Author's note: Thanks everyone for reading…reviews welcome!
WWWWWWWWWW
Ron swore, trying to beat the multiplying and attacking dominoes off of him. George just stood rooted to the spot, mouth agape and trembling.
"Some help here would be NICE!" Ron finally snapped.
Shaking himself, George began to pry the dominos off of Ron, before remembering he was a wizard, after all, and he had a wand. With a few well placed spells the offending game was back in order, and Ron was upright.
"George…what the bloody hell was that about? Did you not know you had a son????" Ron glared. George might have been grieving, but you didn't abandon a child.
George half sobbed, half laughed. "I don't HAVE a son, Ron. Did you look at him?"
"Course I looked at him. He looks like you." Ron insisted.
George shook his head, tugging at his floppy red hair. "God, nobody could ever tell us apart, not even Mum, but we knew…we always knew…Ron, he doesn't look like ME, he looks like FRED. That's Fred's boy! You know, he broke it off with Katie right before the war, and he never would talk about it, and she just went away…but she never said…blimey, I bet he never knew." George sat on the floor, rocking himself and laughing and crying at the same time.
"Fred's son?" Ron gaped. "Are you SURE?"
George wiped his eyes. "His name, Ron!" Seeing Ron didn't get it, George tried to calm down enough to explain. "Remember, we went to the Yule ball together, me and Angelina, and Fred and Katie. And Angelina joked that if she had a kid, she'd name him after Viktor Krum, just trying to piss me off, I think. And to diffuse me, Fred quipped that he knew what he'd name a kid if he ever had a son…he'd name him Alfred."
"Why Alfred?"
"That's what I said! And Fred…Fred smirked at Katie, and winked, and said, because that's what he'd be…he'd be …half Katie, and 'Alf Fred!" George burst out laughing, unable to catch his breath. "Brought the table down, it did, and Katie said she'd hold him to that she would. And look, she did…she did!"
Ron spotted the strange wand on the floor before him…Alf's wand, fallen out of his backpack. "He won't get far without this!" Ron worried.
"Merlin's beard go after him, Ron. I can't…I can't even breathe right now, and besides…he thinks I've abandoned him. He won't even look at me!" George was close to hyperventilating; he grasped at his sides and pressed, mind still reeling from what was the most impossible thing of all.
"Right." Ron looked back at his shaken brother with concern, then reached over to the counter. "You might want to read this over while I'm gone."
He tossed George the packet, and then turned to run out the door.
George managed to pull himself together. Holding the envelope, he immediately felt it warm in his hands, and then unseal itself. Neat little charm, Katie, he thought with sadness, as he pulled out a letter and several other sheets of papers, and a little stack of photos.
"Dearest George…
I am certain that this is quite a shock to you, right from the moment of seeing Alf's face. I hope you can forgive me for what I've done. But even if you can't, please don't take my errors out on a young boy who had no part in them. He needs you, George.
Last time I saw Fred was just before Bill's wedding. He wanted me to go with him, and I'd just found out I was pregnant. Not planned, obviously, but these things do happen. Now, I wasn't worried about how Fred would react…I knew he loved me, and I was pretty sure he'd be over the moon about being a father. But I saw where things were going, with Harry, with Voldemort, and I was afraid. I asked Fred to leave with me, hide out in the muggle world until things had blown over. But I didn't tell him I was pregnant. I wanted, selfishly, for him to leave for me, and not for our child.
Fred, of course, thought I was being a coward. I had never shied away from a fight before, not on the Quidditch patch or anywhere else. It was one of the things he loved about me. And he knew what I hid from so many…that I was the first witch in my family not to be sorted into Slytherin. He knew I despised what my family associated with. They weren't death eaters, but they offered tacit support, if you know what I mean. He just didn't understand why I would suddenly flee instead of stand my ground.
We had some pretty harsh words that night, words I've regretted and words that hurt him. And I would never see him again.
I moved to the Lake district, and found a little cottage. Got myself a job waiting tables and watched my pregnancy progress. It was just days after Alfred was born that I found out the war was won…and also that Fred was lost. At that point, there didn't seem much point in anything to me. (Do you remember why I chose the name Alfred? The night of the Yule ball? I am sure you do). The baby was the light of my life…and even though your brother joked that any son of ours would only be "half Fred", I saw a whole.
But George…Alf isn't normal. He isn't…quite right. I don't want to say more than that, until you get to spend time with him. He's a terrific kid, big heart, big laugh. A NORMAL kid. Which is what I thought I wanted. And I certainly knew then that I couldn't send him back into the world of magic.
I got married to the man who ran the restaurant. He loved me head over heels, and I thought he was nice and stable, and I thought that was what Alf needed. I've got two more kids now, Liv and Len, who are wonderful and who Billy adores. Thing is, George, he never loved Alf.
I tried. Tried to get him to see how good Alf was. But I knew he looked at him and just saw Fred. Didn't matter, though…I could love Alf enough for two.
Then I got sick. I felt a pain in my side and ignored it, until it went away. It came back again, worse. But I just pretended I didn't feel it. Mother with three young kids, you know? Didn't have time to be sick. Finally went to a muggle doctor and found out it was cancer…then I went to a magical doctor and discovered magic couldn't heal it. Might have, had I found out sooner, but not now. The cancer was in my bones and eating my magic right out of me.
I knew, then, I had to send Alf to you. Billy's a good man, but I can't count on him to be there for Alf like he needs. And Alf needs to have somebody who loves him. I know YOU will love him, faults and all, as will your wonderful family.
This is all going to be rather a shock to him, George. He didn't know about magic, you see. Thought it was a set of pretty fairy tails I'd invented to amuse him. He's going to be stunned for a while. Give him time. For Fred's sake, if not for mine.
I need to go. I've enclosed a will, giving you access to the vault I left behind at Gringots, to care for him, and his muggle birth certificate. A few other papers you might need. And photos from his childhood…I thought your mum might want them. I haven't got long now, and if you are reading this, then I am gone, but please, think kindly of me. I did love your brother, you know. Losing him was like losing half of…no, I can't say that, not to you. I cannot imagine how you have suffered.
Hopefully Alf will ease your wounds, as he did mine.
With love and remembrance…
Katie Bell."
WWWWWWWWWWWWW
Half an hour later, when Ron returned, white faced and alone, George was nearly pulled together. He wasn't surprised to see Ron alone; he and Fred had been ingenious about escaping from danger, as they had perceived it as mischievous children. Ron, though he was no Percy, had been a disgustingly well behaved kid unless Fred and George dragged him into some scheme. He simply didn't have the tools to find a wayward son-of-a-Weasley twin.
"George…I…we can't leave him out there alone!" Ron ran his fingers through his hair wildly. "It's getting dead on quiet out there and there are still some dark-magic nutters around…"
"I know." George felt strangely calm. "I'm going to find him, Ron. Stupid of me to lose it like that and not go after him to begin with. You need to get on home."
"Like hell…" Ron spat out, but George held up his hand.
"I need you to get to Mom's and give Perce this…" He handed over Alfred's birth certificates, the photos, the letter of inheritance for the vault, and a separate statement in the envelope indicating that Katie Bell Woodward wanted George Weasley to have custody of her son Alfred. "Perce can cut through the magical law enforcement bullshit for us and get the ball rolling." Percy was a Legal Counsel with the New Ministry of Magic. He still had elements of Percy-the-Prat, but all one needed to do was say the word 'Fudge' and he realized he was being a jackass. And he was, wholeheartedly and devotedly, family again. "I'll find Alfred and bring him round tonight."
"How…wha…wait, you're coming to dinner?"
George grinned. "I can't imagine Mom letting me NOT, with Fred's son in tow, right?" He took a deep breath. "Look, Ron, I can find him. I will find him. And I'll calm him down. What Katie left me…explains a lot. If you don't hear back from me by…" George looked at his watch. "By 8pm, then bring the posse out to Diagon Alley; Harry'd probably consider it fun. It's just past 5:30 now. I'll find him, and I'll bring him home."
Ron nodded, calming slightly. "Right, then, I'll be off." He looked down at the photos, the top one of a six month old child with a lopsided grin, tufts of red hair sticking up like a modified Mohawk. "God, he's a Weasley, isn't he?"
"Through and through, right down to the instinct to push his Uncle into a pile of attack dominoes. Go, Ron. I'll handle it."
George watched as Ron apparated, and then he headed with calm assurance to the area by the Leaky Cauldron.
WWWWWWW
Alf was fast, always had been. It came in handy as he sprinted away from the horrible shock of finding his bloody father alive, wanting nothing more than to get back to that stupid pub and get the hell out of this fucked up world.
His eyes were blinded by tears, and he wiped them away. It didn't make sense. THAT MAN was George Weasley. His mother knew George Weasley was alive, obviously; she'd addressed that envelope to him. But there was no way in BLOODY hell George Weasley wasn't his father…it would have been obvious to a two year old. If they looked any more alike they would have to have been CLONED.
So that meant…his Mother had lied to him?
He couldn't think that…he wouldn't think that…but he had to think that.
Wiping his nose on his sleeve he came to the now-solid wall which he knew lead to the Leaky Cauldron. To one side was a huge assortment of boxes and a craggy entry to another small alley, one that was dark and rather gloomy looking. Nobody was watching him, and he went to dig in the rucksack for that stick...wand…whatever.
Oh, shit.
Where was it? He'd had it at the store…he must have put it back, right?
Frantically he went digging through the bag. Clothes were tossed left and right, and he started breathing faster. The wax paper with his lousy corned beef sandwich went flying. Finally, in desperation, he scraped the bottom of the canvas sack, grabbed it and pulled it inside out.
No wand.
He stood quickly and looked over the wall. It went up, impossibly up, so high he couldn't see the top. An illusion of some kind, but clearly climbing over it wasn't an option. Not that he'd be able to anyway; the brickwork on this side was glassy-smooth., like polished granite. Apparently Wizards were damned careful about anyone breaking out of their little world.
With an exhausted sniff, Alf stood up, and re-gathered his clothes. He wasn't going back, not in a million years. If that man…his so-called father…didn't want him, hadn't wanted his mother, all these years, he sure as shit wasn't going to move in with him now. Not that he'd want him to, not that it had been even offered…the man had just come out yelling about that little explosion…
Rage boiled up again, combined with fear…had that explosion, which hadn't really been so little, caused any damage? What did they do to punish kids in wizard-world, anyway? Hell, he HAD to get out of here.
Frantic, he started pounding and clawing at the wall with his fists, willing it with all his might to revert back to that nice archway. He gasped and punched, barely aware of his scraped, bleeding hands, as he covered every inch he could reach, in the end throwing flying tackle and bruising up his shoulder pretty good.
A voice called out from beyond the curve of the alley. "Kid…Oi, Alfred…where'd you go?"
Shite, it was the OTHER Weasley brother, Ron. The one who had told him to begin with not to touch anything.
Looking around, he grasped the rucksack and darted through that narrow opening into the dark passageway, looking for a place to hide. He rounded a corner as the passageway opened up into another alley, and stood stock still.
Not good.
A sign was over his head, battered and broken, that announced this place to be Nocturn Alley. There was a whole row of boarded up store fronts. A large, red-eyed rat scurried away from him, carrying what had been a piece of Alf's sandwich. He thought he saw, but couldn't be sure, a bright green snake scurrying through a mound of garbage.
Forgetting momentarily that his objective was to hide, Alf moved forward towards the first shop. A mummified body was in the window. The door was open slightly, and he put his foot on the first step, only to feel it give way. Alf played goalie on the football team, and only his quick reflexes kept him from falling down into the dusty stairwell that opened before him. An avalanche of foulness fell on top of him; crumbling wood and spiders, spider webs and crawly centipedes. Yelling, he tumbled backwards, frantically trying to dust himself clean. A cobblestone seemed to reach out and grab his ankle, keeping him from running back towards Diagon Alley, and he fell down, sitting hard. The road wouldn't let him leave!
Fear and frustration overwhelmed him. He was at the point where there really wasn't much else for him to do. Shaken, hungry, and lost, he put his head down to his knees and let himself cry.
WWWWWWWWWW
George apparated into the area by the wall that led to the Leaky Cauldron. He knew that must have been how Katie had told Alf to find Diagon Alley; it would be where the boy would have run to so that he could return to Muggle London. But with no wand, he wouldn't be able to leave. A fully trained wizard could have done it, to be sure; but after all, no parent wanted their Wizard child to wander off and end up in a world of muggles by accident.
"Alf?" He called, fairly certain it was fruitless; it would have taken more than their name being called to get Fred and George out of hiding.
"He thinks I am his father…that I hate his guts…that I abandoned him as a child. He also knows he caused an explosion after touching something he wasn't supposed to, so he thinks he's in trouble. And he swore at me. Hell, I sure as shite wouldn't come out of hiding to face MY father, and I liked my father…"
A rat scurried underfoot, dragging a piece of bread. Fred knelt down. A piece of corned beef, half gnawed, was to the side. He smiled, and stood up. Sure enough, Alf was not far away.
He checked over the wall. With no wand, and no understanding of magic, he would guess the boy would have been frantic to get away. And, as he expected, he could see traces of blood against places on the stone. Silly kid, bet his hands are a mess. George winced in sympathy, and looked around.
Dear God, he wouldn't have!
But of course he would. Nocturn Alley was the only way out, and with Ron pursuing him he'd have taken it. After all, Alf wouldn't have any idea of what was in store. It wouldn't have occurred to Ron, because even if he'd set Mum's drapes on fire, he wouldn't have hid in Nocturn Alley.
George shook his head. After the war, Nocturn Alley had fallen on hard times, comparatively. But after dark, business was conducted as in the old days. Voldemort or no Voldemort, there would always be wizards who were attracted by the dark arts. They just had the good sense to hide themselves now.
Fortunately, it wouldn't be dark for at least three hours. Time enough…and if the sticking stones were still working like normally, Alf wouldn't have gotten far.
George advanced through the dark passageway, wand drawn.
WWWWWWWWWWWWW
Alf heard the footsteps, and pulled himself together. He didn't look up, but braced himself for the first blow. He knew he was in as deep trouble as he had ever managed.
"Ron wouldn't have known to find you here. He's not the sort to frequent Nocturn Alley." George spoke calmly, casting a spell to keep the stones from grabbing at him. "Me, I've had to make a trip here once or twice. Nature of my business. And I've been in a spot of trouble as a kid. Desperate times. Besides, you weren't likely to know what it was like here, were you?" George sat on the cobblestones next to his nephew.
Alf was holding himself quite still. He shot George one wrathful look, and then made a point of studying his knees.
"Now…" George drawled out lazily. "I could just release you from those stones, but I am afraid if I did that you would go running off down the street, and this place just gets worse the farther you go. On the other hand, it's going to gradually keep tightening its hold on your ankle, until your bones break, and I'd rather not have that happen. So, if I release you, will you promise not to run?"
Alf shrugged, feigning indifference. "If I did run, you'd just zap me with that stick of yours and bring me back anyway, right?"
George grinned. "Quite probably. I'd rather not, though." And understanding Alf wasn't going to take off, he pointed his want at the boy's food. "Relecto!"
The claw-like shackle dissolved back into the stone. Alf didn't move.
"Good lad." George said. He wanted, desperately, to reach over and rub the kid's ankle…it must hurt like hell, judging from how the boy was gritting his teeth. But the kid didn't trust him enough yet, and he knew it.
"Am I going to jail?" The boy spoke, finally.
"Not that I know of. Why, have you killed someone?" George answered very solemnly, hoping to get the boy to crack a smile.
No such luck. "I damaged your store."
George rolled his eyes. "If the store were damaged every time someone set off a Thunder Sparrow, I'd have been out of business a long time ago."
There were a few minutes of silence. George was trying to decide how best to proceed…there were so many things he wanted to say the words just congealed in his brain. It was Alf who spoke next.
"Can I go, then?" His voice was tight.
That gave George a plan of attack. "Absolutely…to a muggle foster home, I think you said?" George stood and held his hand out for the boy. Startled, and with some distrust, Alf took his hand and let George help him up. "Because you don't have any other home to go to, right? Your Mum wrote that your stepfather wasn't much fond of you." George very gingerly touched the bruise on Alf's cheek.
"Gerroff." Alf said, face flushed. "Least he never abandoned me."
"No, he just sent a ten year old kid by himself on a six hour train ride to London to meet relatives he didn't even know, with nothing better than a corned beef sandwich. Swell guy."
Alf looked at him. "How'd you know about…oh, never mind. Just let me back into the pub and I'll be out of your life."
"Right, oh. But see, I do have some sense of responsibility, even if you don't think so." George pretended to scratch his head. "I'll escort you to this foster home place. Any idea how to get there?"
Alf sighed. "Just take me to the cops. They'll do…whatever."
"I see. And that's more appealing than hanging round about here, I guess." George shrugged theatrically. "Course, that will probably take a long time… My dad's into studying muggles, and I think your going to be round the…police, is it?...station for hours and hours. Now me, I was so busy at work today I didn't get to eat much…and I bet you're hungry, too, since you didn't eat that sandwich."
Alf gulped. "How'd you know I didn't eat it?"
George smiled at him. "Never met a Weasley man yet who could stomach corned beef…even though my Mum will keep ignoring that fact. So…why don't we head into the Leaky Cauldron and let me get you a plate of food before we walk out of each other's lives forever, hm?"
With a sigh, Alf bent over to pick up his rucksack; George did it for him. Red-rimmed blue eyes looked him over carefully.
"Must have been pretty heavy carrying this load all by yourself." George said. He put a hand gently on Alf's shoulder, pretending to ignore the wince, and steered him towards the bar.
WWWWWWWWWWW
Once seated, George waved over Tom to the table. Tom for the first time took a good look at Alf, and then raised an eyebrow at George.
"Fred." George said simply, and Tom made an "ah" expression.
"Alfred." Grumbled Alf, thinking that his stupid so-called father still couldn't get his name right.
"Tom, I'll just have a pint of ale and a bowl of vegetable soup. The lad here will have a cheeseburger and a double order of fries, and a butter beer." George smiled at Alf. "I'll pick some fries off of your plate."
Alf was about to comment that George shouldn't presume to order for him, when the burger and fries popped onto the table in front of him, leaving him staring with his mouth open.
George managed to hold back a laugh. "Go on, then. It won't bite. Can't say that for everything here, though." George set to work on his soup, looking carefully for the occasional snapping snap pea pod that found its way into the bowl.
Alf didn't realize how hungry he was until he set in on the food…but it was good, a proper hamburger, juicy and warm, oozing with cheese. He reached tentatively for the drink, to discover that he really really liked butterbeer. Unceremoniously he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and then he blushed. "Er, sorry." He glanced tentatively at this strange man.
George smiled, taking his time with the soup. "You're a Weasley gone too far past your last meal, think I don't know how you're feeling right now?" He put down his own spoon. "I do know your name, you know. It's Alfred." He spoke quietly.
Taking care to use his napkin this time, Alf wiped his mouth. "Why'd you call me Fred then?" He asked, trying to sound like he didn't care.
"I wasn't calling YOU Fred." George said, then removed the one photo from his pocket that he hadn't sent on with Ron. "Recognize anyone in that photo?"
Alf leaned over and blinked. The photo, which seemed to be animated, was of four young people dressed up formally. "That's mum." He said immediately, though in the photo she wasn't much more than sixteen. A striking looking young black girl was beside her, and on either side they were flanked by…
"That's you…or wait…is that…" Alf drew to a stop, blushing badly.
"THAT…" George pointed towards the boy next to Alf's mother. "Is in fact me. That…" He pointed to the other twin, on the side of Angelina Johnston. "Is…was…my twin brother. Fred Weasley." His voice caught slightly. "Your father."
Alf felt his stomach sink through the floor, and he put the burger down. "My father." He repeated, weakly. "But you're next to mum?" Though even as he said that, the twins in the picture winked and switched sides, earning mock glares from the two girls.
"Funny story, that…Your mum was my date…Angelina Johnston was his…half way through the night we ended up swapping…I'll tell you the whole thing at another time." George shook his head as the photographic Fred stuck his tongue out. He pushed the photo away…looking at it hurt.
"Your mum and dad broke it off just before the war…you do know about the war, right…"
Alf couldn't even look at George…he couldn't take his eyes off the picture. "Sort of. Mum told me stories…I thought they were fairy tales. There was a bad wizard, and he had to be beaten."
"Right. Well, long story short, your mum wanted Fred to come away with her, but she never told him she was pregnant. Fred was pretty damned loyal, and our family…you have to understand we were up to our eyeballs in this stuff. If Voldemort won we were all as good as dead, and not dead easily, either. No way was Fred going to just walk away." George cleared his voice, suddenly feeling hoarse. "He died on the day the war was won, freak curse blasting through the walls at Hogwarts." George rubbed at his own face uneasily. "I didn't abandon you, Alf. If I had known, I would have moved heaven and earth to find you."
Alf blinked. "So my father really is dead?"
"Fraid so." George grew somber. "Have to remind myself of it every day, seems so unreal."
Alf felt his shoulders sag. So strange…he was cursing this man for being his father twenty minutes ago, and now he was unspeakably sad that he wasn't. He picked listlessly at his fries, and the two of them sat in silence for several minutes. Alf didn't even look up when George rose to take care of the bill.
"Right then, shall we get you off to that foster home?" George said, trying to sound cheery.
He wanted, desperately, for Alf to turn to him and say he'd changed his mind. To say that maybe being a Weasley wasn't such a bad thing, and maybe magic wasn't such a bad thing, and maybe he'd give it all a shot. It was what Fred would have done.
Alf just winced. A single tear ran down his face, but nothing more. He reached over for his rucksack, as if it weighed two hundred pounds, and dragged it behind him slowly to the door, towards muggle London.
George took two steps and rested his hand on the boy's shoulder, so that he stopped. "Or…maybe I have a better idea, eh?" Alf looked up at him, eyes searching for something. George smiled.
"My Mum is having a family dinner tonight…s'why I didn't eat much. I'm sure she wouldn't mind setting out another plate." George squeezed lightly; again the boy winced and this time he acknowledged it by moving instead to stroke his arm very gently. "And then if you want, tomorrow morning I can take you back to the other side…after you've had a good meal and a good night's sleep. Or maybe then you might think that you could stand to hang around us for a bit, see what the rest of your family is like? That sound okay?"
Alf found his voice. "Aren't you angry at me?" He asked quietly. "I said some terrible things to you."
George laid his hand under Alf's chin. "When I found out Fred was dead, my brother Percy reached over to hug me and I decked him. And told him he was the devil's spawn itself and I'd rather acknowledge Voldemort for a brother than him." George cleared his throat. "Percy forgave me. Because he knew how bad I was hurting. You can only really be hurt by someone you love, you know."
Alf nodded, understanding his outburst earlier had been forgiven as well. George once more took up the backpack, and went to lead Alf out to the street area, where they could apparate. Alf paused.
"Sir…"
"Uncle George, please…"
"Uncle George…" He paused, as if getting used to the idea. "Mum said Percy was an arse licking prat who turned his back on his family. Was that part make believe?"
George was momentarily startled, then he fought to suppress a long laugh. "Not exactly…but you're Mum missed how the story finished. Percy came back to us in the end, right enough." They were back through the archway and into the street. "But he's still, on occasion, a prat. Wouldn't have him any other way. Now, are you ready?"
Alf looked around. "For what?"
"Ah. Yes, of course. Apparition. I'll have to take you with me. Come here, kiddo." George held a hand out to him, and Alf hesitated, then took it. George, very cautiously, pulled Alf closer, not wishing to frighten him. "Best close your eyes now, and hold on tight."
Nervous, Alf pressed his face into George Weasley's robes. "What if I let go?" He quavered.
"Won't matter, because I'm not going to." George wrapped his arms tightly around the boy, and felt something long frozen in his heart melt away. "Ready now…in three, two…one."
Alf felt his world dissolve.