One long train ride later it was 4:30pm, and Alf, dwarfed by his rucksack and sporting a lovely purple bruise on his cheek from last night's incident, stood in front of The Leaky Cauldron.
Funny, it really did seem like all the other people strolling past didn't even see it there, Alf thought. True, it was unimposing enough…just another hole in the wall pub in a rather decrepit area of London. So maybe it just didn't merit notice from other folks. Because it wasn't magic.
He took a deep breath and entered.
It was dark, and somewhat dingy. A large man with scruffy, wild hair stood behind the bar cleaning a glass mug. One corner was occupied by an old lady in funny black robes, who was nursing some drink that had smoke spewing from the top.
"Er, boy." The bartender peered at him, clearly not able to see him too well. "What're you about?"
Alf cleared his throat, feeling a fool. "I'm going to Diagon Ally." He muttered, clearly expecting to be told to get the hell out of there.
"By yerself?" The bartender asked.
Alf was puzzled. If this was a joke, there were a lot of people in it. Or maybe there really was a Diagon Alley, but it was just any alley that might be behind any pub.
"My mom sent me." He tried, wondering what the next response would be.
"And whose yer mom, then, boy?" He glowered over him.
"Katie Woodruff." He replied, and then remembered nobody would know Mum by that name. "Er, she used to be Katie Bell."
The change in the bartender was immediate. "Katie girl! Haven't seen her in an age! She tell you the way in, then?"
With a shaking hand, Alf lifted out the wand in answer.
"That's right, then. Off with you. And tell yer Mom old Tom says hi."
"Er…right." Alf said, heading towards the back door that led to the hidden entrance, according to his mother. He decided it was just as well not to mention Mum was dead.
He heard the lady in the corner just as he let the door close behind him. "If that boy isn't a Weasley then I'm not Amanda Hooch…"
The wall loomed before him, an expanse of rough hewn bricks. The ally stank of garbage and cats, and stale beer. Feeling a complete idiot, Alf looked at his letter, and tentatively tapped the bricks as his mother had diagrammed them. At first nothing happened, and then…
"Blimey." Alf whispered.
Slowly a hole appeared. It grew bigger, and bigger, and smoother, until there was a stone archway leading into a sunny street before him. A street sign was visible just on the other side… "Diagon Alley"
Knees shaking, Alf tentatively stepped forward into a whole new world.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
BANG!
"Oy, there, mind the merchandise. You break it, you buy it…and I know yer Dad, Angus Wood!"
Ron Weasley made sure his voice carried down to the tow-headed five year old, who had gotten rather too close to the fizzing wizzbangs. An appealing smile and charming Scots brogue answered him back.
"Sorry, Mr. Weasley."
Ron calmed down, returning to taking inventory from the shelves. "That's alright then…but I see yer Dad coming this way. Best be off with you!"
Young Angus scampered through the door to be scooped up by his burly father, who was the six time Keeper of the Year for the Puddlemore United Quidditch team. Oliver waved to Ron through the glass, and headed off with his young family.
Last customer of the day, Ron noted. They closed at 5, but business today had been slow; Hogwarts shopping really wouldn't get heavy until a couple of weeks from now. He called over to the young lady at the cashier's desk. "Oy, Aurora…you can head home. I'll close up for you!"
A pretty blond in her teens smiled up at him. "Thanks Uncle Ron." Her hair flew behind her almost magically as she swooped down to grab her bag. Ron chuckled. Strange having half-veela relatives. Aurora was a niece of Bill's wife Fleur.
Ron went over to the cash register and began the daily task of closing things down. He was good at this, a good businessman it had turned out, though he doubted most of his relatives would have seen it coming. He'd wanted to be an Auror once, but that was when they thought they needed Aurors. After the final battle, he'd decided he'd had enough of that for a lifetime. Beside, George needed him.
Ron sighed and looked at the door behind him. That led to the labs and storerooms, where his older brother worked at new products, perfecting and refining the jokes and wonders that were the company's stock in trade. George had a ready smile and a wicked sense of humor, particularly about his missing ear (he'd lost it in the war). To anyone who had never known him before, they'd think he was a pretty happy guy.
Ron had known him all his life, and knew this: George hadn't been a happy guy for 10 years.
George was once Fred-and-George. Half of a pair of twins, inseparable, irascible, irrepressible, and irresistible. Fred-and-George. One said it like one might say any name. Fred-and-George were the beaters on the house Quidditch team. Fred-and-George planted a dung bomb in Snape's office and got detention. Fred-and-George were out back de-gnoming the garden. Fred-and-George were fed up with that bitch Umbridge and ended their Hogwarts career with a bang, amidst the cheers of students and like-minded teachers. Fred-and-George opened up a little joke shop on Diagon Ally that within months had become a booming enterprise. Fred-and-George vowed to fight in the war beside their friend Harry Potter, no matter what.
Only, in the end, when the dust had settled, Fred was dead. Eyes shut forever after one final laugh. And George…poor bewildered, lost George, was still alive. In a manner of speaking anyway.
"George…closing up here shortly." Ron yelled back.
George didn't come out, calling in return. "Right enough, Ron. See you tomorrow."
Ron scowled. "Not coming over to Mum's fer dinner, then?" Their Mum had taken to hosting family dinners once a month, and tonight was one such occasion. George, however, only showed up half of the time.
"Got plans tonight. Sorry."
Ron scowled harder, and began to count galleons with malevolence. "Plans, my arse, George." He muttered. "Plans to lock yourself in the lab until all hours, trying to forget about Fred, until you go up to your rooms and force yourself to sleep and not dream about Fred."
He knew sometimes these large family dinners could be an ordeal. Bill and Fleur, and their two kids, Victoire and Frederic, or Ricky, as they called him, would be present, as would Percy and Penelope, and their young daughter. He'd be there with Hermione and two year old Rosie and baby Hugo. Harry and Ginny ought to be there too, with four year old James and Rosie's great buddy Albus, and the infant Lily. Unless Harry had his god-son Teddy this week; then they'd be by later, after Teddy's Youth League Quidditch game. Only his brother Charlie, off in Romania, would probably be absent.
He understood George's reluctance, to a point—it WAS overwhelming. But damn it, not really. When George was around…when his nieces and nephews got a-hold of him, it was as close to being GEORGE, his old George, that Ron ever saw. Because they loved and worshipped goofy Uncle George, who always had some new toy for them to try out on each other, and who was just a big kid himself.
Really, George needed to stop cutting himself off from people. He'd cut himself off from Angelina, his old girlfriend, first, and now slowly, in a way that rivaled water torture, from his family. But he needed somebody. Somebody to stop him from cutting himself off from everything until he was reunited with Fred.
They'd lost one twin. Ron would be damned to sit back and lose the other.
But how to stop it?
The magical doorbell played…a rooster crow fading to a moo, George's whim, announcing a last minute customer. Ron looked at his watch and grimaced.
"We're closing in five minutes." He yelled, looking up.
His eyes locked with a wide-eyed boy, not more than ten years old, and his jaw dropped.
The boy came forward, uncertain, holding an envelope in his hand. "Are you Mr. George Weasley?" He asked, politely, though the lad's hand shook. "I am to bring this to him from my mother."
"Blimey!" Ron whispered.
Apparently George had been keeping a secret or two beyond the formula of U-NO-POO.
Clearing his throat, Ron grasped the envelope. "George Weasley is my brother. I'm Ron Weasley." He said.
"Oh." The boy said. "That envelope won't open for anybody but him. At least, it wouldn't for me, when I tried…" Blushing, the boy stammered on. "I mean, I know I wasn't supposed to, but, well, how was I to know!" He tried to bluster his way out of the admission.
Ron nearly laughed, or he would have if he weren't still shocked. "I'll bring this right back to George, then." He managed. "You stay where you are…" He headed to the door, and then as an afterthought added, "And DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING.:"
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
George Weasley sighed, looking with some disdain at his latest invention. The kaleidoscope YoYo, or WoWo, as he'd been thinking of it, was based on a muggle toy he'd seen as a child. Only the Weasley version shot fireworks outward at random intervals; the more daring the tricks performed, the wilder the light show that resulted. It would be a big hit, and it would make a lot of money, but it was missing something, and he wasn't sure what.
But wasn't that how he felt about a lot of things in his life?
Dear Ron, always trying to make his life more complete. That ship had sailed ten years ago. The kids were terrific, his nieces and nephews; George loved them to bits. But sometimes he still missed Fred so much it hurt. Some mornings he'd wake up and for a blissful thirty seconds, maybe even a full minute, he would forget Fred was gone. That was the happiest minute of his day.
After Fred, nothing much made sense anymore. He kept the shop going, even thriving, as a testament to Fred's memory, but that was about all. There had been Angelina, but that had ended ugly…why should she want half a man? And he'd never really dated much afterwards. The ear was a problem, for one thing…having a shiny hand sized patch of scarred skin where an appendage ought to be was not really attractive. But more than that, he found he couldn't get close to anyone. Hadn't been close to anyone since Fred, and didn't care to go down that road again. Hurt too damned much.
Sometimes he thought he was just sitting around waiting to die, watching the sands in his hourglass drop slowly. Who had ever known he and Fred were on different time-tables?
"Oy, George." Ron stood before him, interrupting his thoughts, looking a total cross between amused and shocked. "Something you'd like to tell me, mate?"
"Yeah…close your mouth before the flies get in." George quipped.
Ron complied, sort of. "Anything else?" He asked, with a smirk.
"No, unless it's to tell you that I am absolutely positively not going to dinner tonight." George turned back to the WoWo. "Why do you ask?"
"Only because there's a kid out front who appears to be your son, asking for you." Ron said, with a total air of innocence.
"Shattup." George muttered, not even looking at him.
"Not kidding, George. I swear to God a kid who can only be your son is standing out front." Ron insisted.
George glared at him. "I think I would know if I had a child, Ron. Maybe YOU were oblivious during the act, but my memory is a little better than that."
"Look, George, there really is a ten year old kid out front, with YOUR face, and an envelope with YOUR name on it."
George stood up with a clatter. "Are you daft?" He grabbed for his jacket.
"Wha?"
"You left a ten year old child alone in THAT SHOP, Ron?" George tossed back his tea and scrambled for the door.
"Well, I thought he was YOUR SON!" Ron explained, following.
"All the more reason…"
BANG!
George didn't bother completing his sentence.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Alf was still in a state of shock.
He'd walked down Diagon Ally, continuously repeating to himself, "This can't be happening! This can't be happening!" And somehow talking himself into keeping his mouth closed.
Owls. Brightly colored robes. Broomsticks. People popping up in front of you with no warning. A wand shop. Funny little creatures he guessed were elves. A bank called Gringots. A woman across the way turned herself into a cat and stalked down a back alley. Kids ran too and fro, throwing about the most magnificent array of toys he'd ever imagined. An ice-cream parlor advertised over one million flavors. Music played from a small park in the corner, only the instruments seemed to be playing themselves.
He spotted the store he was looking for…Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes…only it wasn't the little store front his Mom had described. It was a huge emporium of exploding color and sound, with the most amazing windows he'd ever seen. A show on the telly had described Harrod's at Christmas, but this had it beat all over.
A small boy darted out in front of him and was swarmed up by a jovial young man.
"Angus, me boy, ye can't get by me any better than a quaffle!" He tossed the boy in the air and Alf was envious as the child squealed with glee.
The man waved into the window at somebody, and bounced the child up to his shoulders. Turning slightly, he crossed the road, only to look back and catch Alf's eye. The man looked startled for a moment, and stumbled a bit. The boy yelped, and the man righted himself. Alf pulled into the shadows, so he was out of the man's eyeshot when he turned back once more. With a shrug, the man shook his head, and then continued on his way.
It took some minutes for him to scrape together the courage, but at last he bravely headed into the shop. He'd found himself alone, with a red-headed man behind the counter. Perhaps this was George Weasley?
It hadn't been, though the bloke had seemed nice enough. Said George was his brother, and excused himself in rather a hurry to fetch him, telling Alf to not touch anything.
Easier said than done. Alf looked about the shop in wonder, as he walked away from the counter where George's envelope rested. Such things as he couldn't name or imagine, all about. He leaned over to look at some creatures in a cage, named pygmy puffs, that came in colors nature couldn't possibly have intended. One looked up at him and purred, rubbing against the bars.
Don't touch, don't touch, don't touch he kept chanting to himself.
A fanged Frisbee tried to bite him from a cage. Something called skiving snackboxes promised to make him vomit, and he wondered why he'd want that? A can of "pumpkin juice" tumbled forward, spilling its contents and then picking itself up and righting itself again. He grinned stupidly. This place couldn't, just couldn't be real!
The cutest little sparrow alighted before him, chirping delicately. Unable to resist, Alf reached out a finger to the little bugger…
BANG!
The bird exploded with a giant clap of thunder, sending feathers and soot everywhere. Smoke filled the room, and Alf started choking.
"And DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!"
Ron Weasley's admonishment came back to him about ten seconds too late. Absolutely terrified, he considered running for it, but wondered if they would send one of the Frisbees after him.
"Oi!" A rough voice boomed in the store, angry enough to shake the glass, as its owner was waving across the smoke. "What are you about, kid? Coming in here at closing with a cock and bull story and making a mess…"
The smoke cleared as Alf stayed rooted to the spot, legs shaking. Ron Weasley he saw first, coughing and waving a stick that was sucking the smoke and feathers out of the room. Then Alf saw the other brother, the one who was yelling.
Sweet lord, it was like looking in a mirror at his older self.
Same face. Same hair. Same build. Same freckles. The man stared back at him, and the red blush of anger on his face drained like water from a tub.
And something in Alf exploded just like the sparrow had.
"You sonofabitch!" He screamed, charging forward at George Weasley. "You let my mother think you were dead, you bastard!" He went to pound on the man with his fists, only to be grabbed at by Ron. He spun away, shaking with anger and tears running down his face. "You left us…left her…with a man she didn't love and who sure as SHITE didn't love me, in a world we didn't belong in. WHY, WHY DIDN'T YOU LOVE HER?"
He was overcome with sobs suddenly. It had been a long day, he was still hurting from the fight with his step-father, and his world was now completely inside-out.
"Kiddo…" George Weasley, pale and shaken, held his arms out slowly, trying to calm him.
"ALFRED. It's ALFRED, you stupid fucking git! God, you don't even know my NAME!"
He grabbed his rucksack. "Forget it, forget that I was here. I'd rather end up in a foster home in London than with somebody like you!"
Alf, boiling over with rage, shoved the other man, once again trying to calm him, into a display of Devious Dominoes, before charging through the door and blindly down the now quiet street of Diagon Alley.