Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am not J.K. Rowling.

Molly Weasley had led a long and largely happy life. Now, thirty years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the ravages of time had taken their toll, and she was barely strong enough to get out of bed. Unwilling to go down without a fight, she took this last opportunity to call her family into her, one at a time, and speak to each of her beloved children, and her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Eventually it came to George's turn. Molly called him and his wife, and their children in, and told them how much she loved them, how proud she was of them and how sad she was that Fred was no longer with them.

At that point George asked his family to step outside, as he had something to talk to his mother about.

"Did you get another girl pregnant?" she asked sternly.

"You make it sound like I did it a couple of times. Angelina's the only one; you know that," George replied. "No, I have a different confession to make."

"The shop blew up and killed Ron – I expected this would happen one day. I prepared myself for the worst."

"No, not that either. Something much worse."

"Did you kill Ginny?"

"I didn't kill anyone!" George snapped. He took a deep breath. He would never be able to forgive himself if the last conversation he ever had with his mother wound up a shouting match. "I played a bit of a prank on you. Well, me and Fred."

"Your son?" Molly asked.

"No, you see, that's the thing," George replied. "We thought it would be funny. You never could tell us apart, and we hoped that we could spring the surprise on you when one of us got married, or something, and everyone would laugh."

"George, what are you saying?"

"That's just it. I'm Fred."

Molly was silent for a moment. She did not look angry, which was probably more terrifying than if she had. Her eventual response was a flat, "What."

"When we were fifteen, we switched," Fred explained. "It sort of went on for a long while. Then I lost my ear, and we thought; hey, now they can tell us apart, but they've still got it wrong. And it'll be even funnier when we finally told you all. But then George died, with everyone thinking he was me, and it seemed like maybe it wouldn't be so funny anymore if we told anyone, so I kept up the charade."

"So what you're telling me," Molly said in a surprisingly calm voice, "Is that for the last thirty years, you have made me think that you were dead, when actually it was your brother? That I have been grieving the wrong son for the last thirty years?"

"Er, I guess so," Fred replied.

"Fred, you were right to tell me this. I am probably too weak to punish you, but I want you to know one thing," Molly said. She gestured him closer. He leant down to hear what she had to say.

Then her hand gripped the front of his robes and she held him in place.

"I'll be back to get you!"

Fred went out to see his family, who were all gathered in the sitting room.

"George, honey, has something happened?" Angelina asked. Fred realised they probably had misread his face – his eyes were wide and his skin pale.

"No, she's still hanging in there," Fred replied. He turned to Angelina and grasped her hand. "Angelina, my love. You were my one source of comfort when my brother passed. We've been together through thick and thin, loving and caring for each other for nearly thirty years, right?"

"George, what's wrong?"

"Angelina. I've got something I need to tell you..."