Author's note: Many thanks to everyone enjoying the story. Several folks have praised my speed at updating. I have a confession to make; the story is mainly completed on my end. I am breaking it up in chapters and tweaking it as I post, but I don't want anyone to think I am getting home from work and coughing up 9-11 pages from scratch each night. Even JK Rowling wasn't THAT good…
WWWWWW
Hours later, George sat on the back porch at Godric's Hollow. Dinner was over, and Alf and Teddy were tearing around the back yard tossing a quaffle. No magic involved…Alf wasn't ready to get on a broom, after all. Besides, this way they were able to involve four year old James in their game, much to his extreme delight. Teddy's hair at the moment was a shade of red to match Alf's, though his frame was smaller and stockier. If you looked from a distance, you might mistake them for twins.
Ron and Hermione had come for dinner that evening, with their brood. Hermione had been watching them during the afternoon's confrontation.
Ginny pressed a glass of fire whiskey into George's hand, kissing him on the cheek gently. "You're an angel, Gin." He said, scooting over on the old-fashioned porch swing to make room for her. He paused as she sat next to him, holding little Lily in her arms, feeding her. He couldn't help but chuckle. "What?" She said, sliding her eyes over to him.
"When you were born, Gin, Fred and I were so put out. We wanted more boys, and twins at that." George admitted.
"Heaven help the house, if that had happened." She quipped, rubbing her finger against her daughter's face.
"Heaven help ME." George replied. "If I'd been without you, and Ron, and Harry. Don't know if I've ever properly thanked you for everything you've done for me these years."
Ron and Hermione joined them, along with Harry, who'd just set down Albus, "Don't forget Fleur." Ron added. "She was the one alerted me...never seen her so angry, I thought she'd turn someone to stone!"
Hermione gave a determined "Hmph" but with a mostly playful glare.
"Lord…" George laughed, softly at first, and then with more insistence. Ginny was startled, at first, then worried…it had been so long since George had really laughed like that. Seeing their confusion, George explained. "I am just imagining…what it would be like to be BILL right now!"
This time the laughter was shared.
WWWWWWWWWW
It was a nice little room at the house in Godric's Hollow, Alf thought. It was the attic room, fitted up with two twin beds on either side of a dormered window, that he was sharing with Uncle George. Uncle Harry was in the process of doing an addition to the house, but for now Teddy was bunking in with James, while Albus still was in the nursery with Lily. Besides, it seemed to have been a silent agreement that George and Alfred shouldn't be separated, at least not right now.
He liked that, really. Although he'd always had a room of his own, he felt rather, well, uncertain at the moment, and just knowing Uncle George was nearby made him feel better. Kind of strange, when you thought about it...they'd only known each other for less than two days. But the connection was there, something he'd recognized right away, even if his first reaction had been a misguided anger at what he'd thought had been abandonment. It was a lot of family to digest at once, of course, but just having Uncle George stand beside him seemed to soothe him, even without a touch passing between the two.
Still, it was a lot of change in two days. He lay in bed now, listening to his Uncle's steady breathing. The last thing the man had said to him before going to bed himself had been very simple: "If you need anything at all, I'm right here." It made him feel warm inside; he'd always wished he'd had a father who wanted him around, somebody who could be strong for him. Mum had been great, but she'd been pretty sick for the past two years, and as the oldest and the responsible one, Alf had found himself having to act almost adult, sometimes. Uncle George wasn't his father, but that didn't seem to matter one bit.
So why was he still awake? What stupid worries nibbling at the corner of his brain wouldn't just let him accept his damned good fortune and revel in it? Why was he so afraid all this would end, maybe as quickly as it had happened?
Because it's happened before.
Alf turned over and stuffed his head under his pillow, trying to will the sarcastic voice out of his head. It was his own voice, the darker side of himself, that put him down, reminded him that there just wasn't something quite right with him and never had been. Go away. He argued with himself. There's nothing wrong with me! Everyone here likes me!
That's because they don't know you yet. The ugly voice answered.
Alf huffed into his pillow, swallowing hard. And against his will memories, ones both good and painful, came to him. He didn't really remember life before his sister Liv; he'd been two when she was born. But he remembered that once upon a time, Billy Woodruff had loved him. Well, liked him, anyway. When Liv was just a baby, he remembered Billy carrying him about on his shoulders, calling him "big guy" as he proudly showed off his new daughter to friends. He remembered Billy popping him up onto the bar at the restaurant, tickling him under the chin and making him laugh. Billy buying him his first football and kicking it about with him. He'd never called the man Dad, but he'd been allowed... encouraged...to call him Billy. He remembered being part of a happy little family, with Mum laughing and a toddling Liv grinning up at him, reaching over to his outstretched arms as she'd learned to walk.
Then Len was born, and it all changed.
It had confused him, at first. Billy didn't pick him up anymore. Billy didn't play with him anymore. He snapped angrily at him a lot, like Alf couldn't do anything right. When Alf went to him with a scraped knee, he was told to stop sniveling like a child when it wasn't hardly bleeding at all. And then there had been the terrible day when he'd gone to hug Billy, and Billy had picked him up, sat him hard in a chair, and told him flat out that he wasn't his son, wasn't ever going to be his son, and should start acting more grateful for the home and less demanding of his time. Not that he'd understood the whole scolding he'd received...but he'd understood what mattered. Billy didn't like him anymore. There must be something wrong with him.
It didn't help that Mum clearly thought something was wrong with him too.
Oh, Mum loved him, that he knew. Quite a lot in fact. And she'd go out of her way to praise him, to encourage him over any little thing he might accomplish. But Alf had eyes in his head, and right around the time when Billy decided that his step-son was superfluous, he would feel Mum watching him. Like she was expecting...something. He never knew what, though, which frustrated him to no end. Did she expect him to throw tantrums and break things, because his stepfather wouldn't teach him to ride a bike? That hadn't made sense to him, yet the day Billy had refused roughly to help him, he remembered her eyes on him, waiting, watching, for him to do something.
He'd hoped that by being as good as he could, he'd make those funny, hidden glances stop. So no matter how hurt he was when Billy was ignoring him, no matter how angry he got at Len getting so much attention, or, when Len got older, at how his little brother delighted in tormenting him; no matter what, he didn't act out. He was the perfect big brother, the thoughtful one, the responsible one. He helped out at the restaurant without complaint even when Billy berated his work, he got excellent grades at school. He didn't see how he could be any more good.
And still he had this feeling that there was something about him that disappointed Mum. Those funny looks didn't stop, the expectation that he should be doing something...but nobody would tell him what...didn't stop. Then, after everything happened, and she'd died, and sent him that letter...she said he was different. Well, like he hadn't figured that out before. Yet again, nobody seemed to want to explain to him how he was different.
And now, here he was. With an Uncle that seemed to think that he was the best thing that had ever happened to him. For now. But...did Uncle George know he was different? Did he know how he was different? Could he help him, well, not be different? Or maybe being different was okay with Uncle George, the same way it was okay that Teddy Lupin's dad was a Werewolf. Maybe he should wake Uncle George up now, and tell him the ten thousand stupid things that were on his mind, and then Uncle George could laugh at him and tell him he was being silly, that Uncle George wasn't going to go away on him, like Mum had, or like Billy for all intents and purposes had. No matter how different Alf was, it was going to be okay.
Right, that's smart. Alf's negative voice said. Wake the man up from a sound sleep to whine about nothing. Sure he'd love that.
Alf argued with himself. He told me he was there if I needed anything...anything at all. And I woke him up last night and he didn't get mad!
Mr. Negative had an answer...he always did. You didn't wake him up on purpose last night. If you're going to be waking him up on purpose, you should probably be bleeding or sick. But hey, go ahead, wake him up...it will just make him get tired of you faster.
Alf turned again, huffing up at the ceiling, biting his trembling lip and hugging himself hard. Not again, he thought. He's not going to let it happen again. He would be perfect...he would be! He wasn't going to give Uncle George any reason at all to be angry with him, ever, and he wasn't going to be different, and he wasn't going to get sent away!
Beyond him, he heard Uncle George mumble in his sleep. "Music in the WoWo's, Fred? Of course...brilliant...I'll get right on that as soon as I get back to the shop...if I remember. Maybe Alf can help me...nice kid. Must be Katie..." And he chuckled, rolled over, and went right back to sleep.
Music in the WoWo's...check. I'll bring it up some time, shall I, Uncle George? Alf forced himself to relax. Unlike Billy, or even Mum, really, Uncle George seemed to need him. Maybe that was going to be the difference, this time. But better off not waking the poor man tonight. He was just being stupid, nothing to worry about.
Taking a deep breath, he waited for that negativity, but nothing happened, though he could feel it lurking in the corners of his mind. He slowly exhaled, and forced himself to relax, and finally he gave in to sleep.
WWWWWWWWWW
Lunch time the next day saw George alone in Harry and Ginny's house, watching the kids. Harry had gone in to the ministry, and Ron and Hermione had returned to their own house the evening before.
That morning, a weary looking Ginny had been trying to scoop out breakfast for four boys, plus George, while balancing Lily. George immediately took stock of the situation, getting up and grasping his niece. "Let me feed her, Gin." He offered.
She handed over the bottle with gratitude, and began to clean up the kitchen.
Lily seemed to regard him with curiosity. She had Harry's eyes and Ginny's dark red hair. "You are going to be a great beauty Miss Lily!" George cooed. "Breaking hearts all over Gryffindor tower, just like your Mum."
"Har!" Ginny yelled from the kitchen. "I hardly got the chance, with you lot watching my every move!"
"But Mum was always with Dad!" James protested, arms crossed.
"Now who told you that pretty nonsense…your Mum had dozens of boyfriends!" George corrected, burping Lily against his shoulder.
"Three!" Ginny corrected. "Michael, Dean, and Harry." She came in drying her hands. "And if Harry weren't so bloody stupid it would only have been one!"
Albus giggled. "Mum called Daddy stupid!"
George was watching his sister as she fussed with the brood. She had played professional quidditch for four years before marrying Harry and having James. She wrote freelance articles for The Quibbler (which had gotten much less sensational after the War, once Luna took over). But today she just looked…tired. Like a young mother in desperate need of a day off.
"Ginny…" George said. "Why don't you go do something nice for yourself?"
"Huh?" She asked, wiping oatmeal off of Albus' face.
"Go on…head in to Hogsmead. Lavender Brown opened that day spa there, didn't she? Go on, get your hair done or something…have lunch." George encouraged her.
Ginny put her hands on her hips. "Are you implying, George, that I am not STILL a great beauty?"
He stood up and placed Lily in the playpen by the table. "I am implying that you ought to take advantage of having an adult at your disposal." He knelt before the playpen, poking Lily and making her coo and smile, as he added one more shot. "Unless, of course…YOU don't think I'm capable?"
"George Weasley!" Ginny turned, eyes flashing. "How can you suggest I would think such a thing after everything that happened yester…" She caught, too late, the twinkle in his eyes. "OH, HONESTLY, George!" She smacked him with the dish towel, and he started to laugh, ducking away as she chased him around the kitchen. "That wasn't a remotely funny thing to say!"
"On the contrary…" He grinned openly, ducking around a chair and trying to hide behind Alf. "It was clearly quite hysterical…look at the boys laughing!" He let her lunge at him, then he apparated three feet way. Ginny, however, had been a seeker of some skill and was on top of him, playfully smacking him about the shoulders, as he collapsed into a heap by the sink.
This was too much for the boys. James released Albus, and they both piled on, to be joined by Teddy and a more tentative Alfred. Lily just giggled at her crazy family.
"Enough!" Ginny yelled, laughing, and releasing an out of breath George. "Alright, George Weasley…you asked for it. I am going out and leaving you in charge…and don't blame me if by the end of the day you have two black eyes and a headache."
"We'll help out!" Alfred piped up. "I used to take care of my younger brother and sister!"
Teddy agreed. "Yeah, Alf and I can help Uncle George…everything will be JUST FINE."
Ginny may have felt some apprehension at the angelic expressions of the four children, but the outright joy on George's face relieved her. He could do this. So, without one more second's hesitation, she did indeed head out for the day.
Now, some four hours later, as George was trying to simultaneously make lunch, coral James and appease Albus, he was wondering if he didn't perhaps belong in St. Mungo's after all. Because clearly he was insane.
"Oi, James!" He called out, making a swipe for the active four year old. "Stop torturing your brother!" Behind him a pot of soup began to boil over. "Oh, bugger!" If Lily weren't sleeping peacefully… finally, after fussing for two hours…he might actually have started to rip his hair out.
Teddy came in the front door, with Alf trailing behind, and quickly assessed the situation. "James Potter!" He said, sounding much older than his ten years.
James immediately came to a halt in front of his adored god-brother..
Teddy had his arms crossed, and raised one eyebrow. "You're not making things hard for Uncle George, are you?"
"Dint mean to!" He appealed.
"That's a good thing…" Alf added slyly, picking up Albus. "I'd hate to see him not bring you any more surprises from that nice shop of his…"
Threatened with such heinous bribery, James immediately took his seat. "Thanks, boys." George said, looking as Alf and Teddy strapped Albus into the high chair. He prepared five bowls of the soup, and floated them over to the table. Slicing a loaf of fresh bread, he looked surreptitiously at Alf. "You have two half siblings, Alfred?"
"Brother and Sister." He said, coming over to take the bread from his Uncle, completely oblivious that it could have been done magically. "Len's a real pain in the ass, but Liv's sweet." He looked behind at George as they headed to the table. "I meant to ask you if I could write her."
"Of course." He sat beside Albus, and blew on the soup to cool it slightly. "If you think your…er… mum's husband…" The words nearly spat out, as he remembered what had been done to Alf. "Wouldn't' mind."
"He seemed okay with it." Alf said, helping James butter his bread. Teddy was pouring milk out for everyone, including George.
"Did he hate magic? Some muggles do." Teddy asked James curiously.
"No…" Alf thought. "I dunno…hard to say, really, because Mum pretended Magic wasn't real, just her fairy stories. He sounded to me like he was fine with it when he was sending me to London." Alf sucked on the spoon thoughtfully. "That might have been just to get rid of me, though."
George made a growling noise that said exactly what he thought of Alfred's step-father, even as he lifted the first spoon with a waving motion towards Albus' mouth.
"Open the door and let the broomstick in!" George intoned, making Albus giggle.
Alfred chuckled as well. "I'd have said airplane. Probably confused the heck out of the kid."
"Weird!" Teddy said, his hair going puce.
A spirited discussion of muggle expressions and their magical translations ensued. James was rapt with attention and George imagined his parents' expression when he informed them that it was raining "cats and dogs" instead of cauldrons and watersprites.
Albus was banging his spoon with feeling on his chair tray while George was singing "Mitsy the Big Spider…" (And why was Alf so amused by that?) when James cried out from his chair.
"GRAMPA!"
George looked up sharply to see his father standing in the doorway.
James was giving him a huge bear hug, and Albus was squealing with joy, reaching out for Arthur. Teddy merely smiled, but Alf was regarding him carefully, perhaps remembering their departure from the burrow yesterday, when Arthur had stood by without a word as George left with Alf. Bill had looked sheepish; Percy had been ashamed and promised to get everything fixed legally by the end of the day. Molly had, as expected, refused to leave the house. But Arthur…his own father…had stood by and let him leave without a word.
Now he stood in Ginny's kitchen, with James held high and a hand on little Albus' head, and George couldn't imagine why.
"Isn't your sister home?" He asked, as he finally put James down, although still not looking at George.
Before George could find his voice, James replied: "Uncle George let Mummy take a day off, and he's babysitting us!" James came over to hug his knees. "We lllllllooooooovvveee Uncle George."
George gave him a tight laugh. "Oh, and look who wants a new spectro-ball, eh?" But he rubbed James' head playfully.
"Oh…er…by yourself?" Arthur seemed taken aback.
Alf saw George's shoulders set at the comment, and quickly stepped in. "Hey, James…why don't you and Teddy come out back with me and let Uncle George talk with your grampa?"
Arthur looked hurt. "I'm your Grampa too, Alfred." He said quietly, even as James flew to Alf. "Can we play with the quaffle like yesterday????" The youngster cried out, tugging him towards the door.
Alf ignored Arthur's statement and took James' hand. George spoke quickly. "I'm putting Albus down for his nap…you boys stay in the back yard. James, listen to the big boys, okay? Teddy, no broomsticks and no magic…got it?"
"Sure thing, Uncle George." Teddy was perhaps the most confused by the tension, but like his father he navigated a crisis well, and picked up on Alf's cues.
As the boys walked outside, George took the fussing Albus up the stairs, where his crib was, and laid him in it. He looked rather put out at first; George tapped his wand and a mobile of quidditch players sprang to life, and George sang softly to him for a few moments. As he suspected, Albus truly was tired, and he nodded off. With a smile, George very gently pulled the blanket up to his chin, and turned to leave the room.
Arthur was still in the doorway, watching him. George sighed.
"If we go…" He spoke quietly to his father. "To the balcony in Harry and Ginny's room, we can watch the boys playing out back, and hear Lily or Albus if they cry."
They walked together, and George leaned on the balcony railing, smiling down at the kids below. James was in his glory, having the undivided attention of two "big boys"; Teddy was more relaxed with Alf there to help him, and Alf looked frankly like he was having the time of his life.
George felt his father come up next to him. "I didn't mean to imply, you know, that you weren't able to handle them by yourself. Just that it wasn't something I think I could have done, when you were all little."
There was a moment's silence. "After yesterday, Dad, you could hardly be surprised if I did think that. You all made it perfectly clear you think I'm one step above barmy."
"George…" His father appealed, and George turned on him.
"Don't 'George' me, Dad." He turned to his father, and the hurt welled up inside him almost as bad as yesterday. "I'm not surprised that Mum acted the way she did, but I certainly didn't expect YOU to turn on me like that."
Arthur blinked once. "How long, George, have you believed your mother didn't love you?"
George turned away, looking out over the boys, so his father couldn't see his tears. He spoke only when he felt he could without losing it completely. "Not that she didn't love me, exactly. More like she loved me less. I mean we all know Bill was always her favorite; it was almost a joke in the family. Never bothered any of us."
Arthur managed a chuckle. "Used to annoy Bill, actually…" He admitted. "The way she hovered."
"Right. Well, I was the anti-favorite." Seeing his father protest, George insisted. "Look, she loved me, alright; at least she used to. But I always knew that she expected less of me than anybody else, INCLUDING Fred. And I know Fred and I must have been an ungodly handful, especially with Charlie and Bill and Percy running around…but honestly we were usually at least equally to blame when things went wrong, and sometimes it was actually Fred's doing, not mine!"
Arthur sighed, leaning on the rail beside George. "I truly never saw her treating you differently George. But if you tell me it was how you felt…"
"It was." George paused, collecting his thoughts. "Though if Fred had never died, I don't think it would have been any big deal. But…once he did…you heard her yesterday, Dad. She does blame me for it, even though I know there wasn't a damned thing I could have done." George's voice hitched slightly, and Arthur put his hand on his shoulder. "Look, Dad…Fred was more than a brother to me. He was my best friend and my other half. And even though Mom favored Fred over me, we were still Fred-and-George to her, like we were to everyone. We were never two separate people; always shared a room, always shared clothes, even shared illnesses, ended up sharing a business. Given that people lumped us together for twenty years, I don't think it's reasonable for everyone to have expected me return to normal in expected mourning time. I didn't HAVE a normal anymore."
Arthur squeezed his shoulder, and George wiped a tear from his face. His father spoke gently. "George…I need to know…and maybe I'm daft for not knowing…why did you try to kill yourself? Why, George?" Arthur's voice was pained. "What did we miss?"
George let out a half laugh and a sigh. "Oh, Dad…it wasn't like that. There wasn't anything you could have done. I had this consuming loneliness inside me, that nobody but Fred could fill. The day we buried him, I just couldn't face being GEORGE. And I looked around and thought…Bill had Fleur…Ron had Hermione…Ginny had Harry…" He gulped suddenly and confessed to his father what he had never told anyone. "Angelina left me."
His father balked, turned to him, and gently turned George's face to look at him. "You said you broke it off with her?"
He shook his head slowly. "Couldn't bear to admit the truth. Angelina told me…she told me she couldn't even to look at me. That she'd always look at me and see Fred." George swallowed hard, wiping at his face. "It was Fred she loved all along, you see. Fred who took her to the Yule ball because Ron challenged him to ask someone, and she was there. But Fred always loved Katie, and the night of the Yule Ball we swapped dates. I didn't realize Angelina never got over that. She seemed okay…but after Fred's death she made it very clear…I'd never been more than sloppy seconds." George closed his eyes. "I was just so tired of being the least best Weasley."
Arthur enclosed George in a hug; embraced him fully for the first time in years, kissing him forcefully on the side of his head, as George broke down on his shoulder. "You were never the least anything, George. Never, never to me!" Arthur inhaled hard. "I am so sorry about yesterday. I didn't know your mom's motives, but I knew mine, and I wanted to protect you."
"Protect me!" George gasped, pulling away slightly. "From Alf?"
His father shook his head, with a wry smile. "I was afraid, George, of you getting that close to someone again, getting that attached, and losing him. How do we know nobody else will come for him? Katie had family too. And then, what if he doesn't want to stay? I couldn't bear to see you HURT again!" Arthur turned away, a bitter look on his face. "Instead I ended up being the one to hurt you."
With a deep breath, George grabbed his father's arm. "Dad, I've kept myself in a bloody cocoon for ten years. It's no way to live." He waited until his father looked at him. "I'll be okay. Alf and I will be okay."
Arthur nodded, giving him a watery smile, before reaching in to his jacked and pulling out a packet. "Here."
George opened it up and his breath hitched. Inside was a decree authorizing George Weasley to be the guardian of Alfred Weasley, son of Fred Weasley and Katie Bell, deceased, approved by the Ministry of Family and authorized by Kingsley Shacklebolt. The gold lettering shimmered on the opaque paper, turning colors with the wavering of the paper. George looked up quickly at his dad.
"They were going to Owl it, but I wanted to bring it along." Arthur said quietly.
"Thanks, Dad." George said, feeling a lot of his worries slip away.
"Yeah, well…" Arthur grumbled, pretending to be gruff. "See how much you thank me five years from now, when Son-Of-Fred has placed exploding dung bombs under your boss's brand new wizard-spaced car!"
"What, Fudge didn't like the effect?" George laughed. "And I hate to admit it, but that one was my idea, so I should be well equipped to handle it…besides, I'm my own boss."
Arthur punched his shoulder gently. There was a squeal of laughter, and they looked down at James, armed tightly wrapped around the quaffle, was being tossed between Alf and Teddy. Arthur smiled more sadly. "You will bring him round sometimes, won't you? And let him call me Grampa?"
"Dad, I didn't tell him NOT to." George patted his father's shoulder. "You've got to remember what a shock this still is to him…having instant family. Three days ago he woke up with a step-father and two half siblings…now he has grandparents, six Uncles, four Aunts, and a bevy of cousins. Hell, half the time he forgets and calls me Sir. ME!" Arthur managed a chuckle at that image. "As for bringing him around, that's not a problem, as long you can promise me Mum won't try to apparate him to Bulgaria!"
"Bulgaria?" Arthur asked. "Why would anyone apparate to Bulgaria?"