A/N: This is the Seeker from Montrose Magpies writing for QLFC Round 5.

Prompt: (7-Polytype Dimension) Incorporate the theme of 7 within your story (you can take this in any way you like — seven objects of importance, the meaning behind the number, etc)

Thanks to my team for looking through it!

Word Count: 1124

Disclaimer: I have no intentions of making money from this story, so all the recognisable stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Another World, but no Him

The seven planets, apart from the earth, aligning on the day he turned seventy-seven… it was a one-in-a-million chance, and George had been lucky to have it fall into his lap, because the three sevens—the two most magical numbers of all in play—were exactly what he needed to make his device work. He had taken his chance.

"Fred, is that you?"

Coming to work in the Department of Mysteries at the ripe age of 70, the Weasleys Wizard's Wheezes business passed on to his son and nephew, had been one of his best and worst ideas.

There had been a riot. Letting the crazy, stupid, foolish but brilliant George Weasley into the department where he was most likely to blow something up? A lot of people had doubted his credibility.

That had been seven years back, and since then, George had proven his smarts, rising up to one of the highest levels among the Unspeakables—not that he was allowed to talk about it with anyone outside of the department.

The man in front of him was just as old and looked just like him, lanky and slightly bent at the backbone, red hair greying around the edges, balding at the top. Age had not treated him very well, either.

"Fred," George repeated, his voice cracking, but it was just loud enough to get the other man's attention.

"Fred?" the other man echoed, and George felt the doubt in his heart settle. This was definitely his twin.

"Merlin, it's been so long since I've tried to find a way to get you back. I—" George rambled, walking as fast as he could towards his long-lost twin.

"Fred," the man spoke, his eyes containing the same haunting look George saw the mirror reflecting back at him every day. "You're supposed to be dead."

George's eyes widened, and he looked around, recognising the place as the woods behind the Burrow. Idly, his statistics-oriented mind counted the seven trees in the clearing he stood in—another play at the magical number?

After the flash from the device he had built, he had appeared here, but… he felt very, very confused.

"Who are you?"

The other man, who was claiming to not be his twin, halted from where he had been closing the distance between them. "Fred? It's me, George."

George shook his head. "No, I'm George. Fred, stop playing these games, please."

"Have you gone bonkers?"

"Here, wait a second, you have the whole ear. I have the hole. Geddit?"

The other man gave him a confused look. "What hole?"

"Snape's Sectumsempra?" The confusion in the other man's face didn't vanish. "War? Voldemort?"

"What does Professor Voldemort have to do with any of this? What are you talking about?"

George facepalmed. He thought of the logical possibilities, and only one stuck out. Instead of bringing him a version of Fred, the device had either taken him to another reality or brought him a person from there… another reality where a George existed, but a Fred did not.

"Okay, Not-Fred. You and I know the history very differently, it seems. We're from different worlds. C'mon, let's take a walk."

Apparently, his alternate self was either as curious or as stupid as he himself, because without another question, he followed him. George let his feet guide them along the path he had trodden too many a time to count, thinking through all the arithmetic calculations and trying to figure out what exactly had happened. He stopped just as the Burrow came into sight, hidden in trees where they wouldn't be visible to anyone in the house or the front yard. One gaze at the house, and he knew this structure had never been burnt down to the ground, that their home had never faced Bellatrix's wrath.

That lowered the list of possibilities to only one, though. It was him who had been sent to another reality.

"I come from a world where Voldemort waged a war on the Wizarding World, supported by the dark purebloods. Fred died, 57 years back, in the last battle. We won, but I lost everything. I read a myth that there exist seven parallel universes, and there was an opportunity, so I…"

It had been a long time since George had last spoken of this, but today, his voice did not waver. He knew that if there was someone who would understand his loss, it was another George who had lost another Fred.

"Seems you actually succeeded somewhat in building the device, then?" Not-Fred's voice was bitter and it made George turn.

"You tried, as well, then?"

"Dad died fighting Dark Lord Grindelwald's forces—was he not around in your world?"

"He was the Dark Lord before Voldemort. Dumbledore defeated him."

"Wow, Dumbledore was the bad guy here—Grindelwald's right hand. After Dad, Mum was losing her mind to grief, and Fred and I had to do something. We tried, but we failed, and I lost him, too, in the backslash."

Unlike George, Not-Fred's voice broke, and a tear slipped down his cheek. George placed a hand on his shoulder. "And you blame yourself, don't you?"

His alternate self met his eyes, and George knew that he would have denied, had it been anyone else. Looking into his own self's face, though, Not-Fred nodded his head. "I wish it had been me."

"I know." George let out a sigh. "Look at the pair of us—if your Fred was anything like mine, he would have been shaking his head, lamenting at the loss of all the opportunities of mischief we were missing out on because of stupid emotions."

Not-Fred huffed out a laugh. "True."

For a heartbeat, George thought about staying here, being the replacement for Fred for this alternate version of him. He could be whole again.

Deep in his heart, though, he knew it would never work. This other man and him were the exact same person in two different worlds, and neither of them was a Fred. He had his own world, his own family to go back to, and coming here today had been an eye-opener. It was perhaps the seven planets' telling him there was no Fred to get back, and he had to make his way in the world alone.

There would be another day for that, though. Going back didn't need the seven planets in alignment, considering he had built a safeck back-door which would activate in seven days' time—the number was simply too powerful to work with for someone who knew how to do that.

He just put his arm around his other version's shoulder and led him down to the pond, where they sat and gazed into the depths of the water, each silently mourning for the lost half of themselves.

There would be another six days to create mayhem in this world, because what were two Weasley twins—even if they were both George's—without a little disaster?