DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.
Confession Day
September 1st. The end of summer. Confession Day.
Over the past two months, everyone had been unsettled. Most people were worried about the crazy murderer on the loose. The various members of the Weasley family had their own troubles on top of that.
Fred and George had trouble sleeping. The nightmares where the Saintlike One finally stole their minds away from them or forced them to join You-Know-Who or to hurt or kill each other just kept coming and coming, so Fred spent half the night comforting his twin and George him. They tried to pretend that everything was fine, but Mum could tell something was wrong. She somehow connected it with the fact that neither drank pumpkin juice anymore and so she constantly encouraged the twins to down a cup with every meal. They couldn't give her a good reason for always avoiding it that wouldn't send her into hysterics, so they ended up tossing the lot of it while she wasn't looking.
Charlie probably had the worst of it, though. He felt responsible for his twin brothers, like he had to protect them at all times from the Saintlike One. On top of that, Tonks had been worried that she might fall victim to the Saintlike One's bewitchment at any moment, so she owled Charlie all the time to make sure she didn't go insane. Charlie was so stressed out that he was on his broom most of the day to keep from thinking about it too much.
And, just because the universe wanted to be thorough in hating them all, Percy's rat had had "run away from home," if Mum was to be believed. It was far more likely that Scabbers ran into a stray cat's mouth, but no one but Ron said so out loud.
Now that the day the Saintlike One had talked about with far too much fondness had arrived, Fred had to be extra-vigilant about not swallowing any pumpkin juice that might appear in his mouth—or that Mum might figure out that they were still avoiding the Saintlike One's evil beverage and force him into swallowing it.
"Fred," George whispered while packed their trunks. "What do you think is going to happen today? With him, I mean?"
"He always claimed to be patient," Fred said. "He will just have to be patient forever. If he can't, it'll prove to Dumbledore that he's a liar and maybe he'll snap out of it."
"But what if he comes after us in person, like he did with Tonks?"
"Then we'll do whatever it takes to get rid of him forever. Even if that means telling Mum."
George was ready. He was more than ready. He'd had a very productive summer and, as far as he could tell, only one more Horcrux needed to be destroyed. Sirius had managed to get the diary on his own and was constantly bragging to George that he didn't know how the mutt had pulled it off.
George still hadn't told Dumbledore about where Sirius was living yet (nor had he shown Sirius the glass jar that Wormtail was being kept in) but George was ready to tell his whole story, his whole plan. Fred and Young George, however, didn't seem like they were going to be cooperative.
He'd watched the Burrow, disillusioned, in the yard within the wards Bill had placed for practice and to give the Weasleys a little protection. An extendable ear to the twins' room yielded more information than watching the upstairs window: they in no uncertain terms refused to ever communicate with the Saintlike One again and they would freak out if George ever told them who he was in person. Being forthcoming with Dumbledore and not the twins was starting to look appealing, but George remained steadfast against that idea. He'd promised to tell the twins first. He wasn't going to go back on his word now.
George got out the Saintlike Parchment. Hopefully they'd read it someday. That is, if the Trickster got it right about how much time it took to make him permanent in the universe.
Dear Young George Weasley (and Fred Weasley, but this is mostly directed to my possessee),
As I'm writing this, it's exactly one year after I started to possess you. That means that I can tell you anything and not fear the end of the universe, or so I've been led to believe. I am afraid of writing down the whole truth where someone else might read it, though, so I'm going to hide the rest of this message with the same passwords as the Map.
I am George Weasley. I have told this to anyone who asks, but they did not believe me at the time. It's true: I have been George Weasley for 41 years and I am a time traveler. Surprise!
I still have no idea what sent me back in time but I do know why I consented. 2 May 1998, my best friend died protecting Harry Potter during the Battle of Hogwarts. Fred. I still have nightmares about it.
The whole 'possessing my younger self' was not my idea (nor was the pumpkin juice), but it did provide an excuse to see Fred alive again. Anything was better than not having him in my life, I thought. I did not realize just how much my being here would hurt you both and I apologize. As I've been in this time, I've done my best to sabotage Voldemort's return so the blasted war doesn't happen all over again—hopefully it will be enough.
Once you have read this, I would ask that you find your way to the Hog's Head. I will wait for you there every night so that I can once and for all prove to you that I'm not the liar you think I am and that I truly am you.
All my love,
George Weasley, The Saintlike One
Fred began unpacking. Unlike last year, the twins had decided that it was okay for George to actually be in the house he was supposed to be in. Since now (or at least soon) they probably didn't have to worry about the Saintlike One anymore, George didn't have to worry about attacks from both him and the Slytherins (most of them had learned last year that messing with the Weasleys was a stupid idea). Still, though, Fred thought it was safer to keep their Saintlike Parchments in his trunk instead of George's. George's trunk, after all, was magicked by the Saintly Git himself.
"So, are you really really really Fred?" Lee asked.
"If I say yes will you believe me?" Fred replied with a sigh.
"You and your twin lie about it all the time!" Lee protested. "Honestly, that's like believing the Saintlike One after he claims he's trustworthy."
"Do not talk about that parasitic brother stealer again," Fred hissed. "We're rid of him and we want to keep it that way."
"Then what's this?" Lee asked as he took a Saintlike Parchment out of Fred's trunk.
"Don't touch that and don't read it! It's his Confession Day so he's probably going to use it to bewitch me and George!"
"You, my friend, are paranoid," Lee said as he read the latest letter. A moment later, he said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Fred watched Lee's face slacken. "Lee, that thing is bewitching you!"
"No, Fred. You and George really need to read this. It says—"
"Don't tell me what it says or I'll get bewitched too! First Dumbledore, now you. He's ensnaring your mind and binding his will to yours."
"He's not, Fred. I thought you had more trust in your friends," Lee said.
"Even perfect friends can't be trusted when they've been bewitched!" Fred roared.
"Fine, Fred," Lee whispered. "If you're right and I am bewitched, I'm going to follow the instructions on this letter and you can't stop me because you don't know what they are."
"Lee, I beg you. Don't listen to him."
"He cares about you, Fred. If you want to know why, the letter is right here in your trunk. Mischief Managed."
Lee didn't want to believe it, but he knew it was true: the Saintlike One was nothing more than an old George. Everything fit and it just felt right. Fred could call bewitchment all he liked and it wouldn't change that.
Once Fred fell asleep, Lee snuck out of bed and used the passage under the one-eyed witch to Honeydukes. No wonder he knew about the Map—he's had it since his first year.
Lee quietly snuck out of Honeydukes and over to the Hog's Head. It felt cold—a lot colder than usual. Then he noticed the tall cloaked figures and he ran as fast as he could to the pub. He slammed the door behind him.
"You're out a little late," the elderly barman said with a frown.
"I'm looking for someone," Lee replied. "He said he'd start coming here every night."
"That's not exactly descriptive, but if I notice any new regulars, I'll point them out to you during an actual school trip."
"I'll make sure he gets back to Hogwarts," the one-eared barman said as he came out of the storage room. "I'm surprised he decided to come out despite the Dementors."
"Thank you, James, but can you cast a Patronus?"
"Well enough," the one-eared man replied as he pulled Lee outside. "If you have chocolate back at your dorm, Mr. Jordan, I'd suggest you eat it. I usually put most of my wages into making things instead of buying plain old sweets and now I'm paying for it every time I want to go outside at night—let's hope someone takes care of the Sirius Black mess soon, eh? But what are you doing out here tonight? What's so important that you'd sneak out of the school at a time like this?"
"I needed to prove something to my friend," Lee said. "He got a letter and refused to even look at it. They asked for him to visit the Hog's Head and I went in his place to show him there was nothing to worry about."
The barman laughed. "You're a good friend, Lee."
The way he said that…it made Lee wonder. "George?" Lee asked tentatively.
"Got it in one." It was George. That face was old and worn but it was definitely his friend's face.
"What happened to you?" Lee asked.
"Snape accidentally sliced my ear off, I spent 20 years without Fred, and I started dying my hair black so I wouldn't look so much like a Weasley. Nothing much."
"And you went back in time to stop the war from happening," Lee added.
"Well, Harry was very upset when Sirius Black died, so I couldn't just save Fred and nobody else," George said with a smile.
"Isn't Sirius Black a mass murderer?"
"I think you're confusing him with Percy's rat," George replied. "He blew up a dozen Muggles to cover up the fact that he betrayed the Potters and placed the blame on Sirius."
"Scabbers is guilty?" Lee asked incredulously.
"Trust me," George said as he patted Lee on the back, "this will all make sense when you have all the pieces."
"I guess," Lee muttered. "But how do we convince the twins that you're really George? They're both even more paranoid than before, if that's even possible."
"I've still got a few tricks up my sleeves, especially now that I've got you as an insider. I'll contact you by Patronus when I have a definite plan."
"Can I see the Patronus?" Lee asked. "Just so I know it's really you and not some front man."
"Sure. Expecto Patronum!"
Mundungus was down an alley on his way to visit his old friend when he saw the raccoon Patronus.
A year of looking and I finally find him? He quietly ran to see who the caster was. When he saw, he stopped cold.
Charlemagne.
That can't be right! Charlemagne never was able to cast it and he would have told me he could. Did he figure it out recently? No, Dumbledore knew the form a year ago. Could two people with the same Patronus be running around? Possible, but Charlemagne wouldn't have had any reason to have that animal.
Unless that's not Charlemagne.
He had changed, yes, but so much? He knew things, but was that gleanings from my own head? He's never reminded me of a detail I didn't remember, has he? We never remembered the exact same things before his reappearance—that was our strength in working together. Has this imposter been playing me, using me to get what he wanted?
He couldn't go to Albus. The Headmaster had sent him a letter back in January that said it was no longer necessary to find the raccoon Patronus. Albus was strong, but not infallible. In fact, ever since he sent that letter, the Headmaster seemed to get steadily weaker. Charlemagne—or whoever he really was—could have been the cause.
If not Albus, Aberforth, Mundungus decided. He didn't care if he had a permanent ban; Mundungus went to the Hog's Head as quickly as possible so he could tell Aberforth everything before the imposter returned.
George was happy. If Young George and Fred couldn't be the first to know, at least it could be Lee. Lee more or less was responsible for getting George through the grief right after Fred died and he would never abandon a Weasley twin in need. And so George skipped through Hogsmeade despite the Dementors. Anyone watching through the window would probably assume he was crazy, but George simply didn't care.
The lights seemed dimmer than normal when George entered the pub. "Lumos," he said, just in time for him to be stunned from behind.
George woke up in darkness, and even if he had his wand, it wouldn't have helped—he was blindfolded and tied to a wooden chair that was depositing splinters in his backside.
"I don't think you really are who you pretend to be," a voice said. It was a disguised voice, but George had a pretty good idea of who it was.
"Dung? What's going on?"
"Are you really Charlemagne?"
"…maybe?" George replied.
"Well, you certainly aren't James Oliver since no such person exists. I made your papers. You made business deals on my behalf at the Hog's Head. Do you deny it?"
George sighed. "No."
"I am very disappointed in you," another voice said.
"Aberforth," George choked out. "I'm sorry."
"I wouldn't trust anything that comes out of this parasite's mouth," Dung said. "If he was Charlemagne, he could lie like any other—and since he's not, he's even better."
"Then are you sure you want to use that to interrogate him?" Aberforth asked.
"It can't hurt," Dung replied. "And if it doesn't work, it's his own fault."
George heard the sound of a vial unscrewing and swore mentally. Apparently they had found his potion stash and they were about to use the Veritaserum he'd finally managed to get right against him.
George gathered his magical power and yelled "Confundo!"
"What was that?" Mundungus asked.
"I think the imposter has confunded himself," Aberforth replied.
"Well, that makes no sense. That'll just make the Veritaserum easier to use."
"Perhaps he was aiming for one of us, then," Aberforth said as he placed three drops into the man he used to call James' mouth.
"What is your real name?" Mundungus asked.
"George Weasley."
"Isn't that one of the first-year who brought gnomes to the Quidditch match?" Mundungus asked. "That can't be right."
"Perhaps this is why he confunded himself. Why are you here?"
"I'm saving Fred from the wall exploding."
"This isn't going anywhere," Mundungus complained. "What's a good reason to arrest him? I don't want to be his prison guard for the rest of my life."
"I helped break Sirius Black out," the imposter said.
"Well that's certainly possible," Mundungus said. "He had me give the prisoners—including Black—some newspaper clippings and he was out within a week. That can't be a coincidence."
"And thus we can get this man to Azkaban where he belongs."