A Bit Unhealthy

Chapter 5

Angelina opens the door and immediately nearly closes it again.

"No," she whispers miserably. "No, Lee, please, not now. I can't..."

Lee doesn't move, but his face doesn't seem as cold or angry as she would've expected. "Can I come in, please?" he says quietly. "I'm not here to make things harder for you. And I'm not here because George sent me. I just need to understand what's going on. Please?"

Angelina steps back, her stomach in knots. Her stomach is always in knots these days. He steps into her mother's home and she leads him into the kitchen.

"Can I get you anything?" she asks inanely, as if this were just a social call.

"No, no thanks. Where's the baby?"

"Sleeping."

"Can I see him?"

Angelina leads him into the nursery, not sure why she's doing so. She's not sure of much, these days. Other than the fact that it's a relief when somebody else tells her what to do, as she's made an absolute mess of everything she's tried to do for herself in the last year or so.

Lee looks down at Freddie curiously, but makes no move to touch him or wake him. Angelina averts her eyes from her son, his cheeks rounded and flushed with sleep, mouth slightly open.

Lee nods and they move back down the hall and sit down at the kitchen table. "I know, I know what you're going to say," she begins. "But... you don't understand. I don't... I'm not trying to hurt George, I'm not trying to hurt anybody. I'm trying to do what's right for Freddie, I just can't do this any more--"

And then she stops talking as he moves his chair closer and puts an arm around her. "Hey, I told you, I'm not here to make things worse," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. I really wanted to, last night, but George would probably kick my arse if I did that, so I'm just here to... I don't know, be a friend. Or something like that."

Angelina blinks at him through her tears, and then there's a soft wail from down the hall. She automatically stands, moving back to the nursery with heavy feet. Lee follows her.

"What's wrong with him?" asks Lee.

"I don't know, maybe he's hungry," she says hopelessly, picking him up. "I don't know. Everybody says a mum can understand why her baby's crying, but I can't." Whatever the problem is, she's able to get Freddie to settle fairly quickly. Maybe it's Lee's presence that's helping, as the baby sucks his fist and regards Lee curiously.

"Can I hold him?" Lee asks. Angelina nods and Lee carefully takes the baby in his arms. Freddie's eyebrows go up a little at the transfer and he solemnly blows a spit bubble at Lee. Lee holds him gingerly at first, but smiles at him and holds one of his dreadlocks in front of Freddie's face. Freddie immediately moves to take it, but he's not terribly coordinated yet, so his fist bobs in the air nowhere near the interesting object Lee's showing him. His eyebrows go down and his mouth purses up in mild annoyance. Lee chuckles and puts the dreadlock into Freddie's fist. Freddie immediately brings it to his mouth and gravely gums it.

"Are you sure about this?" Lee asks quietly.

Angelina nods. "I'm sure," she says as firmly as she can. "This isn't about me, or George, or Fred. It's about Freddie, and he needs more than I can give him. He needs a stable home with two parents who love him and who want him. He deserves that much." And bloody hell, Angelina so desperately wants to feel as certain as she sounds.

Lee nods, and holds the baby closer.

"What do you think?" she asks him, regretting the question as soon as it's out of her mouth.

"I think you're making a mistake that you're going to regret for the rest of your life," he says, and although his words are harsh, his tone is compassionate.

"If I keep him I'll regret it for the rest of my life," she says. "And so will he."

Lee shakes his head and sighs.

ooo000ooo

This is surreal, George thinks as he and Angelina wait at the Magical Child Agency's waiting room, which is far too reminiscent of Dolores Umbridge's office for his comfort. He's not been able to get past his shock since Angelina's visit two days ago. He still can't believe they're here.

He knew she was struggling. He knew her mother wasn't terribly supportive. He knew she was still rather miserably messed up, from the war, the final battle, Fred's death, and all that had happened between them. But it never occurred to him that she might want to get rid of the baby after he was born.

It's not like she's a scared, helpless teenager. She's young to be a mother, and a single mother at that, but women have been having kids by themselves at Angelina's age for a long, long time, and have somehow been able to struggle through. And Angelina has always been such a strong person. He can't help wondering just how much he damaged her, just how much he contributed to her inability to cope. Maybe if he'd been able to remain just a friend to her, she would've let him help her through the pregnancy and beyond. Maybe if he'd pushed her more to let him have a role in the baby's life, she would've turned to him more. Maybe if he'd been less of a mess himself he would've been able to see how badly she was doing. Maybe if he'd been able to get his thoughts together better when she told him what she was doing and he offered to help her she would've considered his offer, instead of telling him she'd made up her mind already...

It's too late for any of that now. They wait together in frilly pastel silence, and are eventually ushered in to an office decorated in bright primary colours, with pictures of happy children all over the walls. After minimal introductions the rosy-faced witch whose office they're in launches into a bright, cheery speech about options, and procedures, and the baby's health, Angelina's health, George's lack of any legal role in the procedure, and it's all surreal and George still can't quite manage to grasp it, somehow.

This can't be his child she's talking about taking away. This can't be the baby he helped Angelina bring into the world. This can't be the child that might be all that's left of his twin. Because he may have felt disconnected from the baby, aside from their brief moment of rapport at his birth, and he may have bleakly wondered if he'd ever feel like anything other than an intruder under false pretenses in the kid's life, but he never thought he might never see him again.

The woman finally ends her chipper little spiel about the Best Interests of the Child, and then she pauses and her features take on an oddly tentative aspect.

"Now. There's something I do have to let you know. It may come as a bit of a shock, but please, rest assured, everything else I have told you so far is still absolutely true."

George and Angelina glance at one another, puzzled.

"Our agency has been rather overwhelmed in the last year or so. Normally we have far more parents hoping to adopt than we have children who need to be adopted, but because of the all the disruption caused by the war..." she trails off. "The problem is, you see, many Muggleborn adults hid their children away and then died or went missing and haven't been found. And some of the ones we did find, the ones who'd been sent to Azkaban... well, some of them were Dementor-kissed, many of them were damaged in other ways. And obviously a lot of other people, who might have wanted to become adoptive parents, were also killed or, erm, damaged in one way or another, and so we have found ourselves with far, far more children than we have wizarding homes to place them in."

She pauses and schools her face into what she probably thinks is a compassionate and heartening expression. "We have looked into international adoption, but it's very time-consuming and requires Ministry supervision and, well, the Ministry has been in shambles for so long, you know." She shakes her head. "So many scandals, in every department, that it makes that option extremely impractical. Especially for very young children, where it's not advisable to leave them in limbo while we scramble to find suitable wizarding homes for them."

George and Angelina stare at her.

"There's no need to worry, though," she says reassuringly. "We will find a good home for him. Remember, most wizard children don't show signs of magic terribly early, and some end up having no magic at all. And as you know, there are people highly trained to spot these things, and of course for our wizarding orpha - erm, children we're putting into care - we'll take special precautions, just in case the manifestation is problematic in any way--"

"Wait, what are you talking about?" George interrupts her. "What do you mean, take special precautions - where are you going to put him?"

The witch blinks. "In a Muggle home, in all likelihood."

George is literally speechless for a moment. "What?"

"Your son needs immediate care. He's only two months old, and he needs a family who will look after him and take him in as their own. He does not need to be cared for by strangers while we wait for a space in a wizarding home. I am proposing to take him and place him, within a week, with a Muggle family who will--"

"No!" George doesn't realize he's going to say anything until he's said it. Angelina and the witch stare at him.

He can't. He can't let his son be brought up the way Harry was. He can't.

"No," he repeats. "You can't do this," he says to Angelina.

Angelina's eyes narrow. "I let you come here today as a courtesy, not because you have any right to--"

"I know, I know. But please. Please don't do this. I - I'll take him myself."

There's a ringing silence in the room, and George can't quite believe he said what he just did.

"What?"

"I'll raise him, if you can't," says George. Angelina's eyes widen and he continues quickly. "My parents raised seven kids, I've got fi- erm, four brothers and a sister to help out - I can set up a schedule," he's thinking out loud and hoping Angelina doesn't cut him off any time soon. "I'll get other people to run the shop, hire an office manager - or, look, if you want, I'll sell the place, so there's no other demands on my time and I can live off the proceeds pretty well for at least a few years. I'll set up a schedule for people to help out - even supposing I'm asking people to do it once every two weeks, that should be enough to have somebody helping me out every other day, if not every day--" and he's got a schedule going up in his mind already, assuming his parents and each sibling is willing or able to commit for an evening every two weeks, that's seven evenings over fourteen - no, can't count Charlie in there and Ron's overworked already with Wheezes and the Aurors, so that's five evenings over fourteen but he can probably rope Lee in to help when he's home, so that's six, which is pretty much every other day and if he needs more he can just hire somebody for the job...

Angelina's looking stunned. "George, this isn't - you haven't even been there for him until now, you can't--"

"Miss Johnson, please," says the rosy-faced witch. "Let Mr. Weasley finish. Go on, Mr. Weasley," she nods encouragingly.

George takes a quick breath and does not allow himself to think of anything other than Oh Godric, please, let this work. Because letting the baby go to strangers is just not something he could possibly live with. Not on top of everything else he's fucked up this year.

ooo000ooo

"She wanted to do what?" Mum asks, horrified, as she, Dad, Ron and Harry gather at George and Lee's flat that night.

"Wants to, Mum," George corrects grimly. "And I can't do a bloody thing about it without her permission, not without a lot of help. I have no rights, and she won't give her approval, and the Magical Child Agency won't give their approval either, if I don't have a plan and a lot of support."

"But how..." Dad's face is ashen and George wishes he could take that look away, reassure him that he won't lose his grandchild, but he can't. "If you just say you're willing to take him, then why--"

"Because." He takes a deep breath. "Because I've barely seen him since he was born. I'm single, I own my own business, I'm only twenty, I don't know a bloody thing about babies, and I don't even know for sure that I'm his father. The social worker said that if I'll have to show a good plan for taking care of him." He runs a hand through his hair nervously. "I don't want to - everybody's already done a lot for me, and for the shop, and I don't want to ask, but... I can't let him be brought up by Muggles." He meets Harry's eyes. "I can't. I know they're not all like your relatives, but - if that's Fred's son, or even if he's mine - your relatives put bars on your bloody windows, Harry--"

"They're not all like that," Harry says quietly. "Hermione's parents aren't."

"They love her, yeah," says George. "But they not really part of her life. D'you remember when she got her Prefect badge? She was so happy to have something to tell them that they could actually understand. And Angelina's mum - Merlin, she doesn't understand any of Angelina's life. And she doesn't want to, either."

"George... are you sure about this?" Ron asks.

"No, bloody hell, I'm not sure. But I have to try. And I'll need help."

"Of course we'll help," said Dad quickly. "You didn't even need to ask. I'm sure Percy and Bill and Fleur will say the same."

"You know Hermione and Ginny'll help as soon as they're done school," says Ron, and Harry nods. "Wouldn't surprise me if we can even get them permission to leave on weekends until then."

George nods, relieved. "Look... it's my own mess, I know. I should deal with it myself. But I don't want to make the kid pay for my mistakes."

"No, of course not."

"Molly?" says Dad.

Mum is staring at George with a strange expression on her face. "George," she says slowly. "I don't think you understand what taking care of a baby entails."

"I don't," he admits. "But I have to anyway, Mum. I can't not try."

"Are you doing this for the baby? Or for you?"

"Does it matter? Do you want him to be brought up by strangers?"

"Molly--"

"No, Arthur, let me speak." She turns to George. "Harry's right. Not all Muggles are like the Dursleys. The Agency's offering to place him with a good, loving family. Two parents, who have probably wanted a baby for a long time and are prepared to take care of him because they want to, not because they have to."

Everybody's gaping at her now.

"I've had to push you to even go and see him. You've no idea what you're getting into."

"Probably not," George admits. "But... doing things without knowing what I was getting in to is sort of a habit for me. At least, it used to be."

"Setting up the shop? Going to war?" There are tears in Mum's eyes, but her voice is hard and uncompromising. "You did both with Fred. He can't help you now."

"Molly!"

"Mum!"

Mum doesn't acknowledge the astonished gasps from the others, merely stares at George, her mouth in a tight line, daring him to challenge her. Her words are like knives, and a large part of George wants to acknowledge that she's right.

"You haven't done a single thing since Fred died without relying on other people," Mum continues, and George can't really argue with that either.

"That's not fair!" Ron says furiously.

"Molly, that's enough--" Dad says, really angry now, and George puts out a hand to stop them both.

"No, I haven't," he says. "But I have to do this."

"Take care of a baby you've hardly seen since he was born? You'll just somehow sort out how to be a parent?"

"Other people somehow sort it out."

"Angelina obviously couldn't. What makes you think you'll be any different?"

"Nothing, other than hopefully I'll have more than just one person helping." George holds her gaze. "He's my son. Or as good as, anyway. I can't give him up without even trying."

"What if we all said no?" asks Mum, and Ron and Dad and Harry all open their mouths to speak but George answers her.

"Probably hire a house-elf, for starters," he says promptly. "And keep trying to convince the Agency. I'm not giving up on him. If Angelina has her way, he'll be taken away and we'll both lose all rights to him for good."

"Wait, doesn't she get some time to change her mind?" asks Harry.

George shakes his head. "No. Once it's done, it's done, and there would be no going back, even if she wanted to."

"Do you think she would?"

"I think so, eventually." George hesitates. "Though to be honest I can't believe she's doing this at all," he admits. "So I can't really say."

"Is that why you're doing this, then?" Mum says, her voice tense. "You're going to take him and hope she'll come back? To the baby, or to you?"

Fuck, that one hurt. Dad and Ron look about ready to explode, but Mum's on a roll and George realizes it's been a while since he felt the brunt of her anger. Since May Second, actually.

"How long are you going to wait for her?" Mum asks.

"If she hasn't come back in a year, I'll petition the Wizengamot to transfer parental rights to me," says George. "Until then, she can come back." He narrows his eyes. "To the baby. Not to me. That's over."

"And what will you do if she does? Just give him up?"

George shrugs helplessly. "I don't know. I can't think that far ahead, Mum, I just need to have something in place for the day after tomorrow at the Child Agency meeting. If you aren't going to help, fine, thanks for letting me know, I'll--"

"I'm helping," Ron says firmly, and Harry nods.

"No you're not," George says promptly. "You're already in Auror Training and moonlighting at Wheezes. And Harry, you've got Teddy to help look after as well. And Lee's out of town a lot." He thinks for a moment. "Right. I'll hire a house-elf."

"That'll make Hermione happy," says Ron. "I'd suggest Kreacher, but he's a little scary."

"George." Mum speaks up again, and she sounds completely different now. George glances at her impatiently, because although he's got to admit that some of what she's said so far is true, he's got more important things to do than continue to argue with her right now. "You don't need to do that. Of course we'll help."

He blinks at her, off balance. "What?"

"I didn't want you doing this for the wrong reasons," she says, and takes a deep, slightly shaky breath. "It's too important. I just needed to know that you want to do this. Not because you have to, and not because of Angelina, but because he's your son."

"Molly," Dad's voice is reproachful. "You didn't need to say all those terrible--"

Mum shakes her head and wipes at her eyes. "No, I shouldn't - I'm sorry. It's not true that you've relied on everybody else--"

"Yeah, it is," George interrupts her grimly.

"But you've done so much yourself. You've been so lost, this whole year..."

"Yeah, well." George shrugs uncomfortably and hopes Mum doesn't get weepy again. He really doesn't have time for that right now. "I shouldn't have let Angelina cut me off from the kid. Should've realized he'd need a dad whether she wanted me there or not."

"What's done is done. You did what you thought was right. You didn't want to make Angelina's life more difficult. I taught you to be a gentleman and you were trying to do that."

George shrugs again.

"You should stay at The Burrow," says Mum. "We've certainly got the room, and you'd have people around all the time. I've some experience with babies--"

"Mum--"

"Not forever, dear, only until you're sure enough of what you're doing. A few weeks. It'll probably help convince the Magical Child Agency decide in your favour as well."

George takes a deep breath. Right. He can do this.

ooo000ooo

George rings the doorbell and Ginny glances around the small suburban neighbourhood where Angelina lives, feeling no curiosity whatsoever. She's not here to get to see how Muggles live, or visit with Angelina, or do anything but rescue her brother's child from people who don't want him.

Ginny just hopes she won't say anything unforgivable to Angelina. It's incomprehensible to her that Angelina could seriously be capable of giving away what Fred left her. And Ginny's sure Angelina does believe it's Fred's child, as Ginny does, despite the fact that because of the timing, odds are it's George's. In part because of how Angelina's treated George - as if he's got no more connection to the baby than any random bloke on the street - but also because George has his entire life to beget more children. This is all Fred will ever have. And Angelina's just throwing it away.

George rings the doorbell again and they stand, waiting and fidgeting. George checks his watch, but Ginny knows they're on time. She's being very careful to do everything exactly right, so that if Angelina changes her mind and decides to fight the Wizengamot's decision to allow George to take the baby, at least she won't be able to hold any of the Weasleys' own conduct against them. Ginny's had to ask permission to leave school in the middle of studying for NEWTs to help George with this, but it's well worth it.

The door opens and Ginny and George are ushered in by Angelina's mother after only the barest of civilities. Which is fine; they just want to get the baby and leave. They're led into the baby's room and they quietly put Freddie's things into a bag that Hermione loaned them, using the shrinking spells Hermione taught them. She notices Angelina's mother looking away from their magic use in distaste.

Throughout, Ginny keeps stealing glances at her nephew, who is sitting in a high chair studying them seriously. She's only ever seen pictures of him up till now and can't believe how tiny he is, and how perfect. He's got a mass of dark brown frizzy curls, dark solemn eyes, and his skin has gone from very light brown to medium brown since his birth. He doesn't look much like either of his parents, although the nose is pure Weasley. And he has no idea that this severe, hateful looking woman who should be a doting grandmother is in the process of getting rid of him.

No words are spoken other than, "Hold this open, Gin," and "Do you have his nappies?" Angelina's mother curtly motions at a pile of things left in the front room. They won't need the crib, although Dad would probably be interested in the little monitor. They'll probably get rid of most of what they're taking. Or maybe keep for Angelina, assuming she ever shows up for her kid again.

It is unreal how much equipment comes with a baby. The bassinet, more clothing than Ginny has ever seen in one place, wipes, diapers, a charmed mobile, toys, plush stuffed things, a toy Thestral, all sorts of bizarre things. Finally they're done, and all that's left is Freddie. Ginny picks him up carefully and he brings a tiny hand to her face, his dark eyes very serious.

Ginny's heart gives a pang as she breathes in Freddie's scent - milk, and some kind of baby soap - and she realizes she's been wondering if Angelina was going to change her mind at the last minute. Part of her even hoped she would, and she's fairly sure part of George did too.

Angelina's not even there. There's just her mother, arms crossed, staring at Ginny as she touches Freddie's silky cheek and smiles at him, unable to believe that she's finally getting to hold Fred's son. To feel close to Fred, for the first time in almost a year.

Ginny cuddles him close, marveling at the soft warm weight of him in her arms, glances towards Mrs. Johnson and has to suppress a sudden burning rage. Angelina's an adult, competent enough to be a Quidditch Captain and get into Animal Healer apprenticeship and survive the war as a Muggleborn. Surely if her mother had given her any help at all, she would've been able to be a mother as well. Instead this woman convinced her to give her baby away. Ginny can't understand it.

"Is Angelina going to come and say goodbye?" she asks, keeping her voice neutral. The baby purses his mouth into an O, waving his hands.

Angelina's mother shakes her head. "She said goodbye this morning."

"Where is she?"

Mrs. Johnson frowns. "Why should you care?"

"She's Freddie's mum," says Ginny evenly. "I'd like to know why she's not here."

"She checked into a hospital," Mrs. Johnson says after a moment. "A real hospital. With people who can actually help her."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's depressed."

George and Ginny look at each other, confused. "You sent her to a hospital because she's sad?" Ginny asks slowly. "A Muggle hospital? Why?"

Mrs. Johnson glares at her. "A proper hospital. Instead of waving sticks at her and giving her foul drinks, she'll have a proper doctor and anti-depressants." She pauses. "I don't suppose either of you has heard of post-partum depression." Their baffled looks are answer enough. Mrs. Johnson rolls her eyes. "Of course. What a surprise. This is precisely why she's not going to have anything more to do with you lot."

Ginny blinks. "Our lot?"

Mrs. Johnson stares at her, hard, for a long moment, and Ginny is about to give up and just leave when she finally speaks.

"This stupid world of yours. Do you know what your world did to my family?" She crosses her arms. "It destroyed us. We were expected to give up our daughter for seven years, except for six weeks in the summer. She lost contact with all her normal friends. We couldn't understand a thing she talked about when she came home. She was part of a sports team - we told her to tell her normal friends it was football but of course how could she say she was Captain of a football team when she couldn't play at all?" She gives a hard, bitter laugh. "And she was good at Charms. Charms, but had no idea about algebra or calculus or biology or chemistry or anything real. Her father and I split over it - I defended her choice, I bloody well made him leave her at that school." She shakes her head. "And he was right all along," she says bitterly. "Then she had to hide from a madman who wanted to kill people like her - we couldn't see her, contact her in any way, though apparently she could make the time to see you and your brother," she says spitefully to George, who hasn't said a word to her so far. "And then I finally got my daughter back, emotionally scarred, and pregnant, and going farther and farther into a depression."

Ginny's mouth has dropped open some time during Mrs. Johnson's bitter diatribe. She closes it.

Mrs. Johnson takes a deep breath. "Enough is enough. Your world has given us absolutely nothing of any value. She's done with it."

"Does she agree with that?" asks George, speaking for the first time, and Ginny pats Freddie's back soothingly, though of course he can't possibly understand his grandmother's hateful words.

"She's in no position to agree or disagree," says Mrs. Johnson grimly. "She's in no shape to decide anything in her life right now. They'll be able to help her in the hospital. Although she'll have a time explaining to them the hell she's been through. They'll think she's a different kind of lunatic if she tells them the whole truth." She takes a deep breath. "And once she gets out she's going to need some basic skills training, in all the things she didn't get while she was in the clutches of your lot."

Ginny holds Freddie close. He grabs her hair and brings it to his mouth, making a small squealing sound at Ginny and regarding her curiously. "How can you make her give away her child?"

"It'll be painful," says Mrs. Johnson coldly. "But far less painful than killing him."

"What?!" Ginny and George have spoken at the same time and her arms tighten around Freddie. She can't quite believe she heard right.

"It happens!" says Mrs. Johnson angrily. "It happens, sometimes when a mother is so depressed that she starts to think she and her baby would be better off dead. They can't think straight, they do desperate things. There is no way I will let my daughter reach that point."

"What hospital is she in?" George asks.

Mrs. Johnson presses her lips together. "I'm not about to tell you. Although I suppose you've got ways of finding out." Her expression is still cold and hateful but now there's pleading in her eyes as well. "If you care about her at all, you'll let her alone. Let her get better." She pauses. "I think you've done enough to hurt her, don't you? To keep her from getting past your brother and getting on with her life?"

George draws in his breath sharply, and Ginny can almost feel the stabbing pain Angelina's mother has just caused him.

She balances the baby on her hip and puts a comforting hand on George's arm. "I still don't see how you can do this," she says quietly.

"I'm her mother. I'll do whatever I have to, to protect her." Mrs. Johnson glances at Freddie, then back at George, whose lips are pressed together. "Someday you might feel the same way about him. It's what parents are supposed to do." She smiles grimly. "Even Muggle parents, believe it or not."

"What do you mean, even Muggle parents?" says Ginny. And George should be saying something. Once upon a time he would've been saying all sorts of things, but instead he's gently tugging on Ginny's sleeve, signaling her that they should just leave.

"Muggles, that's what you lot call us, isn't it. As if we're not even the same species as you. Angelina said your family was different, that you didn't think you were superior to us." She laughs humourlessly. "So much for that. When you heard Freddie was going to a Muggle family, that was enough for you to suddenly discover your paternal duty, was it?"

George stares at her. "Tell Angelina she's welcome to come back for him," he says, his voice hollow. "She's got a year. And tell her... tell her I hope she gets better soon."

They leave the house and walk down the street, George carrying Freddie's things and Ginny carrying Freddie. She doesn't know what to say, and can feel that George is holding himself together tightly, so she tries to distract them both by talking to the baby instead. He looks at her seriously as she tells him her name, tells him where they're going, tells him who he's going to meet. She'd thought he would cry at being taken away from his grandmother by strangers, but he appears to be quietly taking in the world around him.

"She's wrong, you know," Ginny ventures to say to George after a while. "About Angelina. It's not your fault that--"

George shakes his head. "Don't, Gin," he says curtly. They walk on in silence for a bit.

"You're not prejudiced against Muggles, either," Ginny mutters quietly.

George shrugs uncomfortably. "No... but I'm glad they said he'd go to a Muggle family. Felt like the final straw. Gave me the kick in the arse that I needed to wake up and do something."

Ginny nods fervently. She's rather glad too. She's not sure she could've ever forgiven George for letting Freddie be taken away by strangers, Muggle or not.

"You know," George says as they near the public Floo station. "Her mum's probably right about one thing at least."

"About what?"

"She may be better off in the Muggle world. She certainly wasn't getting anything from our world."

"What?"

"You heard her mum. It hasn't been easy for her."

"Hasn't been easy for you either," mutters Ginny. But George has a point. A large part of her hates Angelina fiercely right now - for treating George the way she has, for wanting to give away Fred's child, for everything. But it couldn't have been easy for her, isolated from her Muggle family and friends for years, her parents splitting up, hiding from a madman, losing the boy she loved, getting pregnant, having a baby and trying to take care of it with the 'help' of a mother who wanted nothing more than to get rid of it...

Everyone has a breaking point. Hard to feel terribly forgiving right now, though, while holding a beautiful two-month-old child who has no idea his own mother has rejected him.

"What will you tell Freddie?" Ginny asks George. "If she never comes back? What will you tell him about his mum?" She hesitates. "And about Fred?"

George shrugs. "That I wanted him. That Fred would've too, if he'd known. And that his mum wanted to take care of him, but she couldn't, and it wasn't his fault."

Ginny pauses and shifts the baby to her shoulder, caressing his soft curls. He makes a soft cooing sound.

George stops and puts down the bag, rubbing a hand across his forehead miserably. "Fuck, Ginny," he says, gazing at the baby, who stares back at him curiously. "I've no idea what I'm doing here. What if this is a mistake?"

Ginny has to look away. The twins taught her that anything was possible, if you just put your mind to it. George having doubts is such a painful thing to see. "We're all going to help," she says, forcing cheer into her voice. "You'll both be fine."

George's eyes go shuttered and he nods, his stoic façade firmly in place again, and Ginny wants to kick herself. He doesn't need pat reassurances; he needs to be able to talk to somebody, to have someone actually listen instead of cheerfully putting him off. She doesn't know how to be that person, though.

They enter the Floo station and Ginny casts a spell on Freddie to keep him calm and quiet during the trip. She's nervous, but it goes well - Freddie's a lot less unsettled than she is as she stumbles out of the Floo with him, and is caught by Harry.

The Burrow has had its share of odd gatherings in the last year, but this may be one of the strangest. Almost the entire family's there, all eager to meet the newest member, but they're all trying to be relatively calm and quiet - for them - so he won't be too frightened. He seems fine, though, gazing about with curious eyes, occasionally looking like he's searching for someone and not finding them. Ginny's heard that two-month-olds don't have enough of a long-term memory to be able to understand something like the absence of a mother who should be there, but he's got to feel something's off.

So far so good, though. Freddie appears to be a very quiet child, which is odd because neither twin was ever quiet in his life and Angelina's not exactly a shrinking violet either.

And it's so strange that this is where the future is going; Ginny's generation has grown up, and a new generation is on its way. In less than two months there'll be another new Weasley, and who knows how many others after that. Not from George or Ron or Ginny - George really wasn't old enough to have a kid, and Ginny doesn't suppose she or Ron will want to for another ten years at least, and actually Charlie's married to his dragons so he's pretty much right out too - but who knows, maybe Bill and Fleur will have another one soon. Or maybe Percy will get married and start a family. Stranger things have happened.

Stranger things are happening right now, as a matter of fact, as Percy holds the baby and talks to him in a sort of sing-song voice about dragons, and why people are not allowed to hatch their own dragon eggs. Freddie's fists are bobbing excitedly in the air and he's coming as close to smiling as Ginny's seen him so far. Percy's finally found someone in the family who finds him fascinating.

George still hasn't held the baby, Ginny has noticed. There's no shortage of people who want to hold him, talk to him, make silly faces and try to make him laugh - although nobody's succeeded so far - but George himself seems somewhat ill-at-ease.

"He should be breastfed," Hermione muses as she takes her turn holding him, feeding him from a bottle.

George looks down at his chest. "Erm, unless you're offering, that may not be doable."

"Well, I've heard there are ways to induce milk in males," says Hermione. George's eyes widen. "Although apparently as far as Healers can tell, nutritionally it's no better than MagicMilk."

"Why would anybody induce it then?" asks Percy curiously.

"Bonding," says Hermione, smiling at Freddie, who makes a gurgling sound at her around the bottle. "It's supposed to make you feel closer to the baby if you're nourishing him yourself, rather than through a bottle."

"I think maybe we can bond with a bottle," says George. "Otherwise I'd have to buy a whole new wardrobe."

"Would you do it, though, if it was nutritionally better?" Hermione asks.

"Grow a pair?" George chuckles. "You know, we do stock products that'll give you the opposite body parts of whatever you've currently got."

"You're a joke shop."

"Exactly."

"Speaking of joke shops, how's the search for an office manager going?" asks Percy.

"The one you told me about looks good. I've got three interviews set up for tomorrow, and Verity's willing to come in and do a lot of overtime till whoever it is gets settled in. I'm paying her time and a half."

"All right, George, Freddie's looking a bit tired," Mum says, getting up and gazing fondly at the baby, who has turned his face away from the bottle and is rubbing his eyes. "Let's get you both settled. I've put you in Percy's old room, it's the cleanest." She waves her wand and floats Freddie's things in front of her, and motions to George. "Come on, dear, bring the baby, follow me," she says.

George looks a bit startled, but recovers quickly and approaches Hermione. He hesitates a moment and swallows nervously, then picks up the baby. The baby's hands flail in the air and one of them connects with George's nose, which the baby promptly tries to pull into his mouth. George gives a soft chuckle and pulls back slightly, then gently touches Freddie's nose with his finger. The baby tilts his chin up and gazes at George curiously, gumming his finger.

"Going to have to get used to this, aren't we?" George says softly to the baby, who gurgles at him indistinctly. George shifts him to his shoulder, and follows Mum up the stairs.

ooo000ooo

George feels sometimes like everything's sharp-edged these days. Like he was sort of wrapped up in cotton for months on end, between the morning after he and Angelina slept together that first time and the moment he said he was taking the baby. Wrapped up in guilt and helplessness and frustration, unable to do anything other than force himself to keep moving and try to keep grief and anger and shame from eating him up. Like the world itself couldn't get through the layers of misery suffocating him.

The world is certainly getting through these days, for good and bad. This is one of the toughest and most frustrating things he's ever done, George thinks almost every single day, and he doubts himself - his ability to do this right, and his wisdom in choosing to make the attempt - on an hourly basis. But it's better than where he was a few weeks ago, just powerlessly drifting. Angelina dropped out of his life and he accepted it. Angelina told him she was having a baby but didn't want him involved and he accepted that too. Angelina decided to sleep with him again, Angelina broke up with him, Angelina kept him away from the baby, and he accepted all of without it ever occurring to him that he could do anything about it.

This is better, even though the baby requires constant attention, constant care, constant vigilance, and he finds himself inexplicably thinking of Mad-Eye Moody once in a while and wondering what he'd say about how George is spending his days right now.

The baby needs to be fed. Burped. Changed. Changed again. Walked, held, changed, bathed, comforted, changed, fed, put to sleep, changed again. He cries and George often has no idea why. He gets an odd rash and George has no clue what it is. He worries because the baby seems happy enough, but doesn't smile very much. Mum helps, a lot, (that cry means gas, the rash means he's teething, and Percy didn't smile much either - which is really not comforting) but lets George figure things out on his own far more than he thought she would. On a few occasions George has to swallow his pride and ask before she comes to help.

It's a learning experience for all of them. Bill was old enough to take care of the twins and Ron and Ginny when they were born, and Charlie apparently helped feed Ginny a few times, but none of the rest of them have any experience and they're all learning right along with George. It's too bad that it took the loss of his twin to make George really appreciate his five other siblings.

The baby first smiles at George three days after he arrives at The Burrow. He's woken up from a ridiculously short nap and as George enters their room he turns his head, sees George, and his serious little face breaks into a beaming smile. George stops in his tracks, astonished, and suddenly his irritation at the shortness of the baby's nap disappears and he picks him up and holds him close, and finds himself smiling back.

And it doesn't matter that the first Weasley who ever got a smile from him was Percy. It's actually kind of funny, now - especially as Percy had been flailing for some way to soothe the baby at the time, and had started reading him a broom manufacturer's regulations handbook. Fred would've found it hysterical.

ooo000ooo

Lee knows that George didn't expect to be in the shop today. He'd planned to either get very drunk, or spend the day at the graveyard, or take a dose of Sleeping Draught strong enough to knock himself out for the entire day. With the baby in the picture, he really can't do any of that. He's not working, of course, but he and Lee need to go through the shop on their way upstairs, and they stop to watch the place bustling with activity on this, the busiest day of the year.

It hasn't been a bad day, so far, in large part because of the baby. Lunch was at The Burrow and Lee and George soon realized that the baby has single-handedly given everyone an easy way through the Birthday Dilemma, as George has been universally greeted with variations of "Happy Birthday George How's the Baby?" everywhere he has gone today. It's actually pretty amusing. To George, anyway, which is what matters.

Lee and George stop just inside the shop door and gaze at the controlled chaos within. Wibble Wobbles are doing good business, judging from the number of customers falling over and bouncing back up again, as are the Chicken Fingers, one of the last things George invented just before he went on paternity leave. And there are a lot of children around; the kid-related items are selling like mad. A quick glance in the direction of the back room shows the Defence items aren't doing so well this year, which Lee finds supremely uplifting.

Actually, there are a lot of kids running around, Lee realizes. Dozens of little kids, four or five years old. The new clerk, Lee can't remember his name, is desperately trying to herd them all together and looking hunted.

George chuckles. "I told Verity it probably wasn't a great idea to give out free samples of Wee Ones today." He glances at a set of shelves and does a double take. "Oi, never mind, guess she was right after all," he says.

"What's that?"

He gestures towards the empty shelves with his free hand. "That's our entire stock gone."

They step farther into the shop and the noise is stunning. Freddie straightens up and emits a high-pitched squeal, then looks at George and seems to relax a bit, looking around and almost smiling. They start to patiently weave through the crowd of customers, several of whom recognize George and call out greetings.

"George? Oi!" says a familiar voice from the crowd.

"Oliver!" says Lee, and Oliver ducks a stream of tiny chickens flying out of a startled customer's fingers and joins George and Lee.

"Didn't know I'd find you here today!" says Oliver, grinning widely. "Thought you were still at your parents'."

"No, came back last week," says George.

"Where the hell have you been?" asks Lee, clapping Oliver on the back.

"First string for Puddlemere, mate."

"Puddlemere's at home, you berk, why haven't you been around?" George says.

"D'you know how much I practice?"

"You never call, you never write, you fickle bastard," Lee grouses. "And the way your Chasers are playing these days I'm amazed to hear you say you're practicing at all."

"I would be too if I wasn't there, but don't tell my coach," says Oliver. "All the more reason for me to put in longer hours on the pitch. Godric, he's getting big!" he says, staring at Freddie.

George takes Freddie's right hand and holds it out to Oliver. "Say hello to the only hope for Puddlemere this year," he tells him.

Oliver grins and touches the bemused baby's hand, and the baby babbles at him, holding on to his finger firmly. "So how's it going, this dad business?" Oliver asks curiously.

George thinks for a moment. "Erm, my life has turned to shit, to be honest."

Oliver blinks, taken aback. "Oh. Erm. I'm... sorry?"

George laughs. "No, I mean that literally. Merlin, he's so tiny, you'd think he'd make less of it. He's unbelievable. All the time. My life is all about shit." Oliver laughs, relieved. George shakes his head at the baby. "Great kid, but too much output, you know?" The baby blinks at him and then presses his lips together, squinting his eyes. His face gets a bit red and he makes a small grunt, and George rubs a weary hand over his face. "You know, I meant that as an observation, not a suggestion," he tells Freddie.

Oliver's sniggering. "Like father like son. I always said you were full of shit."

"So was Fred," says George. "Appropriate, isn't it?" The three of them share a laugh but Lee wonders if it'll ever stop hurting to hear Fred referred to in the past tense. And then suddenly his entire world is filled with fragrant sticky red.

"Sorry! Oh, I'm so sorry!" Lee hears someone saying as he pushes sticky goo out of his eyes and blinks. A highly embarrassed-looking man is standing there, holding the hand of a little girl who's laughing delightedly and pointing a tiny empty jar at Lee.

"Giant Jam Slam! Giant Jam Slam!" she shrieks, and the man rolls his eyes.

"I'm sorry, that's my... wife," he says, glaring down at the little girl. "She'll be properly embarrassed when the Wee Ones juice wears off. I'm so sorry--"

Lee laughs. "No, that's... that's all right," he says, wiping the goo off his face and taking a tentative taste. Strawberry jam. Good on toast, not so good on hair. Or sliding down his back and between his... ugh. He flicks a jam-coated hand irately at George and Oliver, who are both unscathed and laughing at him. Freddie's mouth and eyes are wide and he also appears to have caught some of the blast on his back.

"Here," George says, handing the baby over and taking out his wand. "See if I can remember how to get rid of it... know Tergeo doesn't work..."

Verity comes hurrying around the corner and stops short. "Mr. Weasley!" She hesitates for a split second, then gives him a wide grin. "So glad you're here. I've a quick question: some of the Owl deliveries from Hogwarts came back this morning; should we do Filch Repellent and SuperOwl, or wait to send them tomorrow?"

"Hogwarts? Filch Repellent," George says promptly, and Verity looks triumphant.

"Thought so! I'll tell Felicity." She speaks into a small loudspeaker-shaped ring on her finger. "Felicity! Filch and Owl, I was right!" She catches a small child darting through the crowd and smoothly redirects him so that he's running the other way, towards a harried-looking woman who's evidently been chasing him. "Oh by the way happy birthday, Mr. Weasley! Ooh," she says, turning to Freddie immediately, "Aren't you getting big? Holding up your own head, what a big boy!"

George meets Lee's eyes, amused. Happy Birthday George How's the Baby indeed.

Lee still can't get used to the shop going full-tilt without either twin at the helm. He knows George often misses it - particularly on those days when he's had very little sleep and Freddie's cranky - but the distance has also been good for him, in many ways. The shop was a place that couldn't help reminding George of what he'd lost. The baby is nothing like that. George has told Lee that he sometimes realizes he's been too busy and too confused with the challenges of fatherhood to really miss Fred as much as before. Which doesn't surprise Lee in the least; he's away a lot so he doesn't get the full benefit of seeing what life with an infant is like, but for one thing the sheer volume of food and waste that comes with them is unreal. If this is what Angelina was dealing with, with nobody but an impatient, resentful mother to 'help' her, Lee's starting to understand her decision more and more as time goes on.

George is gazing at the shop with a yearning look, and Lee can almost feel how much he wishes he could still be part of it. Suddenly he's jostled by a customer. "Sorry!" says a customer, then does a double take. "Oh! Weasley!"

George blinks, then smiles at the man. "Mr. Kinnen," he says. "Haven't seen you in a long time."

The customer shakes his hand, grinning. "Too long. Bloody hell I've missed this place." He glances around. "Think the last time was... damn, right before you two closed the shop."

"Yeah, sounds about right," George nods.

"Terrible, that," says Kinnen. "Diagon really wasn't the same without you. Mind you, I left about a week after that too."

"Oh that's right your wife was Muggleborn, wasn't she? She'd already moved to France or something?"

"Belgium, yeah." Kinnen shakes his head. "Yeah, thank Godric she had a cousin there, helped us out. We settled in for the long haul."

"When did you come back?"

"Actually, we never did," Kinnen says seriously. "Found we liked it there. And there was too much... I mean after everything that happened, my wife didn't really want to come back here where a lot of her friends and family had gone missing or what have you. And where people like Dolores Umbridge were still... well, you know. Too many bad memories. Couldn't blame her, at all." He shrugs. "Belgium's been good to us. I'm just here for my sister's wedding."

"Well, good that you both made it through," says George, and Lee nods. He's heard this kind of story many times in the last months.

"Ah, look at me, getting us all serious in a joke shop, on April Fool's!" Kinnen says wryly. "And your birthday too, if I remember correctly?" he says to George.

"Yeah, it is," George smiles.

"Well, happy birthday, then!" says the customer. "How's it treating you so far?"

"Thanks," George laughs. "Erm... it's been an interesting day," he says.

"Rather fitting, you two born on April Fool's," says Kinnen.

"Yeah, Mum always said that should've clued her in to what she was in for." George chuckles. "And we were two weeks early too - should've also clued her in that she'd never be able to stop us from doing whatever the hell we wanted to do."

Kinnen laughs. "So where's your brother?"

"Which one?"

"The other birthday boy!"

George's eyes widen slightly. "Oh!" He exchanges a startled glance with Lee and Oliver, all looking somewhat at a loss. "He, er, he died." The man's smile is replaced by a grimace of shock. "Erm. I... sorry, for the life of me I haven't been able to figure out how to say this tactfully. Yeah, he died. Almost a year ago."

"You mean... wait, Fred? Your twin?"

"Yeah. At the Battle of Hogwarts."

Kinnen 's face has paled and he looks like he needs to sit down. "You're joking."

"Almost always, but not about this," says George.

"But I thought... I read a Weasley in the casualty list, but I thought - wasn't it William?"

"Our brother Bill, no, that was a misprint. Shock to his wife, that - and to Bill, too. He's fine. It was Fred."

"I just... I never thought... I saw Wheezes open up again, I never dreamed you'd... all by yourself?"

George shakes his head. "Not by myself. I still have four brothers and a sister. And our parents and friends all chipped in. Our younger brother Ron practically lives here, when he's not in Auror training." He pauses and repeats quietly, "Not by myself."

Kinnen is still looking shaken. "I'm... I'm so sorry. I'm such an arse, it never... God, this must be awful."

George shrugs. "Well it's been a crap year, definitely."

"Your parents must've... oh God. Losing a child..."

"Well, there were seven of us kids, and we were all at the Battle. And our parents, and all our significant others as well. It was a miracle so many of us survived. Not sure Fred would see it that way, but there you go." He looks down at the baby. "But, you know, life goes on. Plus I think there's Death Eaters still suffering from the booby traps we left on this place. I like to think Fred lives on in the boils covering their behinds, I'm sure he'd love that." He smiles at the baby and takes him out of Lee's arms. "And there's a new member in the family." The baby gurgles and grabs at his hair. "His name's Fred."

The man looks at Freddie, and back at Lee, confused. "Is he... whose..."

George hesitates for a split second. "Mine." He transfers the baby to his shoulder and smiles at the startled customer. "Speaking of, Freddie here needs a change. He's a lot cuter, but somewhat less continent, than his namesake." He turns to Oliver. "You'll join us upstairs after you're done shopping?" Oliver nods and George turns back to Kinnen. "Say hello to your wife for me. Oh and tell Verity I said 20% off any WonderWitch product you buy for her. Sales of Domestic Goddess Gummies haven't been the same since you two left."

Kinnen smiles weakly and nods his thanks, and George takes Freddie up the stairs, Lee following.

"Hope that sale's not scuppered," George mutters. "He was a bloody good customer."

Lee nods. A faux pas like that can't put one in a mood to buy joke products. On the other hand, the man may decide to make it up to George by going on a bit of a spree. They enter the flat and George goes to his bedroom to change the baby, and Lee decides to change his own clothing too. Sticky strawberry-flavoured underwear is not much fun without a good-looking bird anywhere close to enjoy it with.

This is oddly similar to every April Fool's Day since his first year at Hogwarts, thinks Lee as he carefully spells the jam out of his hair. It's Fred, George and Lee, for the tenth year in a row. It's not the same, though. The original Fred had bowel control, for one thing, which is a fairly important thing for a best mate to have. Supposedly that'll come some day, for the baby.

Lee pauses in the middle of his jam removal as he realizes an odd thing about the conversation with the poor bloke downstairs. He's never heard George call the baby Fred before. Or his son. He's only ever the baby, or the sprog, or the offspring, or the little one. He wonders if George is aware of that, and what he thinks of it if he is.

ooo000ooo

"Angelina's out, George," Lee suddenly blurts out over dinner one night a few weeks later, and George's fork stops halfway to his mouth.

"Sorry?"

"She's not in the Muggle hospital any more."

"How do you know?"

"I talked to Katie today. Says she saw her on Friday."

George's eyes go to their calendar. It's Tuesday.

She's out. She's been out for at least five days, and hasn't come to see him or their son.

George takes a deep breath. "All right, then. Thanks." He takes a bite of his pasta, chews and swallows, then realizes he's not going to be able to finish the last third of it. He glances at the baby, who's falling asleep on his lap, and pushes the plate away. "Right, I've got to get him changed before he falls asleep."

Lee gazes at him worriedly. "Are you..." he trails off. Thinks for a moment, then carefully says, "Can I do anything?"

"No. No, not really." George flicks his wand at his dinner dish, sending it to the kitchen sink, and takes the baby to their bedroom. He changes him automatically, then cradles him close and rocks him gently to sleep.

It's funny what you can get used to. A few weeks ago he'd work at the shop till he was tired enough to stumble up the stairs and fall exhausted into his bed. Now he generally gets the baby to sleep, puts him in his crib, does a few household tasks, talks to whoever's still up - Mum and Dad at The Burrow, Lee now that he's home - maybe looks over the books for the shop and then goes to bed fairly early himself, knowing he'll be woken up a couple times during the night.

He puts the baby in his crib and watches him sleep, his small chest rising and falling and his hands curled on his chest, and decides to skip the books and talking to Lee, and just go to bed himself.

He lies down.

Angelina's out. She's out, she not at the hospital any more, and she's not avoiding the wizarding world; just him. Him and their son.

He feels his throat tighten and his eyes burn and he turns over, hugging the pillow tight and tensing his entire body, refusing to give in to tears.

He hasn't let himself think of her, or of how much he wants her to come back. But he does. He needs her, their son needs her, but evidently she doesn't need them.

Fuck.

He reaches out to the crib next to his bed and puts a hand on the baby's chest, feeling its soft rise and fall, and holds himself still until the ache subsides.

Whatever was between him and Angelina was wrong and sick anyway. It would be nice for the baby to have a mother again, but maybe this is for the best.

ooo000ooo

Lee picks at his food and stifles a yawn. He should probably stop accepting so many out-of-town assignments, even though he loves travel and loves the exposure. Every time he suggests it, though, George gets this look on his face like he thinks Lee's only saying that because he's away far more often than he's home, and George is taking care of the baby mostly on his own these days.

George is doing well despite that, though. Of course having a load of people willing to step in at a moment's notice helps, but aside from that George looks like he's finding some peace, finally.

The last thing Lee wants is to fuck that up.

"Come on, spit it out," says George, and for a moment Lee thinks he's talking to the baby. He looks up and the baby is sitting on George's lap, busily gumming a napkin while George looks at Lee expectantly.

"What?"

"I'm the one who's supposed to brood around here, right? What's going on?"

Lee's dinner plate is suddenly incredibly interesting. He watches the pictures of the elephants on the edges of the plate as they blow bubbles and pirouette around his food and he tries to figure out how to broach the topic.

"I've been seeing Angelina," he finally says, and almost chokes as George's eyebrows go up and Lee suddenly realizes how that sounds. "Not - not like that! Just, you know, seeing, as in getting together with - but not that way, just, you know, to talk--" he realizes he's babbling as soon as George starts laughing. The baby's mouth opens in a small o and he looks back and forth between them.

"D'you want to start over?" George asks, sniggering.

Lee nods vigorously. "Thanks, yeah. That... was unfortunate." He clears his throat and squares his shoulders. "Angelina asked me to meet her a little while ago. The day after I told you she was home, actually. She's." He stops. God, as many times as he's rehearsed this, it's unreal how hard it is to get the words out. "She wants to come back. And see Freddie. And you."

George's face betrays nothing. "Why hasn't she, then?" he finally asks.

"Scared."

George frowns. "Of what?"

"She feels like shit for leaving. Well... that and pretty much everything she's done, to be honest. The way she's treated you. And Freddie." George's face is very blank, and Lee pushes on. "She knows she can't make up for any of it, but she's trying to figure out what to do next that'll... I dunno, cause the least harm." He pauses. "She's not getting very far with it."

"Not staying away from her own kid might be nice, if she's trying to cause the least harm," says George evenly.

Lee nods. "I told her that. But she doesn't want... she doesn't want to hurt you again. Either one of you. I've told her you're both doing all right and she doesn't want to mess things up again."

George nods thoughtfully.

"She is doing loads better, though," says Lee, and has no idea how to express what he means. It's probably something that has to be seen to be believed. "Loads better. I dunno what those Muggles did in that hospital but she... looks like Angelina again, you know?" She's upset, she feels guilty, she's nervous, but she's Angelina and looks like she can and will somehow figure out how to cope. "She'll do whatever you want to make this work, she says."

George stares at him. "What's she afraid of?"

"That you'll say she can't have Freddie back."

George rolls his eyes. "And how exactly does she think I'd manage to do that? I'm still nothing to him legally." He shifts the baby on his lap and gently takes the napkin out of his mouth. Freddie makes a small sound of protest. "Besides, I told her she had a year to come back before I petitioned for parental rights."

"That was before you'd taken care of Freddie for almost two months."

"So what?"

"Would you? Let her back into his life?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"What if she wanted to take him back? You could have your life back, your shop--"

George's lips press together and his arms tighten a bit around Freddie. Freddie makes a grab for the napkin and George lets him take it back. "I wouldn't let her cut me off from him," he says. "She tries that and I will go to the Wizengamot. I should've, from the beginning."

"She won't. Trust me."

George takes the soggy part of the napkin out of Freddie's mouth and gives him a dryer piece to gum. "Hell of a time to bring this up, you know," he says quietly.

Lee grimaces. "I know. Fuck, I know. We talked about that too. Two days till the anniversary, and Bill's kid's going to be born the same day, the timing's buggered in every possible way. She doesn't want to make things harder for you, but it's going to be hard on her too, and she doesn't know whether it'll be worse for you to go through it with her, or without her, and bugger it all, there was just no winning this."

George gives him a slight smile. "I can imagine."

"What do you think?"

George gazes at the baby thoughtfully, absently wiping his wet chin. "No idea."

"What if she came by tomorrow?"

George thinks for a long time, and finally nods. "All right."