This is still not my world. It belongs to JK Rowling. Enjoy the newest installment!

Chapter 2

They Apparated with a loud pop. Bill's strong grip on Harry's shoulder had dragged him along to… wherever they'd come. Two more cracks announced Charlie and Mr. Weasley's arrivals.

Looking around, Harry found himself in a small, minimally upholstered room, illuminated by candlelight. Shelves lined every wall, and each was bursting with countless devices and contraptions, whistling and blinking and bouncing.

"Dad!" a boisterous voice cried.

"It's four in the morning! What are you doing here?"asked another.

Harry turned as much as Bill's firm handle would allow, and was met by the sight of the twins.

Like their father and brothers, Fred and George looked different. Older. Their auburn hair gleamed in the candlelight, framing faces that were squarer, firmer, than Harry remembered them. A familiar mischievous light glimmered in their matching brown eyes, but beneath that, he glimpsed something else… weariness, sadness… subdued grief that Harry never thought he would see in those grinning faces.

Harry's muddled mind began to put together to pieces.

He stood still, waiting for the twins to notice him and greet him with the hostility that their family had met him with. And notice him they did.

George's face went paper-white, and Fred sank to a wooden stool, his hand over his mouth.

A long silence stretched, in which the Weasleys stood around him and stared. Harry felt a blush creep up under his skin, and he twisted his fingers nervously. He swallowed a few times, then choked out a greeting.

"Uh… hi."

"Hi," Fred mumbled faintly, looking a little sick. George shook his head, eyes wide.

"Harry…" he said, as if tasting the name. "Harry Potter, back at long last…"

"We found him in the middle Cheney Road, north of the Burrow," Arthur explained.

"We don't know…" Bill started, glancing sideways to meet Charlie's eyes, "We don't know if he's… him."

Fred visibly pulled himself together, pushing unruly hair out of his eyes and sucking a deep breath between his teeth. George nodded once, eyes trained on Harry.

"And you want us to tell you if this is really Harry."

Harry's hands closed into fists. "Listen—"

But he was cut off by George, who stepped right up to him, looked him straight in the eye, and said…

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

For a moment, Harry dumbly stared back at George. Then, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Mischief managed."

George nodded, grinning. "Test Number One: Passed."

Charlie, Bill, and Mr. Weasley exchanged confused glances.

Fred pulled himself to his feet, rubbing his hands together anticipatorily, and moved toward one of the shelves against the wall. As he strode across the room, Harry noted an awkward lilt to his gait and realized after a moment that Fred was limping. He bit his lip, frowning.

"How's the leg, little brother?" Charlie asked nonchalantly. Harry could see the concern in his eyes.

"Not so bad," Fred responded distractedly, rifling through the gadgets on the shelf. "I think we've finally got the prosthetic right. Only took six prototypes, eh Georgie?" He leaned down and thumped his calf gingerly, and it echoed with a distinctly un-flesh-like sound.

Harry desperately wanted to ask what had happened, but bit his tongue. First, he needed to prove who he was. Questions would come later. And Harry didn't doubt that there would be a lot of them.

"Aha!" Fred cheered, holding aloft a tiny vial of sparkling green liquid. He shuffled toward Harry, and George stepped back to let him near. Summoning a miniscule spoon from another of the shelves, Fred uncorked the vial.

"Now Harry, or Vile Imposter, whichever you turn out to be, this tasty stuff…" he tipped a single drop of the liquid onto the spoon, "is a fairly valuable substance."

"Invention of ours, of course. Runs for a hundred and twenty Galleons a pop!" George chimed in.

"It's not quite a truth serum, because we all know that's illegal," Fred and George rolled their eyes, "But it's… rather close. You see, this stuff doesn't make you tell the truth. It lets us see the truth."

"All you need to do," George explained, "is stick that in your mouth. I promise, it won't do you any harm. And if you really are Harry Potter, you know that the word of a Weasley is rock-solid."

Harry nodded. Before he let himself consider it, he seized the little spoon and poked it into his mouth. It tasted like eggplant.

"Now look at us," Fred commanded, and Harry looked up to see them both staring intently at his eyes. George plucked his glasses from his face.

It was a long moment before anything happened. Harry was starting to feel self-conscious when suddenly, without warning, he plunged into the past with a gut-wrenching tug.

He was back on the Hogwarts grounds, eyes locked on the figure before him. Voldemort stood tall, laughter in his crimson eyes, and Harry knew that Death Eaters surrounded him on all sides. His wand lay useless on the grass, yards away from where he stood. Fear throbbed in his veins. Harry knew that he was going to die.

"Give in, child," Voldemort hissed. "Give in, and I will grant you a quick and painless death."

"Never," Harry answered, his voice low and unsteady.

"I had hoped you would give me the pleasure of killing you slowly, Harry." He let out a piercing, cold laugh that chilled the misty air, and Harry steeled himself for the assault. Voldemort trained his wand at Harry's chest, narrowed his snake-like eyes, and hurled a whispered curse.

Harry was jolted by a great weight crashing into him, and he rolled on the grass, gasping and disoriented. It was a moment before he could clear the fireworks from his vision and lift himself off the ground, looking around to see what had hit him…

Ron lay on the grass, arms curled around his middle, staring with wide eyes at the starry sky above him. An iron fist clamped around Harry's heart.

"Ron!" he cried, and scrambled to his side.

"H-Harry…" Ron stammered, turning his wide blue eyes to meet his gaze. "A-are y-you o-ok-kay?"

"Ron, you idiot!" Harry sobbed, choking at the sight of the blood that leaked out between Ron's fingers. "You stupid git, why would you do that?"

"H-had to s-save y-you, Harry. I w-will alw… always s-save you, doesn't matter h-how ha… hard you f-fight…"

"Damn it!"Harry hissed. "Damn it, Ron!"

Ron closed his eyes, breathing in short, pain-filled pants. A smile played on his lips. "'t's okay…" he murmured. "I-I'm fine. N-now b-beat that s-son of a bitch, will you?"

Harry blinked past the tears in his eyes. Ron released his grip on his bleeding wound… and oh, God, it was bleeding… and moving his hand across the ground beside him, gripping something. He pressed it into Harry's hands.

It was his wand.

"S-see you when it's f… finished, Harry," Ron said, and Harry didn't want to know what he meant by that. He took the wand in hand, looked up…

And hardly had time to process the image of seven Death Eaters, encircling them. He opened his mouth to fire a curse, but they were too quick… seven voices shrieked incantations, seven spells hit him at once, seven waves of power enveloped him…

And he was back in the little room, staring into the eyes of Fred and George.

They stared at him, identical frowns on identical faces, and Harry saw tears sparkling in two pairs of brown eyes. He felt them on his own face, too.

Silently, sadly, they both nodded.

"It's him."

The other Weasley's stared at them in surprise. It took a moment for them to find their voices.

"But… how can you know, son?"

"You just looked into his eyes for a few minutes; how can you tell from that?"

"Are you sure?"

George turned to face him family, inconspicuously dashing at his eyes. In an uncharacteristically solemn voice, he spoke.

"Dad, Charlie, Bill, sorry but we can't explain the process to you. It's still under development, and to be frank, it could get you into a hell of a lot of trouble with basically anyone, Death Eater or no."

"You'll just have to believe us," Fred said, blinking rapidly. "You'll have to trust us when we say that this is Harry Potter."

Arthur stood silent for a moment, eyes darting between his twin sons and Harry, who stood uncomfortably in the center of the room. He clenched his hands together to stifle the trembling. Mr. Weasley stepped toward him again, and Harry prepared himself to answer more identifying questions, to defend himself if necessary. But Mr. Weasley didn't speak. He didn't even pull out his wand. He grasped Harry's shoulders in his old hands and pulled him toward him, enveloping him in his arms.

Harry stood still for a moment, shocked by the unexpected hug.

"Harry, my boy," Mr. Weasley mumbled, and Harry was further surprised to feel sobs shaking the old man's frame. "You've come back to us…"

And Harry knew then what it felt like to have a living, breathing father. He wrapped his arms around Arthur's narrow shoulders and held him tightly, not knowing what to say. He didn't think he could have spoken anyway.

They broke apart after a long moment, and Harry was suddenly pelted by a series of heavy thumps to the back.

"Sorry, Harry," came the murmured apology of Bill. "You gave us such a shock, and we really couldn't have known you weren't a Death Eater in disguise, you know."

"After all," Charlie agreed rather sheepishly, "You've been gone for years, Harry. Everyone has considered you dead for a long time now… well, almost everyone…"

"Dead?" Harry repeated numbly.

Charlie's gaze dropped to his shoes. "Well… yeah," he answered sadly. "There was even a service, about a year ago. It was lovely… Terrible, but lovely. I thought Mum would never stop crying."

Harry tried to suppress the bone-deep guilt that filled him at the thought of an inconsolable Mrs. Weasley. He felt his cheeks burning with shame.

"I can hardly believe it!" Arthur cried, staring at Harry fondly, and Harry finally glimpsed the jolly man he knew in this old man. "It seems so impossible, having you back after all this time… stupendous! Truly stupendous!"

"It's incredible, all right," George agreed, shaking his head. He was very pale, Harry realized, and his wand shook in a tightly fisted hand. He hoped George wasn't about the pass out.

"This is…" Charlie stammered, "It's… wow!"

"Eloquent, brother," Fred murmured. Charlie elbowed him in the ribs, then caught his arm as he teetered.

"But… how?" asked Bill, and the room fell silent. All eyes turned to the twins.

George met Harry's eyes. He stared hard at him with an unreadable expression, and Harry felt Fred's eyes on him as well. They turned away after a moment, exchanged a pregnant glance, and nodded.

"Harry's traveled forward in time," Fred said.

"He's come straight from the battle that we thought had killed him," George added.

"This is seventeen-year-old Harry…"

"… the same Harry that left us, seven years ago."

Harry blinked at the Weasleys. They stood around him, staring right back.

His brain reeled. The idea had occurred to him earlier; he'd been almost certain that he had time traveled from the moment he'd met these older Weasleys. The clues around him were impossible to misinterpret. But to hear it out loud, confirmed… it was a bit of a shock, in any case. His jaw flapped dumbly for a moment, before his mouth caught up to his brain.

"I… I thought that might be it," he muttered in a shaky voice.

The Weasleys simply stared at him.