DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.


Met their Match


George decided to risk watching the Quidditch game between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He was a tad put out that he'd never got the chance to suggest to Young George and Fred to try out for their respective Quidditch teams, as the tryouts happened during his month without possession. Hopefully they would try out next year as George and his timeline's Fred had done.

Gryffindor was being badly trounced by Slytherin, to George's sorrow but not his surprise. This would be Slytherin's fourth consecutive season of winning the Quidditch Cup and it would be four more years before Gryffindor took first. Charlie was doing his best to get the snitch as fast as he could, but luck was never in his favor when it came to Quidditch. Charlie was the Seeker he was only from long hours of practice, not like Harry who could practically spot the snitch from anywhere in the field without even trying. It was just the fact that the Gryffindor chasers were no good and something horrible always seemed to put Charlie in the hospital wing the week of the final match—Charlie hadn't been able to win Gryffindor the cup since his second year. George, for the longest time, had honestly thought his brother's curse had passed onto Harry until Oliver Wood's last year. Though that may have just been because the universe decided that they were defeated badly enough during the game with Hufflepuff.

George felt someone in the crowd step on his foot. He held back the pain and reminded himself that he was invisible. He'd considered just going as James Oliver, but he didn't want too many people asking questions or staring. Once the person who'd probably bruised his toes moved out of his line of sight, he noticed movement on the ground of the pitch. It looked like his young pranking adversaries were up to something—and for once he had no idea what that something was.

As a precaution, George summoned a Shooting Star that he knew would be in the broom cupboard since no one ever used those things during a match if they could at all help it. When he tasted pumpkin juice in his mouth, he quickly cast Carpe Retractum on the broom that was still coming towards him and sent it on an arc that would put it on the ground of the pitch near Young George. This time, he refrained from using Legilimency and the Imperius Curse (which had proved successful in providing him with control of his older body) on himself—focusing on two bodies in this instance would probably make things ten times more difficult than usual.

George found himself on the pitch surrounded by several chests that were moving. Fred and Lee magically opened each of them and gnomes jumped out and tackled him. Well, I guess this is original, he conceded. George cast Flipendo on a gnome, picked him up, and took the nearby broom up to throw the stupid creature at the Slytherin players who hadn't noticed him yet. He repeated the process with several gnomes despite Madam Hooch's protests. Even on a substandard broom he could fly circles around any of the players except maybe Charlie, but instead he tried to keep most of his movements compatible with his eleven-year-old self's. One of the Beaters then got the bright idea to stop George by hitting a Bludger towards him. George took the gnome in his hand and used it like a bat to hit it back towards the Beater. Only when George had dealt with all the gnomes did he come down from the broom.

"Mr. Weasley!" Professor McGonagall cried as she stormed the pitch. "I will not allow you to continue such reckless and disrespectful behavior! Fifty points from your House and the Houses of your conspirators and detention for two months for the lot of you!"

"Yes, professor," George said meekly. He'd have to talk to Fred about having him be the one in detention later as it was his fault.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what possessed you to perform such a stunt?" the professor asked.

George held back a snort at the irony and replied, "My Holeyness kind of left my body for a few minutes. I'm the only one at fault here, so don't punish my brother or Lee or anyone else for what I just did."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "I will take off two weeks of detentions for Mr. Jordan and your twin brother, but expect no more from me."

"Thank you, professor." She always was my favorite teacher…

McGonagall looked like she was about to say something more but wasn't sure if she should.

"Was there something else?" George prompted.

"I must admit that you have quite the arm, Mr. Weasley," she said finally. "If you seek a position on the Gryffindor team, I am inclined to let you once you develop the discipline to not continue your shenanigans."

George shook his head. "I didn't show up at tryouts so I'll have to wait until next year. You can wait to have a first-year on your team a couple more years. And there is, of course, the fact that everyone is deluded that I have been sorted into Slytherin so I would have to be on their team. Officially, anyway."

McGonagall's mouth twitched. "You and your conspirators will meet me in my office for your detention. Now I strongly suggest that you leave the pitch so Madam Hooch may have the players resume the game."

Fred and Lee met up with George behind the stands. "You have guts, Saint," Lee said.

"I also have made it incredibly likely that you and your brother will play as Beaters next year," George replied. "You're welcome."

"Did you play before?" Fred asked.

"I did," George said, "but I highly doubt you will find my name on any of the school records."

"Why not?" Lee asked.

"The only records of mine in existence are forgeries," George said truthfully. "The citation that goes into your brother's file for me will be the most accurate record of my existence you will find anytime soon. I wish I'd done it when I went to Hogwarts. I'm just sad George had to miss it, though. If you have a not-enchanted vial, I'll donate the memory for him to look at."

"You want to give us your memories?" Fred asked, his mouth agape.

"George is going to seem like he has something seriously wrong with his brain when he has no memories of certain events. If George wants more, he can name the terms, but it'd be cruel for him not to know what throwing gnomes at Slytherins on a broom is like. I'll take the detention since it wasn't his fault, but you two have six weeks of it. Or maybe I'll just take the extra weeks McGonagall gave me since I know he helped you plan this crazy prank. Though, out of curiosity, what did you expect me to do?"

Fred shrugged. "I dunno, have all your beans stolen? We just drew things from a hat so you'd stop predicting everything we do."

"Keep doing that," George suggested. "I had no idea what to expect when I saw you on the Quidditch pitch."

"Wait, were you…actually here?" Fred asked.

"Haven't missed the Gryffindor-Slytherin game for almost twenty years," George replied.

"So, if George wanted, you could show him those memories too, right?" Lee asked.

George shook his head. "I'm not prepared to divulge any memories that have not occurred in this body. If either of you ever completely trust me, I'll give you any memory you want."

"You're trying to bribe us again," Fred said.

"Good, you noticed," George said. "I'm not expecting you to trust me for a good long time, but I don't think I've lied to you directly yet."

"You've claimed to be George Weasley more times than I can count," Fred said flatly.

"Look at me. I am George Weasley. I'd claim it under Veritaserum if you have any lying around."

"Would you also claim to be who you are in the real world while under it?" Lee asked.

"Probably not," George admitted. "I did say that all my records are forgeries, didn't I?"

"You know what I mean."

"Veritaserum could work to divulge my secrets, should it be required it of me," George admitted. "I'd really rather not, though, and I will not let it be administered to me without a fight. How would you feel if Dumbledore gave it to you and forced you to recount every embarrassing thing you ever did and do it in front of Professor Snape?"

"Why would Snape be there?" Fred asked.

"Maybe because he's the Potions Master?" George deadpanned.

"Right, dumb question. But Professor Dumbledore has good judgment. He'd never let something like that to happen under his nose."

"He'd let Snape get away with murder with just a 'please' standing in the way," George retorted. He knew he was taking things out of context, but Snape seemed like such a quintessential villain on the surface that he was the perfect scapegoat. "Snape as good as sent Voldemort after the Potter family and has a Dark Mark if you know how to find it. This is the man whom Dumbledore trusts implicitly. Still trust them to be fair to George?"

"I trust them far more than I trust you," Fred replied.

"That will change. I can be patient."


It was George's second Hogsmeade weekend since starting work at the Hog's Head, but last time Fred and Young George didn't have the Marauder's Map. Unless George had managed to change the timeline substantially, the twins would explore every building in town and that meant they would see George for the first time. Well, "James Oliver," but close enough.

Fred, George, and Lee came in just after 3 o'clock. Fortunately there was no one else around so he had good reason to devote his entire attention to the prankster trio.

"You three look a little young to be from the Hogwarts group," George said.

"We're just looking," Fred said.

"If you're interested in staying a while," George said, "you won't find cheaper rates anywhere in Hogsmeade."

"I can see why," Lee said as he poked a nearby mothball with his wand.

"No, we sell stuff here I'd eat any day for great prices!" George said. Well, he did eat the stuff, at least. "We just never change the look of this place since most of the customers find it nostalgic. Aberforth's been working here longer than anyone except Dumbledore's contemporaries can remember. Me working here at all is a big change and everyone's still getting used to it. Anyway, do you want a drink while you're here?"

"Okay," Fred said and the three boys sat down.

"What would you like? We've got Butterbeer, pumpkin juice, Gillywater, hot chocolate, and a bunch of things I doubt any of you are ready for. So what'll it be?"

"Three Butterbeers, please," Lee said.

After George took their money and provided them with drinks, there still weren't any other customers to worry about so George sat with them and started transfiguring the candles into flowers again. Aberforth knew the transfiguration wasn't permanent so he didn't mind anymore as long as they were functional by sundown.

"I like to get to know who I serve, so would you mind telling me a little about yourselves?" George asked.

"I'm Fred Weasley," Young George said, "and this is my brother George and our friend Lee."

"Were you three behind the interruption of the recent Hogwarts Quidditch game?" George asked. They nodded. "That was really reckless, you know. Although I must admit that I wish I'd seen it all happen. I don't get out much—too many people staring at the ear, you know," George said as he tapped his finger on the old scar tissue.

"How did you lose it?" Young George asked.

"My brother and I were fighting in the war. We were flying away from a bunch of You-Know-Who's followers who were trying to kill us and some of our good friends. The nicest Death Eater of the bunch nailed a dark cutting curse on me and the wound refused every healing treatment we tried on it. So now I'm deaf in one ear and the other one has to work twice as hard to make up for it. I got lucky. My brother and so many others died before Harry Potter saved us all. It's going to be weird when he starts attending Hogwarts in a couple years."

"Oi, Fred," Fred said, obviously not wanting to think too long about the war if he didn't have to, "did you ever realize that Ron's going to be in the same class as Harry Potter?"

"This was the first time you thought about it?" Young George asked.

"Well, maybe, but this is the first time I got it, you know?"

"I suggest you don't think about it too much," George said. "Rumor has it that young Harry is growing up with a Muggle family with no clue that he's the most famous kid of our world. Anyone who treats him as 'just Harry' is going to make him a lot more comfortable than someone who wants to be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived. He doesn't know the first thing about who You-Know-Who even is, much less how he defeated him. Unless Harry had some innate terrible power even worse than the wizard who tried to kill him, I'm guessing those who protected him had a lot more to do with the end of the war."

"What sort of powers could Harry Potter have?" Lee asked.

"I'm sure we'll all find out once he starts school and rejoins the wizarding world," George replied. "I've got one sickle that says love killed You-Know-Who and another that says Harry's got darkness living inside of him, so I'll probably not make any money but I'll have the bragging rights, at least. I don't make bets with eleven-year-olds, though, so you can come back when you're of age and try to out-predict me." George knew he was being hypocritical, as he and Fred had made that bet against Bagman back at the World Cup, but it really wasn't fair to bet against himself when he knew the future.

"How did you realize how old we were?" Young George asked.

"I know who you are, remember? You used gnomes to attack the Slytherin team, George," George said.

"He's not George, I am!" Fred insisted.

"Did I mix you up already?" George asked. To their credit, Fred and Young George did not give away that he "accidentally" identified them correctly. "But why would you attack your own Quidditch team?" George asked as he pointed to the green trim on the robes Fred wore.

"Because it's a stupid house," Young George muttered.

"I'll have you know that I am friends of former members of all houses and will not tolerate bad mouthing about any of them," George said more sternly than he actually felt. If he wasn't James Oliver, he'd be bad mouthing Slytherin too, and with a wider vocabulary to boot.

"Sorry, sir," Young George said.

"Apology accepted so long as you never call me 'sir' again. Call me James or Oliver or James Oliver or anything else you think fits, but never think of me as an authority figure. Authority figures have their wand stuck up their rear and think they're amazing."

"Not all authority figures," Fred retorted.

"No, not all," George agreed. "Dumbledore is a lot humbler than one in his position is likely to be. Still, although I probably haven't met any other authority figures you've interacted with, You-Know-Who is a narcissistic authority figure if there ever were one, and so are a lot of the Ministry higher-ups."

"Dad hates Lucius Malfoy," Fred said. "He reckons he bought himself out of Azkaban and into Fudge's ear."

"Most Muggles would scream 'corruption!' if they knew how messed up our government was and insist upon reform," George said. "They're a lot more intelligent than most wizards give them credit for. Of course, most governments tend to be awful anyway, but—"

"James!" Aberforth said. "Are you exerting more influence than you should on such impressionable young minds?"

"I'm just encouraging to think for themselves," George insisted. "Expose them to various opinions and let them decide for themselves and whatnot."

"Well, you've been ignoring the four people who have come in since you sat down. Get to work!"

"Okay," George replied. To the first-years, he said, "I hope to see you three at the Hog's Head in the future."

"I think you will," Young George replied.

George went to take care of the other customers but he kept his ear on the prankster trio.

"I liked that guy," Lee said. "He reminds me of an older version of one of you." George almost choked on his spit.

"What are you talking about?" Young George asked.

"He's absolutely nothing like us! He's a black-haired Muggle-born who fought in the war and has one ear."

"I just felt like you might be related to him," Lee said with a shrug.

"Lee, the only way we're going to have a black-haired Weasley is if our sister Ginny marries Harry Potter like she's fantasized since she was three," Fred said.

"Besides, we're purebloods and he's a Muggle-born. Whatever resemblance you think you see is definitely a coincidence."

"Okay, okay!"


It was the day before Fred, George, and the other Weasleys would travel home for Christmas. Fred, George, and Lee were on their way to the last detention of the year (thanks to the Saintlike One) and fortunately it would be the last one they went to for that particular prank (also thanks to the Saintlike One). The twins had decided to let the Saint take the two weeks of January alone, partly as a sign of trust, but mostly on the off chance that the Saint pranked them while they were all stuck together in a room.

"George?" Fred asked. "Were we ever going to tell Charlie about your little problem?"

"Oh. I guess we haven't done that yet, have we? We should. And we should tell Bill too, while he's home for Christmas."

"What about the rest of your family?" Lee asked.

"Not Mum: she'd go crazy if she knew," Fred said.

"And not Ron or Ginny either," George added. "They'll probably tell someone on accident. And not Percy either. Dad might be okay, but he might tell Mum."

"So just Charlie and Bill for now," Fred said. "Last day of the break?"

"Sounds good," George replied. "We don't want the Saintlike One messing with Christmas, after all."


On Christmas Day, George was grateful that the Trickster made him unemotional about his family back in the other timeline or he'd be a nervous wreck. He was, nevertheless, fairly depressed that he would have to spend Christmas without any family whatsoever. He was almost tempted to go find Mum's squib cousin, but that would just be awkward for both of them.

Mundungus was spending his Christmas swindling people, as they were most generous and therefore easier pickings for him. George would have gone along if Dung and James Oliver weren't allowed to be seen in public together. Dung offered to let George borrow the veil he'd used on their "date," but George had slightly more dignity than his friend and politely refused.

That, of course, left Aberforth. The old wizard told him to take the holiday off, but George insisted on working. The only other option on George's list would be sulking in the Shrieking Shack alone, and it was better to be busy than do that.

He cast Legilimens and the Imperius Curse on himself at the start of the shift, as was now a habit with him. George wasn't good enough at balancing his two selves to stop every narcoleptic attack, but he was good enough that if Dumbledore was watching him, he'd have an alibi most of the time. Of course, Fred and Young George hadn't summoned him at all since they went home for the holidays, so controlling his body probably wouldn't be a problem. His emotions, on the other hand, were another story. He had to use every bit of Occlumency he knew (which admittedly wasn't much) to keep himself from betraying his feelings in front of Aberforth and the customers. At the very least, he didn't cry and no one asked if anything was wrong with him.

At the end of the night, George assisted Aberforth in carrying out a drunken man who was still singing a surprisingly on-key rendition of "Greensleeves," albeit with the wrong lyrics. As soon as they locked everything up, Aberforth's expression softened from his grumpy norm.

"You've had a very difficult day, haven't you?"

"Why do you say that?" George asked far too quickly.

"The only people who come to the Hog's Head on Christmas have no one else to be with and you are no exception," the old wizard replied.

George sighed. "It was better here than it might have been anywhere else. Busy minds don't have to feel anything."

Aberforth sighed. "Next time just drink yourself silly. That doesn't mean you're free to raid all of my good stuff, but I did offer you a day off."

"You have good stuff?" George asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Aberforth chuckled. "That's more like the James I know."


"Bill? Charlie? Can you come up to our room for a minute?"

The two eldest Weasley children exchanged glances but decided to humor their twin brothers. The twins could prank worse than Peeves, but Charlie was of age now—as was Bill—and they should be able to handle whatever crazy thing two eleven-year-old boys without wands threw at them.

"What we're about to tell you does not leave this room," Fred—or at least who Charlie was pretty sure was Fred—said. "Don't say a word of this to Mum or Dad or anybody who doesn't already know."

"As long as you haven't done something illegal, then sure," Bill said. Charlie voiced his agreement.

"Okay," George said. "Charlie, do you remember how I was acting really weird the day I got sorted?"

"Into Slytherin, you mean?" Charlie asked. "Yeah, but we all were pretty weirded out by you being tossed somewhere you don't belong."

"Did you ever find out why the Sorting Hat did that?" Bill asked.

"We knew from the beginning," Fred said. "And George and I should both have been in Gryffindor with the rest of the family. But George wasn't himself when he went under the hat."

"What do you mean?" Bill asked.

George took a deep breath. "I was being possessed."

"What."

"Ever since that day, this guy who calls himself the Saintlike One has had the ability to possess me. I'm usually not him, but when I am, I have no memory of it and Fred has to tell me what happened. Like with the gnomes at the Quidditch game."

"That wasn't really you?" Charlie asked. "I thought you were just escalating your war against Slytherin."

"We've tried to pull pranks on him," Fred said, "but we haven't got him yet. He's crazy good at avoiding anything and everything."

"How often does this 'Saintlike One' manifest himself?" Bill asked.

"It's weird," Fred said. "Not even Dumbledore knows how it ended up like this, but George changes every time he drinks pumpkin juice."

Silence. Then Charlie and Bill started laughing. "You can't be serious," Charlie choked out.

"You were taking them seriously this while time?" Bill laughed. "You know we can't trust anything these two scalawags say."

"Fred," George said with a voice of stone. "Get your pumpkin juice."

Fred already had the vial in his hand. "See you soon." Fred drank.


"Bill, Charlie, meet the Saintlike One," Fred said.

George could tell that his older brothers weren't exactly believing. They had genuine smiles on their faces and Bill was still chuckling. It almost made George cry, seeing Bill whole again. But Fred wanted to prove that George wasn't his normal eleven-year-old self, so he hid his emotion in the void that he had developed Christmas Day.

"Accio wand," George said. Mum had confiscated his wand earlier, as she always did on the holidays. Once the familiar stick was in his hands, he cast the spell that he was making a habit of using to prove his identity. "Expecto Patronum." A ghostly raccoon appeared.

The eldest Weasleys were struck dumb. "Told you so," Fred said.

Bill recovered first. "I need more proof. There's no reason George should be unable to learn a Patronus."

"My summoning my wand without your Mum noticing wasn't enough?" George asked. "Fine. Duel me."

"You're underage and—"

"Young George is. I'm not. At least let me show off a bit to prove it to you."

"Cast a Protean Charm," Charlie suggested. George remembered Charlie trying with frustration to cast it the last time he was in control, so the future dragonologist would be convinced if an apparent eleven-year-old did it with ease.

"Not all adult wizards can do that—especially those who didn't get their Charms O.W.L. Lucky for you, though, I can." George grabbed a couple pieces of parchment and cast the spell. He wrote on one, Tell George when he wakes up that he can use this to talk to me if he wants. He showed his brothers the other document and, sure enough, the duplication was perfect. George folded the original parchment into a paper airplane and sent it flying out the window. It would continue to fly until it reached the dispenser George had left above the Fat Lady's portrait. Now all he had to do was sneak into Hogwarts again and retrieve it. He always knew that leaving the dispenser there would come in handy.

"You're not our brother," Charlie breathed.

"I prefer to be called the Saintlike One," George replied.

"Why are you doing this to him?" Bill asked.

Uh oh. Their big-brother instinct is activating, George thought. "I can't tell you." He was about to add more, but Charlie and Bill were already on the offensive. George silently disarmed them both and flung them upside-down by their ankles. "Anything you do to me while I'm in control will be felt by your brother when he returns," George whispered. "I don't hurt him and you wouldn't either. I'm here to save lives. I won't say anything more until I've earned complete trust."

"Do you believe him?" Bill asked Fred.

"It's safer not to," Fred replied with a shrug.

"And here lies the crux of the matter," George said. "No one trusts me because I don't tell them anything about me and I refuse to say anything about myself since no one trusts the validity of my statements. I think it'll be a few more years before you trust anything that comes out of my mouth, but when you do, I've got plenty to say."

"Do you really think we'll ever trust you?" Charlie asked.

"I do," George said as he let his brothers back down. "I have very good reasons for intruding on your lives. Fred's already told Dumbledore what I told him about Voldemort's Horcruxes. The really big stuff I'm keeping to myself right now, but I'll help with anything anyone needs."

"Even if we need to get rid of you?" Charlie spat.

"If that's how it has to be, I'll have to find other ways of doing what I need to do," George replied.

"Are you going to possess some other defenseless kid?" Bill asked.

"No," George said adamantly. "George is the only one I have any jurisdiction over. Don't ask 'why him' because you're not ready for the answer. I have a life of my own, but there are distinct advantages to being George Weasley." Primarily the fact that if he wasn't George Weasley, he'd definitely been making a mistake for about 40 years.

"Fred, can you get rid of him?" Charlie asked. "Now, before I hurt George?"

"Goodbye," George said as Fred grabbed his pumpkin juice. "Happy Christmas."


"George," Charlie said once he was sure that the so-called Saintlike One was gone, "you're officially my hero."

"Uh, thanks," George said. "What did I do again?"

"You deal with this guy in your head and you've never let it get to you. I'd be barking mad by now if it happened to me."

"It gets to me," George whispered. "All the time, it gets to me."

"I'd appreciate it," Fred cut in, "if we don't talk about this unless something big happens."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Fred," Bill cautioned. "I'd feel much better if you stopped contact with him permanently."

"Me too," Charlie agreed. "The most dangerous creatures can be the ones who convince you that they aren't a threat before they kill you."

Fred suddenly felt sheepish. He'd let his prank war on the Saintlike One make a foothold for him to use to serve his secret, almost certainly unSaintlike plans. "You're right," Fred said. "We were being stupid and I'm going to stop drinking pumpkin juice from now on."

"Didn't you promise that he'd go to detention for me for the Quidditch stunt?" George asked. "We don't know what he'll do if we go back on our word."

"Fine," Fred said. "He can do that but we won't tell him until it's over that he's never coming back."