Teddy spiraled across the makeshift Quidditch pitch, that the first Arthur Weasley had made when his older boys were young, toward the flying quaffle. He caught it, then spun sharply to avoid the nearing tree.

"Hey, George, catch!"

It was not his one-eared, "holey" uncle that was being called out, but the uncle's twin brother's daughter who was referenced. As the young, equally as mischievous as her namesake, witch sped off, Teddy surveyed the grounds mentally checking off everyone's whereabouts. The adults (despite being an adult, himself, he was still labeled as "one of the kids") had given him and Victoire the tenuous task to babysit the younger cousins, while they were at dinner.

There was Victoire (who waved at him with a soft smile, Teddy sported a boyish grin) talking to Dominique and Molly by Grandma Molly's geraniums. Louis, Lucy, and Hugo were watching Lily, on her broomstick, playing fetch with Jemima (the abandoned dragon that Uncle Charlie one day brought to The Burrow in a baby sling when Lily was two years old) and from time to time Louis, Lucy, and Hugo will help retrieve the ball. Freddy, Roxanne, George, James, and Arthur were playing Quidditch with him, Teddy. His eyes scanned the yard looking for Rose, Albus, and their friend Scorpius Malfoy (who was invited with Rose and Albus' insistence), before finding the three of them huddled underneath a tree.

Being a Marauder's son, raised by a Marauder's son, and grandson of a Black (as well as the god-brother to three Marauders), he left the game momentarily to check on the three because of a strong sense of suspicious activity. James followed Teddy, because, to be frank, he was a Marauder's grandson and a Weasley's nephew and could smell the suspicious activity as well.

"Hey," Teddy said, dismounting. "What are you three doing?"

"Nothing," Albus said quickly, pocketing something glittery and shining away.

Before Teddy could say anything or find the tactful way to proceed, James (whose motives were far different than his god-brother's), tactlessly, reacted:

"Nothing," he snorted. "What's in your pocket then?"

"Nothing," Albus said, becoming increasingly annoyed by his older brother.

"Oh yeah," James said. "Then why don't you show me." Thus, James jumped on his younger brother's back, in attempted to retrieve whatever object Albus was hiding. After all, if his little brother was so insistent that he was not hiding anything then what could be the harm?

"Get off," Albus yelle as te two brothers wrestled around like hooligans with Rose shouting her displeasure as they nearly bowled her over. Scorpius backed away with wide eyes. An only child with no cousins (with the exception of Teddy, who was technically his second cousin), he wasn't used to the wilds of the Burrow.

"Hey, hey," Teddy shouted and waded in.

"It's just an old thing from my house," Scorpius confessed in near panic.

The metamorphmagus tore the squabbling brothers part, his hair near black instead of the bright hues they normally were and grabbed the offending object from Albus. He stared at the hourglass hanging from a thin golden chain, his eyes drawn to the little hairline crack as a sprinkling of glittery sand leaked out from. He had never seen a Time Turner before, but he knew what one looked like.

"You have a Time Turner in your house," he asked Scorpius skeptically in a quiet voice.

"It was in the back of a cupboard, all covered in dust!"

"You broke it," Albus cried to James.

James made a big show of rolling his eyes to hide his own dismay. "If it's broken that easily, it's obviously junk. No way it would ever work." He gave it an impudent tap with his wand. The Time Turner flipped once, then again and again.

"What –" James took a quick step back, eyes wide.

The hourglass picked up speed, flipping until it was a blur. Teddy swore and dropped it. It exploded in a shower of golden sand. And just like that everyone was gone.

Molly, Lucy, Louis, Freddy, and Hugo were sprawled out on the front lawn of the Burrow. Jemima, regaining consciousness, mewed and stepped on top of her "pack mates" (as that what the dragon considered the grandchildren to be to her).

Jemima emitted a surprise sound, raising her reptilian head up. Her bright eyes flashed, her nostrils flared at the familiar scent of the strangers who had appeared after seeing five Hogwarts-aged students and a dragon appearing in their front yard. The dragon's eyes did not recognize the appearance of the young, pregnant human redheaded mother, her redheaded mate, nor their two youngs (both with equally flaming redhair). However, her nostrils flared at their scent. She knew the scent of the mother and the two boys (not the mate, however).

With a flap of her wings, Jemima left Lucy and flew straight toward the toddler boy who shrieked with delight.

Lucy groaned and sat up, then started to her feet and stumbled after the wiggling dragon. "Jemima, no! Bad girl!" Too late. The bulldog-sized dragon fell onto the small boy. The pregnant woman screamed, but beneath the quivering pile of white scales and red hair – a gleeful laugh rang out.

Jemima licked the boy's face with darts of her long tongue and the boy patted her neck. Lucy seized the dragon around the middle and heaved her off, provoking a squawk of protest from both animal and boy.

"I'm so sorry," Lucy flustered, "Jemima is… She's…" By now, Lucy heard her cousins and sister running up behind her, but she did not turn around. She only stared at the family quizzically. They had been evidently been sitting around a picnic table eating. The parents were not much older than Teddy, maybe in their mid-twenties. The father was thin with horn-rimmed glasses (he reminded her a bit of Lucy's father). The mother was a little stout with curls and an apron tied over her obviously pregnant middle. The older boy appeared to be five and was disarmingly cute. The little boy, who looked to be three, was stocky and smudged with dirt. But most puzzling of all, they were all Weasleys. Obviously Weasleys – freckles, red hair, nice but inexpensive clothes. The odd part was, though they looked vaguely familiar, she could not recall ever seeing them before. If they were second or third cousins, what were they doing parked on the Burrow's front lawn like they owned the place?

Louis assisted Lucy immediately, holding the dragon with a little bit more ease than his cousin had. Freddy and Hugo scurried over, the younger boys held the dragon's kicking legs and flicking tails. Louis followed Lucy's stares, his own attention drawn toward the older boy. He, too, recognized the young family as Weasleys and concluded they must be closely related as the older boy resembled Louis' own childhood pictures. But if they were closely related, why have they never met or why haven't his grandmother not have spoken about them.

And Molly, the oldest of this group, stood in a stance. One hand in her pocket, around her wand. She made eye contact with the mother (who, now, had a three-year-old hoisted on her hip).

"What are you doing at my grandparents' house?"

The mother drew herself to her full height indignantly. She was rather short, but she still managed to cut an impressive figure. "Excuse me! What are you all doing in our front yard?"

"This is our grandmother's house," Molly said firmly, "and you are trespassing."

"Tres— Your dragon attacked my son!"
Jemima continued to wiggle and squeak. It was her "daddy" sound that she used when she waddled to the door to greet Charlie.

"I don't hear him complaining," Hugo muttered. Indeed, the little boy was whining and reaching for the dragon as if she was his long-lost love.

"Well, Molly, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," the young man said, turning to the teenagers.

"Have we met?" Molly asked blankly.

The young man blinked at her. "I don't believe so."

"Are you Weasleys?"

"Of course. This is the Burrow. Are you?"

"Of course!"

"I don't recognize you from any family photos." The man rubbed his glasses off, put them back on, and squinted at Freddy, who was black, and Louis, who had blond curls that glinted red in the sunrays. "You're all Weasleys?"

"Yes," both boys exclaimed indignantly. Both boys, particularly Freddy for being of a dark complexion, had been balked at the very thought of them being Weasleys. They were quite annoyed by those questions.

"But, how," the man stammered. "All Weasleys have red hair and, and, are male."

"Male," Freddy rose an eyebrow, doing his best ignore the red hair comment, pointing at Molly and Lucy. "Then explain these two."

"We have not had a female Weasley ever since a witch allegedly cursed us," the man explained, "because of a love triangle between a grandfather, his wife, and the witch. But that was generations ago. Anyways, there is no way there is a female Weasley, only through marriage can it happen."

"Well, you're wrong," Molly deadpanned. She and her sister were clearly Weasley women.

Having been quiet (and regarded as the most quiet and sensible one) up to this point, Lucy spoke suddenly, "Sir, how did you know my sister's name? And who are you?"

"Eh… I'm sorry, I don't know your sister's name. But I'm Arthur Weasley. This is my wife Molly, and our sons Bill and Charlie."

A thousand words could have been used for that silence. Shocked was one. Thunderstruck and flabbergasted were two more.

"You're lunatics," Hugo croaked.

Louis's eyes had bugged out of his head. He stared at the five-year-old boy who apparently shared the exact name, father, mother, and little brother of his father. The young boy, Bill, taking this owl-eyed teenager as a challenge, stared back.

"Are you all right, dear?" Molly asked, her mothering instinct overriding her initial indignation. Hugo was only twelve, still on the small side, and the blood had drained from his face so quickly that his freckles looked like ink marks on white paper.

Hugo slumped down onto the picnic table, shaking his head mutely.

"Right," Freddy said with a valiant attempt at sarcasm. "So, you're our grandma, you're the bloke Grandma shacked up with until our real grandpa came along, that little sprog is Louis' dad, and that's Uncle Charlie?"

Jemima gave a yip of agreement, pulled free from her stunned two-footed cousins, and leapt upon her three-year-old "daddy." She was happy, needless to say, to have the chance leave her pack mates to play with the miniature version of her alpha.

Freddy," Lucy said warningly.

"Grandma," Molly was taken back, so much that she lost her balance when her future bulldog-sized grand-dragon attacked baby Charlie with licks and nips.

"Mols," Arthur yelled, running to his pregnant wife's aid as the younger Molly and Lucy rushed to Jemima.

"Jemima, no," Molly said sternly. "Heel!"

Regaining her composition, albeit still unsteady, the older Molly said, "I'm no grandma and this man is not just 'some guy I'm shacking.' He is my husband and my only husband."

Lucy, though, was looking from the mother to the father. If she thought about them as her grandparents, she could place them at once. There was a moving photo of a day almost exactly like this on the wall beside one of the Burrow's many staircases. Either they had all been slipped one of her twin uncles' daydream kits, or this really was their grandmother and grandfather. Then she saw at the curve of the other Molly's stomach.

Her mind was racing. As hard it was to believe that her dad was an unborn baby, it was the only thing that made sense.

"Your baby, what are you going to name him?"

Molly, or other Molly, that Lucy quietly referred to her as, crossed her arms. "If you're insinuating that I am having a baby with another man, young lady—"

"No, I really want to know. What are you going to name him?"

The older woman relented. "Well, we're thinking about Bedivere."

Lucy blinked, and blinked again.

"What."

Like any excited parents, they warmed to the topic. "We've been reading Arthurian legends to the boys. The older boys," Arthur clarified, "and they're dead set on naming their little brother after one of the knights."

Bedivere. "That's…" Awful. "…lovely." Lucy said feverishly.

Molly was silent. Bedivere, really?

Freddy snorted.

Hugo stifled a laugh, failing miserably.

Lucy glared at her cousins. Freddy and Hugo could be so immature.

Louis bit his lower lip in thought.

"Bedivere is a strong name," The child-bearing mother said defensively.

"He returned Excal'bur to the Lady of the Lake," exclaimed the older son Bill.

"Yes, Billy, that's right," Molly said with a nod and smile. "You're such a smart boy."

'Grandma is the only one who calls Dad 'Billy,' Louis thought and then said. "You know, Percival was another knight who help find the Holy Grail." His grandmother used to read a weathered children's copy of the Arthurian legends to him, his sisters, and his cousins and Louis wonders now if the book in question could be, in fact, the same, exact copy that she and Grandpa Arthur would read to Louis' father.

"Percival," Arthur said thoughtfully. "Percival Weasley. I rather like it. You know I'm not totally convinced about Bedivere, Molls."

"Well… Percy is a nice nickname, anyway." Molly patted her stomach. "And it does go well with Ignatius—"

"Your dad's name," Lucy put in.

Molly paused and eyed them. "How do you know that?"

"We also know that Bill's middle name is William and Charlie's is Gareth, after your oldest brother." Lucy nodded to Arthur. "If you ever have twins, you want to give them names starting with F and G after your brothers, Gra— Molly. And if you ever have a girl, you want to name her Ginevra."

There was a long silence. "You're a name seer!" Molly exclaimed as if that was the only reasonable option.

Freddy snorted shakily. "Not quite."

Hugo raised his head from his arms. He looked a little green. "We're your grandchildren from the future."

"What," Molly and Arthur shouted. Jemima jumped in fright.

"Please, be quiet," The time-traveling Molly said, kneeling beside her dragon cousin and rubbing her ears. "Jemima is a bit frightful of sudden noises. Uncle Charlie says it has to do with her being abandoned as a kit."

"What," repeated the new grandparents, this time in a softer, yet still astonished, voice.

"We should introduce ourselves," Lucy said with an amused smile. Despite being quiet and sensible, Lucy was still a Weasley and her humor was all-Weasley. "I am Lucy and that's my sister Molly, named after you, our grandma, Molly Prewett Weasley."

"I'm Freddy, one of your unborn twin's son," Fred said with a wild grin.

"I'm Hugo," Hugo said, his greenish hue washing out a bit. "Dad was partly named after Uncle Billius... um, who I don't know how I'm related to him..."

"My little brother," Arthur muttered.

"Yep, Arthur and Billius Weasley, our grandfather and great-uncle, respectively," Louis nodded. It was a bit awkward calling Arthur his grandfather, as, like his cousins and sisters, he regards Grandpa Severus as his real grandfather. "I'm Louis and my dad is... right there."

Molly Snr. and Arthur only stared at them with eyes as wide as quaffles. All five cousins began to picture their new lives on the St. Mungo's closed ward and how to plot their escape.
Bill made a face. "But girls are icky! I don't want a wife!"

Charlie, however, squealed, "I'm a daddy!" and threw himself bodily on Jemima. The pair of them tumbled around like kittens.

"You do understand how insane this sounds," Molly croaked. "If you are… who you say you are, what are you doing here? Er, now?"

They explained as best they could (which wasn't very good). None of them had actually been close enough to what happened, but they had grown up on the story of Aunt Hermione's Time Turner. Arthur, meanwhile, trotted over to the side of the house and peered in the kitchen window.

"Molly," he said in a strange voice. "You might want to come see this."

The two Mollies did so in unison. The older Molly cast her supposed granddaughter an uncertain look. Her eyes went to the pink streak in Molly's hair and her eyebrows furrowed. Molly knew that look. Her grandmother was very traditional, in contrast to Molly herself, who was a bit of a rebel. Despite being a stick with arms and legs for most of her school career, she had tried out for and gotten to play Beater on the Gryffindor team from third year on, making up for her lack of upper arm strength with ferocity and sheer gumption.

The matriarch proceeded to the window and stood on her tiptoes to see inside. She gasped.

Molly craned her neck. She saw nothing odd. The kitchen hadn't changed much in a few decades. There were fewer chairs around the table, and the spice jars were arranged differently, and the plants lining the windowsill, but those were minor details. The table was where it was supposed to be, the walls were cluttered with hangings and family portraits (some the same, mostly different), and the clock was still there.

Oh. The clock.

In her day, the clock was so crowded with family members that all the arms had developed a cuckoo function. When a hand is needed or asked, the hand, with a picture of the person's face, appeared on the clock's interface. It was a very intelligent clock that sprouted new hands when new family members were born or married into the family. Even, Jemima had her hand (though everyone thought Charlie had engineered that). Now, of course, the clock had a lot more room. Arthur, Molly, Bill, and Charlie's pictures rotated about with aplomb—but there were six extra hands on the clock. Even from this far the pink streak in Molly's hair could be seen in her picture.

The couple turned around slowly. "It's true," Molly said faintly. Then, in an eruption: "Oh, Arthur, we're going to have granddaughters!"

Arthur tried to say something intelligent, but all that came out was: "Um. Yes. Um."

"Two," Molly kept repeating, "two," like it was a miracle unforeseen.

"Uh, eight, actually," Molly said. "Nine if you count Jemima."

Molly nearly hyperventilated.

"Nine?" Arthur repeated dumbly.

"Louis's got two older sisters, there's me and Lucy, Freddy has a younger sister, there's George—I mean Georgina—and Hugo's got an older sister, and there's Lily too. Oh, and you'll have a daughter," she added, thinking that with three sons already, four brothers and no sisters between them, and a supposed family curse, they might like to know that they would beat both magical and mundane odds.

"Oh, Arthur, a daughter," Molly swelled, a growing grin on her face. This pregnancy had been affecting her maternal emotions greatly. Wiping away the tears, she gave a once-over to her future grandchildren (and granddragon).

And she could not believe what she was seeing. The two sisters - both red hair (although Molly sported bubblegum pink highlights to the older witch's vexation) - were seemingly twins down to the freckled faces and lanky bodies. Hugo was, too, thin with red hair (the red hair gene must be a strong suit in the Weasleys and Prewetts, Molly decided). Although, both, Louis and Freddy did not possess the genes, and instead had tawny and dark hair respectively. But still Louis was thin like his cousins before and even with Freddy's stockier built (like her sweet Charlie's physique), both boys looked to be underfed.

Only Jemima looked plump and happy.

"Have you eaten," Molly fussed, her maternal instinct jumped in as she scooped up Charlie and took Bill's hand. "It looks like you haven't eaten for days. Come on to the kitchen. I can cook us some eggs and toast within minutes. What else do you eat? What does the dragon - Jemima you say her name is - eat?" Then as fast as a woman in her second trimester of pregnancy, while carrying two boys, can go, Molly hurried inside the kitchen.

All five grandchildren burst into laughter. Their grandmother, even in her prime, was exactly the same. Even Jemima flapped her wings, the gust nearly made Arthur toppled over, and emitted a gurgling noise.

"Well, we should go inside," Arthur said after a pause, still finding the whole situation with the grandkids and new clock hands and time travel mind-boggling.

"Yes," Lucy nodded. "It's just that Gran - Mol, er, your wife -"

"She hasn't changed," Freddy completed with a bark-like laugh. "Roxanne and I always loved it when Dad and Mum drop us off at her and Grandpa's. Best food we will have all week. Mum tries, but it doesn't compare."

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks.

"Grandpa, I guess that's me," he said in a quiet voice. The kids made eye contact with each other. Arthur recalled earlier Freddy accusing Arthur as that bloke who shacked up their grandmother, before their real grandpa came into the picture. Arthur turned the doorknob, a lump in his throat. Surely Molly and he were still married, he could not imagine life without his wife by his side. Opening the door, he continued with a question:

"Am I a good grandpa?"

Silence. Pushing his wired glasses up further on his nose, he steadies his gaze on the five kids (Jemima had already flown into the kitchen, she needed to see her 'daddy' again), which none made no effort to move closer to Arthur or to address his innocent question.

"Yes," Molly lied, flashing a smile and skipped in.

Arthur eyed her, before sighing. "Am I a good father?"

"Dad never shuts up about you," Freddy said, rolling his eyes as he entered the Burrow. It was true, his father George loves to tell stories of the first Arthur, "he calls you the bravest man he had ever known."

"Just don't let Uncle Harry hear you," Hugo said to Freddy.

"Uncle Harry," echoed Arthur. Did a son not regard him as highly as Freddy's father did?

"Your daughter's husband," Louis answered, following his younger cousins in the house. "He finds the bravest man to be," he paused, deliberately making it as natural as possible, "to be his kids' other grandpa." Then he smiled a hidden smile at his smarts and joined his grandmother with his cousins, uncle, and father in the kitchen.

"Please say I'm dead."

Lucy, who was the last to enter, froze at Arthur's soft words. She had never imagined hearing someone say that in earnest. An unexpected lump filled her throat. All her life, she had had one grandpa—Severus Snape. He would be the first to say he wasn't an easy person to love, but none of the grandkids had ever cared. Or maybe that was why—he never tried, never catered to them, never talked down to them.

Arthur Weasley had always been a man in a picture, a namesake, a reason to hug Grandma or her father on an anniversary. But suddenly he was a young man, not much older than her, asking her to confirm that he was dead in the not-so-distant future, because the thought of divorcing his wife was worse.

"Yeah," she said softly, looking at her grandfather. Because Grandpa—that was Severus Snape, and Grandad was her mother's father. But Grandfather—she didn't have one of those.
Arthur looked the oddest mix of relieved and pained. "When? Did I at least get the chance to see my kids grow up?"

"Oh, yeah. All eight of them. You and Grandma practically adopted Uncle Harry—that's Aunt Ginny's husband and Uncle Ron's best friend."

"I'm losing track," Arthur said with a forced grin. "How?"

"In the war," Lucy admitted. "You saved Uncle Fred's life. Fred's your fourth son, the older twin. You were a hero."

"The war's still going on when all our kids are grown?" Arthur whispered in horror.

Lucy winced. The whole story would take far too long. "Not exactly. It's more of a part two. But we win. The good guys win."

"And Molly—my Molly—marries someone else." Arthur nodded to himself. "Good. That's good."

"Good?" Lucy repeated, thinking of her boyfriend of six months (a Slytherin in her year). She couldn't bear the idea of him getting together with anyone else, let alone marrying them.

"That's one of the things Molly and I both agreed on before we got married," Arthur said. He looked more peaceful. "Neither of us wanted the other to be alone, on the chance that something happened. And that's not a small chance these days. But don't tell me anything about him. I might get jealous."

"He's not a ginger."

"Well, I'm already coming out ahead." Arthur put his foot through the door.

"Grandfather," Lucy said suddenly, "have you started working on the Ford Anglia yet?"

"The what?" Arthur asked blankly.

Lucy felt a little silly. "Oh, nothing. Just a car you got to fly. I love engines and stuff, that's all."

Arthur nearly vibrated himself into the air in excitement. "I got a car to fly?! Oh, that's wonderful! I have a moped I've been trying to get to hover, but it's ridiculously temperamental— Would you like to come to the shed and see it?"

His enthusiasm was infectious. "I would love to," Lucy grinned. "Can we go now?"

Next Episode of Youngest Grandparents:

Dominique, Albus, Rose, Roxanne, and Arthur will meet sixteen years old Severus Snape and Lily Evans.

"What is going on?" Lily sounded like she had the worst headache of her life. "Are you saying Sev and I get married?"