"Oi! Where'd he go?"

The young boy stared incredulously at the spot where a stocky red-haired man had stood not a second ago. The boy and his sister had been staring at the man for the past few minutes. Dressed in a dapper three-piece emerald suit, the man had been leaning lazily against the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, tapping his feet to an odd beat. The children were observing him with both fear and curiosity, when he caught their eye and grinned at them. And then, the man vanished into nothingness right before their eyes!


George Weasley chuckled to himself as he stepped through the wrought-iron archway of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Perhaps he had given those children too much of a fright. But then he thought of his own hyperactive offspring and decided that those Muggle kids would forget all about the scary disappearing man as soon as they found another distraction.

Considering that it was the 1st of September, the platform was unnaturally quiet, which struck George as a blatant disregard for the sacred tradition of chaos that surrounded this special day. He loved coming here every September to see off his nieces and nephews and watch hundreds of Hogwarts students get lost in a disarray of shouts and hugs and trunks and owls. Parents chasing children and children chasing runaway pets – it had been the same since he had first come to this platform thirty-four years ago when his oldest brother was starting at Hogwarts. He must have been only four then. Yes, he remembered with a grin, he definitely was four. It had been right after the year he and Fred were finally able to escape the otherwise ominous presence of their mother, who was now too busy with the babies to notice that her twin sons were up to no good. Of course, from time to time, she would learn of their antics and they would be separated for the day, one twin put under Charlie's care and the other forced to stay with Percy. It was torture for the little toddlers, but fortunately, did not happen very often. That's probably why they had always been fond of Ginny; she had been excellent at monopolising their mother's attention as a baby.

"Mr Weasley?"

George looked around to see who had broken his train of thought and spotted a little girl with brown pigtails peering up at him with sad eyes. He recognized her round face immediately.

"Oh, hi. Francesca, isn't it?"

The girl simply nodded and continued to stare up at him. George was not used to children being so quiet.

"Er, is there something wrong? Where are your parents?"

"Cahfydadi."

"Come again?"

Francesca looked like she was afraid to speak louder. But George dropped down on his haunches so that his eyes were at level with hers, and that seemed to comfort her. "I can't find Daddy," she said, raising her voice a little this time.

A wave of understanding washed through George's brain. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "He's probably just greeting his students." And gotten lost himself, he added in his head. Francesca still looked worried and quite possibly on the edge of tears.

"Come, let's look around," said George, standing up and taking the child's hand. "I'm sure we'll find him."

They walked down the length of the train, keeping an eye out for Francesca's father. Only someone as absent-minded as him could have managed to lose his own daughter, thought George. He looked down at the top of Francesca's head. She was about the same age as Lily, his eight-year-old niece. He would never let Lily wander around Platform Nine and Three Quarters by herself on September 1st, even if it were as empty as it was right now. A child could easily be trampled by a trolley, or worse, fall off the platform onto the tracks and meet a very painful end under the wheels of the Hogwarts Express. George grimaced at that last thought; no matter how long it had been, his mind still thought of the worst accidents that could occur in any given situation.

As they passed person after person, George seriously began to give up hope. "Is your mum here as well?" he asked.

But the little girl shook her head. "No, she's working. But she'll come to get me later, before Daddy leaves on the train." Her voice was small and quiet again.

Fortunately for Francesca, thought George, she was in the company of a man whose job was to make children laugh. "I think there is only one way to find your dad," he began, reaching into his pocket. "You'll have to put these on." He held a pair of ordinary-looking spectacles. "Go on, then."

Francesca gingerly took the spectacles and put them on, but nothing happened. Momentarily confused, she looked at George's face and immediately started snickering quietly.

"What's so funny?" asked George, pretending to be offended.

The girl looked away from George and directed her gaze towards three Hogwarts students behind him, only to break out into full-fledged laughter.

George tried to stifle his own grin. "What is it? Why are you laughing?"

"Their faces – they're so – and yours –"

"Funny, aren't they?" George finally allowed himself to smile. He didn't need to wear the spectacles to imagine what the child was seeing. "Is mine all wonky with a small forehead and a huge nose?"

Francesca nodded.

"And what about them?" asked George, motioning to the students behind him. "What do their faces look like?"

"Animals," said Francesca, looking at the students gleefully. "That tall boy is an elephant. The other boy is a rabbit. And the girl is a horse." After watching the three students for a few moments, she turned to George. "What is this exactly, Mr Weasley?"

"Silly Specs," he explained with a grin. "Grant the wearer hours of amusement. Just put them on and they distort the face of anyone you look at." Francesca immediately started glancing around at the crowd. "And the best part is," George continued, "they look just like ordinary spectacles. Completely undetectable. A must-have for any Hogwarts student." He chuckled as he realised how easily this had become a sales pitch. But Francesca was too busy with the Silly Specs to notice. George resumed the search for her father and she followed him, trying to look at as many people as possible as they passed carriage after carriage.

They had reached the end of the train and still there was no sign of the irresponsible father in question. George turned to a student next to them, a boy with dirty blond hair who was hanging out of the door of a carriage as though it was the coolest thing to do. "Hey, have you seen Professor-?"

"FRANCESCA!"

Both George and Francesca turned around to see a brown-haired man running towards them, his midnight blue robes billowing madly behind him.

"Francesca!" he repeated, as he caught up to them. "I've been looking all over for you!" The little girl had barely taken off her Silly Specs when he hugged her so tightly that it reminded George of his own mother's rib-breaking embraces.

"Hiya, Neville," said George, beaming at his old schoolmate.

Professor Neville Longbottom finally let go of his daughter, who was now quietly gasping for air, and smiled at the older wizard. "George! How are you?"

"Better than you, mate, considering the fact that I know where my kids are," replied George.

Neville looked sheepish and mumbled something about crowds. He reminded George of the eleven-year-old boy who kept losing his toad in the Gryffindor common room.

"How is Trevor, by the way?"

"Trevor?" Neville looked taken aback. "Why?" he asked, sounding slightly suspicious.

George grinned mischievously. "Oh, come on, Neville, can't a bloke ask an innocent question around here?"

But Neville's reply was drowned out by a piercingly loud whistle from the scarlet train. From the pocket of his emerald waistcoat, George pulled out a silver watch, which cleared its throat dramatically and announced that it was exactly nineteen minutes past ten.

"Pompous piece of metal," muttered George as he put the watch back. "Well, I better go wait at the entrance, or else my kids will be wandering around the platform like your little tyke here." Neville continued to look embarrassed. George decided to take advantage of the opportunity and adopted his best Percy voice. "Responsible parenting is not a joke. You are setting a very bad example for your students."

Neville involuntarily recoiled a little, pulling his daughter closer. But then George laughed loudly. "Don't worry, Neville," he reassured, "I'm not ratting you out to the impressionable minds at Hogwarts anytime soon."

"And, uh, it'd be best if you don't mention it to Hannah either," Neville added quietly so that Francesca couldn't hear him.

"I can't promise that," said George, still grinning, "I tend to spill many secrets when I'm drinking at your wife's pub." But then he saw genuine worry in Neville's eyes and added, "However, I have been known to be uncharacteristically careful when the situation demands it."

"Thanks," mumbled Neville.

"My pleasure, dear Professor," said George. "I'll see you later. Make sure to tell your kids to visit the Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—"

"I can't advertise for you, George."

"Fine, then I'll just have to owl some Parental Pest Pops to young Francesca here." George winked at the younger Longbottom and started walking back to the entrance. He faintly heard Neville ask his daughter about the Silly Specs. George thought it best not to mention that he had sold several pairs to his students just yesterday.


The platform was much more crowded now. George looked around for the familiar faces of his freckled progeny, but they didn't seem to have arrived yet. Perhaps he shouldn't have trusted Angelina's father to drive them over in his rickety old Muggle car. Desmond Johnson still drove the beige Ford Consul Cortina he had owned as a teenager, which had survived the years only due to his magical wife's careful preservation spells. George trusted that car like he trusted Percy on a broomstick. Had that death-trap finally broken down? Could they have crashed? Surely, someone would have had the courtesy to inform him if both his children had died in a Muggle car crash that morning?

George ground his teeth, trying to replace the picture of his son's and daughter's mangled corpses with something pleasant. He had become used to this exercise. It was like conjuring a mental Patronus every time he imagined the violent death of someone he loved. That was the one wound that still remained, fresh and open, eighteen years after the death of his twin brother.

Trying to dismiss the painful image of the car crash, George thought of Fred. For such times, his mind had been trained to concentrate on happy childhood memories instead of the unseeing eyes of Fred’s corpse in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. It is much easier to go on, if you remember with love, not sadness. George’s jaw unclenched as he remembered the words Angelina had said to him years ago, the words that eventually became the motto for the rest of his life.

It seemed perfectly normal to him that his deceased brother continued to affect his life. He did not think it odd at all that the sudden bouts of paranoia caused by Fred’s death could only be driven away by remembering Fred. This grim paradox may have broken a lesser man, but George Weasley never dwelled upon it. After all, he knew for a fact that Fred was at peace. His fingers closed around a little black lump in his pocket as he reminded himself that his brother would always be with him. Besides, he thought with a smile, Fred was attracting an impressive amount of attention from beyond the grave.

Like most children born after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, every Weasley grandchild had been named after someone who was killed during the First and Second Wizarding Wars. It was a great way to honour the dead, but George wasn’t sure if his nephew, Hugo Dobby Weasley, would agree. Everyone from Nymphadora Tonks to Severus Snape had contributed to the names of George’s nieces and nephews. But Fred, of course, had taken the cake. Three of George’s nieces—the firstborns of Bill, Percy and Ron—had Fredericka as their middle name. His friend, Lee, had been more original, naming his son Rudy Forge Jordan, as a tribute to both his departed friend as well as Rudy’s new Godfather. George, however, had been the only one to name both his children after Fred. And as he continued to wait at the platform for Fred Lee Weasley and Roxanne Frieda Weasley, he imagined Charlie’s future wife giving birth to triplets: Frederick, Frederina and Fredinald.

“Thinking of me, Your Holeyness?�

George almost jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t realised that his hand had been subconsciously turning over the little lump in his pocket. And now, next to him in the middle of the bustling platform stood his dead twin in spirit form, looking very pleased with himself. His joy was infectious and George smiled, shaking his head.

“You love doing that, don’t you? Showing up when I least expect it? It scares the bloody daylights out of me, you know.�

“What? You didn’t mean to call me?� Fred crossed his translucent arms in mock indignation. “Sometimes I really think you take me for granted, George Weasley. It’s not fun leaving eternal peace just to see your unsightly face.�

“It’s the same as yours,� George pointed out.

“Au contraire, dear brother, I get to look as young as I want.� Fred’s lips broke into a grin, a grin that reminded George of their very public departure from Hogwarts many years ago.

“I see you’re seventeen today.�

Fred nodded. “Thought it was our best time, you know. Young pranklords in the making.�

“Pranklords?� repeated George, feigning offense. “Have you been making up terms without me?�

“Well, I can’t rely on rusty minds like yours for fresh material,� teased Fred.

“It’s not like you’re actually younger than me,� said George, frowning. “You said you’re ageless now!�

“That I am,� said Fred, “but you’re still an old codger.�

George rolled his eyes dramatically. “You’re not making any sense. You never told me death makes you go all loopy.�

“Hey, you’re the one talking to himself in the middle of a busy platform.�

Immediately, George cursed himself for forgetting his surroundings. As a rule, he was very careful when he used the Resurrection Stone to summon Fred. He glanced surreptitiously around the platform. Fortunately, no one seemed to have notice his apparent lunacy.

“You know,� he muttered, barely moving his lips as he turned back to Fred. “The kids haven’t turned up as yet.�

“Relax, Mum,� joked Fred. “They’re with their grandparents, not Death Eaters.�

George looked away. The mention of Death Eaters had brought a familiar pang of anger and despair, and he was determined not to let Fred see the pain. But he was sure his sudden silence had betrayed him.

“Sometimes I really wish,� he began as an explanation, not meeting Fred’s eyes, “that you could—�

“You know I can’t.� Fred’s voice was as quiet as George’s but much more serene. “And you agreed to accept it when Harry told you about the stone.�

“Yeah, I know. It’s just – it’s not fair, is it?� George argued weakly. “I mean, yeah, loads of people die in wars, but this was – you are – it’s different.�

“That’s why he wanted you to have it.�

George thought of that fateful night, when Harry had cornered him in the kitchen of the Burrow and told him about the Resurrection Stone hidden in the dark recesses of the Forbidden Forest. The Chosen One had fumbled with his words. “I know it’s not right to try to, you know, bring him back. But, well, you won’t be bringing him back, really. It’s just – George, just remember the Tale of the Three Brothers.� George had been speechless at discovering that the Hallows were real, but Harry had been more concerned with justifying his actions. “I wasn’t planning to tell anyone about it. Getting involved with the dead is not a good idea. But then, if I had lost someone who’s been with me almost every moment of my entire life, I would – well, I don’t know what I’d do. So, maybe it’s best, you know, if he never truly leaves you.�

“You’re right, Fred,� conceded George, coming out of his reverie and cracking a small smile that slowly broadened into a grin. “You know, I think death has made you wiser.�

“And famous, if you’ve noticed,� Fred declared, nodding vigorously. “Half the redheads in Britain are named after me.�

George chuckled. “I was thinking about that earlier. I suppose that’s your legacy.�

“That and the shop,� added Fred. “I wonder what the customers would say if you told them I was still giving you ideas for products.�

“They’d probably think I’m mad,� George conjectured. “Not that they don’t already. The other day I overheard a little boy tell his friend that I keep a small stash of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans in the hole in my head.�

Fred snorted so loudly that George was glad that no one else could hear him. “I hope you told them it was true!�

“Better,� said George with a mischievous expression that would have looked out of place on any other man his age. “When they came to pay up at the counter, I offered them some Every Flavour Beans. You’ve should’ve seen the looks on their faces!�

Fred doubled up in laughter and George joined him, abandoning all attempts at being inconspicuous.

“Uncle George! Are you okay?�

George straightened up to find himself facing his bespectacled nephew. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fred smile and nod. He let go of the stone and Fred’s spirit vanished.

“Are you okay?� repeated the boy, his eyebrows raised in concern, almost disappearing into his dark red hair.

George winked at him. “I’m fine, James. Just remembered a joke.�

“Wow!� cried James. “It must’ve been pretty funny.�

“Extraordinarily hilarious,� said George with a confirming tone. He did not like to lie but it was a pleasure to see his nephew get excited about a joke. He was more Weasley than Potter, for sure. “Oh, are your parents here?�

James nodded. “They’re with Al and Lily near the train, talking to Professor Longbottom,� he said. Then his jovial expression turned into one of slight worry. “You know, Uncle George, I think he knows about the Silly Specs.�

“Don’t worry about it, nephew mine,� said George, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “I don’t think anyone would actually spoil the fun by telling teachers about it.� But James wasn’t assuaged. “Well, even if he does get to know, you won’t get into any trouble,� George reassured him. “We’ll just charm your Silly Specs to look like your regular glasses.�

That seemed to put James’s twelve-year-old worries at bay. “So, where are the twins?�

George glanced at the wrought iron gate beside him. “No idea. I’ve been waiting for them for a long time.� He was determined not to be worried, especially after Fred’s reassurance. “Their grandfather is driving them over, so they’ll—�

James eyebrows shot up again. “Granddad’s bringing them in a car?�

“Oh, no, not him. I meant their other grandfather, your Aunt Angelina’s dad.� James still looked concerned, obviously convinced that no grandparent in the world was capable of handling a car. George smiled. “Relax, James. He’s a Muggle. He’s been driving all his life. They’ll be fine.�

As if to prove his point, two children with dark brown curls, freckled faces and loaded trolleys walked through the archway next to them.

“Dad!� they chorused, and enveloped their father in a giant three-way bear hug. George felt all the little bits of worry in his mind merge into a ball and roll out through the hole in his head.

“You two took your time,� he said, beaming as they pulled away. “Was there a problem with the car?�

“No, but there was a huge traffic jam—�

“You should’ve seen it, Dad, loads of Muggle cars all packed together—�

“Everyone was beeping their horns and no one was budging—�

“But we turned up the radio all the way—�

“And sang out loud until the cars started moving!�

George laughed, glad that Fred and Roxanne had not only survived their drive to the platform but had also enjoyed it.

“Hey, guys!� James practically jumped at his cousins. “Ready for Hogwarts? You’re gonna love it! Al’s been throwing a tantrum back there. He wants to start this year, too.� He draped one arm around each twin and started walking them towards the train.

George smiled to himself, and taking hold of the trolleys, followed after them. His children didn’t seem nervous at all, happily chatting with James as they made their way to the Hogwarts Express. This would be the first time that they would actually board the train and leave for school. However, George, who had worried excessively about their safe arrival at the platform, was absolutely calm about their new status as Hogwarts first-years. He knew they would be alright. Instead of causing trouble, as he and Fred had done at school, the new generation of Weasley twins simply wanted to have fun, for which George had always thanked his stars. They were also very inquisitive, and he predicted they may be among the few students who actually find their classes interesting. Now that he thought about it, there was a very good chance that at least one of them might end up taking Muggle Studies later. George smiled; his father would be pleased beyond words.

An owl hooted loudly from one of the trolleys. George stuck out his tongue at it. The grey Eagle Owl regarded him with a dignified stare, as though deeming his actions extremely childish. George smirked, but then smiled in apology, remembering that the bird would be the only contact he will have with his children for the next few months. He knew Fred and Roxanne would not get homesick. Their three older cousins would be at school with them. And even if they didn’t make many friends, which George seriously doubted, they would be pretty happy in each other’s company, as they had always been.

Of course, they would miss him, but he knew he would miss them much more. The last eleven years of his life had revolved around them. When the twins were four years old, Angelina had started playing with the Ballycastle Bats, leaving George as the only parent at home for most of the year. It was an unconventional decision, but he had taken it in his stride. With the long-distance support of his wife and the frequent guidance of Fred’s spirit, he managed to succeed at both parenting and business. By the time Angelina joined the Bats, he had bought the much larger shop next door, more than doubling the size of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, and combined the two flats at the top of the shops into one large, comfortable lodging. Ron, who had helped him with the shop until then and had shown an excellent flair for business, was now made his official manager, which allowed George to work at home on most days, researching new products while spending time with his children. If he was required in the shop or had to experiment in his workshop, one of his siblings was happy to babysit Fred and Roxanne.

When they turned five, George found a tutor for their basic education. Now, he could concentrate on the shop when the twins were having their lessons and give them his undivided attention when they were done. Eventually, they started accompanying him to the shop, helping the staff and self-importantly advising other children on which items they should buy.

When George bought Zonko’s, he and Ron spent most of their days in Hogsmeade, converting the shop into a smaller but just as attractive branch of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. It was too chaotic to have the twins there, so he encouraged them to find a ‘campsite’ in the old shop, where Verity could keep an eye on them during the day. After extensive consideration, they decided on the large purple fireplace at the far end of the shop. Accordingly, George laid a large, soft carpet there and placed squashy cushions all around. He also set up a small tent, in case they actually felt like camping. When they saw George every night at home, they insisted they were having a lot of fun. But George was not too fond of the situation. Once the shop in Hogsmeade was flourishing and Ron left to work for the Auror Department, George appointed one of his old hands, Benjamin Carlow, as the manager of the Hogsmeade branch and returned to his Diagon Alley shop, only to find the twins huddled in the tent, pretending to be camping in the middle of a storm. They would use the large purple fireplace behind them to floo to the Burrow, to Angelina’s parents’ cottage or to the houses of their many cousins. George got used to seeing his nieces and nephews emerge from the flames to join the twins for ‘camping’ in the tent or roaming around Diagon Alley. As he stood next to their trolleys, still vacantly gazing at Calypso the Owl, he knew he would miss them terribly and hoped they had enjoyed their childhood.