Fredless

by Lela-of-Bast

George Weasley's first Christmas after the war does not go exactly as he expects. One-shot.

AN: This is a story I have been working on for the last few weeks. It is how I imagine George's first Christmas after the war. It is canon-compliant, and very fluffy. I'd love to know what you think. Enjoy!

"Ron, where did you put the leftover goosegrass?" George called. He was trying to brew a batch of Canary Creams, but the goosegrass jar, which housed one of the key ingredients, was empty. Since the reopening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Ron had been immensely helpful, but it wasn't the same as working with Fred. Fred and George had similar thought patterns and organized their workspaces in the same way. Ron's brain processed differently. While Fred and George thrived on organized chaos, Ron just left behind plain chaos. Nothing was ever in the same place twice, even if he managed to put it away. It could be quite frustrating.

"We're out!" Ron responded. "I used the last of it an hour ago!"

"It would have been nice if you'd told me!" Not only did George use goosegrass in Canary Creams, but it was also an ingredient in many of his other brewings. It being December 23, the Christmas shopping season was upon them, and George knew that the next day was bound to bring a slew of last-minute customers. He couldn't afford to let his stock get low. George sighed. He'd simply have to go out and visit the apothecary.

Quickly inventorying the rest of the common ingredients, George pulled on his coat and walked up front. Ron was standing behind the register, cashing out a customer.

"I'll be back; I'm just going to run down to Slug & Jiggers," George told him.

"Grab some lunch, will you?" Ron asked. George nodded, slightly miffed. Trust Ron to think of food when supplies were low and there was a line out the door.

Forty-five minutes later, George came out of the Leaky Cauldron. He had shrunk both his apothecary purchase and lunch and stored them conveniently in his pocket. The brisk walk back to his shop was cold but pleasant. Diagon Alley was even more colorful than usual; everywhere George looked there were Christmas decorations. It brought back fond memories of him and Fred as they opened their shop. That first Christmas had been spectacular.

As he drew nearer to the joke shop, George noticed that the door to the neighboring space was propped open. Before the war it had been the location of a mildly successful used book store. It had closed at the height of Voldemort's power and was never reopened. Now it appeared as though the space had been sold to a new owner.

Thinking to be neighborly, George walked up the stairs to that shop instead of his own. With a call of "Knock, knock!" he rapped on the doorframe. A short, round wizard bounced over. George recognized him immediately. Leonard Laddix was the realtor that had sold him and Fred the space for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley! Do come in," he said. His voice was as round and bouncy as he was.

"Hello Leo," George replied, allowing his whole arm to be shook in greeting.

"I was very sorry to hear about your brother's passing." As Leonard spoke, George froze. He hated when this happened. He could be going along having a perfectly normal day, and then someone would mention Fred's name. It was a sick, surprising feeling, that put George in mind of the moving staircases at Hogwarts. Whenever a careless foot found one of the vanishing steps there was always a split second of shock before he stumbled forward and one leg dangled beneath the staircase. George was sick of dangling. He mumbled a thanks to Leonard, and then quickly changed the subject.

"I see that you finally found a new owner for this place."

"She's a very nice young lady," Leo said. "Lost her father in the war, but he left her some money. She plans on selling comic books and collectibles."

"This is a good location for that," George said. Leo nodded.

"Yes, it should complement your joke shop nicely," he agreed. There were footsteps on the stairs that led up to the flat above the shop. Both men turned to the doorway as a young woman burst into the main room.

"Mr. Laddix, this space is amazing! I'd love to move forward with-" she stopped as she saw Leo's companion.

For his part, George was shocked. Angelina Johnson stood before him, her dark braids gathered behind her head, held in place by a silky ribbon. His brain instinctively recalled the last time he had seen her. It was that terrible day last May, the day of Fred's funeral. George had managed to remain composed through the funeral and the burial, but the reception was just too much to bear. When he lost it, he headed for the house and Angelina followed him. She started by laying a hand on his shoulder. They sobbed together and then they comforted each other.

"George," she said now, face growing visibly paler. George just stared at her. She wore a yellow coat. It hung open, framing a belly that was full with pregnancy.

"Angie?" George said, eyes fixed on her stomach.

"Oh good, you've met," Leo said, either missing or ignoring the complicated looks that George and Angelina were sending each other. "Well, Ms. Johnson, I have to run. Busy, busy, busy! Here is your key, and I'll contact you on Monday to sign the last of the paperwork. Nice to see you again, George."

"Yes," Angelina mumbled. Leo turned and disappeared, but George didn't notice him leave. He was too busy trying to filter through the thoughts that were streaming into his head. Angelina looked to be close to her due date. It had been almost eight months since the funeral. In all likelihood, George was going to be a father. The thought was baffling. He crossed the room to the stairs and sat down.

"Are you alright?" Angelina asked softly.

"I don't know," George said. He looked up at her. "Is that my child?" Angelina nodded. Slowly, she maneuvered her body to sit down beside him. Part of George wanted to help her, but something in him was blazing with anger, and an even bigger part was still numb from the news.

"I didn't know how to tell you," Angelia said, breaking the silence.

"So what? You just didn't say anything?" George said harshly.

"I know it was a terrible thing to do," she said. "It's one of the biggest mistakes I've made."

"When were you going to tell me?" George demanded.

"I don't know." Angelina stared at a dust bunny that blew across the floor. "I guess I was just waiting for the right time and it never came up. This isn't the kind of thing I felt like I could say in a letter. After the way we left things I thought it would be too awkward between us." This answer made sense to George. They hadn't contacted each other since May. He doubted whether he'd even have responded if she had owled him for a meeting.

"If that's the case, why are you opening your shop next to mine?" George asked.

"This is the first time I've seen the building. I didn't know we were going to be neighbors until today," Angelina said. She was hugging her belly, seeming to draw strength from it. "If you want, I'll find somewhere else."

"Before you do that, I need some time to process all of this," George said. "I think we should have a long talk, but I don't want to say anything that I'll regret later."

"I had planned to start working in here on Saturday," Angelina said. "That gives you three days, and then you could come by." George wasn't sure he wanted to wait quite that long. It would be a torturous holiday at the Burrow if he was preoccupied the whole time, especially if his mother thought he was moping. She'd put a whole group of Weasleys on cheer up duty.

"Maybe you could come around my place tomorrow night? I'll make dinner, and we'll sit and talk," George offered.

"I don't have any other plans," Angelina said. George was reminded that she had lost both of her parents, one in her childhood, and one to the war. He felt a pang of sympathy. "You really want me to come?"

"No one should be alone on Christmas," George said. Angelina smiled. For a brief moment, George felt like maybe things would be okay. Then she ran a hand over her belly and he was reminded of the secret she had kept from him.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Angelina said, using the banister to pull herself to her feet.

George nodded and stood to go back to his own shop. He gave Ron his lunch and relieved him from cash register duty. It was steady work and George was glad for it; it kept his mind off of the situation with Angelina.

George and Ron kept the shop open late that day to satisfy the Christmas rush and they planned on opening early the next morning. Despite this, Ron flooed back to the Burrow. Hermione was home on holiday from Hogwarts, and he wanted to spend as much time with her as he could.

George thought that he would be glad not to have Ron's snoring in his flat, but found instead that the silence gave his thoughts too much freedom to wander. He didn't sleep much that night, finally nodding off only two hours before Ron was due back.

It was a long day. Ron brought Hermione with him, and George was happy to have the extra pair of hands. It meant that he could brew supplies in peace- or as much peace as his thoughts would allow him. Silently, he cursed Angelina. She should have known that he'd have too much on his mind to handle a surprise like this. After all, it was the first Christmas without Fred.

Thinking of his brother, George dug a picture out of his dragonskin wallet. It was of him, Fred, Ron, Harry and Ginny. They were all standing in front of the Christmas tree, the Gnome-Angel shining from the topmost branch. That was one of Fred's finer plots of revenge. Chuckling, George set the picture above his work area.

George went back to mixing up a batch of Nosebleed Nougat. As he worked Fred came noisily into the room and plopped down at his own worktable. To George, it felt perfectly natural; he'd seen Fred complete the same series of actions every day since they'd opened the shop.

"So what's up?" Fred asked.

"Angelina is pregnant," George said. "Looks like she's ready to pop."

"Wow. So what, it happened right after my funeral. Efficient aren't you?" Fred teased.

"I knew you were going to say that," George retorted.

"Do you want the baby?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, I think I do," George responded, surprised at his words. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, he could never lie to Fred. Fred knew this too.

"Okay then. So what's the problem George?"

George took a minute to answer, trying to put his thoughts into words. "She didn't tell me. Why didn't she tell me?"

"I guess she didn't think you could handle it with everything else you had going on this year," Fred said.

"Yeah, it's been a bit of an everlasting nightmare" George said. "Hey, that's good." He paused to write the phrase "Everlasting Nightmare" on a list of product ideas. Fred shook his head.

"Truth is, you handled all of this a lot better than I would have. I was blessed with good looks, whereas you've always been the more stable, sensitive one. You're going to be fine, George."

"I know, Fred," George said. "It's devastating to know it's never going to be 'Gred and Forge,' that we're never going to switch our Christmas sweaters up on Mum- she made you one this year, out of habit. I saw her sobbing into it. Its been awful adjusting to life without you, but through all of that, I have a purpose- the shop. The shop is what has got me through the last few months, and that's only because you put so much into it. Your spirit is always going to be here." Fred grabbed George, throwing one arm around his neck.

"A little sentimental, there, brother, but if that's what gets you through the day." He shrugged. "Now about that baby-" Fred paused, popping the top off of a butterbeer and passing it to George. "I think it's brilliant."

"Cheers," George said, clinking his bottle against Fred's. His brother laughed.

"'Ear, 'ear!"

George woke with a start. His head was on his worktable, and when he sat up, several Biting Cactus seeds fell from where they had stuck to his face. It took him a minute to realize that Fred was not in the room, that their conversation had just been a dream.

"Hey, this came in with the owl orders," Ron said, sticking his head in the door. He tossed the letter over to George, who set it down on the worktable. He recognized the handwriting from study sessions at Hogwarts. It belonged to Angelina Johnson.

"Thanks," George told him, rubbing the last remnants of sleep out of his eyes.

"You okay?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," George said. He glanced at the old Christmas picture just in time to see Fred wink at him from within the shot. "I'm fine, Ron."

"That note looks like it came from a girl," Ron said, nodding towards the letter he'd brought to George.

"It's an old friend," George said, irritated that his brother had apparently scrutinized the handwriting on his private mail. "I'm meeting her for dinner."

"Good for you," Ron said. "Do I know her?" George was spared from having to answer by Hermione's call from inside the shop.

"Ronald, we're out of wands that turn into haddock and spell-checking quills," she called. "Could you go get some more?"

"Got you on a leash already, does she?" George teased, and Ron made a rude gesture as he scurried out of the workroom.

Business died down around four in the afternoon. It was only an hour earlier than George had planned on closing, so he asked Ron and Hermione to help him restock for their Friday morning sale before they left. As they came to and from the storeroom, Molly Weasley flooed into the shop.

"Hello Dear," she said, kissing George on the cheek.

"Hi Mum," George said. "What are you doing here?"

"I just came to see how business is today," she said, looking about. She had not yet seen the Christmas displays. George took a few minutes to show her around.

"And these Christmas balls are enchanted to shout at passerbys," George said, taking her to the grand Christmas tree that stretched up to the ceiling in the center of the store.

As they drew closer they heard wolf-whistles and cries of "Hey, Good-Lookin'!" and "Huba-huba!" Silencing them, George glanced at his mother. She did not look amused. Then one of them started playing holiday music and her expression changed.

"Is that Celestia Warbeck?" Mrs. Weasley asked, drawing closer.

"Just for you," George said with a smile. He plucked the ornament from the tree. "Here, take it home. I already sent one over to Bill and Phlegm's. I know how much she enjoyed Old Celestia."

Mrs. Weasley swatted George's shoulder, but put the ornament safely in her pocket. "We miss you at home, George," she said. "Are you sure you don't want to come to supper tonight? Harry is coming, and everyone else is home. It's going to be very pleasant."

Her true agenda is revealed, George thought as he waved his wand at a box of Decoy Detonators. They flew out of the box and arranged themselves on a mostly empty shelf. "I'm sure, Mum," he said. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and I don't think I'm up for the noise."

"But its Christmas Eve," his mother tried again, following him back to the storeroom. Ron was there, supervising dozens of pastel bottles as they corked themselves and lined up in a crate.

"Give it up Mum," Ron said. "He's already made plans for tonight. Some mysterious visitor." George winced as he heard the words come out of his brother's mouth.

"Oh George, are you seeing someone?" his mother asked. George shot Ron a crippling glare, but his brother seemed oblivious to his frustration.

"He got a letter from a girl." George deepened his glare, then looked at his mother.

"No, Mum. I'm just meeting an old school chum for dinner and a butterbeer."

"That's all I could get out of him," Ron said, leaning towards his mother conspiratorially. He spoke in a low voice, trying to be inconspicuous. He failed. His voice carried to George's good ear.

"Look, I promise I'll be at the Burrow bright and early tomorrow, and I'll be the last to leave," George said. It came out a little more harshly than he had intended. He was glad of the distraction that Hermione provided as she arrived in the room.

"This is the last of the Hair-Color-Changing Toffee. We just need to restock the Canary Creams," she said. "They're selling really well today." Molly looked at her older son with pride.

"The way you have picked up the pieces and moved on, and then getting the shop restored past its former glory- oh, George, I'm so proud of you," she said quietly. Hermione had moved across the room, pretending to be engrossed in Ron and the corking bottles. Molly continued, a hand pressed to George's arm. "Now, I don't understand why you don't want to be with the family, but I suppose that if you're not all alone, I can live with it. After all, it is the first Christmas without your brother. So have a nice evening, and I'll see you in the morning," she told him.

Suddenly, George was overwhelmed with the urge to tell his mother about the situation with Angelina. To let her coddle him, and to follow her advice. It would be much simpler if someone would just tell him what to do and how to think. "Thanks, Mum," he said instead, hugging her. He looked over her shoulder at Ron and Hermione. "Why don't you two go ahead? You've been a lot of help today. I can get the last of it with two flicks of the wand."

To prove it, George released his mother and waved his wand, sending a case of Canary Creams floating out of the storeroom.

"Thanks, George," Ron said, wasting no time. He herded Hermione and his mother towards the fireplace. "See you tomorrow."

When they were gone, George went up to his flat and changed into a dark blue button-down shirt and black pants. The whole time he pondered the events of the afternoon. The dream about Fred had felt so real. Fred could always see into George's heart and help him find his true feelings. Of course, he would often tease him mercilessly, but decisions were a lot easier to make when Fred was around.

Confidence growing, George strode into the kitchen he went to the icebox to see what he could make for dinner. The pickings were slim. As he dug through the cupboards, a basket appeared on the countertop. The basket gave off a delicious aroma and a note was pinned to the cloth covering:

Just in case- Love, Mum

George pushed aside the embroidered cloth and steam rose from the food. His mother had packed up enough for him to eat over several meals; it would easily feed him and Angelina. Reminding himself to thank his mum, he placed a warming charm on the basket.

At precisely six-thirty there was a knock on the door. George flicked his wand at supper basket, and it unpacked itself on the table. Straightening his shirt, he opened the door and invited Angelina inside, taking her coat. She was wearing an asparagus-colored velvet dress that came down just past her knees. It accentuated her growing belly beautifully. George had to resist the urge to take her into his arms and declare his forgiveness on the spot.

"Dinner's ready over here," he said instead. Angelina followed him, sitting with difficulty in the chair that he pulled out for her. George took his own seat, and then served them both. "I'm glad you came," he said after a while.

"Me too," Angelina said. "I need to apologize to you. I was wrong to keep this a secret, no matter what my reasons were. You're the baby's father, and you deserve the chance to be a father. I really do think you'll be good at it."

"Thanks," George said. "Now that I've had some time to ponder what's happened, I am glad." He told Angelina about the dream that he'd had earlier that day. "I think that the baby is a gift to get us through the Fredlessness of the next few years."

"I know what you mean. The baby is a gift," Angelina said. "When I first realized that I was pregnant, I was terrified. I didn't want to keep it. I even contacted an adoption agency and started that process."

"What changed your mind?" George asked.

"My first appointment with the healers. I heard the baby's heartbeat and I just knew I was meant to keep it." As Angelina spoke she fiddled with the beads on the handle of her fork.

"Sounds amazing," George said.

"Being pregnant is a life-altering experience. Everywhere I go I have this tiny little person inside of me." Angelina put down her fork to spread her fingers over her belly, smoothing a wrinkle out of her dress. "I think that it has been really good for me at this point in my life. I wish you could experience this."

"You wish I was pregnant?" George clarified. "It would look a bit odd, but I do own a joke shop, so who am I to shun odd?" Angelina smiled, the first genuine smile George had seen on her face in a very long time.

"No," she said. "I wish you could feel this constant companionship- the feeling that you are never alone."

"I had that with Fred," George said softly, but Angelina was already shaking her head. She moved the hand off of her belly and onto the table, fingering the edge of her napkin.

"That's not what I meant," she said. "Fred was your twin; he was external. You thought alike but you didn't share a mind or a body. Right now our baby is sharing my body, listening to my thoughts and feelings, and can't condemn or offer any opinions."

"That does sound amazing," George said, resting his hand on hers. Angelina bristled at the contact, and she moved to once again pick up her fork.

"So do you want to work out some kind of custody arrangement?" she asked, collecting a forkful of beans. "It should be easy enough. After all, I am going to be right next door."

"We'll think of something that works," George said. "We may not be ready to get married or anything just yet, but I know that I'd like to have you in my life. I didn't go to bed with you just because I was missing Fred, Angie. I like you, a lot. I might even love you. And I already love the baby."

"I might love you too, George," she responded softly. "Let's just take it one day at a time. I'll move in next door and open my shop, and you can help me with the rest of the pregnancy, and then with the baby."

"How much longer do you have?" George asked, eyeing her belly.

"I'm due on January 26," Angelina said proudly.

"That's soon," George said.

"Not soon enough," Angelina said, bending an arm around to rub her back.

"Is it terribly uncomfortable?" George asked.

"Most of the time," Angelina said. "The worst part was the morning sickness. I'm so glad that's over with."

"I'm sorry," George said gently.

"Hey, it's not just your mistake George. It takes two to tango," Angelina said, understanding that George was talking about more than her morning sickness. "Besides, I really do think that you have to put in the work to enjoy the profits."

"A good business strategy," George said weakly, feeling the conversation lag. He suggested that they move into the living room where he helped Angelina settle onto one side of the overstuffed couch. It was quiet as he built up a fire and got them each a glass of pumpkin juice. Then he let his body drop onto the other side of the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"You know, I decided to name the baby after him," Angelina said. They both knew that she was talking about Fred.

"I think he'd like that," George said. A moment later, his brain caught up with what he'd heard. "Wait, does that mean it's a boy?" Angelina smiled and nodded, rummaging in the bag she'd brought with her.

"I brought you something," she said. "I know I already said this, but I really am sorry that I kept you in the dark about the baby. I haven't made the best choices in the last few months. I should have told you, and I should have let you be a there for us. I haven't been fair to you or our little guy." She paused, handing George a flat, square package. It was wrapped in green and gold paper, with a bright red ribbon stuck to the top. "I know that this doesn't even begin to make up for it, but I still want you to have it."

George slowly tore away the paper to reveal a dark frame. The picture inside was black-and-white, and it was terribly grainy. George stared at it for a few seconds before he realized that it was a profile shot of the baby. Before his eyes, his child held out a hand, flexing miniscule fingers.

"It's from St. Mungo's," Angelina said. "That was my last appointment."

"You can tell it's a boy," George said excitedly, pointing to the telltale spot on the picture. It was captivating to watch the infant kick and move.

"Yes, and there's the heart beating," Angelina said as she pointed out a small thumping motion in the image. She had her other hand pressed to her stomach. "I love to feel that."

"May I?" George asked. Nodding, Angelina took his hand and pressed it to the side of her belly.

"Feel that bump? That's his head," she said, still guiding George's hand. "If you move this way, you can feel his heartbeat, and up here is his little bottom."

"Wow," George said. He couldn't think of any other words.

"Yeah," Angelina agreed as George laced his fingers with hers.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered. "Thank you."

George and Angelina fell asleep on the couch, George's arm wrapped around her belly. It was several hours before they awoke.

"What time is it?" Angelina whispered. George held his watch arm up so he could read it in the firelight.

"Almost three," he said. "Maybe you should spend the night."

"I guess," she replied. "Where's the loo? I broke one of the cardinal rules of pregnancy today."

"What? 'Don't sleep on a couch?'" George asked.

"No. 'Don't drink anything after six, unless you want to get up and pee eighty-seven times.'"

"Toilet's right around the corner," George said with a smile. "I'll find something you can sleep in."

After pulling a pair of pajama pants and an old sweatshirt, he dug through a drawer until he found an old Gryffindor t-shirt that had always been a little too large for his comfort. Remembering the girth of Angelina's belly, he enlarged it just a little more with his wand. He tossed this shirt and another pair of flannel pants to Angelina when she came into the room.

"You can sleep here," George said, indicating the bed. "I'll sleep in Ron's room."

"Are you sure?" Angelina said.

"Yeah, it's fine," he said with a nod. She smiled again, hugging him as he passed.

"Thanks, George."

George took himself back out into the living room where he picked up the framed picture of his son. He could hardly believe that he'd had a part in creating this precious life.

The fire was still sending waves of warm air towards him and it made George sleepy. Leaning back into the soft cushions of his recliner, George drifted off, still gazing at the image.

Suddenly someone was shaking George's shoulder, and he wanted them to stop. It felt like he had only been asleep for a few minutes. He vaguely heard the cuckoo clock that hung on the mantel as it chirped six o'clock in the morning.

"George, please wake up!" The voice was familiar, but through the grogginess of sleep, George was having trouble placing it. "C'mon, George. I need help." Suddenly, the previous night came back to him, and his eyes snapped open. Angelina Johnson was sitting on his coffee table, wearing his old shirt and pants. It hadn't been an elaborate dream. George sat up, pinching the brim of his nose to get rid of the slight headache that had formed there.

"Ange? What's going on?"

"I think that the baby is coming," she said. Her hands were fisted in the t-shirt that rested on her belly.

"What?" George asked. "But you're not due for another month."

"I guess the baby has other plans," Angelina said quickly, and then she gripped George's sleeve and her face twisted in pain.

"Are you okay?" George asked when she relaxed.

"I don't know," Angelina said, panic rising in her voice. "The healer said that I might have false contractions. Maybe if I go lay down for awhile it will stop."

"I'll help you," George said, rising. He helped Angelina stand and they began to shuffle towards the bedroom. They had barely made it three feet when George heard a splash. A moment later he and Angelina were standing in a growing puddle.

"I think we need to get to St. Mungo's," Angelina said, gripping his arm so tightly that it felt like her fingernails had dug through his sleeve and into his skin.

"Floo or Apparation?" George asked with gritted teeth. He mentally reminded himself that Angelina's pain was greater than his.

"Apparition, but I'll have to go side-along. Floo's too dirty."

"Okay, hang on," George said. Angelina moved her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. Gripping her tightly, George Disapparated.

The Welcome Witch at St. Mungo's sent them to take the lift to the sixth floor, where the Kally Kentigern Birthing Ward was located. There was a flutter of activity when they walked through the door. Several healers in bright green robes immediately took Angelina into a private ward and George was left standing alone in a frilly green waiting room.

As he paced the length of this room a gnawing sensation took over his body. The worried faces of the healers had scared him. It had made him realize that his son's life was in danger. Unable to bear the thought of losing another Fred, George created a diversion for himself and walked over to the reception desk. "Excuse me, is there an owl I can use to send a note to my family?" George asked.

"It's down one floor, Hun," the witch behind the counter said. "Right next to the Tearoom."

"Thanks," George said. "My girlfriend just came in here. Would you send someone for me if there's any news."

"They didn't let you go back with her?" the witch asked. George shook his head. "Hun, you just write your note and I'll send it down to the mail room myself."

"Thanks," George said again, accepting the offered paper. He bit the end of his quill, trying to decide how to word the note.

Mum- An emergency came up. Can you meet me at St. Mungos? -George

George read over the request and decided that his mother would worry about him when she read it. He added a quick postscript to comfort her.

P.S. I'm okay. I just need you.

George wrote his mother's name on front of the envelope and handed it back to the reception witch. Then he returned to the waiting area and sank into an uncomfortable chair.

After thirty minutes that felt like thirty years George felt himself getting ready to go crazy. He had no information about Angelina or their son yet. Clutching the picture that Angelina has given him, George got up and started to pace again. He'd just made his fifth circuit of the room again when he heard a familiar voice.

"George!" His mother ran to him, throwing her arms around him and squeezing him. Over her shoulder, George saw his father standing beside her and looking equally as worried. Molly leaned up and kissed George's cheek. "I was so worried."

"I-I'm fine, Mum," George stammered. His mother's posture relaxed, but George was losing his composure. He just didn't have the strength to handle any more grief, or to cause any for his parents. His mother seemed to notice his distress, for she steered him to a couch and took the spot beside him.

"What's going on, George?" Arthur asked, sitting across from his wife and son. George took a deep breath, gathering himself.

"Well, you remember Angelina Johnson, right?"

"That nice girl who sat by you at the burial?" Mrs. Weasley asked quietly.

"That's her," George said. "We're having a baby."

He heard his mother gasp, and he immediately launched into an explanation of what he had learned over the last couple of days.

"Oh, George," Molly said when he finished. "Are you alright, hun?"

"I'm scared, Mum," he confessed. "I don't think I could handle losing the baby too."

"I'll see if the receptionist can tell me anything," Arthur said, rising. Before he made it too far, a healer came into the waiting area. She was a few years older than George, with a face that begged to be trusted.

"Mr. Weasley?" she asked. It took George a few minutes to realize that she was not talking to his father.

"That's me. I'm George," he said weakly.

"My name is Siena Vadstena. I'm Miss Johnson's primary healer," she said, shaking his hand. "Well George, I've got good news for you. We've checked Miss Johnson over and everything seems to be progressing normally. She's looking at a few more hours of labor, but she's going to be just fine."

"What about the baby?" George asked. "Is he going to be alright?"

"Right now it appears that way. We're going to monitor everything very closely, and after he's born your son will receive the very best care that we have to offer. In simple terms, he's big for his age. His lungs and heart are fully developed. He's ready to meet you, Daddy."

"He's okay, Georgie," Molly said, tearfully hugging her son. Healer Vadstena smiled warmly.

"George if you'll come with me, Miss Johnson was asking for you. She wants you to be there when your son is born."

George felt like he was rooted to his spot. The relief was still washing over him. He barely even breathed until someone placed a hand on his shoulder. George turned to look into the eyes of his father.

"Go on, Son," Arthur said. His other arm was around his wife.

"We'll be waiting right here," Molly added. George hugged each of them again.

"Thanks for coming," he said.

"It's going to be okay," his mother told him once again. George nodded and took a deep breath, willing himself to take the steps that would change him from a son to a father.

"Ready?" Healer Vadstena asked. George smiled at her.

"Yep. Let's go have a baby!" he said. The healer led him down the hallway and into one of the birthing rooms. There was a window in the door, so George saw Angelina before she saw him. She was tucked into a clean bed. Someone had changed her into pale blue hospital robes, but she still had George's Gryffindor t-shirt; it was resting across her belly, held in place by Angelina's arms as she cradled her unborn child.

"George!" she cried when he came in. She held out an arm for him and George went to her side, letting her pull him close.

"I'm so glad he's going to be okay," she whispered. George sat on the edge of her bed.

"I am too," he told her. "How about you? Are you alright?"

"I'm scared," Angelina admitted. "I don't know how I ever thought that I could do this without you." George smiled.

"Silly you," he teased. "Well, I'm here now and the rest of this day is going to be simply wonderful." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Angelina had another contraction. She grasped his hand and breathed slowly and heavily.

"Wonderful?" she asked when the pain had passed. "Try terrible." George smiled apologetically and settled in for a long morning.

Several hours later new lungs filled the room with cries and Healer Vadstena put a tiny bundle in Angelina's arms. She and George both leaned over their infant, studying the life they had created together. The boy had skin the color of cinnamon, big brown eyes, and a plentiful crop of bright red hair.

"He's perfect, Angie," George said, leaning over them both.

"Isn't he?" she agreed tiredly. She looked up a George. "Do you want to hold him?"

"Yes," George said, carefully transferring the baby into his own arms. "Hi there," he crooned. "I guess I'm your dad. And you're my Fred. Freddie?" The infant looked up at him, large eyes sparkling just at George had seen his twin's do thousands of times. Tears streamed freely down George's cheeks. It was as if the pain and sorrow of the past few months had melted away, leaving only the tiniest trace. "He's so wonderful, Angelina." She sniffled too. Then she grinned at George.

"Look at us. We're a giant blubbering mess," she said as the baby continued to cry. "We're supposed to make him feel safe, not scare him back into the womb."

"I think he wants you," George said, passing the boy back to her. Angelina held him close to her chest, making soothing noises. Freddie's cries slowed, and soon he was drifting off to sleep. George watched them with fascination. In that moment everything seemed perfect. After a half-hour, Angelina gazed up at him. The look in her eyes told him that she was having the same thoughts.

"Marry me?" George asked. The words burst out of him before he even realized that he wanted to say them.

"What?" Angelina asked.

"Let's be a family, Ange. Let's give Freddie the world- together."

"We'll see," Angelina said. George looked at her, puzzled by her answer. "I don't want to move too fast, George. We said we were going to hash this out one day at a time, and I think that it the best way to do it."

"Oh," George said, looking down. He knew she was right. If they jumped into a marriage simply for Freddie's sake, they might end up regretting it.

"Hey," Angelina said, gently laying a hand on his arm. "I didn't say no. Just not yet."

"Okay. One day at a time," George said. "But for the record, I loved you from day one." A light blush covered Angelina's cheeks.

"You should go introduce him to your mom and dad," she said, eyes on the baby again. "I think that grandparents are important. I want Freddie to know his."

A few minutes later, George walked back down the hallway, and this time his newborn son was cradled in his arms. When he got to the waiting area, he stopped and stared. He was expecting to see his parents, but he was flabbergasted by the sight that waited for him. Not only were his parents there, but his brothers, Ginny, Fleur, and Hermione also waited. They had spread out across the room, playing chess, reading, or knitting to pass the time. They even had the wireless tuned to Molly's favorite Christmas special.

Charlie and Bill saw George first, and they began a cheerful tune that was soon taken up by all of the Weasley brothers, Molly and Arthur. Even George joined in, singing softly as he cradled his son close to his chest. He hadn't heard this collection of words since Ginny was born.

Welcome new baby, it's such a happy day!

You're here and we're gonna help you learn to do things the Weasley way.

We're noisy and messy and obnoxious too,

But we love you and we want to share our messy lives with you!

As the song finished, George sank into a chair, exhausted from the emotional overload of the past few days. His son was awake now, gazing at him with his large brown eyes.

"What was that?" Hermione asked softly.

"The Weasley Welcome Song. It's a family tradition," Bill answered.

"Well then howcome I don't know about it?" Ginny asked.

"Because you were only forty-five minutes old the last time we sung it," Charlie said. "Don't worry, we'll teach you girls."

"I remember the first time I heard that song. Percy was just born, and Bill and Charlie wrote it for him," Arthur said reminiscently. "Bill was six and Charlie was four."

"They were so cute, singing together," Molly added reminiscently. "We liked it so much that we've sung it at each birth since."

"I think zat it is beau-tee-ful," Fleur said, hugging her own pregnancy belly.

"Now, let's see that baby," Molly said, going to George's side. He allowed his mother to take Freddie from him.

"What are you all doing here?" George asked, looking around. He snagged a cracker off of a nearby platter. It was the first sustenance he'd had since the night before.

"We're a family," Percy said firmly. "Mum flooed to tell us what was going on, and we decided we wanted to be here."

"Don't worry, we didn't let you spoil Christmas," Ron said. "We brought food."

"And presents for the baby," Hermione added. At the mention of his son, George turned to look at him again. Molly was rocking back and forth as she hummed a lullaby. Tears were running down her cheeks, but she was smiling. Arthur was gently rubbing her back. He lifted his gaze from the baby to George.

"Everything went well?" he asked. George nodded.

"Yes. Angie's exhausted, but she's fine. Healer Vadstena said it was a pretty straightforward birth, apart from the rocky start. We were scared to death that something was going to be wrong with him, but we're told he's healthy as a hippogriff." Ginny chuckled from George's other side. He furrowed his eyebrows in mock rage. "And just what is so funny about my son nearly dying, Ginevra Weasley?" George playfully demanded.

"He's made a grand entrance," Ginny said softly. "That's so Fred." George grinned down at his son.

"He's seven pounds, nine ounces of pure mischief," he agreed.

"My turn," Ginny demanded, holding out her arms for the baby. Molly reluctantly surrendered the infant and Ginny began bubbling at him. It was the most girly that George had ever seen her. "Hi, Freddie. It's your favorite aunt, Ginny. I love you. Who's the handsomest nephew in the world? Is it Freddie? Freddie?"

Now even Harry was giving Ginny an odd look. She scoffed gently at him, then pressed the baby into his arms. "Here, practice," she ordered. "Let's see you do better."

"You're forgetting that Teddy and I get on quite well," Harry said, adjusting his grip on the baby. "His bright face fills my lonely evenings while you're off at school."

Ginny leaned back down towards the baby. "How do you like Uncle Harry, Freddie? Isn't he awesome?"

"I think you should let Ron hold him," Hermione said to Harry. Ron paled.

"N-no thanks," he stammered.

"C'mon mate. Don't be shy. He's just a baby," Harry said, offering the infant to his friend.

"I don't want to break him," Ron insisted.

"That's silly," Hermione said, helping Ron situate Freddie in his arms.

"I'm doing it!" Ron said a moment later.

"Not too shabby," Harry said with a chuckle. Freddie was passed around the room. After Bill had surrendered the infant to Percy, he sank into the chair next to George.

"How are you doing? This must have been quite a shock for you."

"I'm just sorry to have stolen your thunder," George said, pointing to Fleur's baby bump.

"Don't worry about it," Bill said. Too mentally exhausted to keep up the conversation, George changed the subject.

"Where'd Mum go?" he asked.

"She slipped off when it was Ginny's turn to scare the baby," Charlie said, earning a stuck-out tongue from his sister.

"I don't think I'm doing this right," Percy said. His grip on the baby was even more inexperienced and stiff than Ron's, and Freddie had begun to whimper. George decided that it was time to retire from the spotlight.

"It's not you, Perce. I think he just wants his mother," he lied, taking his baby back into his own arms. The action made him feel more complete. "Say good-night, Freddie."

Freddie and George left the waiting room to a chorus of good nights and well wishes. When he got down the hall, George stopped by the door to Angelina's room. His mother was inside, and Angelina was speaking.

"I guess I just want everything to be perfect for Freddie. I already messed up with him, and he wasn't even born yet."

"You haven't caused any lasting harm," Molly said. "Motherhood isn't about perfection. Every day you wake up and make all kinds of choices- what to feed your child, how to dress him, what to teach him. But Honey, it doesn't matter if it is a big decision or a small decision, as long as you follow your heart and always make the best choice you can, Freddie is going to be okay."

"I hope so," Angelina said. "It helps to know that he has the Weasleys. I hope that it lasts." George watched his mother put her hands on her hips.

"Now stop that," she scolded. "It doesn't matter what happens between you and George, Dear. You are Freddie's mother. You're part of the family now, and nothing can change that. That's why I made you this." Molly dug into the large quilted bag that she had placed on a nearby chair.

George could not see what his mother pulled out of the bag, but he heard Angelina gasp. They mystery was soon revealed, as Molly spread a knitted blanket across Angelina's lap and stepped out of George's view.

"It's beautiful," Angelina said, running her hands over the woven stripes of blue and green. Molly set a smaller blanket on top of the first.

"This one is for Freddie," Molly said. "I remember how cold I was after my babies were born, especially with the twins. I started this blanket when we found out about Fleur and Bill's baby, back when they thought it was a boy. I'm going to make one for each of my grandchildren."

Angelina's eyes sparkled. "Thank you," she whispered, and the two women hugged. Freddie started to whimper again, and George took this as a sign to enter.

"Where's momma?" he called, sweeping into the room. Angelina and his mother both wiped their eyes, then Angie held out her arms for the baby. After George transferred his son to her arms he let his own mother pull him into a hug.

"I'm so proud of you," she said, quietly, so that no one else would hear. She patted his arm fondly, then turned to get her bag. "I'd better get my brood home for supper. I'll come back in the morning."

"Thanks again for being here, Mum," George said. Molly only smiled as she exited the room. George turned to Angie.

"Is he wore out?" she asked as she wrapped the baby in his new blanket.

"Yeah, my whole family was out there. It was like a Weasley reunion at St. Mungo's," George said.

"How'd that go?"

"It was really good for all of us. I think that seeing me so happy is helping heal the family," George told her, sitting on the edge of her bed. He looked down at his son. "He stole the show."

"That's my Freddie," Angelina whispered tiredly. George wanted to talk about the everything that lay ahead for them, but he stifled his questions at Angelina's yawn. Freddie was already asleep, safe in his mother's arms and his Weasley baby blanket. George kissed each of their foreheads, then succumbed to slumber himself.

…One Year Later…

Happy Birthday, dear Freddie,

Happy Birthday to you!

Freddie's first birthday marked the second time that the Weasley clan sang to the boy. He was perched on Angelina's lap, clapping gleefully as everyone sang his name.

"Freddie!" he cried when the song was over.

"That was his first word," George said proudly. He pulled his son onto his own lap as Molly placed a slice of cake in front of him. The baby's eyes grew wide and he reached for the treat with a chubby hand.

"A little egotistical for a one-year-old, isn't he?" Ginny teased. She leaned down near her nephew. "Should we call you Narcissus? Should we?" she said in a silly voice, tickling him. Freddie shrieked in delight.

"When are you going to admit that you want one of your own?" George asked. His sister smiled wryly.

"Yes, I'm sure that Gwenog would appreciate it if I retired halfway through my first season," Ginny said. A frosting-coated hand shot out towards Ginny's hair. She caught it with the skill of a seeker and led it back towards the cake. "Besides, I like playtime, but I'm happy to hand him over to Daddy, now that he's covered in cake."

"Gee, thanks," George said as he reached for a napkin. "Remind me to return the favor someday."

"Present time!" Harry said, changing the topic. He handed Angelina a package. She unwrapped a miniature toy broomstick . "He seems to enjoy going on broomstick rides with George."

"Oh, Harry! He'll love this," Angelina said. "Thank you." The presents were passed in one at a time until only one was left.

"My turn!" Ginny said. George, who had been relieved from baby duty, accepted her gift. Lifting the lid off of the box, George peered inside. He felt his face form a grin.

"Brilliant!" He lifted out an exact replica of the garden-gnome angel that Fred had made. Harry, Ron, and Ginny laughed along with him, and Freddie squealed in delight at the laughter. Everyone else at the table looked on with a mixture of astonishment and disgust.

"What on earth is that ghastly thing?" Angelina finally asked.

"The perfect gift," George said, rising. He removed the angel from the top of the Christmas tree and replaced it with the gnome.

"Why are you putting that on my tree?" Molly demanded.

"Fred made the first one, Mum," Harry explained.

"The gnome bit his ankle in the garden, so he turned it into an art-and-crafts project!" Ginny added. Ron sat up straighter now.

"Everyone was so bugged-out that Christmas that no one even noticed," he said.

"This gnome is an excellent representation of the spirit of Fred, and I'm glad that my son will never have a Christmas without it," George said. He picked up his son and held him so that he could see the tree. Freddie clapped again, one of his favorite actions. George felt a hand on his arm. His mother stood beside him now, gazing at the tree-topper. Her eyes had misted over.

"It's perfect," she said in a tone that no one dared argue with. In that moment, when all eyes were upon the gnome angel, George caught sight of a portrait on the wall. His twin winked at him. Glancing down at the baby in his arms and the ring on his finger, George grinned.

Then he winked back.