Seventeen years had come and gone, transforming the house of Prewett from a party of one to a party of four. Seventeen years did not come and go without great changes happening to the Weasley household too.

The family had never truly recovered from what happened in 1998. Two great losses, back-to-back, had shattered them in ways that could not be fixed. The first loss had been inevitable—it was war, and in a family that size, there was no way they would all escape unscathed. The second stung all the more painfully, for it had been entirely preventable. No father should ever have said something like that to his child, but he did and now here the family was.

Here the family was indeed, having nearly tripled in size. Four spouses and ten grandchildren had entered the picture. Teddy Lupin was over so often that Arthur and Molly counted him as one of theirs, often answering eleven when asked how many grandchildren they had. The newest generation was unaware of the portrait of the Hogwarts graduate crowded at the back of the mantle, nor of the vial of potion behind the frame. They ran through the house and played quidditch in the backward, innocent and ignorant. The adults watched them with envy.

Arthur carried the biggest cross in the family. Now he carved out time to spend with each of his children, even as spouses and grandchildren entered the picture and crowded the frame. He was careful never to end a gathering without an "I love you" and the birthday cards he sent always carried messages stating what each child meant to him. He was careful in the same way with the grandchildren, attending countless quidditch matches and dance recitals, teaching them how to tinker with muggle stuff and reading books to them. He'd even gone so far as to listen to the weird muggle bands Dominque liked. He and Molly would frequently visit Fred's grave and leave flowers, either conjured by magic or freshly picked, depending on the season. All of their children had been at one point or another, and all had seen Arthur conjure another flower and leave it by the cemetery gate at the end of each visit—purple hyacinth, the flower of regret. They knew who that flower was for.

George carried a similarly large cross, though it showed in different ways. The first product he'd released after reopening his shop was the Find-A-Friend lamp, sold in sets of two. One friend could tap their lamp and it would project a map, showing the location of the person who had the other lamp. Its magic wasn't strong enough to fight spells like the fidelius charm or any of the other enchantments people had used during the war, but it got glowing reviews from long-distance couples and friends.

George was often at his parents' for lunches and dinners. He and his father shared a similar bond, a deep regret that none of the siblings shared. They understood each other. He often brought Angelina and the children too. They were over more than any other grandchildren, and the poor abused furniture bore many pockmarks and stains that his children had been responsible for.

Today, August twenty-second, was one such day. It was Percy's birthday. They didn't celebrate it anymore, though every year a new sprig of purple hyacinth appeared at the cemetery. The other siblings stayed away, preferring to grieve in their own ways, but George always came for lunch.

"Here you go." George poured a pinch of floo powder into his son's palm. "And be careful not to get ash on the carpet this time."

"The Burrow!" Freddie shouted, and disappeared in a rush of green flames. Roxane followed after him, then Angelina, carrying a bowl of salad. George went last, whizzing into the Burrow's living room. There was a large trail of ash across the carpet—the kids hadn't listened, again—and both Freddie and Roxie were wrapped in their grandmother's tight hug.

"All right, Georgie?" Molly called over the tops of their heads.

"Yes we are. How are you?"

"We're all right, dear." Molly was better at putting on a happy face than Arthur, who now moved to hug the children "How are you, how are the kids? Freddie, are you all ready for Hogwarts?"

Freddie nodded.

"Now, have you packed yet?"

"No."

"You haven't? Oh, when I was your age, I had everything all packed nearly a full month before I was set to go. And then every night I'd open up my trunk just to make sure it was all still there."

"No, he'll probably follow in his dad's footsteps." Angelina laughed. "Throw everything in at nine o'clock the night before. Right, George?"

"Huh?" George looked up. "Oh, yes. Night before. Your Uncle Fred and I did that every year, much to your grandmother's annoyance." He smiled and moved to help Molly set the table.

"Knowing you, you all are going to come running onto the platform at 10:58." Molly chuckled. "You'll have to throw Freddie on board at a run."

"No, we are not." Angelina said firmly. "We're going to get there in a perfectly reasonable amount of time, right, George?"

"Yes, we are." George said. "After all, it's going to be quite busy this year. Cousin James is starting too, and we need to find him on the platform before the train leaves."

"That's right." Molly mused. "We're sending two at once this year. Teddy Head Boy, Victoire's been named a prefect, Dominique is . . ."

"Dominque is busy with quidditch." Angelina said as she placed the salad in the middle of the table. Dominique was most likely not going to follow in her sister's steps as prefect. "And then we send Roxanne and Louis next year. The year after that, Albus and Rose."

"That's right." George said. "Roxie goes next year. Where did the years go?"

"Grandad, are you all right?" Roxanne asked. She hadn't joined in the family banter and had noticed that Arthur sat slumped at the table gazing off into the distance.

"Huh? Oh, I'm all right, dear. Just tired is all."

George and Molly's gazes hung on Arthur a second too long before Molly said, "Well of course you're tired, dear. It's been so hot lately, and our bedroom just gets so toasty at night. Not at all conducive to a good night's sleep. Now, lunch is on the table. Let's eat!"

Lunch passed in a pleasant hour. Freddie eagerly talked about all the things he planned to do at Hogwarts, and George began reminiscing about the pranks he'd pulled as a student. Molly and Angelina both shushed him, begging him not to give Freddie any more ideas. Not that Freddie needed the help, though. He and James were going to get into so much trouble at Hogwarts, and George could not wait to see what they got up to. Angelina joked about needing to drink tea with honey in preparation for sending her first howler.

After lunch came the annual ritual they'd fallen into: Molly and Angelina would distract the kids with a fun task, while Arthur and George went to check the vial of indicator potion behind the picture on the mantel.

Molly began by saying her lines, this year, "Now, I've got a carrot cake that needs frosting. Do I have two youngsters who can help me with this?"

"Yes, yes!" Roxanne squealed.

"Frosting a cake is baby stuff." Freddie said.

"Young man, you don't help with the cake, you don't get to eat any." Angelina said.

"But Dad never helps frost a cake, and he always gets some."

"Your father," Angelina said, "helps by providing for us and putting a roof over our heads. That's why he gets cake."

"You only get to lick the spoon if you help frost the cake." Molly added. "Notice your dad never gets the spoon."

Freddie scowled, but stood up and followed the women into the kitchen. Arthur and George made eye contact, then moved to the living room.

"D'you reckon he's dead?" George asked, staring balefully at the mantel.

"We'll know when he is." Arthur said. "But let's check." He moved to the mantel. The photo itself was nearly hidden behind some other frames that had sprung up in the intervening years, including one from Harry and Ginny's wedding and a Christmas photo of all the grandchildren. Arthur carefully scooted these frames aside and reached behind Percy's frame for the indicator potion, kept hidden from view. "Still white." Arthur turned the vial in hand, watching its milky contents swirl. "He's still out there somewhere."

"How old is he now?" George took the vial and swirled it again. "Thirty-seven? Thirty-eight?"

Arthur shook his head. "More than that. George, you're thirty-seven. He'd be . . . thirty-nine now."

George gulped and looked down at the vial of potion in his hand. So next year would be another of Percy's milestone birthdays. The milestone years were worse than the others, for each was a stinging reminder of what they'd lost. Bill and Charlie had each gotten a loud, raucous fortieth birthday dinner, rife with jokes about getting old. But Percy's fortieth would come and go, marked only by another lunch like this and a sprig of purple hyacinth.

Arthur sighed heavily, then shook his head and re-arranged the picture frames so that Percy was once again mostly hidden. "Did you know that Victoire knows now?"

"No." George shook his head. None of the other grandchildren knew about Percy. No one had actively conspired to keep him a secret, but all had realized one by one that there was no easy way to explain his existence to a child.

"It's a very recent development. At Ginny's birthday party a few weeks ago, Bill mentioned in his toast that she grew up with six brothers."

"I remember that." George said. "Bill was definitely a little bit drunk."

"Well, Victoire caught the mistake. She asked him about it and he ended up telling her the whole story. Brought her over here and showed her the picture and everything."

"Did he tell her exactly what was said in the argument? About us wishing he was dead?"

"No. She's only fifteen, George."

"Well then." George muttered. "She's not going to tell the others, is she?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't think so. Not even Dominique. Bill and I made it pretty clear to her that this was a very serious secret and she was not to tell anyone. I trust her not to."

George nodded. "I can't believe she caught his mistake. Well, she's not in Ravenclaw for nothing. I guess they'll all have to know, eventually."

Arthur nodded. "They'll learn when the time is right." He sighed, put on a smile, then went into the kitchen. "I hope you've saved a slice of carrot cake for Grandad!"

George hung back for another moment, clutching the vial of potion and watching Freddie and Roxie fight over who got to lick the spoon. Not for the first time he wondered if Percy had found anyone willing to marry him or had children, and where these hypothetical children might fit in age-wise with his own. After all, Freddie was going to Hogwarts this year. In another lifetime Percy might have been sitting next to him on the couch, drinking pumpkin juice and making plans to shop at Diagon Alley.

"Damn you, Percy." George muttered, sliding the vial of potion back into place. He shook his head and hurried into the kitchen to spend time with his family who were here.