Resemblance

Chapter 76: Resemblance

November 2027

Age 49

George and Annie were spending a chilly, drizzling fall morning running errands together in a nearby town.

"Let's stop in and say hello to Beth Macarthur," Annie suggested as they approached her friend's shop. She had discovered, while planning Merrie's wedding, that Beth's artistry in flowers was combined with a calm sensibility that benefited any mother-of-the-bride and had made a friend of her in the years and weddings since.

George agreed to her suggestion and parked in front of the florist's shop.

"Annie! George!" a squat little lady called out in welcome from behind an enormous bouquet of roses as they entered the shop. "What can I do for you today?"

"Nothing, just stopping by to say hello," Annie replied cheerily, "and to say thanks once again for all your help with Janie's wedding flowers." Their daughter Janie had finally married her American beau, Elliot Baldwin, earlier that fall in a very small and quiet ceremony at Mole Hill.

"Two weddings in two years! You're going to wind up with all my money," George lamented. "Are you certain we're all settled up?"

The little florist cackled with an infectious laugh as she nodded, tossing George a long-stemmed red rose. "On the house, that one," she joked. "I ought to be giving you a volume discount after that other extravaganza!"

"I'll take it!" George cried. "Any chance you'll consider making it retroactive?" Then he put the stem of the rose between his teeth, turned to Annie and wiggled his eyebrows. Both women laughed at his antics.

The extravaganza they were referring to was Fred's wedding to Alice Longbottom a year ago, which had been an enormous undertaking – to the point that Annie suspected Janie's strictly-immediate-family guest policy at her own more recent wedding had largely been a backlash against it. Annie and Hannah Longbottom both had been astounded by how rapidly the thing had grown out of control. Between Neville's popularity as Hogwart's professor and war hero, Hannah's business associates and social connections through the Leaky Cauldron, and the Weasleys' own enormous family, simply addressing the invitations had nearly crippled Annie (until George took notice and bewitched a quill to take dictation).

The bridal couple had been quite amused by how their vision of a simple little wedding had quickly taken on a life of its own and had jokingly offered to elope (like both sets of their parents had done) in order to save everyone the hassle. But Neville had put his foot down in refusal of that suggestion, even in jest. According to him, the Longbottom family had waited a long time to celebrate a wedding, and no one was going to deny them their happening. Annie had smiled – everyone knew it was really Neville's grandmother who had insisted on the big to-do. And as she was nearly 110 years old by now, who was going to argue with her? So the huge wedding, bankrolled almost entirely by the Longbottoms, went off as planned. But far from being a pompous or stately occasion, it had been a gigantic, laid-back party. It ended up being the social event of the year: people were still talking about it a year later.

"That makes four down, one to go," Beth pointed out. "My first thought when you came in today was that it must be the littlest one's turn."

"Oh, no. My Joey will stay Daddy's little girl forever," George averred, only slightly joking. "If I have to lock her in a tower, even."

"You'll have to forgive him, Beth. My husband lives in a fantasy world. We'll be back, mark my words!" Annie laughed. After all, Georgeanna was twenty-two now and had been dating Landon Wood for years. It was a foregone conclusion that a wedding would be in the works before much longer.

They bade goodbye to the friendly florist and headed out the door. As they strolled down the street, now that the drizzle had stopped, George continued the conversation begun in the shop. "Joey is far too focused on her career now to think about boys," he said, more to reassure himself than to actually argue with Annie.

"Men, you mean," Annie corrected him. "And women are very good at multitasking, don't forget. For instance, I can walk and chew gum at the same time," she giggled as George tripped on a crack in the pavement at that very moment.

"You're trying awfully hard to get me riled today," he teased her grumpily, knocking her into the wall with his hip in retaliation.

"Not at all! I'm only trying to get you to open your eyes to reality. Landon isn't some passing fad, you know," she retorted, purposefully clipping his feet with her toes three times in a row before he lashed out in irritation and put her in a headlock.

"I grant you Oliver's boy is a very nice young fellow, but she's at the top of her game at the moment. And he plays for an opposing team, now they're not in school together any longer. No reason to complicate things with romantic distractions," he said. "Plenty of time for that to come...."

"You sound like Percy used to," she mumbled into his elbow. "So much for you being the enlightened one," she said, finally squirming out of his grasp.

"This is completely different," he argued, releasing her.

"Only because it's your daughter," she retorted.

"For Merlin's sake, she just won the Cup, you silly woman," George laughed. "Why would she be thinking of anything else?"

"Since when does being in love preclude all other pursuits? Even ones as pointless as Quidditch?" she countered.

"Careful, now," he warned her in a voice that was still slightly hoarse. "You're dangerously close to slandering the Cup champion in my presence."

Annie smiled. "I was cheering just as hard as you were, and my ears are still ringing, even though that match was over a week ago! And her teammates might argue the point that the Cannons won the Cup, not Georgeanna Weasley all on her own."

They laughed together then, holding hands and enjoying the memory of the happy celebration that had followed the match. It had been a chaotically ecstatic scene at the stadium when Joey had caught the Snitch, winning the British & Irish League Championship Cup for Chudley for the first time in 135 years. The screams of the Cannons supporters had built upon the roaring volley of actual cannon fire to deafen her, and her ribs had felt bruised for days from when George had grabbed her and spun around in happiness, nearly falling off the rickety stands and breaking both their necks.

"Her teammates would freely admit it would have never happened without her, to a man. She's the most brilliant Seeker in an age, and every Cannons supporter thanks their lucky stars for her," George disputed in characteristically overly-enthusiastic form.

"First and foremost, her Uncle Ron," Annie giggled.

"Yeah, at least I wasn't openly weeping for a day and a half afterward," laughed George. "Blubbering git," he added affectionately.

"Ooh, look. I haven't seen this one before," Annie exclaimed as they passed by a festive-looking little shop decorated for the upcoming Christmas holiday. "Let's go in and do a little early present shopping."

George's eyes lit up at the tantalizing window display of the toy store. "All right, I'm game," he agreed, holding the door open for her.

"Good day to you! Let me know if I can help you with anything," a voice called out from a back room.

"Thanks, we'll be fine on our own for a bit," Annie called out in response.

She and George strolled up and down the aisles in search of gifts for their five grandchildren.

George started to play with a remote control car on display. "Let's get these for Liam and Ruari," he suggested, somewhat distractedly.

"Says here they're for ages eight and up," she argued, reading the box. "The twins are only five. And the RF remote won't work at their house," she added in a whisper. Merrie and Ryan lived in a thoroughly magical residence in a wizarding neighborhood of London.

"They're already smarter than the average eight-year-old," he argued back, boasting in exaggeration. His body leaned and jerked in a misguided attempt to steer as he drove the little car up the aisle. "And the remote will work just fine at our place," he added as he guided the car to weave in and out of the boxes of the floor displays.

"Why don't you cut out the middle man and just buy one for yourself? That way your grandsons won't cry on Christmas morning when you hog their toys," she teased him.

George smirked at her and, in his distraction, caused the little car to crash into a large basket of toy cricket bats, toppling them. "When did you become such a hag? Oh, right – I forgot: you were born that way," he said, sticking out his tongue and surreptitiously tidying the bats up with a wave of his hand. "I'm going to ignore you until your crabby mood improves," he muttered, righting the toy and then following it down the aisle.

Annie rolled her eyes before strolling into the next aisle, which was stocked with several different kinds of blocks. She found some plastic interlocking ones especially made for small hands and selected an assortment of each for the three-year-olds in the family: Art and Roxy's little George and Merrie's little girl, Maureen.

Annie was often struck by how her oldest daughter's life paralleled her own in so many ways: married at nineteen, twin boys a couple of years later, followed by two daughters, the oldest of the two named after her grandmothers. Well, the timing of my own twins was a bit different, Annie laughed to herself. Merrie's way was far more sensible, she reckoned, not following quite so hard on the heels of her wedding day. All four of her daughter's children had blue eyes and flaming red hair, looking far more like Weasleys than Murphys. Annie had teased Merrie to expect another girl in two years and wished her better luck with the delivery than she'd had with Joey.

Merrie's littlest, baby Meg, was only a few months old. Annie smiled with nostalgia as she picked out a blue dragon from a wall of stuffed animals for her, confident Merrie would get a kick out of it as well.

Just then, the little car crashed into her heels. She spun around to find her husband smiling wickedly. "Look where you're going, why don't you?" he chided her.

"I'm standing still! I see you're no better at driving little toys than you are the real thing, klutz," she scolded back. "Look," she said, holding up the dragon. "Snorty redux."

George laughed and caught the stuffed dragon she tossed at him. "Brilliant! For Meg, I assume?"

Annie nodded with a smile.

"Good old Snorty," George mused, referring to Merrie's constant childhood companion. "She was a dragon of many talents and very poor health, if I remember correctly."

Annie set the two containers of blocks on the counter as George set three remote control cars and the dragon next to them. "Three of them? Are you serious?" she teased him. "How old are you?"

"Older than eight, so shut up," he retorted.

"Physically, maybe," she teased him.

"Dad will love one, as well," he added as he flicked at her earlobe with his finger.

Annie rolled her eyes yet again at her husband's immature-little-boy streak. "I'm sure he'll get a chance to play with it because you're so good at sharing," she said sarcastically while ducking out of the way and batting at his hand. "Help me find something for Jordan," she ordered.

Art and Roxy had two beautiful little boys now – George and Jordan – and the family lived in a cozy little house in Hogsmeade. The boys had pale cocoa skin, a smattering of freckles on their cheeks, deep brown eyes, and light brown hair with the faintest hint of red in it. Roxy had decided to stay at home with Art, raising their boys together while helping him out here and there with his research and publishing. Like both her mother and father, she had a good store of musical talent as well and often played her guitar and sang at the local pubs in the evenings. Annie's son and daughter-in-law made an excellent team and were very obviously deliriously happy together.

She and George made their way through an aisle full of infant toys, perusing the shelves and finally selecting a toy with several buttons that made objects pop up for their little one-year-old grandson. "He'll love this!" Annie assured George.

As they strolled up to the counter with the final toy, Annie teasingly asked, "Are you sure you're finished? Got everything you wanted?"

George smirked. "Wish they had a slingshot," he replied, miming shooting her in the backside.

She giggled and stuck out her tongue.

"I think we're ready now," George called out to the shopkeeper.

Annie sucked in her breath when the clerk emerged from the back room. He was slightly bent over and looking down, clapping his hands in an attempt to shake off the Styrofoam packing material stuck to his arms by static electricity. He began to speak to them while still gazing toward the floor.

"Thanks for being so patient. Just got a new shipment in for the holidays...." His voice trailed off when he looked up at the couple at the counter.

Annie was so shocked she nearly forgot to breathe. The same red hair. The same brown eyes. Tall and solidly built. Even the freckles!

Annie glanced at George, who was staring at the young man just as gobsmacked as she was: his eyes were round as saucers, his mouth hanging slightly open. She looked back to the shopkeeper, who had fallen silent as well, staring at George like he had just seen a ghost. His brow furrowed, as if he was struggling to understand what was standing in front of him.

"You?" he stammered, his eyes searching George's face, unable to fully voice the question.

George slowly shook his head. From behind the counter, the young man's face further crumpled in confusion, then he glanced at Annie. He dropped his eyes quickly when she met his gaze. The young man stared down at the boxes of toys, avoiding further eye contact, and began to ring them up.

"Is this a new store?" Annie asked nervously, trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation. Meanwhile she was feeling somewhat faint. Is it really possible? Could he really be...?

"Erm... yes. Just opened last summer," the fellow mumbled, hazarding another sidelong look at George.

"Congratulations, it's wonderful," she complimented him. The young man smiled slightly in response. "Is it yours?"

The fellow nodded, looking pleased with himself for a moment.

"Forgive me, but you seem rather... young... to be such a successful entrepreneur," she said carefully. What other explanation could there be...? She swallowed hard, desperately trying to summon command over a wave of nausea at the thought. All this time, and we never knew!

"I just turned twenty-nine this spring, actually, but everyone always thinks I'm younger than I am," he explained. "My girlfriend says I have a boyish face," he added.

"You do indeed," Annie said softly and a little sadly.

She handed him her credit card to pay for the toys. He looked at it for a long moment, as if considering what to do next. She watched as he ran his fingers over the raised letters of her name.

"Can I see some ID, please? I'm supposed to ask everyone, you see," he said.

"Certainly," Annie answered, pulling out her drivers' license.

"Weasley," he mouthed silently, pretending to check the data, then nodding to indicate she could put it away. "These toys for your own kids, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?" he asked, obviously fishing for information.

"Grandkids, actually," George answered, verifying his assumption they were married by not contradicting it. "Our children are all grown up now," he added, eagerly offering more information than the fellow'd asked for. "My name's George... George Weasley. And you are...?"

The young man stared hard at George, as if torn between a desperate craving for more information and what was possibly an old, bitter resentment that was beginning to flare, if his instincts were correct. The craving won out.

"Ben Furlong," he replied. The young man held out his hand for George to shake.

George accepted it, looking him directly in the eye. The two of them stared at each other, hand in hand, for a whole minute. Ben's jaw began to twitch as he ground his teeth in what looked like frustrated, mounting anger. Annie suspected he was probably squeezing George's hand hard enough to cause pain – perhaps the resentment was beginning to win out over the curiosity.

George wrapped his other hand around Ben's. "Look, I'm not who you might think I am... but we do need to talk," he said gently.

Ben released George's hand, and George pulled a business card out of his jacket pocket. "Please call me... when you're free," George added.

Ben took it, chewing on his cheek, deep in thought.

Just like he used to, Annie thought, feeling another stab to her heart. The young man once more looked searchingly at George, then at her. Annie nodded, hoping to encourage him of their sincerity. "Please call us," she pleaded. "It's important to both of us, Ben," she added.

Ben's expression added surprise to the confusion, clearly unsettled by her calm, less-than-furious reaction, as if he expected her to feel as angry as he apparently did. After all, if the young man's assumption was correct, her husband was a philanderer. He nodded silently.

"Soon," George urged. "I hope you'll call soon."

The young man took a deep breath but did not answer. George and Annie collected their purchases and made their way silently out the door.

Five minutes later, Annie was behind the wheel, per George's suggestion. She sped down the tiny, empty road that would bring them back to Mole Hill in the shortest amount of time.

"George... we don't really know..." she began, breaking the silence first.

"Come off it, Annie! Did you not see that boy?" he cried.

"Man, you mean. Young man. Of course I saw him. And I admit he bears some resemblance..." she replied, but didn't get a chance to complete her sentence.

"Bears a resemblance?!" he yelled incredulously. He punctuated his declaration by slamming both palms on the dashboard. Annie hushed him, but he persisted, only slightly less loudly, "He's either Fred's or mine, and I should hope by now you know the odds of the latter are zero!"

"Calm down!" she demanded. "George, we can't know for sure.... Let me finish, goddamn it!" she cried as he snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. Go ahead," he said with only a bare modicum of forced patience, struggling mightily to control himself at the moment.

"We don't know that he's Fred's son," Annie countered. "We don't know anything at all about him: where he's from, what his childhood was like. There could be a perfectly logical explanation that doesn't involve your brother."

"You can delude yourself if you want, but that was Fred's boy back there! I know it!" George cried. Looking back over his shoulder out the rearview window, as if he could catch a glimpse of the young man once more, he worried, "I shouldn't have left things that way – I should have stayed, tried to explain it so he can understand. Maybe we should turn around right now," he wondered aloud, staring pointedly at the steering wheel in her hands, drumming his fingers on the dashboard.

"We will do no such thing!" Annie cried, desperate for him to listen to reason. "How do you imagine this is all going to pan out, George? That he's going to just say, 'Oh, looky there, my daddy was your twin brother, and that makes you my uncle, so let's all have Christmas together, now pass the pudding...'?! That's truly idiotic, I hope you know," she scolded him.

George pursed his lips together, displeased with her lack of enthusiasm and unswayed by her assessment of the situation.

Annie pressed on. "If he is Fred's child, then who is his mother? What did she tell him about the circumstances of his birth? How will she feel about our sudden appearance? What did he have to deal with, growing up? Ben may have absolutely no interest whatsoever in hearing what you have to say, depending on the answers to those questions. And it's his right not to know, if that's what he chooses. You can't force this on him if he doesn't want it."

"Listen, I respect your opinion, but not everyone had your bad experience," George countered. "Just because you got a shitty deal doesn't mean he did."

"I grant you that," Annie argued. "But seeing as I am technically the only actual dictionary-definition bastard in this vehicle at the moment, you have to admit I have a mite better perspective on it than you do, love. And judging by his initial reaction – and he clearly thinks you're a lying sack of adulterous shit at the moment, in case you didn't notice – I'm betting my read on the situation is slightly more accurate."

"Annie... that was Fred's child!" he yelled at the car's ceiling, clenching his fists in frustration. "How can you expect me not to care? To just leave him behind like this? Like I don't know he exists?"

"Of course you care! And I care, too!" she yelled back. "But you have to let Ben come to you," she urged him a little more quietly, a bit more calmly. "If you go marching back there, insisting he's your kin, you will either piss him off or scare him away. Give him some time to digest this and come to you. Let him decide when he's ready."

George drummed a staccato beat with anxious fingers on the dashboard, pondering her suggestion. "Tonight," he conceded. "If he doesn't call by tonight...."

"One week, minimum!" cried Annie. "I will tie you up and sit on you if necessary!"

George laughed despite himself at what he considered to be an empty threat.

She was slightly relieved to hear some of the tension in his voice dissipate. "We will wait a decent, reasonable amount of time, and if he still hasn't called us, then we'll discuss our options."

*

Annie was grateful she didn't have to carry out the threatened punishment. That afternoon, Ben called and offered to meet them that evening at a restaurant in town, his eagerness apparently on par with George's. Although what exactly he was eager for – reunion or revenge – was still up for debate in Annie's mind.

On the way to meet him, George and Annie drove in silence as the sky darkened from twilight to full night. George was far calmer, far more rational, now that Ben had agreed to meet with him. He had taken the call from Ben, so she was relying on him to accurately relay the young man's tone. George had dismissed all her concerns outright, but she didn't want to take any chances.

"George... you don't think he's... magical... do you?" Annie asked. She was feeling nervous about the possibility of a full-out wand battle if the discussion turned unfriendly.

He shook his head right away. "Can't be. He told us he's the same age as our boys. Surely we would have seen him at Hogwarts, if he was."

"Maybe that means he's not who we think he is," she pointed out. "I mean, all of our kids were born with it, and the rest of the family...."

"Please don't try to argue that with me at this point. He's Fred's boy, and I couldn't care less if he's a Squib," he replied, staring out ahead of the car.

"I suppose you're right," she said.

After all, how many coincidences have to pile up before one is forced to admit something? Ben Furlong was practically the spitting image of Fred, and therefore her own husband, as well. And Fred's history of – well, sleeping around, to put it bluntly – ancient though it was, certainly opened up the possibility of Fred's parentage. The timing fit perfectly as well: Bill and Fleur had just celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary this past August. Fred had been particularly... social... that summer leading up to Voldemort's coup d'etat at the Ministry and the wedding's subsequent ambush. George himself had often snuck over to Ottery that summer whenever his brother was out to secretly spend time with her.

"What are you going to tell him... about that?" she asked.

"I have no idea," he confessed, sighing and dropping his shoulders in defeat.

"May I make a suggestion?" she said softly.

"Of course," he replied.

"Don't. I think it'll be hard enough on him to accept the fact he has a father he'll never get a chance to know personally. It would be cruel to pile one more unbelievable disappointment on top of that," she argued gently.

George nodded, conceding the point for the time being. "Okay, I won't. For now, at least. But it feels sort of wrong... dishonest, somehow... to deny such a fundamental part of Fred. His son deserves to know the kind of man his father was."

"I suppose so," Annie sighed. "Just... not that bit – not yet, George."

They drove slowly through the little town and parked near the meeting place. As they approached, they could see through the restaurant's window that the young man already sat at a table alone, waiting for them. He looked up as they entered and made their way to the table.

"Hello, Ben," Annie greeted him quietly. The restaurant was busy but not loud, and she prayed he wouldn't make a scene.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," he replied.

Annie thought he sounded reasonably calm, considering the bombshell that had been dropped on him this morning. "Please, call me Annie," she asked him.

Ben looked uncomfortable with her suggestion but didn't refuse outright. All three of them sat down at the table.

"Look, let's just get down to it, all right? Are you my father, Mr. Weasley?" Ben asked. He stared at George with an intense gaze, clearly fearing his answer as much as he was hoping for it.

"No, Ben. I'm not," he replied.

Ben snorted in disbelief. He looked at George with contempt, sparing a telling glance at Annie. "Forgive me if I don't believe you. I'm sure it was an impressive snow job, whatever line you got your wife to swallow. After all, what's one more lie, eh? On second thought, I hope you don't forgive me. I hope you're pissed off. Why did you even ask me to call you, anyway, if you weren't going to admit it? Bloody arsehole..." he snapped. He pushed himself away from the table and began to get up from his chair.

"Wait! Ben, please sit down," Annie begged.

George had silently and deliberately pulled out a photograph from his jacket pocket while Ben was ranting. He set the picture on the table in front of Ben. So that's what he was doing in the guest room closet this afternoon, Annie thought when she realized what it was.

The young man's expression melted from suspicious hostility to startled confusion. He slowly sat back down, picking up the photograph.

"That's me and my twin brother, Fred. We were about fifteen in that picture. I'm willing to bet you looked just like us at that age," George explained softly.

"Twin brother?" Ben mumbled, his mind reeling.

The three of them sat silently at the table for several minutes as the young man processed this newest bit of information.

"Ben, if you don't mind.... Would you tell us about your mum, dear?" Annie asked quietly.

Ben considered the request, staring at the photo for several more moments, then nodded. "My mum never told me anything about my real father. I grew up thinking my stepdad was.... Then, about four years ago, my mum was killed in a car accident. Not long after, he told me the truth – said she'd always meant to tell me, now that I was grown up, but never had the courage, I suppose," he said, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry about your mum, Ben," Annie said, patting his hand. He wore the pain of his grief for his mother on his sleeve, and it tugged at her heart.

He looked up at her with no small amount consternation. "Thanks. Anyway, he said she told him about it a long time ago – that she just made a mistake when she was young and got herself in trouble. He never knew who it was.... She'd always told him it was a foolish one-night stand and she regretted it except for the fact that I was the result. My stepdad married her when she was pregnant with me and raised me as his own. The bastard that got my mum pregnant never showed his face again," he said, his voice growing angrier as he told the tale.

"Ben... I can assure you my brother never knew about you," George began.

"So what?! That's no excuse! He never came back 'round or tried to see my mother again. He left her behind with no way of reaching him, to tell him about me...."

"You're right. That was wrong of him," George admitted.

Annie knew it killed George to say it – to betray his brother's memory by disparaging him even slightly – but he was trying to be as honest as possible with this young man. In George's mind, all Fred's sins were absolved the moment he perished in the battle so long ago. Whatever his brother's faults were, they paled in comparison to the shining good in him, the heroic sacrifice he had made. Annie was inclined to agree but for a different reason: for all his gifts and faults, Fred never had the chance to develop the wisdom gained from a bit of suffering in life, to later come to grips with stupid choices made recklessly in youth, to redeem himself.

"Damn right it was wrong of him. So where is he? Your brother, the miserable bastard?" Ben made it sound as if he was still a bit dubious about George blaming it on a twin brother. Annie could admit it all would seem rather convenient to an outsider.

George sighed. This was the part he was looking forward to the least. Annie took his hand for support.

"Ben, my brother is dead. He was killed when we were twenty years old. I'm guessing you were maybe a few months old when it happened," he said quietly.

Ben looked like he'd been sucker punched. "Jesus Christ!" he gasped. The angry look on his face struggled to fight off the tears that were threatening to fall.

"I'm so sorry, Ben," Annie said again, tears of her own beginning to course down her cheeks, hating the fact they were hurting him so undeservedly. "This must be some kind of nightmare for you."

"He's dead? My real father is dead?" Ben asked, begging either of them to contradict him.

At least he was no longer blaming George for being the perpetrator, Annie noted. George barely nodded at the young man, struggling to maintain control himself. Meanwhile, Annie answered him. "If Fred is truly your father, then yes, he is," she said as gently as she could.

"How did he die?" Ben asked, staring unseeing at the table.

Annie shot a look of warning at George, urging discretion, and he nodded slightly in response.

"It was in a battle, actually," George explained carefully.

Ben looked even more startled. His head snapped up to look at George once more. "He was a soldier? In the army?"

George pursed his lips, then nodded reluctantly. It was true, after a fashion, Annie supposed. Better to save the details of that particular explanation for later, if ever.

"My mum never told that to anybody," Ben muttered softly. "I never knew...."

"She might not have known either, Ben," Annie suggested. "I'm guessing that they were both quite young, Fred and your mother, when they met." Annie didn't think it was a question of if they'd met – not really, not anymore.

Ben thought about what she said, then nodded reluctantly. "She was twenty-one when I was born. My dad – stepdad, I mean – told me she never blamed the bloke for it, never was bitter. Said she went into it with her eyes open and knew it for the fling it was.... I guess it was just easier for me to think ill of the bas–... I mean, of the guy, than it was to think badly of Mum."

"I don't think badly of either of them, really," Annie offered. "Young people make mistakes... and your mum made the best of it, that's clear. I mean, look at you! She must have done a wonderful job to raise such a nice young man."

Ben chuckled and looked at her sideways. "You don't know me, Mrs. Weasley... but thanks. And you're right. My mum and dad... stepdad... were great."

"Ben, I can assure you that if my brother had ever known about you, he would have done right by you and your mother," George averred. Annie could hear the rest of his thought as clearly as if he'd shouted it: I would have made sure of it!. He leaned his body on the table, closer toward Ben, trying to convince the young man of his sincerity.

Ben looked hard at George, sighed, then gave him a slight smile. "Are there any more of us? I mean, have I got any half-brothers or sisters?" he asked.

George hesitated for only the briefest of moments, and shook his head. "Fred never married."

Ben snorted softly, not fooled by George's answer for a moment. "So, none that you know of, you mean," he said with chagrin.

Annie took advantage of a lull between them and spoke up. "Ben, Fred was a very dear friend of mine for a very long time. We grew up together. And while I admit that, yes, he was reckless and immature when it came to love – he was also a wonderful human being. He was kind and brave, trustworthy, clever, and funny as hell. He spent much of his short life trying to help other people and lost it defending their right to live freely. He had his faults, I won't deny it. But he was a good man. I still miss him every day. He would have loved you and been proud of you, I know it."

"I wish I could have known him," whispered Ben, staring at the photograph once more.

"I wish you could have, too," said George softly. After a short pause, he added: "Listen... would you like to come to dinner some time? Meet the rest of your family?"

Annie shot him a look, warning him it was too much, too soon. She was worried if he moved too quickly, Ben would be scared off, lost to them forever once more. Sometimes George could be too determined for his own good.

"The rest of the family?" Ben asked, curious.

George nodded, beginning to smile. "You've got six uncles and five aunts, not to mention fifteen cousins. And a set of grandparents who will definitely want to know you."

"You really think your brother was my dad, then?" Ben asked.

"Looking at you... yes, I do. It seems an inescapable conclusion – to me, at least. But I suppose it's possible that it's just a remarkable coincidence...."

"How do I know it isn't really you?" Ben said, finally voicing his nagging suspicion.

George sighed. "You don't. You can't. You just have to take my word for it."

"Would you take a paternity test?" Ben dared to ask.

"Ben, Fred and George were identical twins. A paternity test wouldn't be able to distinguish between them...." Annie began to argue.

"Yes, I would," George interrupted her. "It would at least prove you belong to our family. That you're a Weasley." He and Annie had, in fact, discussed paternity tests that very afternoon while waiting for Ben to ring them. "If you want to think it was me... well, then, go ahead. It's the least I can do for Fred's son."

*

Two weeks later, Annie sat next to her nephew at the dining table in her own home. George had participated, per Ben's request, in a paternity test. Three days later, the results had come as no surprise: there was a 99.99% chance that George, and therefore Fred as well, was Ben's father.

"For what it's worth... I do believe you," Ben had offered that morning as he and George sat flipping through old family photographs. "When you say that you aren't my father, I mean. I figure nobody could really make this whole mad story up," he added with a laugh.

He smiled at Annie. She knew her reaction – her implicit trust in and calm acceptance of George's explanation – had likely helped to convince him.

"Thank you... for your trust," George replied simply. "It means a lot. I know this hasn't been easy for you...."

"A bit of an understatement," Ben muttered.

"Right," George laughed. "But, Ben... I can't tell you how much it means to me to have found you. I feel like... like it's a bit of a miracle, actually," he said, sounding incredulous, as if he couldn't believe it himself.

"I know what you mean," Ben agreed. "Like it can't really be real – this whole 'instant family' thing."

"Thank you for agreeing to do this, by the way," George added.

Just then, before Ben could respond, Annie darted over to the door. She had caught a glimpse of her in-laws as they were walking up the path between their homes. "They're here," she warned them softly.

"So, Annie, dear," Molly said as soon as the door was thrown open, "What's all the secrecy about? I hope you didn't go to all the trouble of a surprise party. Surely we've all learned our lesson with those," she laughed, hugging Annie and kissing her cheek.

Arthur wore his usual bemused expression, standing slightly behind his wife as always.

"Come in, Molly, Arthur," Annie said, taking Molly's hands and leading her into the house. "Thanks for coming over. Like I explained, George and I have someone we want you to meet." Annie directed their attention to the dining table with a wave of her hand.

After a second's initial shock, Molly uttered a startled cry, then covered her mouth with her hand, presumably to stifle any further shrieks.

"Oh my God," whispered Arthur.

The resemblance apparently struck them the same way it had George and Annie.

George rose to face his parents. "Dad, Mum, I'd like you to meet Ben Furlong: Fred's son."