A Bit Unhealthy

Author Note: OK, here's the final chapter. Epilogue should be up relatively soon ::crosses fingers:: but the plot pretty much ends here :)

ooo000ooo

The morning after... is certainly memorable for all concerned.

Lee wakes up and wanders into the living room, noticing the baby's still in the living room crib, as he was when Lee came in late last night. Must've fallen asleep there, and George didn't want to wake him. There's probably a monitoring spell cast around his crib. Lee goes into the kitchen quietly, getting himself a tea and rubbing his hand over his face, reflecting that it's very nice to be back home instead of sleeping in yet another hotel bed.

The baby whimpers in the living room, and Lee glances over to him. He's not crying, just making little waking noises. Lee hesitates, then waves his wand at the crib and whispers, "Finite Incantatem." He may be just a single bloke who happens to occasionally live with a dad, but he does know which end of a baby is which and he's awake anyway, and George doesn't get to sleep in that often. Lee decides to see if he can get Freddie settled himself.

He hurries to the crib and smiles as Freddie lifts his arms to be picked up. He lifts him out and holds him close for a minute. "Hey, still remember me?" Freddie gurgles, pleased. "Yeah, I'm home. Maybe for a few more days. Maybe longer. These trips are getting to be pure fucking rubbish. Should probably start practicing not swearing around you, shouldn't I? Don't want your first word to get your dad in trouble with your Gram, do we?"

Freddie babbles at him and Lee nods seriously and takes him to the kitchen. "Oh we do, do we? All right, then, can you say fucking rubbish?"

Freddie giggles. "Fu-cking ru-bbish," says Lee slowly, opening the cupboard and looking for MagicMilk. "Maybe we should concentrate on saying Daddy first, though, yeah? So you can tell Gram, 'Daddy says fucking rubbish.'"

Freddie giggles and grabs a dreadlock and Lee winces, picking up the MagicMilk. "Bugger. Your dad didn't get enough MagicMilk. Daddy's a lazy disorganized sod, right?" Freddie squeals. "Was going to let him sleep in for a while, but you're going to go through all of that in a minute and then break my eardrums when it's gone. Let's go tell Daddy, all right?"

Lee quickly casts the warming spell on the bottle and gives it to Freddie, who latches on to it with a happy sigh. "And you're soaking wet, too, you little overachiever. Let's go tell Daddy that too, right? We'll say, 'Daddy, you lazy bugger, get your arse out of bed because I'm wet to the gills and about to start screaming the moment I realize this bottle's not got enough milk to feed a dainty little Veelette, let alone a big strapping boy like myself.'" Freddie gurgles contentedly around his bottle. "All right now, here we go," says Lee, opening the door, still talking to the baby. "Daddy, you lazy bugger, get your arse out of bed because never mind we'll just go right back out and wait in the living room till Daddy gets his pants back on, I'm pretty sure we weren't supposed to see that." Lee closes the door again and takes a mildly confused Freddie back to the living room.

He holds the bottle, talking softly to the baby, and a few moments later George comes into the living room, barefoot and shirtless, but wearing jeans at least.

"Erm." George clears his throat. "Here, let me," he says, holding out his arms for Freddie and not meeting Lee's eyes. "I'll just, erm, take him to, erm..." He carries Freddie back to the bedroom, and Lee gets himself a cup of tea and tries to not think of the brief images he glimpsed from the bedroom: Angelina's head on George's shoulder, arm across his chest, his fingers threading through her braids, murmuring quietly together, neither of them wearing anything as far as Lee could tell.

George comes back out of the bedroom and joins Lee in the kitchen.

"Sorry about that," says Lee calmly. "You were almost out of MagicMilk."

"Yeah. Forgot to get more." George clears his throat.

"Didn't need it, I suppose. With Angelina here."

"Erm, yeah, about that." George clears his throat again. "It's... it's not like it was before."

"No?"

There's an awkward silence as George gets himself some tea as well.

"Who knows, maybe Morag was right," Lee muses.

George chokes on his tea a bit and looks up at Lee, coughing. "Oliver's Morag? The one you called a clueless cow a few months ago?"

Lee shrugs. "She was a Ravenclaw. Can't be that clueless."

"Ravenclaws know about books. They don't know shit about people."

"Are you trying to argue with me?"

George gives a soft chuckle. "Right. I'll stop now."

There's a long pause. "George, do you know what you're doing?" Lee asks gently.

George shrugs uncomfortably. "Not really."

Lee sighs. What a surprise. "How do you know this'll this be any different from how it was before?"

"Dunno." He pauses. "Some of what Morag said, I suppose. Things are just... different now." And this is a little odd. He almost seems to feel like he needs permission from Lee.

"Fair enough," says Lee. "Not my business, anyway."

"Yeah, it is. Only... it's just... it's not the same as before."

"In what way? Other than she's not pregnant any more?"

George shrugs helplessly. "It's just not."

"All right," Lee says after a long pause. "Well, if this blows up... it won't be pretty."

George nods. "I know."

"I think you're making a mistake," says Lee, though to be honest he's not that sure. George looks away from him miserably and Lee puts a hand on his shoulder, waiting until George meets his eyes once more. "Prove me wrong, mate, all right?"

George nods.

Lee takes a deep breath. "Right. Well." He glances over the kitchen. "I'm going to make some breakfast. D'you think Angelina would like an omelette if I made some?"

ooo000ooo

It's nothing like it was before. It's not perfect, but it's not bad.

George still has his doubts. When he's with Angelina, it feels right, but when she's not around he goes back to wondering what the hell he's doing. What the hell they're doing. He still feels like, whether she's thinking of Fred or not, the two of them are still sort of trying to keep Fred alive - Angelina because she sees Fred in him, and George because sometimes he feels like Fred's still here, because he can still, to a small extent, pretend he's Fred when he's around her. And that probably isn't right, exactly, but the fact is he doesn't want to say goodbye and put Fred in the past.

They lie in bed and he looks down, sees the contrast of his pale freckled arm, its faint amber hairs caught by the lamplight, against her dark brown breasts, and wonders whether Angelina sees what's in front of her, or remembers that the view was exactly the same that one night that she lay in Fred's arms. She strokes his hair and avoids the place where his ear should be and he wonders if she's avoiding it because she doesn't want to make him uncomfortable, or because she doesn't want to stop pretending. She cries out his name as she climaxes and he wonders if she's doing it because she was thinking of him, or to fool herself into believing she was thinking of him.

Eventually, of course, the family finds out. That's a lot of fun.

There's one day when he and Ron are in the lab, and Percy's with his new girlfriend in the office finishing up with the shop's quarterly report, and Ron's trying to explain something about a charm for one of the Adult line products that just isn't working right. Percy strolls in just as Ron's getting really impatient, and Ron says, "Well - here, this is what happens," and points a vaguely penis-shaped wand at Percy. Suddenly small squiggly neon letters appear above Percy's head.

Ron's mouth drops open, then he abruptly doubles over with laughter. George frowns, squints at the neon characters, and breaks down as well.

"Oh really?" he manages to choke out between fits of laughter. "Oh, really, Perce?"

"What?" Percy asks, fairly calmly, considering. He's staring at the words above his head, which are alternating between ELEVEN MINUTES AGO and WITH SUSAN.

"Do I want to know what that means?" Percy asks, a pained expression on his face.

George gets himself under control long enough to say, "Anything you want to tell me about my office, Perce? Any chair there I maybe don't want to sit in any time soon?"

"Or did you use the desk?" Ron sniggers.

Percy scowls. "What?"

"What were you and Susan doing, erm, eleven minutes ago?"

Percy's face goes beet-red alarmingly fast. Then he snatches the wand and points it at Ron, but George grabs for it and they both get hit with the spell. TWO DAYS AGO, WITH HERMIONE winks on and off over Ron's head, and that might have caused some good-natured ribbing from George and Percy (because two days ago they were at The Burrow, and Mum's pretty strict about what goes on under her roof) except for the fact that the sign over George says THIS MORNING, then blinks and obligingly spells out, WITH ANGELINA.

Although three redheaded men blushing in the same room is enough to tint the entire place a shade resembling a blazing summer sunset, Ron somehow seems resigned but unsurprised - which actually isn't that surprising - and Percy takes it remarkably well. He merely remarks, "You'll probably want to at least take the names out before you try selling it."

"Right," says Ron, and finally thinks of the charm to stop that part of it. Susan, Hermione and Angelina's names all disappear. Thank Godric.

And at that moment Mum comes bustling in. "Here we are, Percy I'm so glad to see you here, your father and I were - what does that say over your head?"

"Oh, that's the last time he brushed his teeth," Ron says calmly, and George feels a glow of pride for his little brother.

Mum nods, still somewhat distracted, turns to say something to George, and blinks at the sign over Ron. "Ron, for heaven's sake, and you practically engaged to a Muggle dentalists' daughter, too. What would her parents say?"

Ron shrugs sheepishly. "Come to think of it," says Mum, "can I borrow that for a moment? I'd like to cast that on your Dad. I said to him this very morning, you are working too hard and you have got to take care of yourself more--"

"It's not quite ready for the public," George steps in smoothly. "Sometimes it explodes in your hand. Sends, erm, toothpaste everywhere."

Mum and Dad - and everyone else - find out eventually, of course. And although Lee and Ron and Percy seem (mostly) fine - or at least noncommittal - with it, Mum and Dad and Bill and Ginny range from "George, are you sure?" to "Please for Merlin's sake tell me you're joking," to "Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

George knows they're just trying to protect him, but it does make for some strained family gatherings. Angelina stays away from Sunday dinners for a while. Which is fine; she's back in contact with her mother, and although that's strained and superficial so far, she's hopeful. She's got enough on her plate dealing with that.

Summer turns to fall and then the year draws to a close. Ron finishes his Auror training and finally has to leave Wheezes for good, and the baby learns to crawl at astonishing speeds. Lee's working from London a lot more now, but still not home before bedtime most nights; Angelina's owl-scented flat is small and dark and getting chilly, and she starts to forget to go home at night. When her sublet comes up for renewal, she and George decide she won't renew it but will move her things into the Wheezes storage room and stay with him and Lee while she looks for a nice place, rather than just whatever becomes available. She's spending most of her time at their flat anyway.

The day after Angelina moves out of her flat, George leaves the baby at The Burrow and goes to Fred's grave, something he hasn't done in a while, because it's always smacked of sentimentality or morbid obsession or something. He kneels on the cold ground, traces the outline of his twin's name on the stone, and wishes he could really talk to him. Ask him whether this is wise. Ask whether he has any right to feel like he and Angelina and the baby belong together, or whether he's just setting himself up to feel abandoned again when Angelina moves out. Wishes he could ask whether they're doing right by the baby, or being selfish and irresponsible.

He gets no answers.

He comes back to The Burrow and finds Mum cooking and Dad and Ginny sitting cross-legged on the floor with the baby, with a huge collection of Muggle treasures scattered around them, Dad's face lit up as the baby bangs Dad's precious rubber duck against the floor. Dad looks up as George comes in. "He said 'plug'!" he says happily.

"Actually Dad, I think he was swearing," Ginny sniggers.

"No grandchild of mine would ever swear!" Mum calls from the kitchen.

"No, of course not," says Dad, and winks at George, who joins them on the floor. "He's such a good baby," says Dad fondly. "Not sure who he gets that from; you and Fred were both such a complete nightmare at this age, getting into everything. Did you know you ate one of my batteries?"

"Mum said that was Fred," says George, gently taking a rather moist crayon out of the baby's hand and giving him a plastic car.

"Whichever one of you it was, your mum was furious; said you two were trouble enough without adding Muggle energy into the mix." George and Ginny laugh, and the baby solemnly waves the car at Ginny. "Not sure how you ended up with one this well-behaved."

"Maybe Angelina was a good baby," says George, and Dad and Ginny both look uncomfortable.

"Maybe she was," says Ginny stiffly. "She's... a good mother, at least."

Her tone brings new depth to "damning with faint praise", but George doesn't comment on it. It's still an improvement from the last few months. The baby reaches for George and uses George's arm to pull himself into a wobbly standing position for a moment, before coming back down with a thump. Satisfied with his accomplishment, he picks up the car again and waves it at George.

"And you're a good father, too," says Dad. "We're all so proud of you."

George shrugs uncomfortably, not sure how to respond.

"I honestly didn't know if you could do it," says Dad, and ruffles the baby's curls. "I was glad you wanted to try, but I had my doubts."

"I didn't," says Ginny. "I told Harry once that growing up with you and Fred taught me that anything was possible if you just put your mind to it."

George smiles wryly. "Well, I must've forgotten about that, because I had my doubts too. Especially when it looked like Mum wasn't going to help."

"I would've quit school to help you," says Ginny. "I could've done my NEWTs by correspondence."

Dad shakes his head. "You wouldn't have had to," he says softly. "You know your mother. She would've decided on the spot that if George admitted he couldn't do it on his own, that meant he was definitely thinking about the baby's welfare instead of himself, and stepped in to help anyway."

"Inni UP!" says the baby, and Ginny picks him up, beaming at his use of her name.

"I really am proud of you, George," says Dad. He hesitates for a moment. "I know Fred would be proud of you too."

George hopes he's right. And he realizes that Fred may not have given him any answers out at the cold gravesite, but he should've known Fred wouldn't speak through hard ground and stone. Fred isn't there; he's here, within their family and inside George's heart, and maybe that has to be enough.

ooo000ooo

"Merlin we need to get a bigger place," says Angelina exasperatedly one morning as she steps on yet another Moldie Voldie doll and it whimpers at her. Toys are scattered all over the floor, victims of the baby's newest favourite game: pushing toy baskets around as walking aids, then turning them over and throwing their contents all over the small, cluttered flat.

George turns to look at her. "What?"

"George, for heaven's sake, he's almost one and he's already outgrowing this place. Not even walking properly yet and he's making chaos. He'll be running about soon and I can't imagine he'll be able to go more than three steps without crashing into a dozen things. Not to mention this place gives me the willies, just thinking about all the explosives downstairs."

"We did shield this place, you know," he reminds her. "And set all sorts of safety wards."

"I know that, I just get worried sometimes."

George tilts his head to the side.

"Look, I'll do all the legwork. I'll try to find someplace close to Wheezes. And yes, I know about Diagon Alley rents, but I happen to know of at least one large flat that's gone empty since the war, and the witch who owns it is waiting for a family to take it over." George is still staring at her thoughtfully, and she frowns. "What is it?"

George chews on his lip. "You're talking about moving somewhere together," he says finally.

Angelina nods. "Yeah..."

"You want to?"

She blinks. "Of course I want to. Why would I be talking about it otherwise?"

George tries to find words. "I just..."

"Wait - do you not want to?" she asks. Her eyes widen slightly and then go blank, and when she speaks again her voice sounds odd. "D'you not want... not want to live with me any more?"

"No - no, that's not what - I mean, yeah, you're right, we do need a bigger place. Only I'd never thought of moving before, that's all."

She nods again uncertainly, and blows out her breath as the baby gleefully throws another Voldie against the wall. She goes to retrieve it and George checks the time and realizes it's almost time to open the shop. He hurries downstairs.

George thinks about the conversation for the rest of the day. So many things float through his mind. The way that they never really decided they were living together; it just sort of happened because she never left. The way they seem to work well together, taking care of the baby and each other. The way he's happier now, with her, than he has been in a long, long time.

The way she looked when she asked if he didn't want to live with her any more.

He doesn't want her to leave, not at all. But part of him wonders about it, still. She's still... not enough, sometimes. There are far too many days when she and the baby and Lee and Ron and Percy and Mum and Dad and everybody are still no substitute for the half of George that is gone forever. Angelina's there for his nightmares, and she takes away some of the ache of waking up from a good dream and - again - coming to terms with the fact that Fred is gone and will never come back, but she can't bring him back, and she can't make his absence all right.

She seems to understand. She leaves George alone when he needs to be alone. She wordlessly holds him when he wakes up with his face damp with tears he doesn't remember shedding. She accepts that sometimes even the most insignificant thing can make him feel achingly empty again, alone and incomplete and lost.

But what does she get out of the arrangement?

By the end of the day he's still preoccupied, and although he tries to perk up a bit over dinner he's uncomfortably aware that Angelina's looking at him quizzically. She doesn't say anything until after she's done putting the baby to bed and comes back to the living room, where George is attempting without much success to figure out what went wrong with the latest batch of Farting Fairy Cakes.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" she says quietly, settling down next to him on the couch.

George sighs and puts his quill and parchment onto the coffee table.

"You've been brooding, haven't you?" says Angelina. "Is it about what I said this morning?"

George clears his throat and fiddles with the ink bottle cap.

"We don't have to move, you know. There's probably expanding charms we can use, or something. Is it that you don't want to move away from Wheezes? Because this is where Fred--"

George shakes his head. "No, no it's not that. This place wasn't ever supposed to be more than a place to store our things while we got the shop started. It's not that."

Angelina nods. "Is it... me?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral.

George reluctantly meets her gaze, and reaches for her hand. She looks like she's trying not to show how hurt she is, and he can't stand to see that look on her face. "It's not you. It's not anything you've done wrong."

"I thought things were better," she says softly. "With us, I mean. Aren't they?"

"They are," George nods, rubbing the top of her hand with his thumb, trying to figure out how to put his thoughts to words. "We're all right. I think." He thinks for a few moments, then faces her. "The thing is... I'm not all right. And I don't think I ever will be. And you don't have to stay with me out of a sense of... I don't know, pity or whatever it is."

Her mouth drops open. "Pity?" she finally says incredulously.

"Ange--"

Angelina tilts her head to the side. "Do you love me?"

Oh, Merlin. George takes a deep breath, wishing with all his heart that he'd just left well enough alone. "I don't know." Angelina's eyes widen in surprise and hurt, and he doesn't let her pull her hand away but covers it with both of his, not sure how to express himself in a way that won't result in an absolute cock-up. "I mean, obviously, yes, I do, you know that, but..." he stops. "As far as being in love, and wanting to get married and all of that..." He swallows. "You make me less... lonely. I can't think of anybody I love more, other than the baby. It feels like you deserve more, though." Angelina hasn't pulled away yet and the hurt in her eyes has gone away, and that's probably a good sign. "And in any case, it's not just all about how I feel about you, is it?"

Angelina nods. She takes a deep breath, and laces their fingers together. "George." She pauses. "George, Merlin knows I loved Fred. I don't think I ever stopped loving him, and if things had been different, we would've been together. I think." She pauses again, and says carefully, "But I don't think I loved him enough to want to stay with his brother for the rest of my life. I don't think..."

George starts to pull back his hand, and she stops him gently. "I'm not saying this right." She gazes at him. "You're not him. You never were, and you never will be. He was wonderful, and passionate, and funny, and fearless, and you're all of those things--"

"Not fearless," George said quietly. "Not any more."

"No, maybe not that. But you're also... Fred was a boy. He never really got a chance to be a man. You are. You're a wonderful dad. You're responsible, and kind, and gentle, and--" she breaks off, and chuckles. "Well, all sorts of things that both of you made fun of before the war. I love that. I love you. Of course I love that you remind me of Fred, but that wouldn't be enough for me, if that was all it was."

George stares at her.

"So it comes down to you. Am I enough? I'm a reminder of him, and I'm Freddie's mum. Is that enough for you?"

George shakes his head. "That's not all you are," he says. "And anyway that's not the point, Angelina."

"Why not?"

"Because..." he looks away from her and his voice is low. "Some day, if Mum and a lot of other people are right, I'll see Fred again. And. And I want to be able to look him in the face and not be ashamed of how I've treated you."

"What would you have to be ashamed of?"

"If I keep you from being happy," he says. "Not to get into a pissing contest, but I lost my twin. I lost more than half of me. He can't ever be replaced, not for me." He studies the colour contrast in their interlaced fingers. "You lost the first bloke you fell in love with. You could fall in love again. Fred could be just a good memory from your youth, you know? Something that makes you sad, but doesn't tear at you."

"And my son would be the milkman's, then?"

George chuckles. "No, but it wouldn't have to be... you wouldn't have to stay with somebody who'll never be whole again, just because you're hanging on to Fred's memory."

"It's not an option for me, any more than it is for you. I don't see being with you as hanging on to something that'll never come back." She gently pushes him back until he's resting against the back on the couch, and she settles against his side, her head on his shoulder, taking his hand in hers again. He puts an arm around her, holding her close.

"You could fall in love again, Ange," he says.

"What if I already have?" she asks gently, and he looks down at her. "And as for you not being whole... I know better than anybody how not-whole you feel. I'm fairly well aware of how fucked up you are, I think." She absently walks her fingers from freckle to freckle along the back of his hand. "And you're fairly well aware of how fucked up I am. Doesn't mean we don't deserve some kind of happiness. In our own dysfunctional, fucked-up way." She looks up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Or are you seriously going to tell me that George Weasley is thinking to himself, 'I've got this girl, she makes me happy, I make her happy, we've got a kid together, but our relationship is possibly unhealthy so we'd best back off'? Because you know what Fred would think of that." She rests her head on his shoulder again. "Bloody hell, never mind what Fred would think of that; you know that's rubbish. I know you've changed, but you aren't a completely different person, George." She laces their fingers together again. "So again. Is this enough for you? Am I enough?"

"You're a lot more than I thought I'd have. But--"

"Fred wouldn't want you to be an idiot about this, would he?"

George sighs. "No, probably not."

"You're who I choose, you know," says Angelina. "Not out of pity or nostalgia or anything like that. Maybe the way we started wasn't the wisest thing either of us has ever done. Doesn't mean it can't ever work."

George sighs, not really wanting to go on with this. She can't understand.

She raises her head from his shoulder again and pulls him close and kisses him, and it's chaste and sweet and meant to comfort, he's sure, but he doesn't know who it's supposed to comfort; her or him. He returns the kiss, and it's funny, he can tell exactly when it goes from comfort to passion. She turns toward him a bit more, and he moves her braids aside and kisses the side of her neck, smiling at her small moan and bit of a squirm when he nips her neck lightly, then soothes the bite with his tongue.

He's not sure she's really what he wants or needs, but he can't really think of anybody he wants more. They kiss again, and he caresses her breast and feels her gasp and then she's smirking at him and running her lips down his neck and her fingers down to his trousers. And then suddenly she slips off the couch and kneels on the floor and smirks up at him as he draws his breath in, because she knows this gets him completely helpless and he really can't think of anything else when she's down there. She unbuttons him and reaches in; he's almost fully hard already, and he gasps as she draws her tongue over him and gently takes him into her mouth.

He leans back against the couch, gazing down at her as she takes him in farther than looks comfortable, but he's not about to complain. Her tongue dances over him and around him and soon he's panting, head thrown back, reaching down to touch her hair, and she takes his hand and holds it, squeezes it, as she takes away all his doubts, at least for now, and leaves him gasping for air and not even sure of his own name. He tries to warn her, he's about to - and she just squeezes his hand and doesn't move her head and away. He can't hold back. He can't, it's too powerful, too intense, and he groans as it all rushes through him and leaves him spent and blissful and nothing that feels this right could be possibly be all that wrong.

ooo000ooo

"Oh by the way I wasn't able to get the form in to the day care," says George a few weeks later, balancing Freddie on one hip as he and Angela bring their groceries inside.

"Why? What was the problem?"

"Nothing, they just need a parent signature," says George. "Everything else is set up, he starts next week, half days just like we said." He hands her the form and puts Freddie into his high chair while he puts the groceries away.

Angelina nods and signs the form, and blows on the ink.

"Oh right and you'll also need to put me and my parents on the list of people who are allowed to pick him up," says George, getting out a small dish of carrots and waving his wand over it to warm it to room temperature.

"I asked you to do that," Angelina says, a bit irate.

"They said only a parent or legal guardian can do it. Sorry."

Angelina rolls her eyes and makes sure the ink is dry before rolling up the parchment. "Fine, I'll do that tomorrow." Once it's dry, she rolls it up, puts it near her own things at the front of the flat, so that she'll be sure to remember to take it in tomorrow. There's so much going on right now - her new Apprenticeship, Freddie's new school, their ongoing search for a house...

She gazes at George thoughtfully as she comes back into the kitchen. He's bringing Freddie his mashed carrots, chuckling as Freddie reaches for them enthusiastically. Apparently Fred liked carrots; George loathes them. Nobody knew that until Fred died, because Fred would always eat George's share.

"D'you wish you could do it?" Angelina asks.

"Could do what?" he asks, searching for a small spoon while Freddie bangs on the small high chair table, babbling his carrot song.

"The forms," she says.

"Well it's a bit of a pain, you having to go back," he says, making a whooshing broomstick noise as he brings the carrots to Freddie's mouth, not that Freddie needs any encouragement to eat them. "Thought we'd have everything settled today."

"No, I mean help make decisions for him."

"I already do," he says absently.

Angelina blows out her breath in annoyance. "No, I mean, things like signing this. Putting your parents on the list. The legal stuff you can't do."

He gives her a slightly annoyed glance. "Of course."

Angelina nods thoughtfully.

"Why wouldn't I want to?"

"You didn't seem to want to, before," she says carefully. "You didn't seem to care one way or the other."

"You didn't want me to, remember?"

Angelina nods. "Fair enough," she says, gazing at George and Freddie as George patiently makes sure most of the orange food ends up inside their child despite Freddie's best efforts to spread it all over his own face and hair and table.

George seems content, these days. Mostly. The sorrow of loss won't ever leave him; Angelina was well aware of that long before he ever spoke of it out loud. But having her and Freddie in his life, and the shop, seem to help, as much as anything could. She misses the old George, who always seemed to be on the verge of laughter, but the man he is now is far dearer to her than her childhood friend ever was.

But she's seen the way he looks at her and the baby sometimes, as if they could be taken away in an instant. As if he's not really sure this is the life he's supposed to have.

He doesn't even say the baby's name most of the time, and Angelina's not sure if that's because he thinks she named him Fred because she was trying to pretend Fred was still with them, or because she wanted to remind George that Freddie might not be his, or what. He doesn't seem to see that whyever she named him (and, to be honest, Angelina herself doesn't really remember clearly any more), the life they've built together isn't necessarily still based mostly around George's lost twin. Freddie's their son, now, and they're a family, unorthodox as they may seem, and the baby's name is just a name.

There's not much she can do about the reality of the fact that they could, indeed, be gone in a second, for reasons beyond anyone's control. There may be peace in the wizarding world, and wizardkind may be immune to many Muggle diseases and able to survive many accidents that would kill Muggles, but the fact is that even in the wizarding world life comes with no guarantees. But maybe she can help ease his fears, at least to some small degree. And maybe if George knows the baby's his, if he knows he's got as much right to be in Freddie's life as she does, he won't feel like an interloper any more. Maybe he'll be able to see his life with her and Freddie as his, and not as something that should have belonged to his brother.

She nods, realizing it's far, far past time when they should have done this.

"All right, then," she says.

George blinks, confused. "All right what?"

"Let's do it."

"Do what?"

"Get him tested. Get this... thing settled."

"What - you mean, settle who his father is?"

"Yeah."

George stares at her. "All right," he finally says slowly.

ooo000ooo

"Are you sure you want to sign?" the Birth Register Witch asks George seriously, looking up at him over her glasses. Behind her, a snowy owl blinks slowly on its roost, for some reason reminding George of the owl Harry used to have in school.

"Yeah."

"Once you've signed this parchment, that makes you the father. It is a magically binding legal paternity document. And if the mother has refused to name you for a year," she doesn't glance at Angelina or the baby, "then you can refuse to sign the parchment. No matter what the result of the paternity test is."

"I'll sign it," George says impatiently. "I'd sign it even without doing the test."

The Birth Register Witch's eyebrows go up and she sits back, gazing at him inscrutably. "You can't," she says calmly. "The test must be performed before the scroll can be signed." She turns her gaze to Angelina. "Now, please remember, this scroll is paternity. If he signs this, he is the baby's father, legally and magically, even if the test has shown he's not."

"He's already that," says Angelina. "The test doesn't make any difference to me."

The witch nods and stands up. "Very well. Now, as I've explained, Miss Johnson, this long after conception, there's no guarantee the spell will work. Although - you're Muggle-born, right?" Angelina nods. "I suppose if it doesn't work, you can always do it the Muggle way, I'm told their method can be done at any point--"

"It could," says Angelina. "But it wouldn't work with him. Muggle tests check the father's DNA; they were twins, so it would be identical."

"Oh." The older witch looks like she has about as much of an idea as George does as to what the hell DNA is. "So it's really now or never, is it?"

Angelina nods and the older witch motions George to step closer to her and the baby. "It should work regardless of your state of mind," she says, "but if you are all calm, it will feel less intrusive." The baby's a little fearful of the strange witch, but when he sees that all she's doing is waving her wand over the three of them and saying a few incantations, he settles and chews on a biscuit that Angelina's brought him to keep him calm during the proceedings. George feels something like a breeze over his face, and shivers slightly.

Finally the witch puts her wand down and nods, and turns to Angelina. "Traditionally the result is told to the mother in private, away from the hearing of the gentlemen who may be the father. But in this case, if you'd like, we can--"

Angelina gets up and hands the baby to George, and the other witch follows her into the other room. They come out a few minutes later and the Birth Register Witch shows them where to sign the parchment. They both sign, as the baby enthusiastically chews on a rather gummy biscuit.

So. That's that.

George doesn't know what to think or feel. He's the father, Fred only the uncle, and that's the end of any wondering.

Part of him is relieved. The baby's his, really his. And now he knows, and everyone will know, and he'll never have to wonder again if he's really got a right to think of him as his son.

Part of him is devastated. Fred never had a son; now he'll never have a son. George is already the baby's father in every way that really matters, and the only way that Fred could have had any claim to fatherhood is now beyond his reach forever.

He realizes Angelina's watching him closely.

"You all right with this?" he asks her, and she nods slowly. The Birth Register Witch seals the parchment and leaves the room. The baby waves at the owl in the corner, and the owl blinks at him lazily.

"George," says Angelina quietly.

"Yeah."

"Is it important to you?"

"What?"

"Knowing?"

"Yeah, I suppose." He takes the soggy biscuit from the baby and looks around for a rubbish bin. "Erm, thanks for going through with it."

"George," Angelina says again. He looks up. "D'you want to know for sure?"

He blinks. "I already do."

"No, you don't. You signed before knowing."

George frowns. "But you just signed, and she'd just told you--"

"No." She shows him an envelope. "I had her write the answer and put it here. We just had to do the test in order to be able to sign the scroll, but you said the answer didn't matter to you. And I realized it didn't matter to me either." She gazes at him seriously. "But if you want to know, the answer's right here."

George looks at the envelope.

"Do you want to know?" he asks.

"Not really."

"I don't either."

She stares at the envelope. "They can't do it again, you know," she says.

"I know."

She takes out her wand and puts the envelope on the table before them. She looks up. "What do you think?"

George takes out his wand, and they both point to the envelope and quietly intone, "Incendio."

Angelina takes the baby, and they leave the office. Partway down the street George stops and takes Angelina into his arms, and holds her and their child close. He can't really express what he's feeling right now, but the amazing, beautiful woman he's so bloody lucky to have by his side can probably guess most of it anyway. She gently strokes his hair and says nothing. Eventually he's able to pull himself together and the three of them continue their way home, and he wishes he could tell her just how much he loves her.

She makes him feel sorry for Fred, for all that he's missed, and George neither curses her nor thanks her for it, because it's nothing she has much control over. And it may not be right, what they've got. It may be imperfect, flawed, and possibly a bit unhealthy. But it works for them. It works for the baby.

For Freddie.