I had never seen Fawkes so angry.

Obviously the phoenix had a long and complicated (very, very complicated) history with Dumbledore. The man had somehow managed to hide his true nature from the bird ever since he had saved Fawkes from poachers on a burning day. After Fawkes had realized he had been lied to, he'd never quite trusted his abilities again. After all, phoenixes were supposed to be able to know when people were lying or had dark intentions.

It had been said Fawkes and I bonded because we'd both lost the people most important to us. I think it had more to do with the fact that he'd gone a little mad, too.

At the moment, the two of us were enjoying watching Dumbledore squirm.

"Is your bird bonded to my son?" Mum demanded. "Mine, I mean. Not him." She gestured at me vaguely.

"Thanks, Mum," I said. "Really feeling the love."

I was ignored.

"No, Molly, he's not." The headmaster looked concerned, but Fawkes [who had spent the past twelve years 'regaining' his abilities] seemed confident there was no bond between our alternative selves.

Strange, but possible. I'd have to look into it.

"Fawkes says there's no bond," I reassured Mum.

"He's a bird! He can't tell if George is bonded."

I chuckled as Fawkes attempted to growl at her, earning us strange looks from everyone. "Mum, he's a phoenix. He'd be able to tell if his alternate was bonded to Junior."

Mini-Me was sitting next to Fred, still holding his brother tightly. He looked up with bleary eyes when he heard me mention him. "Stop calling me that! Mum, can't we discuss this in the morning?"

Mum inhaled deeply, and looked from me to Fawkes to Junior. She sighed. "All right, yes, go to bed, all of you. We will discuss this in the morning. Along with…something else."

I figured the twins wouldn't mind sharing a bed, what with both of them still being so distraught. Since it wouldn't be missed, I crashed on the other one. After applying several locking charms on the door, that is.

~!~

The too-bright sunlight filtered around two dark blobs in front of me. I groaned, put a hand over my face, and rolled over.

"Get up!" It was one of the twins, from the sound of it.

"Whazimeizzit?"

"Ten! Come on, no one'll tell us anything unless you're there!"

A finger poked me in the ribs none too gently. I attempted to bat it away, and missed by at least a mile and thirty seconds.

"Mr. Weasley! We've got a bucket of doxy venom here!"

That got me up quick. I flipped over, clutching the sheet tightly, and glared at the twins. "Since when do you call me Mr. Weasley?"

Fred crossed his arms. "What else are we supposed to call you? George is too confusing, and Old-Cranky-George-From-Another-World is a bit of a mouthful."

I groaned again. "Fine. What time is it?"

"Ten." Mini-Me hefted a bucket filled with a noxious smelling blue liquid I knew all too well. "Even Bill won't tell us anything."

"Fine, fine!" I rolled over and tumbled gracelessly off the bed. "What are we talking about this morning?"

"Mom said it's something about you and us."

Oh! That was right. I'd forgotten the twins were my apprentices now. "Oh, right. Do you want me to tell you? No, forget that. I'll wait. More fun that way."

They blinked at me.

"Are…you going to change?" Fred asked. "You look kind of—disheveled."

I looked myself up and down. My clothes didn't like it when I slept in them. "Really? I think I cut quite a fine figure."

They both snorted.

"You are," Mini-Me quickly assured me.

"But Mum'll explode her cauldron if you show up to breakfast looking like that."

"We've got spare stuff—"

"Bit tattered—"

"But it looks like it should fit you."

"Will not!" I protested. "I've grown quite a bit since I was your age!"

They crossed their arms in unison, and looked down on me patronizingly.

"Fine, fine," I griped. "Have it your way, then."

The twins did, indeed, have some spare clothes that fit me. I was a bit shocked that they were actually a little loose on me.

"You're a whole lot fitter than us," Fred explained. "Quidditch keeps us in good shape, but we don't look like that."

"Thanks."

"It was a complement! And do you have to wear that jacket? It's all black and gloomy. You should get a bright green one, or something."

That shut me up a bit. I needed the jacket-it had all my expanded pockets. As for the color...I hadn't worn the green one since Fred died. I had never thought about it, really. The black one just seemed a little bit more me, now.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Mini-Me called.

Harry poked his head in. "The Order's downstairs waiting. What's taking so long?"

The twins poked me in the ribs, said, "Ask him!" and dissaparated.

Harry looked at me quickly, then immediately pulled his head back out. Pity, that. I'd been hopeful that the kiddies would be pestering me with questions—I liked feeling wanted. Besides, it would drive Mum mad, given what my answers would probably be like.

~!~

Breakfast was delicious, and for once I didn't need to make it myself. Eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and a nice cup of coffee (for me, at least. I needed caffeine this early in the morning). Everyone had managed to squeeze into the tiny kitchen again, completely ignoring my advice to simply move the table into a larger room. Mum was bustling around the table. She refilled plates; yelled at me and Moody for checking, double checking, and triple checking the food for ill-meant charms or potions; smacked grabby hands; and wiping off the faces of hungry and frustrated children (which would have included me had I not fended her off at wand-point while trying to nick more bacon).

I hadn't realized just how much I had missed having breakfast with a cheerful family that didn't include bouncing kiddies.

When everyone's stomachs were suitably fit to burst, Mum finally conjured herself up a seat. She smacked Ron one more time when he tried reaching for more pumpkin juice and toast.

Dumbledore turned to me with a smile. It was a friendly enough smile, but the man's very presence made me want to set him on fire then and there. Fawkes shrilled gleefully at the thought from over on top of a cabinet, where he was watching the proceedings and preening himself.

"Now that we've all finished this wonderful meal—thank you for that, Molly—why doesn't George tell us all something?

I swallowed the last of my coffee and stared morosely at the tabletop. I really needed more caffeine. "Eh? Say what?"

Dad coughed quietly into his hand. "The contract, George. And the living situations."

I stared sorrowfully into my empty cup. "Yeah, yeah, all right. Fred, Junior, your parents sold your souls to me."

The trio gasped in horror (what, they actually believed it?), but the twins (who weren't idiots even in their semi-glorious teenage years) just rolled their eyes.

"No, really," I said. "We wrote up the contract and everything. Want to see it?"

The smug looks slid off the twins' faces as I fished my copy of the contract out of my pocket and tossed it over to them. Fred caught it, and two of them disappeared behind the parchment for a solid four minutes. Low muttering could be heard.

They reappeared, their faces a shade lighter than normal.

"What do you mean by—by any of this?" Mini-Me demanded. "Mum! Dad! You can't!"

Mum opened her mouth to speak, looking very upset, but Dad raised a hand. He sighed. "Boys, we made a deal. In return for being able to keep you safe himself, George agreed to fight You-Know—err, Riddle…for us."

Fred's mouth flapped open and shut. "But…we're safe here!"

"And at Hogwarts!"

"And the Burrow!"

"Fred! George! Don't make this any harder than it has to be." Dad was looking pained, but resolute. "George knows what all of You-Know—Riddle's plans are, and he's clearly well-learned in magic. He's agreed not only to keep you both safe, but also to teach you. If you want your shop to go anywhere—" he threw a glance at a fuming Mum, "—then you'll have to learn a lot more than you think. I am are of your mother's opinions on this, but I think that, if you prove yourselves up to the task, it might be a possibility."

The twins stared at him. "You—you mean you'd let us—"

"Do it? Invent, and open a shop—"

"Everything?"

Mum finally realized someone (cough-me-cough) had silenced her—again.

Dad took a deep breath. "I said if you proved yourselves. I want business plans, trust worthy sponsors, safe inventions. That's why George is going to be teaching you. He's owned Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for years." He glanced at me. "Right?"

I nodded. "Since I was eighteen. Trust me, you'll need the help. It took forever to get things straightened out once we realized having a shop was more than just a premise and products."

The twins gazed at me with something akin to hero-worship.

"Mind you," I said. "I'm not letting you two slack off. You're going to be working hard, you're going to be learning lots, and you're not going to like most of the safety constrictions of the contract."

The twins huddled down before the paper again. They reappeared with bright red ears, but didn't say anything.

"We'll be leaving sometime this week." I dropped the silencing charm on Mum and looked at Moody. "What day is it?"

He rolled his glass toward me. "Tuesday."

"Brilliant. Now, I've got things to do. Why don't you two start packing? Anything you think you'll need for the next thirteen years."

Mum turned on me. "Really! That's not funny, George. You won't be keeping them as hermits! 'Pack everything' indeed!"

"What?" I went on the defensive. "I wasn't joking! They'll be busy from the moment I'm ready to take 'em in 'til the moment they graduate Hogwarts! I'm not going to be running around fetching something they forgot to bring, so if they don't bring it now, they're out of luck." I turned to the now flabbergasted twins. "Only pack what you need. I'll have all the ingredients and things, and we can go shopping for clothing and books later."

Kingsley and Sirius snorted.

"What?"

Bill coughed. "You do realize what you just said?"

I replayed the orders in my head. I snuck a glance at Mum, who was bright red and fuming. Did this one have a bit of a bigger temper than mine, or just a shorter fuse?

"Right," I said. "Sorry. Bit confusing, that. I mean, I'll get necessities. If you've got anything special, like books, notes, keepsakes, the like, that's what you need to pack. All right?"

They nodded somewhat glumly.

"Oi!" I slammed my hand on the table, making everyone jump. "You're the Weasley twins! I want fun on your faces and pranks in your pockets! Got it?"

"Don't you mean 'smiles on your faces'?" Mini-Me asked.

"No. Padfoot, Moony. keep them occupied while I'm gone?"

"Sure," Sirius said, just as Remus went to protest.

The twins' eyes grew to the size of Bludgers. I waggled my fingers at them and Dissapparated before Dumbledore could talk to me again. Fawkes followed me.

~!~

Home was exactly how I'd left it. That was good, but if the twins were going to be here anytime soon I had a lot more work to do.

All of my wizard clothes, furniture, and accessories had arrived. I set about organizing them all while Fawkes, who'd appeared in a ball of flame moments after I had popped in, sang ditties and hit on the songbirds in the yard. The Muggles things hadn't come yet, but there weren't that many of them anyway. Really, it was a pity furniture was one of the things I didn't carry around in my pockets. Speaking of which…

No. I'd come to that later. I had things to do first.

Thankfully, I am somewhat competent with a wand, so it only took about an hour to get everything organized.

I was standing in the middle of what would be the twins' room. It wasn't too big, but it was much larger then what they had at either the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. At the moment, there were two beds, an empty, bigger-on-the-inside wardrobe, two desks, and a large bookshelf, on which I had placed about a dozen books I thought the twins would find useful. I had laid down smooth hardwood flooring (carpet was a pain to get potion stains out of), but otherwise left the room plain. The twins could decorate it themselves.

My workroom was next on the list. I needed that. Thankfully I'd had the foresight to lay down some tiled stone, which would take longer for spilled potions and poorly aimed spells to soak into than if I had used something like wood. Otherwise, the room was empty. I needed to fix that.

I decided to make this one different than the one I had used in the shop, since my resources were much freer now. Lights were placed all around the room. I lined the walls with tables and shelves, assembled a large potions lab in the middle of the room, and even set up a mini greenhouse. A few cages for things like the not-yet-invented pygmy puffs were stacked neatly in a corner.

As I said earlier, I keep everything in my pockets. Not only am I fairly confident that they're completely safe there, I can also pull things out and use them at any time. The downsides to this are that things aren't exactly sorted, and there is always a chance I could lose them.

One by one, I slowly took my books out and placed them on the selves. I then promptly secured them with anti-theft wards on said selves. Many anti-theft wards. And a few other charms, the likes of which would have made Madame Pince green with envy.

Feeling much better, I turned a nearby hall closet into a library and put the rest of my books there. Another closet was heavily warded, expanded, and turned into my storeroom. My pockets were quickly becoming much lighter, even with the magical weightless charms on them.

There was a large room on the first floor that the old folks I'd nicked the house from had been using as a storage room. I didn't need a storage room yet, and decided to leave it empty. I could use it as a training room for the twins.

The last rooms I did were fairly easy. These were the actual guests rooms, where people like Mum and Dad would sleep if they stayed over. There were only five of them (large family, after all), and all I put in each was some carpeting, a bed, and a wardrobe. All entrances to each room were warded to the best of my abilities.

Wards could come in handy.

It was around three in the afternoon now, and while the sky was clear, the wind smelled like rain. Not a surprise, but unwelcome, since I was currently working outside.

In my world everyone had simply relied on Neville and (the retired) Professor Sprout for plants. They had the most fabulous greenhouses in the country. I had never been particularly good at Herbology, and so was in a bit of a conundrum.

My problem? House elves. It was a clear, easy answer. Who could cook and clean while I was busy with the twins? House elves. Who could keep an eye on my potions when I was busy? House elves. Who could take care of the animals I was planning on getting? House elves. Who could care for greenhouses without making all the plants keel over the instant they walked in? Hopefully House elves.

The problem was that I didn't want House elves. After they'd helped so much at the Last Battle, Hermione had successfully pushed through some laws governing their care. They weren't free, but they had a necessary amount of food, water, and shelter, and if you were caught mistreating them, the fines were incredible. Those laws weren't around now. Technically, I could make those elves do whatever I wanted them to, and even I felt a little worried about that.

Power corrupts, but absolute power corrupts absolutely.

What I needed was someone who could keep the elves somewhat independent, not pose a security risk, and still do whatever I needed them to do. Someone who knew what it was like to have rights, and who wanted to keep them.

The answer was so blindingly obvious I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it earlier.

"Dobby!"

It was several long moments until the elf appeared. He was wearing his usual collection of many strange hats, mismatched socks, and Ron's Christmas sweater.

"Mr. Wheezy!" he cried joyfully. He saw me and froze, his huge eyes literally becoming the size of dinner plates.

I knelt down in the grass. "Hi Dobby."

The elf didn't move.

"I'm George Weasley. Remember me? Ron's older brother?"

Dobby slowly lifted a shaking finger. "Y-You? You's are Mr. Wheezy's brother? One of the twins?"

I tried not to let my smile turn into a grimace. "Yes, Dobby. I'm not sure if you know, but Dumbledore summoned me from another world to help fight against Ridd—Voldemort."

The elf gasped at the name. The hero-worship was already starting to show in his eyes.

"I look older because my world already finished the war. I'm grown up, now. Understand?"

Dobby nodded so vigorously it was a wonder his head didn't fall off.

"Right. As you can see—" I gestured vaguely at the house behind me. "I've already gotten a house. The twins from here, Fred and George, the ones you know? They're going to be my apprentices, so they'll be living here with me. I need someone to cook and clean, help me in my workroom—I'm an inventor—take care of the greenhouses I hope to get, and also to keep the small menagerie I'm hoping to get."

"Dobby can do that, sir!" Dobby said, nodding again. Really, how were his hats staying on? "Dobby can be doing that for you, sir!"

"Excellent!" This was going perfectly. Now for some tact. "I understand you want to stay a free elf, Dobby?"

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby be happy to be bonded to good Mr. Wheezy! Dobby just want pay and break—" The poor little elf suddenly looked downcast.

"That sounds reasonable, Dobby. You'll bond with me and, say, get a galleon an hour with a day off each week?"

Dobby jumped up and down and shrieked with joy. "Oh! Oh, Mr. Wheezey Master Sir! You's is the greatest bestest master ever!" The elf stopped jumping, and looked decidedly worried. "But that's far too much, Master Wheezy! Dobby not want that much pay! Oh no! Dobby would be fine with a galleon a month and a day off a year!"

"Not happening," I told the distraught elf. "Tell you what. A galleon a week and a day off per month?"

Dobby pondered for a moment. Then he said, "The great Master Wheezy is a wonderful master! He's the best master in—"

"All right!" I let out a laugh and put my hands up in a futile attempt to calm the elf down. "Dobby. First off, no Mr. Wheezy—Weasley. Or Master Weasley. If you don't want to call me George, then call me Master George or Sir. All right?"

The elf nodded his head submissively, looking much put out.

"When the twins get here, then you can call me Mr.—Mister!—Weasley to keep things clear. All right?"

He nodded again.

"Do you know how to bond? 'Cause I don't."

Dobby perked up. "Yes, Master George! Just say, 'I accept Dobby the Elf as my elf!'"

I did as he instructed. The only change I felt was a small link in my mind, almost like Fawkes' link.

"Dobby? Am I supposed to feel the bond?"

The elf looked surprised. "Only the greatest wizards can feel the bond, Master George! You's truly are—"

"Dobby. What's it for?"

"It's so's I be knowing where you's are so I can come when you's call me."

I heaved a sigh of relief. I had had a brief surge of panic when I first felt the link. "Brilliant. Now, quick question—weren't you bonded to Dumbledore? I mean, you did work at Hogwarts."

Dobby shook his head. "No, Master George. Dobby worked at Hogwarts, but Dobby was a free elf! Professor Dumblydore says I's allowed to bond to who's ever I want!"

"Great. Dobby, I don't want you to tell anyone you're bonded to me."

Dobby blinked. "Master George?"

"Not unless I tell you to, ok Dobby?"

The elf looked confused, but he nodded.

"Great. Now, I know you're a very good House elf, Dobby—one of the best."

Dobby's smile lit up the whole yard.

"But I have a lot of work that will need to be done, and most of it is very complicated. I need you as my personal elf. Ok?"

"Anything for a friend of Master Harry!" The elf cried. "I mean—anything for Master George!"

I snorted at his slip-up. "Right. I need you to find me a few more elves, all right?"

Dobby looked crestfallen again. "But Dobby—"

"—Is going to have the most important jobs," I finished coolly. "As I said, you're going to be my personal elf. I also need someone to keep an eye on the other elves to make sure they're not working themselves too hard or doing anything too dangerous. I need that to be you, Dobby. Can you do that for me? Find these other elves and make sure they're safe?"

Dobby's eyes glistened with tears of joy. He sniffed, trying to hold it in, then jumped towards me in a ball of tears. I grabbed the bawling elf and held him closely, waiting until he was done. Oddly enough, it was exactly like holding Freddie or Roxanne when one of them had stubbed their toe or scraped their knee. Except Dobby was much louder.

"Feeling better?" I asked once he had composed himself.

"Oh yes, Master George! Dobby's is so sorry for that."

"No problem, Dobby. Now, I need your help. I need an elf who can cook and clean, an elf who can help with my potion making and experimenting, an elf who can take care of a greenhouse, an elf who can take care of dangerous beasts—and I mean dangerous beasts, Dobby."

He nodded.

"Then one more elf for the twins. I need them to be free, smart, and loyal. I need them to be very, very good at their jobs, and I need to be able to trust them."

Dobby was nodding again. "Yes, Master George! Dobby has friends who can help! When should Dobby be back, sir?"

I looked at my watch (which was technically Fred's, once upon a time). "If you can leave now, could you have them all here by eight? That's five hours."

"Yes, Master George!" Dobby crowed. "That's plenty good!" He dissaparated with a pop.

I glared up at the sky with resentment. Even I hadn't been able to make wards that could keep out a determined House-elf. I'd need to tell Dobby to keep an eye out for unwelcome visitors.

And remind me that I now had elves to do things like redecorate the house.

~!~

I had five hours until Dobby got back. After double checking on my Croaker statue (honestly, the man was pathetic. He'd spilled everything the moment I'd threatened him. Seriously.), I got a letter (finally!) from one Rita Skeeter. She wanted to know when I could give her an interview.

I wrote a letter back saying five at the Three Broomsticks would do. Then I sent a letter to the lovely Rosmerta asking to rent a private room for a few hours. I sent along a hefty bag of galleons and a very irate Fawkes, who promised he'd deliver the message only if I got Bill and Fleur engaged as soon as I could.

Both the reporter and the barmaid got back to me right away. Skeeter was overjoyed (mostly because I promised I had a way around Hermione's blackmail), and Rosmerta said we couldn't have the room, but we could use the main bar (where, coincidentally, all the customers could hear).

I took a long, hot shower, and then dressed up in some kakis and (Fred's) dragon-skin jacket (again). I also brushed my hair, which wasn't something I often remembered to do. I had been keeping it around ear length to hide my missing ear a little bit (the vanity strikes again!), so it had often been getting messy enough to occasionally rival Harry's famous mop.

I arrived at the Three Broomsticks five minutes early. Skeeter was already there, as was a large crowd and a very busy (and very well equipped) Madame Rosmerta.

"Mr. Weasley!" Skeeter ran over and shook my hand immediately. She looked the exact same as she always had—it was a little unnerving, that. "I'm so glad you're here!"

"Ms. Skeeter." I shook her hand firmly, but let go quickly. "Are we starting immediately?"

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Weasley!"

Skeeter dragged me inside and sat me down at the bar table. I was pleased to see she had a normal Ever-Inking Quill in place of that horrible Quick-Notes Quill. Hermione's blackmail still holding strong, then.

"Now," she said eagerly, clutching her quill. "Who summoned…"

And so the interview began.

It lasted two and a half hours, at which point I cut it off to get back to Dobby. The pub was stuffed to the brim with curious witches and wizard of all sorts. They were a very good audience. They gasped at all the right places. They scoffed, they snorted, they applauded, laughed, and cheered. They screamed, they feinted, but not once did they interrupt. Not even when I talked about Dumbledore's 'theory' about Riddle.

They did, however, all lapse into silence when I told them the story of my Tom Riddle—hypocritical half-blood with lousy parent issues. I half expected a death eater or two to appear at that, but, alas, none did. Had they even escaped Azkaban yet?

Skeeter put away her quill and notes as I stood. "This was a very entertaining interview, Ms. Skeeter," I told her. Quickly putting up a small privacy charm around us, I handed her a small slip of paper and a bag.

She took them both rather skeptically. "What are these, Mr. Weasley?"

I smiled a vicious smile—the kind that makes everyone back away from me. Skeeter did no such thing. "Why, Ms. Skeeter, I do believe we had an arrangement. The paper will get you out from Ms. Granger's grasp. The other is a bag of galleons which you'll find is bigger on the inside."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

I continued. "I hope to work with you further, Ms. Skeeter—but be warned. If you cross me, you'll have far more to worry about than a heavy fine and public humiliation. Do I make myself clear?"

Her ruby-red lips twisted up into a smug smile. "Of course, Mr. Weasley. I do enjoy working with people who have an understanding of business." She looked down at the paper, and her smiled turned into a frown. "The Ministry of Magic's Animagus Registration Form?"

~!~

Dobby had several elves with him when he came back. All of them looked absolutely miserable and were in horrible condition.

This might take some work.

I put on a smile. "Hello! As Dobby may or may not have told you, I'm George Weasley, and I'm from another world."

The only one to speak was Dobby.

"Ooh! Oooh! Master George!" he shrilled. "Dobby did tell them! Dobby explained who you's were and what you's needed! They's all free elves, so's they not be telling anybody's!"

I smiled at the little elf. He had done exactly what I wanted—so long as the other elves were acceptable, of course. "That's great, Dobby. Could you introduce me?"

Dobby nodded vigorously, in severe danger of toppling his precariously placed hats. "Yes, Master George! Dobby be glad to!" He pointed to a small, depressed looking female in a stained blouse and skirt. "This be's Winky. Winky can cook and clean. Winky be's working at Hogwarts like Dobby, but Winky's wanting a master."

The depressed little elf hiccupped.

I frowned. The name sounded familiar… "Hold on. Winky? As in the Crouch's old elf?"

Winky's nose twitched.

Dobby scowled at me. "Master George not be reminding Winky!"

I apologized, though I felt more interested in the mild stench of butter-beer around the elf than being polite. Apologizing was the nice thing to do, however, and I didn't need to scare off my elves. "Sorry, Winky. I didn't think. You can cook and clean?"

She nodded, perking up slightly. "Yes, Master George. Winky's can cook and clean very well!"

"That's great. You want to bond?"

Winky perked up even more, and nodded vigorously. Tears formed in her eyes. "Winky so grateful, Master George! Winky will always be so grateful to Master George!"

The little elf looked so overjoyed. I had a sudden urge to murder both Crouches—and probably would've, if they hadn't both been dead. "Winky, I accept you as my elf."

A familiar tug appeared in my mind. Winky wept and thanked me.

"Just wait here, would you, Winky? I only want to tell the rules once."

She nodded.

I turned to Dobby.

A small, wry looking elf with ears even bigger than Dobby stepped forward. He was wearing nothing but a tea towel. "Dibbley can help Master George with potions," he said. "Dibbley very good with potions."

I looked the elf up and down. The elf was barely knee height, but I trusted Dobby. Besides, a bonded elf could only do what I told him anyway. "All right, Dibbley. I accept you as my elf."

The same thing happened with the other three elves. Flinky was a small, elderly elf who had spent almost two hundred years taking care of greenhouses. Her old masters had clothed her when her eyesight started fading, and she needed glasses. Personally, the square lenses and stern face on the old thing reminded me of McGonagall. I figured she could get the job done, especially if I talked to Neville and Sprout about plants.

Notty was a tall, burly looking elf almost waist high. He said he had a lot of experience working with dangerous animals, but his masters had been arrested for selling on the Black Market. He didn't even look surprised when I asked if he could handle dragons, but he said he could. Apparently, he also knew quite a bit about landscaping, which was good. Having owned the same flat for years, I knew zilch.

Sippy was a small little elf who looked like a right spitfire. She said she'd been shipped from master to master until she landed at Hogwarts. She was one elf who spoke her mind (which was why she was fired so much) and, while Flinky looked like McGonagall, Sippy acted like her (or, more accurately, like Hermione when she was in a mood). The twins had better watch out.

"All right," I told all the elves. "Few rules. First, no one is to go in the basement. Ever. Second, you listen to me before you listen to the twins. My word is higher than theirs. Even you, Sippy, all right?"

They all nodded.

I handed Sippy the apprenticeship contract. "Read through this. You know what it is?"

"Yes, Master George."

"So now you know what's expected of the twins. Otherwise, it's pretty simple: you do what they tell you, and try to keep them from getting hurt. If I tell them not to go somewhere or not to do something, make sure they listen."

She nodded, and handed me back the contract.

"Dibbley, you can go set up my workroom. It's on the third floor. The storeroom and library are hidden in nearby closets."

He disappeared with a pop.

I promised Flinky and Notty that they'd have jobs soon, but agreed that Flinky could start building a greenhouse and Notty could start preparing the land for the animals I wanted. Winky told me she could get all the ingredients and supplies she need herself, so I let her start right away.

I sent the five off to their jobs, and turned to Dobby. The elf was pulling his ears nervously, which reminded me of something. "Dobby, I don't want you to punish yourself. Ever. You understand?"

Dobby blinked at me owlishly and stopped yanking on his ears. "Master George is such a great master! Master George is as good as Harry Potter!

I figured that was the highest compliment I could ever receive from him. It almost warmed my heart. "The other elves know you're watching over them?"

He nodded.

"And they don't want payment or days off?"

"No, Master George."

"Make sure they know not to punish themselves. I'll also consider it your job to make sure you all have a safe, clean place to sleep. You can take one of the spare rooms; Merlin knows there's a ton."

Dobby was tearing up again.

"Also, Dobby. If I wanted the lot of you to wear something clean and nice, even just a clean pillowcase, would that be considered clothes?"

Dobby shook his head. "No, Master George. Not if you's only suggest we wear something clean and nice."

"All right, then. Consider that your job as well. I want the six of you wearing something clean, modest, and at least somewhat presentable. No more tea cozies."

Dobby sniffed and blinked repeatedly. "Master George be the best master in the whole world!"

~!~

For once, I went to bed at a reasonable time. I even got up at a somewhat reasonable time, and then thoroughly enjoyed an enormous breakfast Winky had whipped up.

The house looked amazing. I had thrown everything together to make it livable, but Winky had scrubbed and polished every surface. The floors gleamed. The windows were so clear you didn't even notice they were there. The furniture didn't have a speck of dust on it, and the air smelled like wildflowers, which I found interesting.

Dobby popped in when I was eating breakfast. I was pleased to see his clothes, while still a mismatched hazard, were clean.

"Master George, sir!" he cried, holding an envelope. "This showed up at the wards this morning, sir!"

I took the letter. "Thanks, Dobby."

It turned out Rita Skeeter had, in fact, been worried by my threat. So worried in fact that she sent me the article to proofread before she sent it to the prophet at eight— in an hour. Or maybe she was just impressed by the galleons…whatever.

It was a good article. Winky showed up once (in a new blouse and skirt) to see why I was spitting coffee all over the clean table.

DUMBLEDORE SUMMONS OTHER-WORLDY WEASLEY TO FIGHT YOU-KNOW-WHO!
By Rita Skeeter

Just last week our former Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, attempted an illegal summoning! Why was it illegal, do you ask? I'll tell you.

Dumbledore, former Supreme Mugwump, didn't fill out the paperwork! You'd think a politician with such a long career would know what paperwork to do, but I suppose that's his mind finally cracking.

Our summoned 'hero' informed me that to legally perform a summoning, all you have to do is fill out the paperwork at the Department of Mysteries and pay a few galleons. It makes one wonder what the Unspeakables are really learning about down there… And of course, if it wasn't for the summoned bloke, the paperwork never would have gotten filled out.

Of course, I have no doubt what my wonderful readers are wondering: who is this summoned hero? What's he like? Is he handsome? Single? Rich?

The answer to all your questions, dear readers, can be answered in two words: George Weasley. Yes, you read that correctly—while intending to summon an older Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, the great Albus Dumbledore accidentally snagged a Weasley instead. Perhaps the old man is losing more than just his mind…

Now, when we hear the word 'Weasley', we all tend to cringe away from romance. Are they handsome? Of course. Pureblood? Undoubtedly. Rich? Well…

Never fear, darling readers, for I, Rita Skeeter, can assure you that thirty-two year old George Weasley (two far-away children, divorced wife) is not only handsome, single, and surprisingly intelligent, he has galleons pouring out his ears! Or should I say ear…?

George's world is, unfortunately for him, quite different from ours once the timelines hit this year. It seems that You-Know-Who actually did come back in his world, and there was a terrible war. George's older brother, William, had his face torn apart by a feral werewolf in human form (Fenrir Greyback) just months before his wedding. George himself lost his left ear in a battle, courtesy of Hogwarts Potions Master Snivellus Snape. George's twin brother, Fred, was killed during the Last Battle, a horrible event that not only took away George's brother but also his sanity (although that is being argued).

Let me tell you all, George Weasley is dangerous. Just as dangerous as retired Auror Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody (but far more handsome and better equipped!…or would that be 'better limbed'?).

Let me tell you, did George have some juicy secrets to share with me. Did you know that in his world, You-Know-Who was actually a half-blood with a Muggle father and near-squib mother? Yes, you heard that right—Tom Marvelo Riddle (compare the names. They're anagrams!), although the heir to Slytherin, was only a half-blood raised in a Muggle orphanage!

"Riddle", as George referred to him, "is nothing more than a homicidal, hypocritical idiot who happened to come across power through sheer dumb luck. Honestly, if he wasn't a parseltongue, he'd never have been able to convince people he was the heir of Slytherin, and therefore pureblooded. Like I said, sheer dumb luck and pure idiocy."

George said that if, by chance, Riddle has indeed come back (which he's not yet sure about), then we have little to fear. This wizard gives Dumbledore a run for his money—Riddle won't be a problem should they chance to meet.

In the meantime, George has taken the infamous Weasley twins as his apprentices (most assuredly for safety precautions) and will be taking residence with them at Hogwarts during their seventh and final year. His plans concerning Potions Professor Snivellus Snape (we allow that man to teach our CHILDREN?!), the man who took his ear, are unknown.

George did have this to say: "I'm quite shocked by the competence of the Ministry—shocked and pleased. Where I come from, we had to completely redo everything. It was so corrupt you couldn't move without bumping into a death eater. Why, they'd even sent people (heirs of Most Noble and Ancient Houses!) straight to Azkaban on suspicion of wrongdoings! Without trial! I am so glad to see that the Minister Fudge of this world and his colleagues are far better at their jobs of keeping this world safe than their counterparts. It's nice to be able to trust the Ministry for once, and I fully intend to support the Ministry as a whole. However, I will admit that there a few odd lower-downs—under-secretaries, assistants, and the like—of whom I have ill memories and will try to avoid. Some things just cannot be undone. I hope that those unfortunate enough to have had useless, nasty, toad-like simpletons as their alternates do forgive me for that."

I almost fell off my chair laughing at this point. Oh yes, Skeeter didn't need a Quick-Notes Quill to make a good story!

I am sure everyone will be most anxious to assist this (deviously handsome and quite clever) wizard in adjusting to our world. I, for one, also feel much safer in having someone around who has fought Riddle (You-Know-Who) personally, as well as several of his death eaters, and lived to tell the tale, even should it prove unnecessary.

Stay tuned for more from Me, Myself, and I!

I threw back my head and roared with laughter. Call me what you will, but sucking up to the Ministry (while baiting the trap for Umbridge) fit right in with my plans. It felt good to laugh. It had been far too long.