pumpkin pasty blow up and won't admit he did it!"

George watched his wife for a minute, rubbing his chin then turned to his son, "What did you use, Fred?" Fred smiled widely in response.

Angelina made a noise in frustration and shook her head, storming out of the kitchen. She yelled back at George, "Take care of Fred, George."

George sighed and leaned over to look at his son. He didn't think that he could reprimand the boy, not today. Instead, he lamented, "Fred, I don't want to deal with this today. Please try and be nice with your mother next time. Now, run along." He kept his pride of the blossoming young trickster hidden and couldn't wait until he entered Hogwarts and continued on his father's, and uncle's, legacy.

Fred nodded, "'Course I will, dad." He turned and ran down the hall to his room, his orange hair flopping with every step. George took a deep breath to steady himself and walked into him and Angelina's bedroom.

"Honey?" he whispered as he entered. Angelina was sitting in the room, holding the picture from the nightstand in her hands. It was the last picture taken of him and his brother before the Battle of Hogwarts. They were sitting at a table, smiling widely at the camera and waving.

She looked at him and smiled weakly, "You didn't punish him did you?"

"I couldn't; not today," George answered, sitting beside her. "It's been thirteen years and it still feels like it just happened." He took the picture in his hand and felt Angelina take his hand in hers. "I still can't believe it happened. He was just gone, Angelina."

"I'm sorry, George. He was a good man," she whispered softly, looking up at him.

He watched her, his eyes taking in her still beautiful features. Fred had taken her to the Yule Ball, but George had realized that night that she was the most amazing girl he knew at Howarts. There were tears in her eyes now and she bit her lip lightly; George knew how much she had been affected by Fred's death. They had began dating six months later upon a chance meeting in the shop.

"Did you love him?" George whispered, rubbing his finger over her hand in his.

Angelina looked down, "It's been a long time. Leave it." She pulled her hand away from his and took the picture out of George's hands. George's eyes didn't leave hers.

"Tell me, Angelina."

"George, I don't think this conversation is necessary."

"Please tell me. Did you love Fred?"

She took a deep breath and sat the picture on the nightstand, "Yes, I did love him."

George looked at the ceiling, his question weighing heavily on his tongue. This could mean everything for their relationship. Did he even want to know the answer? They were happy; they had the shop, the house, and their two beautiful children, Fred and Roxanne. He had to know.

"Are you with me... because of him?" George looked at her, eyes wide with curiosity and fear of the answer.

Angelina pursed her lips and stood off the bed, not looking at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're very similar people. Are you with me because I'm his twin?"

"George..." Angelina whispered, tears welling up. Without even saying it, George knew Angelina's answer.

The pain of the knowledge of how she felt hit him. He had convinced himself that she had been with the wrong twin, that she had actually always loved him. This year, however, he had made himself realize that he couldn't live the lie. She had loved Fred, not him. He shrugged and stood up as well. "It's fine, Angelina. I understand it must be very hard for you to lose him." He ran his hand through his hair, his feelings mixing within him. What did her admission mean for them as a couple?

"No, George, it was wrong of me..." She took his hands in hers, but he pulled away.

George looked at her, smiling sadly, "I just need to be alone."

Angelina nodded, letting him leave the room and continue down the hall. George walked into the bathroom and rubbed his face, looking in the mirror. He shook his head, feeling completely alone. The world hadn't been the same after Fred had gone and he understood Angelina's loss of such an amazing person.

"Dad?" George turned to see the face of his son, small Fred. When George saw Fred, he saw the replica of his twin brother: a funny, joking Weasley. It was as if Fred had came back in the form of his own nephew.

George couldn't hide his feelings from his son any longer. He kneeled down and smiled at the small five year old, taking him in his arms, "I will never leave you, Fred."