George felt a knot tightening in his stomach…was it that "out" then? Likewise, his family became stony faced and angry. But he looked into Draco's eyes and saw something…saw the understanding of a father concerned for a child. So he ventured to respond as best he could: "We think so. He can tolerate some magical cures, which is odd, but hasn't been capable of any sort of rudimentary magic, accidental or otherwise."

"Right." Draco said. "Well, you know what my family is and who they associate with. I imagine you wouldn't be surprised to know what Katie Bell's family was like."

George nodded. "Purebloods, and purists, although not directly associated with Voldemort."

"Right." Draco crossed his arms in front of his robes. "Are any of you aware of the pureblood maxim of Magie Decomande?"

Arthur raised his head. "It means the destruction of magic for the good of the family. It usually translated to…" He frowned, looking ill. "The infanticide of a magical child believed to be a potential blot on the family standing. Born handicapped in one way or another."

George felt his stomach drop. "Barbaric." He whispered. Ron looked ill, and Hermione covered her mouth.

Draco nodded. "Right. Original interpretation. But, as you no doubt wouldn't know, because you're not like that, the darker pure bloods have taken it to new heights, or lows, more accurately." He shuddered. "There is a potion…developed by Professor Snape's great grandfather Attilla Prince. It's called Conflagration d'Ame. Total annihilation of one's magical soul. It's got seven hundred and forty two ingredients, and must be aged for three months. A lot of the darkest pure blood families have a small vile on hand."

Ron spoke slowly. "But that's senseless, Malfoy. I know the worst purebloods wouldn't hesitate to kill a squib child…but why would you destroy the magic of a child born with perfect skills?"

Blonde eyebrows raised gracefully. "Well, let's look in my own family. It wouldn't have been my mother's style to act in that way, but Aunt Bellatrix was scandalized and humiliated when her sister Andromeda married Ted Tonks. Now she has to watch Andromeda give birth to a perfectly magical child, one with rare skills no less. If you're Bellatrix, and you want to keep the line pure, and you don't want to admit that a pureblood and muggleborn union can create a highly magical child, what do you do? Do you think that if Bellatrix hadn't been rotting in Azkaban when Nymphadora was born, she wouldn't have moved heaven and earth to destroy her magic?"

Ron continued. "But why not just kill the kid?"

It was Hermione who spoke. "Because…" She said, watching Draco. "A squib child as a result of a Pure Blood-Muggle Born union reinforces the concept of superiority of bloodline."

"Exactly." Draco said, managing a tight smile at Hermione. "The potion needs to be administered early on, of course, preferably in the first month, so that no accidental magic is ever sighted."

George paced. "Oh, God…oh my God." He ran his hands through his hair. "Katie's family always HATED Fred. Never bothered her much…she didn't care for her family either."

"Right. I mean, your family is as pureblood as mine on paper, but, well, from the Bell point of view blood traitor wouldn't have seemed much better than muggle. Worse, maybe." Draco nodded at George, pleased to see he was getting it.

Ginny spoke thoughtfully. "And how would you explain the fact that he has somewhat tolerated Wizard Cures?"

Draco answered promptly. "That gives me reason to believe that the potion was administered when he was older."

There was a general quiet in the room, and then Harry, for the first time, spoke. "George, I know it's not my place, but from personal experience, Alfred really ought to be here now."

George came up short and looked at Harry. There was the deep memory of pain in his brother-in-law's eyes, and images of days at Grimmauld Place, with Harry frustrated that decisions about his life and future were being held without him a part of it, flooded his mind. Slowly, George nodded.

"I'll get him." Ginny volunteered.

Arthur, meanwhile, accio'd a decanter of fire whiskey, and held a glass out to Draco. Their eyes met, and Draco nodded slowly, accepting the offer of refreshment from a man he would not have shaken hands with, once, let alone set foot in his house.

Ginny returned with Alf, who was looking breathless and wiping at his mouth with a napkin. "Oh. Hello, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco gave Alf a tight smile. "Hello, young man."

A few seconds of silence ensued, before George spoke. "Alfred, Mr. Malfoy came by because he'd heard that you might not have magical ability." Alf flushed briefly, but George continued. "He thinks he might know why."

Draco set his shoulders, and then to everyone's shock he came over to Alf, got down on one knee in front of him, and explained again the theory behind his situation. "I believe somebody might have given you a potion...one used by dark wizards...to harm your magic, Alfred. Why they'd do so is probably not important to you...but I'd like to see if I can confirm that they DID before we go forward." Draco hesitated towards the end. "I believe that it might have not been administered to you as young as is optimal, hence your ability to tolerate wizard potions that might kill a squib. Tell me, do you remember any relatives of your Mother?"

All eyes were on Alf, who spoke slowly. "One of my earliest memories…when I was very small, maybe two, is when my half sister Liv was born. Mum had been frantic, my step-dad was away when she was having the baby." His brow unwrinkled. "She called into the fireplace…I know why now…and suddenly this older woman was there. Mum had her watch me." He looked around. "She made me a milkshake, tasted like honey."

Draco's eyes lit up briefly as he nodded in confirmation. "That's the stuff."

Alfred continued. "I was sick for days afterwards, had a high fever. Felt like everything was burning up inside me…fading away." He nodded slowly. "So I was born magical, and then I lost it?" He paused, frowning. "Is there any, well, antidote to this potion?"

Draco looked up at George, and then to Hermione. "There isn't one now, Alfred. Because as you can imagine the sorts of people who dreamed this up never dreamed of wanting to reverse its effects. But the potion master who taught me…who taught all of us, always told us that any potion must have a counter." Draco stood up and looked around. "And I am swearing to you all, because I am in Alfred's debt, that I will not stop until I have found it."

Dead silence filled the room. George came to a stop and stared at Draco, wondering what in the hell had happened to him since they had been children together. Alfred came over to George, and George immediately put his hand on his shoulder.

"You'd do this, Draco?" The use of the man's first name did not come easily to his lips.

"I feel compelled to." Draco nodded. "I owe Alfred a blood debt, as I said...and what's more I owe several people in this room more than I have ever properly acknowledged." He set his shoulders. "I have a son now, and I don't want him to grow up with the baggage I had. Scorpius will be free to be his own man, and the only way I can do that is if I can find some way to remove the stigma that blots the Malfoy name."

George nodded. He understood it. It wasn't an entirely altruistic offer, but then he trusted it all the more for that. Draco Malfoy had been a Slytherin, after all, not a Hufflepuff. If he'd clamed his motives to be purely on Alf's behalf he'd never have believed him.

Draco was continuing, looking over at Ron and Hermione standing together. "Hermione..." Draco hesitated over the name...it was clearly the first time he'd ever not called her Granger to her face. "You were better at potions than I was. I have secured several vials of this evil brew...and it will take me months just to work out the counters to all these ingredients. The work will go faster if I have help."

George saw Ron bristle for a moment. He knew his brother had a jealous streak a mile deep...rather odd, since anyone with a brain could see that Hermione had never seriously considered anyone else but him as a life partner. But maybe that came from being the sixth and last son in the family, the overwhelming fear that he wasn't good enough. So he stepped forward.

"Hermione...Ron..." He looked between them. "If there's any chance at getting Alfred's magic back...at getting Fred's son's magic back..." He emphasized slowly. "I'd move heaven and earth to find it. If you two can help..."

He judged Ron well. "Of course we'll help!" Ron said stoutly. "Not that I was anything but crap at potions, mind, but I can make sure Mi has the time to work on this. Nobody...nobody was ever better at potions than her!" He jutted his chin out proudly.

Hermione smiled at him with soft eyes. "Oh Ron...I'd love to be able to do this...for Fred, and for the family." She put her arms around him tentatively, and George felt relieved at having averted a knock-down drag out fight on the matter. Draco just looked amused.

"Uncle George." Alfred asked, hesitantly, tugging at his sleeve. "What does all this mean?"

George took Alfred on the sofa with him, tuning out the detailed and technical conversation now taking starting to take place between Malfoy and Hermione. He took his nephew's hands in his and squeezed. "I'm not exactly sure, kiddo. I'd like to believe Mr. Malfoy is right and that an injustice was done to you…not because…" He stressed, looking him very seriously in the eye, "there is anything wrong with you now. There isn't. But I…well, I guess I'm selfish, Alf. I'd like to see you get to go to Hogwarts, and teach you to ride a broom, and how to play quidditch. I'd like for you to never feel like an outsider again."

Alfred visibly relaxed, and George realized that this uncertainty had been plaguing him more than he'd let on. "Will they be able to…um…cure me, then? To bring my magic back?" Unspoken George heard the rest of the question: And what if they don't?

"If anybody could, it's those two." George nodded over towards Hermione and Draco. "They were both rare hands at potions, especially compared to the rest of us." He reached over and brushed the boy's hair out of his forehead…it flopped into his eyes just like Fred's used to. "Understand this, though. Nothing separates us, got it? If we can't get your magic back than we work around it, you and I. There's nothing the two of us won't be able to get through together."

Alf didn't say anything, he just nodded, then abruptly threw his arms around George's neck. George returned the hug in kind, breathing in the scent of the boy, silently thanking his brother for the gift he hadn't realized he'd given.

Then, with the emotional shift only possible in a ten year old boy, Alf sat back. "Grandpa has a muggle tent he said Teddy and I could camp out in tonight, if you said yes. Pleeasse can we? I always wanted to go camping!"

George laughed and caught Harry's eye; he could see that Harry was also more than agreeable to letting his god-son stay over. "Alright, you and Teddy are a go; off with you, then!" Alf got up to scamper away, and George called out. "Oi, just don't blow anything up!"

"Lord, Weasley…" Malfoy was beside him. "Isn't that rather rum advice coming from you?"

Ron snorted. "I'd actually have expected you to encourage him to blow things up!"

George looked between Malfoy and his younger brother. "And I'd have expected YOU two to hex each other before agreeing on anything!" He smirked.

There was a few seconds of silence. It was Harry who broke it. "I suppose we all had to grow up sometime." He admitted. "Having kids will do that to you."

Tentatively he held his hand out to Draco; pale silver eyes measured him carefully, then he accepted the offered hand.

"I'm not my father, Potter." Draco said, seriously. "And I swear I will prove it to you all."

WWWWWWWWWWWW

Alf snuggled down in the magically warmed sleeping bag in the tiny muggle tent his Grandfather had provided them. Grandpa'd gotten quite a kick out of assembling the thing, and Alf had been only too happy to help. A orb suspended in air in the middle of the tent, providing light (Teddy had permission to use magic to turn it off, or back on if needed later), and Uncle George had wisely spelled their rough dwelling against the lawn gnomes. So it was a bit of a stretch to say they were roughing it.

Still, it was pretty cool…hanging out in the tent with a real mate, able to laugh and talk about anything. Before her death, Mum had been pretty much his only friend; he played goalie on the football team and was well enough liked, but had never been allowed to ask anyone home, or to go out except for practice. His step-father made it clear that Alf was expected to be home, to help out with the younger kids and help around the house and in the restaurant. Then Mum got sick, and he wanted to stay home as much as possible, to care for her. But it had been hard, being alone like that.

Funny, but working with Uncle George in the joke shop was so different. Well, it was a joke shop, and possibly the coolest place he had ever seen in his life. And Uncle George wasn't at all like his step-father, taking him up short if he made a mistake, or wasn't fast enough, or was clumsy at all. He seemed to have unending patience with him, never tiring of explaining the strange (to him) things going on all around. He'd made it clear that he liked having Alf around, not because he needed the forced labor, but because he simply liked his being nearby. He also made it clear that he expected Alf to go off on his own sometimes, explore, be a normal kid with his friends.

Well, friend. And the going off on his own thing, or making more friends, was rather difficult with his magical state being what he was. But still, it was good to know that Uncle George didn't want to hold him back at all. Funny, but being surrounded by wizards, magicians, living lawn gnomes, mail-carrying owls, it was still the first time in his life he felt completely normal. Completely loved. And he was scared to death of losing it all.

"Oi!" Teddy flopped into the tent, dropping a bag of goodies between them. "Your Gran wanted to make sure we had enough provisions."

Alf sat up and began delving into the contents, dividing them into two piles, as Teddy zipped up the flap and then scooted into his own sleeping bag. "Gran sure can cook, can't she?" He asked, taking a bite out of a soft, warm ginger cookie.

"Mmm." Teddy agreed. "Better than mine…but don't tell her I said so!"

They giggled and talked about the food and about the party, and the sight of seeing Uncle Percy playing with a muggle toy. Only once they had stuffed themselves and sunk their bursting body down deeper into their sleeping bags did Teddy broach THE subject.

"Everything okay, Alf? Earlier, I mean."

"Oh." Alf shrugged. "I can't tell you everything; but yeah, it's all okay." He rather wished he hadn't been urged to secrecy about what Draco Malfoy, with Aunt Hermione's help, was up to, but he understood that whatever it was might be ugly in the wrong hands.

"It's about your magic then?" Teddy propped his head up on one elbow.

"Lack of, you mean." Alf admitted, folding his hands behind his head and staring up at the orb. "Yeah, they're working on something; it's tricky but Uncle George is hopeful." He glanced over at his friend. "Does it bother you, Teddy? That I'm not a wizard like you?"

"You daft?" Teddy snorted. "Any wizard my own age I've ever met wouldn't get this close to me in case I'd maul them. Think I'm going to turn my back on you because YOU'RE different?" He exhaled in a huff. "Wish you could go to Hogwarts next year, though. It would have been nice to have a friend."

Alf bit his tongue from saying that he might, just might, be able to go after all. "Bet once you get to school it'll be different, Teddy. People will see you playing Quidditch and all that. Once they get to know you, people will see what you're really like." He said, stoutly.

"Yeah." Teddy huffed lightly. "But I like that you didn't need me to prove anything to you first."

There was a few minutes of silence, with only the sounds of crickets and an occasional owl for background. Teddy flicked his borrowed wand and the orb dimmed to not much more than moonlight. Nice effect, that. Alf sighed, breathing the cool air in deeply. How had life gotten so good for him so quickly? And yet. And yet. "Teddy, can I ask you something?"

"You just did." The sleepy sounding boy replied. Alf shot him a withering glare, and he smiled. "Go on, then."

"Your dad…he died a hero, like my dad. You don't remember him, do you?"

"Nah." Teddy shook his head. "I was just a few months old when he died. Have some photos of him and mum holding me, but no real memories."

"I didn't even have photos until I got here." Alf said sadly. "I know lots about him now, thanks to everyone; and everyone says he was such a great guy, but…" He took a deep breath and admitted his guilty secret. "I wish it were Uncle George."

Teddy raised his eyebrows. "You wish Uncle George had died instead of your dad?" He asked, puzzled.

"NO!" Alf gulped. "The other way…I mean…I wish Uncle George were my father, not Fred." He screwed his eyes shut. "Sometimes I pretend he is, inside. Sometimes in my mind I call him Dad." He finally looked at Teddy. "Is that terrible of me?"

He was afraid Teddy might laugh, but the other boy looked seriously grave and understanding. "If it's terrible, mate, then I'm terrible too. Sometimes I wish Uncle Harry were just my Dad, and I could be with him all the time." He frowned. "Then I think how sad it would be for Gran, to be all alone. I'm all she has now. Still, I know what you mean. Having an Uncle or a God-father just isn't quite the same."

Alf swallowed, relieved and at the same time troubled. "A Dad has to love you no matter what, right?" He asked, quietly.

THAT Teddy did scoff at. "Uncle George loves you just like Uncle Harry loves me, Alf. Or didn't you see his face when you had that accident in Diagon Alley?"

Alf blinked once. "Thing is, Ted, I went ten years with no dad at all, just a step father who didn't much care for me. And he kept reminding me that he was just putting up with me, that I was a burden and a drain on the resources he should be spending on HIS OWN kids. Well, what if Uncle George HAS his own kids some day?" He rubbed at his forehead. "If I were his son it wouldn't matter, but I'm just another nephew."

"Whoa." Teddy reached over to him, grasping his shoulder. "You are so much more than that to him, Alf. You didn't know what he was like before you got here, how SAD he was. He'd try to hide it, but everyone knew. You make him happy. He laughs now. He made Percy a TOY. And that has made everyone else happy too."

Teddy waved the wand once more and the orb dimmed into nothingness. Alf curled up on his side and heard Teddy do the same. The other boy spoke just once more.

"I understand about the Dad thing, mate, but I don't think you realize what having you in his life has meant to Uncle George. He'd fight Voldemort all over again for you. Don't worry…he'll never leave."

Alf felt his eyes grow heavy, and he sank down into oblivion, dreaming of Uncle George teaching him how to fly a broom.

WWWWWWWWWWWW

George was leaning on the railing, a butter-bear in his hand, talking in a low voice to Harry. "It's frightening, really. I've never loved anyone in my life like I love him, not even Fred. Is that warped?"

"Welcome to parenthood." Harry snorted, clapping George on the shoulder. "I got rather a head start because of Teddy, but it is the most forceful power in the universe!" He paused. "Remember your Mum taking out Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Oi!" George grinned into the night. "As angry as I was at that moment, it was nothing to the pure rage she poured out!" He sobered up slightly. "And I understand it now…I would fight Voldemort all over again for him."

Harry made a show of rubbing his scar. "Nope. Still dead. You'll have to find other dragons to slay."

George elbowed him lightly, and kept his glance out towards the tent in the back yard, which still faintly glowed with light. He was pleased to see it begin to fade; the boys had evidently decided sleep was not out of the question. Behind them, a groggy James was being tucked into his pajamas; the boy had fallen asleep in his street clothes after sulking for half an hour because he wasn't to be allowed to camp with the big boys. Now Ginny was getting ready to tuck him into bed, for they had decided to stay overnight with George, and the young boy whimpered. "Want Dad, mum. Want Daddy."

Harry gave a mock groan. "NOW he wants me. An hour ago I was Voldemort himself for not allowing him to stay in the tent too!" With a smirk he went to his son, who threw his arms around his neck, crooked his head on his shoulder, and murmured a sleepy, "Love you, Daddy."

Something tightened frightfully inside George's gut.

"Love you too, big guy." Harry crooned, and he and Ginny moved to walk the boy upstairs.

George stayed in place, staring first at the place Harry and Ginny had just vacated and then at the tent were Alfred was sleeping. Dad. The word had struck him hard, hearing James call Harry that. And yet it wasn't like he hadn't heard it before. With eight nieces and nephews, after all, it was a common phrase. What struck him about it NOW?

Well, now there was Alfred.

A funny emptiness took hold of him…a different emptiness than being without his twin for ten years. Alfred shouldn't, in some respects, mean more to him than James or Ricky or Hugo. But he did, and George didn't apologize for it. He loved all of his siblings' kids, delighted in being Uncle George. But he was something more than Uncle George to Alf. They belonged…it was a phrase he'd used on more than one occasion, but nothing seemed to fit better. When they were together, the world made sense again. He no longer felt the agonizing incompleteness that had plagued him for ten years. They were very nearly starting to complete each other's sentences, to understand each other with a glance. And it just seemed woefully inadequate to summarize that relationship as Uncle George and Nephew.

He felt…truly…like Alf's Dad.

But wasn't that a betrayal of Fred? The boy was Fred's son, not his. Fred and Katie's boy, not his and Katie's. Granted, Alf had never known Fred, nor Fred him. And there was no question that had Fred known he was to orphan a son, he'd have wanted George to raise him. But asking Alf to call him Dad was like saying Fred had never existed, wasn't it? Wouldn't that be how his family would see it?

Tired, and inexplicably hurting, he returned to the house, to the room he could once again think of as his, more hopeful about Alf's future than he ever could have imagined, and yet strangely chagrinned about the future as well.

WWWWWWWWWW

Fred Weasley sat in "Kings Cross Station"…the way station, for souls between worlds. Harry had once been there, and returned to his corporeal form. Dumbledore occasionally came there, to greet those he wished to escort on to a train. Often people came to guide those they loved when they passed on. Fred was glad he was not here for that reason.

The thing about this place, he knew, was that though you knew others were waiting, you didn't really see them unless you had a connection. Not unlike the REAL King's Cross, he thought, smiling to himself. For Fred, what he saw when he came to visit was a television of sorts, with his own remote control…one with a series of channels labeled "Molly," "Arthur," "George," "Alfred," etc. Once Katie had been one of those channels, but now they'd been reunited; he had understood, with the infinite understanding one has in death, the choices she made, and been relieved to see his son find his way to his brother. Now he was switching between Alf, sleeping peacefully, smiling in his dreams, and George, tossing fitfully, worried over Alf.

He didn't come often anymore, not now that he knew Alf and George were okay (occasionally stupid about the dumbest things, but basically okay); maybe once in a earth-bound week. He was glad he'd chosen tonight; seeing Percy with that Wo-Wo had been priceless. He'd ached then, like he sometimes did, for his family, for just plain BEING THERE. The beauty and peace of where he was now didn't allow for such sadness, but the room at King's Cross did. The solitude and the quiet led to the sort of introspection usually absent from his afterlife.

So he was rather startled to hear a voice beside him. "Hey, there, Weasley."

Fred turned around to face Cedric Diggory. "Cedric!" He gasped, in surprise. Cedric had been, in many ways, the first casualty of the second war. Not that he'd ever gotten proper recognition of course; the ministry had proceeded to put their head up their ass about his death and pretend it never happened. "Never seen you here before!"

"Aye, been with me Mum, mostly, in there." He motioned backwards. "When I'm there, that is. Usually I'm on the other side."

Fred blinked. He'd never tried to go back; it was frowned upon, and travel between venues on a frequent basis was not encouraged. "You ghosting, Ced?" Fred shook his head. As a human being, Cedric had stood for every sort of loyalty and fair play that could have been conceived of in Hufflepuff house. Heck, he'd even tried to forfeit a legitimately won match against Gryffindor when he realized that the Slytherins had tricked Harry into an accident. Haunting someone didn't much seem his style.

Cedric gave him a grin that was both wry and sad. "Hard to believe, I know, for the True Hogwarts Champion." He joked, then sighed. "Truth is, I have special permission. Trying to save someone, actually."

Fred heard Alf turn over, muttering in his sleep, and turned attention back to the screen for a moment. But the boy had already settled back in, though with a slight grimace. "I thought interfering down there was frowned upon?" Fred asked, remembering too well finding out in death that he'd had a son, a son being raised away from HIS family, a son who might make his grieving twin whole again, and being told he had to let things take their own course. As they had, he must admit, quite nicely.

Cedric too looked at Alf, and smiled. "Your boy, eh?" He scratched behind his neck, pausing to gather his thoughts. "You have a son you never knew. I have a brother born after my death. It's him I'm trying to save…not his life, you understand." Cedric's eyes bored in on him. "His soul."

"Blimey!" Fred whispered. "How old is he, Ced? And how is his soul in danger?"

"Same age as your boy. As to his danger, well…" Ced shrugged. 'My dad, unfortunately, has gone off the deep end since Mum died…died giving birth to C.J. in fact. He's angry and resentful at his world, and ours, and everything in between, and he's using C.J. as an instrument for that. I'm trying to stop it." He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "I'm desperate to stop it, Fred. What my dad is up to…what he's trying to turn C.J. into, it isn't how I'd want the Diggory name remembered."

Fred clapped him on the back. "Now THAT's the Cedric Diggory I know and made fun of back in school."

Cedric laughed at him. "Oh, because the great troublemaking Weasley twins were so totally unfamiliar with fair play and loyalty? Wasn't it the fair play of everyone being equal, and the LOYALTY you placed to Harry Potter, what landed your sorry ass here, Fred?"

Fred gaped a moment, and then laughed. "Bloody hell, Cedric, you might as well just call me a Hufflepuff and be done with it!" He switched the channel to George, and saw his brother muttering in his sleep. Don't want to take your son, Fred. Not take him away, just take care of him.

"Stupid git." Fred sighed, wishing he could do something.

"What's he on about?" Cedric asked, watching with him.

"He's guardian to Alf—that's my boy—and he's gotten close to him. Loves him like a son. Well, of course he does…I wouldn't expect any less of him. And there's Alf, never had a proper father before, and now he has George. Well, now, Alf wishes George were really his Dad, which makes bloody sense because George is there, and I'm not; and George wishes he could acknowledge Alf as a son, because he's so much closer to him than his other nephews."

"And you're point is?" Cedric looked at Fred.

"Neither of them will do it because they're bloody worried that I'D be upset!" He threw his hands in the air. "Three months ago I had an orphaned son living with a semi-repellent muggle step-father who hated him, and a twin brother who wasn't much better than a living ghost. Now, I have a happy offspring being lovingly cared for by the brother who has totally reconnected with life. Why would I be upset?"

Cedric laughed at the folly of it all. "Life…it's wasted on the living, isn't it, Fred? Not knowing when to appreciate the real beauty of it, and ignore the stupid shit."

"Oi." Fred snorted in agreement. He then turned to Cedric, realizing something. "Why do I see you here, Ced? I mean, I respected you as an opponent, but we didn't have much in common beyond that."

Cedric looked him over. "I can't tell you everything. Things that might be. But I'm counting on your brother, Fred. Young C.J. is going to need him, one day. Need him to show the kind of man that I know he is, at heart."

Fred felt a slight chill come over him, an unusual sensation now. "But Fred doesn't even know him, Cedric."

Cedric smirked. "He will…if you believe Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are as good as they think they are. After all, the boys will be at Hogwarts together." Cedric looked off, as if hearing a page. His face fell into lines of sadness. "Not again…Dad, he's just a CHILD." A single tear ran down Ced's face, and Fred felt misery he'd forgotten existed.

"What is it?" He whispered, afraid to ask, but needing to know.

"Cruciatus." Cedric said, with resignation. "I have to go…he'll need me."

Fred felt sick…what kind of bastard used Cruciatus on a child? On their OWN child, no less? He watched Cedric rise and fade into the mist, and wondered further what kind of comfort a ghost could be to a damaged ten year old?

He turned back to the television set, forcing his mind from Cedric's problem, and looked gratefully down at his twin. No worries about George harming Alfred. He could feel the love they had for each other; it was bound round his own heart. He reached over to the screen, touching George on the head. "George Weasley…if you can hear me…I give you leave to love Alfred as your son. We always shared everything…why not this? Be his father, in my stead; I trust him to you. And he will love you back ten-fold!"

He watched George stir; saw him rise, blinking, into the darkness. He placed a hand on his heart for a moment, and then smiled.

Fred sat back; his work tonight was done.