Author's note: Molly Weasley may seem a bit out of character to some folks. I would ask that the readers bear with me, and it will all unfold in due time!

Thanks, also, for all the reviews!

WWWWWWWWWWWW

Molly Weasley paced back and forth before the doors. At the kitchen table, Arthur sat, bouncing Perri, Percy's daughter, on his lap. Bill and Fleur's daughter Victoire was setting the table, while her younger brother Ricky was playing with Ron's two year old daughter Rose. Hermione sat beyond them, rocking nine month old Hugo to sleep. Ron was leaning against the counter, watching his mother, while Percy was looking over the stack of documents.

"Everything seems in order." He sounded almost disappointed; Percy did so like finding fault with things. "Though I should like to do a blood test."

"Perce, you won't be needing that once you see the kid. He's a Weasley…a Weasley twin even, through and through." Ron said, firmly.

"I can't believe it…I can't…" Molly whispered, shaking hands rubbing at her chin. "That…that terrible Katie Bell!"

"Molly…" Arthur said gently. "It isn't our place to judge her…and not likely to make her son feel very welcome."

Molly snorted once, and rubbed her arms vigorously. "Like Fred's son should need to feel WELCOME. One doesn't feel WELCOME in their home, they just BELONG there. That's what he should be feeling, not like some foreign guest." She turned abruptly to the stove. "Dear me, I wish I knew what he liked to eat. Do you think the pot roast will be good enough?"

"Nana…" Victoire's lyrical voice called out. "He is a Weasley, as Uncle Ron said. He will love anything you make for him, I am sure." She sidled up to her grandmother, looked up at her with wide silver-blue eyes, and smiled. Molly melted, the way she always did with her oldest grand-child. One would never guess at the animosity she once held for Victoire's mother.

At that moment, in fact, Fleur came in. Bill held her hand in his; he was no longer handsome after Fenrir Grayback had mauled him, but in Fleur's eyes he was perfect, and that was what had changed Molly's mind about his pretty wife. Percy's wife, Penelope, was with them, her lips curling with humor. "If he's a true Weasley…" Penny quipped. "He'll be inhaling the food too quickly to taste it."

Several people spoke at once, wondering about this new development, another body for the house of Weasley. Fleur's proclamation had the most certainty, as they usually did. "It is a miracle, this, for good brother George." She nodded pointedly. "E will be so 'appy with Fred's son."

Ron agreed fervently, but couldn't help but worry about the whole gathering. "Not sure this is a good idea, them eating here. Is Harry coming over with Gin and the kids?"

Arthur handed Perri off to Penny, and stood next to Ron. "Soon as Teddy's match is over. Why, what are you worried about?"

"C'mon, Dad, LOOK at us. You and mum…and Perce and Penny and Perri, and Bill and Fleur and Victoire and Ricky, and Me and 'Mione and our two, add in Harry and Ginny and their three…four, really with Teddy…That's nineteen right there! Poor kid's going to go BARMY."

"Are you implying…" Arthur played innocent. "That we would be rather imposing?"

"Lord, Dad, you remember the look on Harry's face the first time he came here? And that was with HALF as many people?" Ron shook his head. "I'd be hiding under the table for a week."

"You're worrying too much, Ron." Hermione said gently. "I am sure it will all be fine."

Ron shook his head, remembering the poor kid's shock just at SEEING George. He wasn't so sure.

The clock on the wall had a hand spin wildly. George Weasley was now indicated to be HOME.

"Oh!" Molly, all flustered, had to practically restrain herself from charging out the door.

George's voice grew stronger as he approached the house. "It gets better with time, Alf. Don't you worry none; look, my robes cleaned up right as rain." Ricky snickered, and Victoire shot him a look of death that stopped him cold.

The door opened, and before them stood George, and a version in miniature.

For a full ten seconds nobody spoke, while Alf, embarrassed and still nauseous, looked around at his instant family with some confusion.

Then they were being ushered in with a hail of greetings and introductions. Somebody took his rucksack. Another Uncle took the sweater he'd gathered around him. An aunt pressed a glass of water into his hands. A toddler bundled over and presented him with a toy duck. Alf felt his head swim.

Finally, an older woman approached rapidly, and the room died down. She stopped just a foot before him, and their eyes met. Molly held her hand over her mouth, as she studied Alf carefully, taking in each detail of his face and form. Alf studied her in kind…in her he found his eyes, and his smile. This had to be his grandmother. Alf came forward slowly, and extended his hand towards hers. "I'm Alfred."

She took it in a tight grasp, smiling with tears streaming down her face. "You certainly are, my dear." And letting go of her restraint, she grasped him in a quick, smothering hug, as if she feared he would disappear. Then, she freed him, and after a studied hesitation, hugged George, albeit rather awkwardly. "Good job finding him, dear." She murmured, still shaking.

"He'd have to get up pretty early in the day to fool me, Mum. You trained me well." George quipped, although his voice was far from calm.

Before Alf could even figure out what was going on, he was seated at a large, crowded table, and food began to dance…literally…onto the table. A lot of food. Of course, there were a lot of people. Unconsciously he pressed slightly closer to George; despite their rather unceremonious beginning, Alf trusted him.

"How's the pot roast, dear?" Mrs. Weasley called down to him.

Alf nearly choked on the rather large mouthful, horrified. At home, under his step-father's strict eye, children were not spoken to at dinner. "Mmvry Gmmmd." He tried to get out.

There was general laughter from the table. Ron winked at him broadly. "Oi, he's one of us, alright. And the food is smashing, as always, Mum."

No silence at this dinner table. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of food, a lot of joy. Uncle George was far and away the quietest one at the table, other than him. Alf noticed Mrs. Weasley meeting George's eye on occasion, and then quickly looking away. Whenever it happened, George turned his eye to his food, quite studiously.

"Here!" The young boy next to him, introduced as Ricky, handed him a wand. Surprised, Alf went to take it, only to be intercepted by Bill. "No you don't young man…" As Ricky's father grasped the wand, it turned into a live chicken. Percy was quickest with his wand, and quickly the offending fowl disappeared.

"GEORGE, REALLY!" Mrs. Weasley sounded exasperated. "What were you thinking, giving Ricky one of those things?"

The entire table became quiet as she snapped, and George raised his eyebrows. "I don't recall having done so, Mum." He replied, sounding wounded.

"I did, actually." Ron admitted, then turned to his nephew. "And I believe I told you it was not to come out at the dinner table." He said, trying to sound stern.

Ricky, who had his father's red hair but his mother's silvery eyes, tried to look innocent and failed. "I wanted to share with my new cousin. He wouldn't have known it was a fake wand, would he?"

Alf felt his face getting red. "Right-o." Bill lifted Ricky out of his chair. "Time-out for you, young man."

Ricky protested loudly as his father carried him away. Victoire reached over to Alf. "My advice to you, Alf, is to not trust my brother one bit."

Fleur demurred. "'E just has high spirits, our Ricky. Like his namesake."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and then everyone spoke at once, only not with the easy manner of the start of the meal. George was playing with his butter beer, and Mrs. Weasley stabbed at her pot-roast with violence, still glaring at George on occasion. Alf guessed that Ricky's full name must be Frederick. But he wasn't sure what Mrs. Weasley was so angry about.

George spoke suddenly, right to his mother. "I don't bring things in to the children you wouldn't approve of, Mum. You know that."

Again, silence settled round. Molly refused to answer; she stood quickly, sweeping the empty potato bowl towards the sink. As she grabbed a sponge, it suddenly emitted a sound like a fog horn; she jumped two feet, then turned back to the table, "HONESTLY FRED…"

Ooooh. Not good. Even Alf as a complete outsider could tell THAT.

Molly realized her mistake immediately, her face crunched up, and she darted from the room.

George pushed his plate forward abruptly, a red blush standing out on his pale skin. Alf sensed him counting to ten. "Will people please…" He said, with forced calm. "Please stop bringing our products back to the house, so Mum stops thinking I am trying to get the REST of the family killed?"

"George…" Arthur started, gently. "Nobody thinks…"

What it was that nobody thought wasn't to be found out, for the door opened with a clatter, and laughter, unforced and open, filtered in to the kitchen. A boy about his age with gentle brown eyes and mousy hair charged in, smiling wide. "I got the snitch! I got the snitch and we won the game!" And as Alf gaped, the boy's hair changed from brown to vibrant red, and his eyes went blue, while his nose grew longer. "Look, I'm a Weasley too!"

A very pretty red haired woman entered, carrying a tiny baby. "Easy there, Teddy…we rather like being able to tell you apart from the rest of us." She smiled around, then frowned. "What on earth is going on here…you all look like Professor Umbridge was holding class!" Her eyes met Alf, and he held his breath, but she smiled gently. "I am glad I got your Owl, Ron, or else I might have dropped the baby. You must be Alfred!"

Alf liked her immediately, and he smiled in answer. He rather hoped that her gentle good humor would diffuse what was clearly becoming an awkward dinner.

"Where's your better half, Gin?" Ron asked, as Teddy pressed through and squeezed in next to Alf, in the seat Ricky had been in.

"Is your hair always red?" Teddy asked him.

"Every day." Alf answered.

"Lucky!" Teddy sighed theatrically.

The woman was settling the baby into a high chair. "The better half is chasing down our eldest progeny, who immediately dragged his little brother out to play with the Gnomes. I swear James got all of our seeker genes, doubled over!" She looked about. "Where's Mum?"

"Disowning me." George grumbled.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "George…please…"

Before George could get out a reply, a young boy toddled in to be grasped by Ginny, and placed in a seat next to Rosie. A boy with wild dark auburn hair was carried in by a tall, dark haired man.

"Does anyone want my oldest child?" He claimed, with mock exasperation. "He has decided on a career of pest control!" The boy was giggling, as his father sat across from Alf at the table, his son being bounced on his knee. Bright green eyes behind glasses peered down at him; a funny scar was just visible on his forehead. "Hello, Alfred! Welcome to the nuthouse. I am your Uncle Harry!"

As recently as yesterday morning, Alf had been a perfectly normal young man mourning his mother. His mother who had been such a wonderful storyteller, who had created a fantastic fairy tale about a boy called Harry Potter…a boy with green eyes, glasses and a scar. Harry Potter had been as real to him as Spiderman.

So under the circumstance, Alf did what seemed to be the logical thing to do.

He passed out cold, sliding down to the floor.

WWWWWWWW

"Ah! Been a while since that's happened, eh, Harry!" Ron grinned widely. George, meanwhile, had leapt down and scooped his young nephew up with concern.

"He's fine." George announced, with relief. "Sorry, Harry…should have warned you…or him. Katie had rather turned you into a bit of a mythological creature."

"Poor kid!" Harry smiled in understanding. "I remember how I felt when Hagrid broke the door down on that foul cabin the Dursleys had tried to hide in!"

"I should get him home…" George murmured. "Tough day he's had."

"You ARE home!" The forceful explosion from Arthur was entirely unexpected and commanded attention. More quietly, he continued. "Look, George, it's late. And I doubt you have anything set up at the flat for a ten year old boy. Go on and take your old room for you and…and Alfred." The elder Weasley stood up and placed a hand on George's shoulder. "Molly's just out of sorts, right now. It's been quite a shock for her, you know."

George sighed. He loved his Dad, dearly…but he knew that sometimes the man just couldn't see what was right in front of him. Still, it was late, and it was true that he had no provisions for a kid back at his apartment. "Alright, Dad. I'll get him settled upstairs." He smiled thinly around the table. Only Ginny and Harry, who hadn't seen the awkward exchange, seemed to have easy smiles back for him. "Night all."

WWWWWWWWW

Alf came around to the sound of muffled swearing.

"I'll kill him…tear that bloody muggle limb from limb I will!" A voice Alf recognized as George was seething with anger, although he was trying to be quiet about it.

"Dear George, please…" That rather sounded like the young woman Fleur. "What is zee matter?"

"God!" The voice of Ron. "What the bloody hell happened?"

George inhaled deeply. "I went to undress him, that's what happened! Couldn't leave the kid sleeping in his jeans and sneakers, could I? And look at him!"

Alf realized he was laying, face down, on a rather soft, comfortable bed. He also slowly realized he was naked, although covered lightly from the waist down by a sheet. He screwed his eyes up tightly…just how much of the Weasley family was sitting there staring at him?

"His step-father did this to him?" Ron rumbled.

"Can't guess who else!" George seethed. "Look at those bruises! I mean, I knew he'd hurt his shoulder tackling the wall at Diagon Ally, and I figured his ankle would need a little attention, but I didn't expect this!"

"I will get you some oil of dragon nettle." She said, softly. "Dab it gently on those marks…'e will be fine."

"You…" George said. "Can dab that oil on. I am going back to the Lakes to show his step-father a little cruciatus curse."

Alf decided he'd better announce that he was awake. "Please…" He spoke, drawing the attention of the three present. "Uncle George…don't go."

George swallowed hard, and came over to kneel by the bed. "Alfred…" George ran his hand through the boy's hair. "Your Aunt Fleur can take care of you…she is trained in healing…"

"I don't want anyone else to take care of me." He spoke quietly, looking George in the eye. "And I don't want you to hurt my step-father. He didn't…he isn't like that. I mouthed off to him last night…he'd never done it before. I don't want you to go to jail." Alf blinked. "I just FOUND you." He added, softly.

George looked like there was quite a lot he'd like to say, but he sighed. "Alright, kiddo. I'll stay and take care of you."

Fleur beamed and flounced out; Ron came over and put a hand on George's shoulder. "I'll just go down and explain your bellow of rage to the family, eh?"

Alf's face grew warm. "Does everyone HAVE to know? They'll think I'm terrible."

"This…" George said, emphatically, "Was NOT your fault, I don't care HOW MUCH you mouthed off to anyone." He turned to Ron as Fleur handed him a large vial and a clean sponge. "Tell everyone I discovered him slightly injured, and I'm tending to him. Then speak to Percy privately. I want to make sure that custody case isn't a problem."

"Right-o." Ron said, giving Alf a smile of encouragement.

Alf sighed, grateful it wasn't going to be a bigger deal, and happy that Uncle George wasn't going to go charging Billy. He winced at first, as the strong oil came into contact with his bruises, but then it began to soak in, and he felt as if the bruises were being slowly rubbed away. A gentle warmth spread over his back, and the air seemed fragrant with lavender.

"She adds that scent." George murmured to him. "Otherwise it would be reminiscent of old socks. Good to ease you on to sleep, though." A silence settled over the room, as George methodically cared for each bruise. He didn't realize Alf had started crying until there was a heavy sniff.

"Oi." George said, moving to stroke his head, and wipe at Alf's face. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." Alf said. "Dunno why I'm crying. Being a stupid girl." He muttered.

"Do NOT let your Aunt Ginny hear you say that." George quipped. "And I can imagine you have had one hell of a day. Wish you'd told me you were hurting." He added.

Alf pulled himself together with effort. "Wasn't so bad." He said. "Too much else to think about, anyway."

Without saying anything, George reached down and lifted the sheet to expose Alf's ankle. Those stones in Nocturn Ally were notoriously vicious, and indeed the boy's foot was turning purple. Not that it stood a chance against Fleur's salve. "I wish…" He murmured. "Fleur was around when your Dad and I were testing our merchandise in the early days." He smiled in memory.

"You must have been young when you started the store?" Alf asked.

"Very." George smiled. "Your Uncle Harry gave us the loan that got us going when we were just sixteen years old." He pulled the sheet back down and pulled a blanket up to Alf's shoulders, rubbing the boy's head. "Was just mail order then. But that was before we buggered out on our seventh year and brought Hogwarts to its knees."

"Professor Umbridge." Alf murmured sleepily.

"Your Mum told you that one, did she?" George grinned.

"Swamp." Alf replied, the room fading.

"That would be the occasion." Alf felt George suddenly press his lips to the top of his head. "I'll give you the dirty details at another time, shall I?"

"Mmmmm" Alf said.

The room smelled of lavender, his body tingled with the healing power of Fleur's salve, and his mind floated away on his Uncle's voice. It wasn't quite the same as finding a father…but it was still pretty damned good.

WWWWWWWW

George remained beside the bed for some time, watching Alf sleep. It seemed utterly impossible that his life could have changed so much in less than 12 hours. Relaxing, he sat back, leaning against the chest of drawers that separated the two twin beds. Twin beds. Ironic, that, and yet painful at the same time. He looked around; sure enough, Mum had never fully cleaned out the place; it was largely as it had been left from the last time he and Fred had been here. Oh, she'd cleaned out the clothes, but the walls, the blankets, the décor…all the same. It would have hurt, before today. Now, with Alf sleeping in Fred's bed, he felt a gentle presence here, instead of a stabbing ache.

Except of course, for the problem with Mum.

There are things you know as a kid without needing to be told. And George had figured out early on that if his mother had a least favorite child, it was him.

His mother was, really, a terrific woman. A wonderful mother. It hadn't been like she had treated him badly or anything. But with seven kids, it was almost inevitable that there'd be one who was left behind a tad. Others might think it was Fred-And-George that exasperated Molly and made her on occasion question the sanity of Motherhood, but George knew that it was only his half of the twin-dom that had driven her to distraction.

If they instigated trouble together, George got yelled at first, or punished first. If something might be believed to go wrong, she first looked to him. When they had only gotten three OWLS each, she had pulled George aside, not Fred, to scold him for not keeping Fred more focused. When they had, rather sensationally, dropped out of Hogwarts, she flat out accused George of leading Fred on to the path of destruction.

It had on occasion exasperated George. Sometimes, even, it hurt. But it never seemed to be that big of a deal. He wouldn't trade being half of Fred-And-George for the luxury of being, say, Bill. And Dad was always totally even-handed in how he treated all of them. So he'd shrug it off.

Until Fred had died. At that point, Mum had pointedly stopped scolding him for things…but only because for a long time she stopped talking to him whenever possible. For a while he had been numb to it, but eventually he realized that when she looked at him, it was like she was looking for Fred. Like she was wishing he was Fred.

He'd never told Ron, but that was why he'd started avoiding these family dinners. Underneath the family atmosphere and the myriad children, was the nagging feeling that she would rather it not be GEORGE sitting there.

"Hey there."

George looked up; his sister was in the doorway. He smiled in greeting, and she came over and sat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" She said.

"Ruddy miracle." George replied, reaching out to stroke Alf's head. "Percy's going to work out the custody issues for me…Ginny, I can't believe I'm this lucky."

"Bet he's thinking the same thing." She said, reaching over to kiss George's cheek. Then, with her usual perspicacity, she asked, "So what's up with you and Mum, George?"

He didn't speak at first. "You mean…" He finally said, gripping the side of the bed tightly. "Other than the fact that she still wishes it were me?"

Anyone else in the family would have slapped him upside the head, totally dismissing his feelings. Ginny was always the smartest one. "She wishes it weren't either of you." She corrected. "She thinks Fred's death is her failure, and you remind her of it. She doesn't mean to."

"Be nice if you were right, Gin." George sighed, and got up, lifting her with him. "But I can't even talk to her about it…she won't spend time with me alone. Maybe it is just that looking at me hurts her too much…but her avoiding me, hurts me." George bit his lower lip painfully.

"I know." She hugged him. "Maybe having Alfred about will help change that." Ginny paused. "Did Katie really name him that because he was 'Alf Fred?"

George laughed, quietly. "Aye. Old joke from the Yule Ball." He sighed. "I so wish Katie had come forward earlier…all she said in her letter was that it was better for Alf that she didn't. But she knew Voldemort was gone. I just don't understand."

Ginny shrugged. "Get some sleep, George. Done is done, and now is now. And tomorrow is another day."

He watched her leave, and then headed into his old bed. It was good, so good, to listen to Alf's steady breathing, and to know that he wasn't entirely alone anymore.

WWWWWWW

In his dream George was strolling through the grounds at the burrow. An occasional gnome peaked out from a bush, or darted across the pathway, but except for a well-aimed kick at one who got rather close, George paid them no mind. He headed, with purpose, to the highest point on the grounds, where stood a lone gnarled tree, and a headstone in memorial. Fred's grave.

Only, as he somehow expected, when he got there Fred dropped from the tree (a favorite childhood haunt of theirs) and landed behind him. "Boo!"

"Boo!" George replied with disdain. "Honestly, Fred, ten years a ghost and that's the best you could do? Peeves was never that trite!"

"Oi! Compare me to PEEVES, will you!" Fred tackled him, and for a few moments they laughingly wrestled in the tall grass on top of Fred's grave.

But not long. They pulled apart and lay, side by side, staring up at the impossibly blue sky with the perfect puffy clouds that was literally the stuff of dreams.

"Miss you." George said, quietly.

"Then why don't you visit more, idiot?" Fred said, sounding faintly put out. "Like this, I mean. Instead of that horrific stuff where you relive the last battle…or dream of my being eaten by the giant squid when we were kids, or of Umbridge cursing me into oblivion seventh year…"

"Alright!" George passed his hand over his face. "Alright, Fred…I know. I don't mean to be morbid, I don't, but till now it just never seemed possible to dream like this."

"Ah." Fred rolled over on his side to look down at George. "You got Alfred, then?"

George raised an eyebrow. "You knew?"

"Not till I was dead, of course. Rather late in the day then, unfortunately." Fred smiled. "Looks like me, the handsome bloke!"

"Like me, you mean…only with two ears." George added. "And a tad quieter."

Fred scoffed. "He's been there one day surrounded by the entire Weasley Wizarding World, ™. Give him time…he'll be lighting dung bombs in your office within a week, I bet."

"I certainly hope so!" George's face lit up at the prospect of a worthy adversary.

There were a few moments of companionable silence…George had forgotten what it was like to have someone beside you with whom no words were needed. Not that just laying about as children would have been something they'd have done much of, unless it was to think up new forms of mischief. Fred broke the silence.

"Don't take Mum too much to heart, Bro." He spoke gently. "She does love you."

"Right." George said, without any inflection. "I can tell."

Fred just sighed, then stuck his head up, listening intently. "You're needed."

George also sat up. From far away he could here the voice of a child crying out in its sleep. "Alf!" He stood quickly, and looked down at Fred.

"Knew he was in good hands." Fred's smile was radiant, if his eyes betrayed some concern. George nodded once, and sprinted ahead, and out of his dream.

WWWWWWWWWWW

George sat upright in bed and quickly looked over towards Alf. The boy wasn't being loud by any means but he was thrashing about under the covers, face twisted in fear and muttering in his sleep.

"No…stop it…don't kill her…don't…I can't mum…I can't stop Voldemort. I'm not LIKE Harry Potter…stupid wand!"

George went over and sat on the bed beside him, gingerly sliding down next to his nephew and stilling him. The boy's eyes opened at once and he looked right at George. "I'm not GOOD ENOUGH." He gasped.

"Course you are." George slung an arm around him, pulling him close and stroking gentle circles on his back. "And Voldemort's dead, Alf. Can't hurt anyone anymore."

Alf began to steady himself, breathing more slowly. "thoughthewaskillingmum." He muddled. "Wand wouldn't work for me. Mum said if I was good like Harry it would work."

"Hush." George snuggled him closely; Alf buried his head against George's chest. "First off nobody, and I mean nobody, is as bloody good as your Uncle Harry. Second, thanks to your Uncle Harry, Voldemort is dead and gone. Last, when your Uncle Harry was your age, he couldn't do magic any better than you." George kissed the boy on the top of the head. "Back to sleep with you, Alf. Don't ask me to sing, now; I was never the melodic one. Better dreams this time."

Despite his words, George did start to hum lightly…of all things, the Hogwarts school song, in the dirge melody he and Fred had always preferred. He kept up rubbing Alf's back, and could feel the tension ease out of the boy as his breathing became more regular. But one thing didn't ease; as George attempted to slide away, he realized Alf had a death grip on his pajama top.

"Not fighting fair, are you?" George grumbled, with a smile. And he settled in to sleep himself, feeling whole once more.