“Two more kids orphaned
last night,” George Weasley commented, glancing up from the Daily Prophet at
his twin brother, Fred.
Fred shook his head.
“How many is that now? Two last night, at least twelve this month…and all the
others since Voldemort’s defeat.”
George held back a
shudder at the name and nodded. “I don’t understand how anyone could be so
cruel,” he said, tossing the paper onto the table in front of him. “Kids don’t
need to be worrying about an evil dark lord’s followers coming and killing
their parents because they supported the wrong people. They should be having
fun, playing pranks, skiving off classes.”
“What, are you
suggesting we go off and find all the Death Eaters and kill them?” Fred asked
with a laugh. “That’s Harry and his Aurors’ job. We’re here to aid children
in major mischief making, not to save the world. Speaking of major mischief
making, we have ten minutes before the shop opens, so we should probably make
our way to the front.”
George waved his
brother off. “Not save the world, Fred,” he said impatiently. “Just a few
kids. What if we didn’t open shop today?”
“We’d lose business,”
Fred replied. “We’d be letting down at least a hundred kids who want to
purchase items that will drive their mothers, sisters, brothers and professors
“What if we let Verity
open shop today, and we took some of our gadgets to the orphanage down the
road?” George pressed on. “In the Prophet, they mentioned something about
making donations of galleons to help feed the kids, but what if we donated what
we have the most of?”
Fred asked jokingly. “Old detention slips? Hearts left broken?”
George ignored his
brother’s comment. “Pranks. Fireworks, Canary Creams, Headless Hats;
the least harmful of our products. These kids need fun in their lives, and it
is our job to give it to them.”
cocked his head. “You know, my dear George, you could be right. Shall we
gather the products, then?” He held out his arm, which his twin took, and the
two headed out of their small kitchen and into the main part of their shop.
any child’s dream. The walls were lined with towering shelves full of sweets
that would turn a friend into a canary, boxes of snacks that would give the
user a variety of illnesses, allowing them to skive off classes, wands that
would turn into a variety of animals when picked up and many more products
ranging from ‘Expert Pranksters Only’ to ‘Practically Pointless’. The twins
had worked on these products for years, ever since learning that their friends
thought it was funny to be turned into a yellow bird. After leaving Hogwarts,
they had set up a small shop in Diagon Alley, moving out of their mother’s
house and into the back room of the shop. They had expected good business, but
when Hogwarts closed for the summer holidays, they realized that they would
soon have to move to a larger location. So, only a month after opening their
shop, they moved into a space three times the size of their original location.
It had a good-sized flat above it with two bedrooms and a nice kitchen, though
most days they just Apparated over to the Burrow for meals. They were quite
pleased with the purchase, so much that they invited all their friends over for
a party one night. George lost count of how many times he turned into a canary
after the twenty seventh time, but the party had been quite the event.
“How’s this?” Fred
asked his brother, bent over a crate full of colorful boxes. “We have thirty
boxes of the Basic Blaze Weasleys’ Wildfire Wiz-Bangs, a carton of Canary
Creams, three dozen Headless Hats, thirty fake wands, umm…shall we include the
Extendable Ears, or not?”
not risk it,” George said. “Let’s go.” He grinned and pulled out his wand. “Locomotor
“Good idea,” Fred commented
as he did the same to his. “So, where is this place?”
frowned. “The Prophet said it was just a few doors down from
Ollivander’s. It shouldn’t take too long to get there.”
They walked leisurely
down Diagon Alley, smiling at passers-by who started openly at the two
red-haired young men who wore matching lurid green dragonskin jackets and
carried two large crates with their wands. They were used to receiving odd
looks; it came with working at a joke shop.
newly built Diagon Alley Orphanage was a tall building that stood between a
grubby-looking pub and an Owl Post Office. The steps leading up to the
orphanage held a few toys, but far too few in George’s opinion. When he and
Fred had been kids, their front step had been covered with their toys. He felt
immense sadness around this building. It had been built only two months ago,
after a similar one had been destroyed by Bellatrix Lestrange and her fellow
Death Eaters who now roamed the country searching for victims. Eleven children
had died in the incident, which was far too many in George’s opinion.
According to the Prophet, the orphanage only accepted children who were
younger than eleven; once they were old enough to attend Hogwarts they were
sent to live with other families, who would then tutor them until Hogwarts
itself was reopened. Until then, their home was this building in the middle of
Fred rang the bell at
the door, which echoed through the orphanage, accompanied by wails of babies
and screams of young children. The door was opened a moment later by a young
woman wearing flowered robes covered in paint and carrying a little girl who
looked about two. The little girl’s wide grey eyes stared at the two young men
who stood on the doorstep.
“We came to give a
donation,” George told the woman. “I’m George Weasley and he’s Fred Weasley;
we’re from Weasley Wizard Wheezes down the street. We brought some of our…less
harmful products for the children.”
The woman looked at the
two of them for a moment, then nodded tiredly. “Come in,” she said, stepping
aside. “Sorry for my appearance, it comes with having to take care of twenty
little children… My name’s Claris Analda, by the way, and this is Margot. She
came here just a week ago.”
“How old are you, Margot?”
Fred asked the little girl as he and his brother stepped inside.
The little girl
remained silent and continued to stare at the twins.
“She doesn’t say much,”
Claris told them quietly. “She was there when her parents…” She glanced at
down at Margot. “We don’t like to talk about that,” she said a moment later.
“Come into the greeting room and we’ll see what you brought.”
led the two through a maze of hallways. The place seemed to be set up like a
house, but its design was even more insane than the Burrow, as if rooms had
been added here and there at random. To add to the messy design, the hallways
were full of broken toys, cracked beds and unfolded clothes. A few children
played here and there with toy wands or cloth dolls, but their eyes were full
of sadness, rather than the happiness that all children deserved to have. George
shivered. These children had no right to be burdened with what they had seen.
They had no right to live lives so full of sorrow.
They came at last to a
room lined with fluffy couches and painfully happy pictures. Claris took a
seat on one of the couches, a sagging bright red one, allowing Margot to crawl
off her lap and curl up next to her, her tangled black hair spread on a large
blue cushion. Fred and George placed their crates on the floor and took seats
in nearby matching yellow armchairs.
“We brought what we
thought would be the best,” George told Claris. “Have you seen our products?”
smiling. “My little brother was at Hogwarts before it closed two years ago,
and he told me all about them when he got home. He thinks you’re brilliant.
But some of those things sound dangerous. You didn’t bring the puking pills,
laughed, the strange sound echoing through the sad house. “No, of course not.
We brought our fireworks, though. He’d have seen those.”
“Yes, he said something
about fireworks,” the woman replied. “Those would be wonderful; they might
just make a few children smile.”
“We also brought
Headless Hats,” George added, pulling one from his crate. “Watch this.” He
took the hat out of its box and unfolded it. With a flourish, he placed it on
his brother’s head, which instantly disappeared.
grey eyes widened. “Gone…” she whispered, so quietly that George almost didn’t
catch the word. “Head gone.” Her lips upturned slightly into what George
thought was perhaps a smile.
Fred removed the hat
with a bow. “Perfectly harmless,” he told Claris. “We brought three dozen.”
Claris exclaimed. “Fireworks, hats…how can I thank you?”
George grinned. “We
have more,” he told her.
One by one, they showed
their choices to the young woman, who nodded and smiled as they demonstrated.
George kept his eyes on the little girl, whose lips seemed to be fighting for a
“Lastly, we have the
Canary Creams,” Fred announced. “George?”
The other twin shook
his head. “You demonstrate,” he said. “I did the last one.”
Fred popped the little cream into his mouth. A moment later there was a pop,
and where Fred had once sat, a yellow canary fluttered.
strange sound filled the room, a sound like George had never heard. He glanced
over at Margot and was astonished to see that she was laughing. Her grey eyes
sparkled playfully and her mouth was wide open in a happy grin as tiny bubbles
of childish laughter floated out.
“Thank you,” Claris
said, tears streaming from her cheeks as she hugged the little girl. “Thank
you for making my day and hers. You’re welcome back anytime.”
All the way back to
the twins’ apartment, George couldn’t get the laugh of that little girl Margot
out of his mind. It was strange, but he felt attached to her, as if making her
laugh had forged some intangible bond between them.
“Well, that was fun,”
said Fred lightly as they banged shut the door of their flat. “Nice to know
we’re doing something for the community. Not that our jokes don’t already
serve the community in a far greater way than most realize.” He waggled his
“Yeah,” said George.
Fred turned to him.
“You weren’t listening to a word I said. My dear George, I’m mortally
“Mmm,” said George,
sitting down at the kitchen table.
Fred laughed, setting
the empty toy crate down on the already cluttered table, and sat down next to
George. He snapped his fingers in his brother’s face.
“George! Snap out of
George started and
looked up, irritated. “What?”
head was up in the clouds, flying around on Harry’s Firebolt. What’s up?”
“We should do this
again sometime.” It sounded as if he was avoiding the question, but all he
could think about was the girl in the orphanage, and making her laugh once
“What – the
orphanage thing? How? What would we take? We’ve already given them
everything we have that’s even remotely safe for kids,” said Fred with just a
touch of annoyance.
“We wouldn’t have to
take anything, we could just visit. They can’t get many visitors, and that
woman said we could…”
Fred sighed. “Yeah,
sure, I guess we can go back sometime.”
* * *
Sometime turned out to
be a week later, as Fred and George were walking back to their flat from the
Apothecary, where they’d been buying the beetle eyes necessary for their latest
experiment. That was one thing Fred loved about living in Diagon Alley: he
could walk anywhere he needed to go, without having to bother with Floo Powder
or Apparating. The downside of that, at least in Fred’s eyes, was that it was
far too easy to get sidetracked when walking. Such was the case that windy
Monday morning. As they walked past the doors of the orphanage, Fred saw
“What?” he asked.
“You said we could
visit sometime. Why not now?”
Fred could think of
several good answers to that question, not the least of which was the fact that
he was currently carrying a sack full of beetle eyes, but he couldn’t bear to
quash the hopeful look on his twin’s face.
“Sure,” he sighed,
getting a better grip on the bag of eyes.
George marched up the
steps and knocked on the wooden doors, Fred following behind him. A few
seconds later, voices and footsteps could be heard. The door opened and
Claris, the woman who ran the orphanage, appeared, looking much the same as the
last time Fred had seen her, even down to the girl she was carrying- Fred
thought her name was Meggy, or Mandy. Something with an M. The only
differences were the robes she was wearing and the fact that there was now blue
paint smeared in her hair as well as on her robes.
George. “Remember us?”
“Of course I do! Fred
and George Weasley. You brought such wonderful gifts last week. I’m afraid I
don’t know which of you is which, though.”
“I’m Fred, he’s
George,” said Fred.
“Well, hello! I don’t
suppose there are more jokes in that bag you’re carrying, Fred?”
“Actually, no, we’re
just visiting this time. The bag has beetle eyes in it,” said George.
“What do you need
beetle eyes for?”
Fred leaned forward
until he was close enough to whisper to Claris. “Well, George thinks
they’re for an experiment. Little does he know I plan to hide them in the
beans for his morning coffee!”
Claris laughed, and,
sensing that what was just said must have been funny, the little girl- Melly?
“What’s this I hear
about my morning coffee?” George piped up from beside him.
“Nothing, nothing at
all, my dear George!” said Fred grandiosely.
“Yes, well, I’ll be
M-girl giggled more.
“Oh, where have my
manners gone? Come in, come in!” said Claris, beckoning with her free
and George followed her into the entrance hall, past a few doors, through the
winding hallways, and finally into what appeared have recently been a kitchen,
but was currently serving as an artist’s studio. In the center of the large
room, far from even the hint of a knife or fire, was a gigantic wooden table
that had been covered in old issues of the Daily Prophet. The
individual issues were hard to read, though, because on top of the newspaper
were giant sheets of parchment covered in paint. Around the table stood the
children of the orphanage. They ranged in age from so young that they could
barely stand on their wobbly legs, to the oldest, a girl who seemed old enough
to attend Hogwarts, if the school was open. All but the very oldest were
laughing and shrieking, smearing more paint on each other than on the
parchment. The oldest children looked grim, and Fred realized that they must
be the ones who really understood what being an orphan meant; perhaps some of
them had even seen their parents being killed.
Claris set the M-girl
down near one end of the table, and she stood uncertainly, wobbling slightly on
her unsteady feet. George rushed to steady her, and she grabbed his index
finger with one small hand, the other with its thumb planted firmly in her
mouth. Her wide grey eyes scanned the room, finally settling on Fred. He was
surprised that he felt only slightly unsettled by her stare.
Claris, who had just
succeeded in preventing a small boy from eating the paint, surveyed George and
the M-girl happily.
“I’m sorry, dear.
Which one are you again?”
who had been caught up in the finger-paint dram, was a bit startled.. “Who,
me? Oh, I’m Gre- I’m Fred,” he stammered.
“Well Fred, your
brother and Margot seem to be getting on quite nicely.”
Margot! That was the
“Yeah, quite nicely,”
“It always happens the
same way- one of the kids just latches on to them.”
Fred snapped back to
reality. “Wait. What always happens the same way?”
“Why, the adoption of
course. People come in and they connect with one kid, and pretty soon neither
can live without the other.”
Claris was staring off
into space, a wistful look in her eyes. Fred figured she was probably
remembering past adoptions.
Well, he didn’t want to
be part of a future one. If Claris was right, pretty soon George and Margot
would be inseparable, and George would want to adopt her. Fred was fine with
children – how could he not be, growing up with six siblings and uncountable
cousins – but he had no wish to have any of his own. Not yet, anyway. What he
had to do was go and talk sense into George. Right now, before things
got too far.
Fred marched over,
intending to do just that, but from five feet away he could tell by the look on
his twin’s face that it was too late. His brother would forever be wrapped up
in the fate of a two-year-old. A two-year-old girl at that. Why
couldn’t it have been a boy at least? How the hell did George think two
bachelors could raise a two-year-old girl? Sure, they’d been there through Ginny’s
childhood, but they hadn’t been allowed to do more than look at her.
Perhaps it wasn’t too
late, Fred thought. He tapped George on the shoulder, even though he was
standing right in front of him, because it was obvious that his twin wasn’t
paying any attention to him. He only had eyes for Margot.
George’s head snapped
up. “What?” he asked, confused and startled.
Fred wasn’t sure what.
He hadn’t put any thought into how he was going to phrase this grand
However, George didn’t
seem to hear him. Looking back down at Margot, a strange smile on his freckled
face, George spoke quietly. “I think I want to adopt her.”
“What?” Though he’d
predicted those words, they still shocked Fred, who was now staring at his
brother with wide eyes, not quite sure if he believed what he was hearing.
Surely his brother had more sense than to want to adopt a two-year-old orphan
girl who was obviously traumatized.
“I said I think I want
to adopt her,” said George more loudly. Behind him, Fred could feel
Claris smiling. Smugly.
“You – you do?”
Somehow, though Fred had already figured this out, he wasn’t quite able to
process it in his head.
Fred shook his head.
Now was the time to think clearly, so he could talk George out of this
“But – but what about
“We make plenty of
money with the shop. We’d be fine.”
“W – Where would we
keep her? Our flat isn’t big enough to…”
“Didn’t I just say we
make plenty of money? And our flat is more than big enough. We can share a
room, and she can have the other one. And if it’s not big enough, we’ll move.”
George lifted his head
and stared Fred straight in the eyes.
“Fred, please,” he said
caved. He hated it when his brother gave him that look, that look that only
twins could send, saying that they wanted this, and they would get it.
It was that look that had made Fred give George his best Famous Wizard Cards in
their first year. It was that look that had made him decide that living across
from a Quidditch shop wouldn’t be a bad idea. And it was that look that had
made Fred buy the jacket he now wore. He could tell just by looking at his
brother that George wanted this more than he had wanted anything in his entire
life, even more than those tickets to see the Weird Sisters in concert. He
couldn’t even begin to consider denying his brother something he wanted that
much when it was within their means to fulfill it.
“I…well…let’s talk to
Claris,” he said finally.
eyes lit up. “Okay,” he said, picking up Margot. She giggled and wrapped her
arms around his neck. Seeing the two together, Fred knew that he hadn’t made a
mistake by giving into George’s pleading. Satisfied, Fred joined the pair and
walked toward Claris.
she said as they approached, “have you decided something?” She smiled
knowingly, as if she had predicted this particular turn of events from the
moment they had rung the orphanage’s doorbell.
George smiled right
back. “We have.”
“We want to adopt her,”
he said proudly.
Claris smiled even more
brightly, if that was possible. “Then would you mind keeping an eye on the
kids while I notify the Ministry to get the necessary paperwork?”
“Oh – sure,” said Fred.
Claris, clapping her hands together. She hurried off into another room,
leaving Fred and George standing behind with a roomful of paint-covered
Two paint fights and
one narrowly-averted table collapse later, Claris was back with the paperwork.
Declaring art time over, she sent the children except for Margot to one of the
playrooms, set the “artwork” out to dry, and cleared the table with her wand.
Fred marveled at her work and made a mental note to learn such spells, and
she said, spreading the paperwork over the now clean tabletop, “the people at
the Ministry have never had a case of two siblings adopting a child together,
but I looked it up and it’s entirely within the law. So all you have to do is
fill out this paperwork and then we’ll submit it to the Ministry and wait for
it to be finalized.”
“And how long does it
take to be finalized?” asked George, rummaging through his pockets for a quill.
Claris handed him one
and set an ink bottle on the table. “It depends. It can take anywhere from a
day to a few weeks.”
“A few weeks!” said
George. “What could possibly take them that long?”
Claris laughed. “Oh,
don’t worry. It hasn’t taken longer than four days for a good while now. It
was much longer right after the war ended. See, the finalization process is
mostly background checks on the adoptive parents. I don’t think it’ll take
very long for you two – you’re practically famous!”
held his hands to his cheeks, as though blushing. “Oh, you flatter us,” he
said, batting his eyelashes pathetically.
“All I’m saying is that
I’m sure the Ministry won’t feel any need to do any extensive background
checks. You should be able to take Margot home in a matter of days.”
George smiled. “It
sounds great,” he said, signing his name in the first blank spot.
Claris handed Fred
another quill and he sat down next to George, signing wherever his brother
did. Then something caught his eye.
“Why doesn’t it have
her last name?” he asked.
“Right here,” he said,
pointing to the parchment. “It says, ‘Name of Adoptee. First: Margot, Middle:
Persephone.’ Why doesn’t it have her last name?”
“Oh, that. Well, it’s
a fairly new policy. Adoptive parents aren’t allowed to know who the child’s
birth parents are. It seems that many people changed their minds after finding
out that their future child’s birth parents were Death Eaters.”
“Oh,” said Fred.
Looking up from the stack of parchment, he frowned, then remarked, “So Margot
can never know who her parents were?”
Claris shook her head.
“No, the policy doesn’t apply to the child in question. If they want to, once
they turn eleven they can apply to the Ministry to find the names of their
A few seconds later
Fred and George filled out the last blank spots. Claris gathered the parchment
into a neat pile.
she said, smiling broadly. “You’re now the fathers of Margot Persephone
* * *
“You did WHAT?”
Fred sighed for the
hundredth time that day and looked at his sister’s head which sat in the fire.
“You heard what I said, Ginny.”
“I hope I didn’t hear
right,” Ginny said, looking up at Fred with raised eyebrows. “Because what I heard
is that you and George adopted a two-year-old girl named Margot. And if I heard
right, Mum’s going to have a fit when she hears. In fact…”Ginny cocked her
head to the side, as if hearing a voice behind her, a grin on her freckled
face. “Yes, I can hear her right now…” Her head turned away from Fred, and he
could hear her speaking to someone. He paled, hoping despeartely that it
“Good luck!” Ginny said
suddenly, turning back to face her brother. “Mum wants to hear your news.
She’s Flooing over just as soon as she’s spoken to Dad.” Smirking slightly in
that annoying way of hers, Ginny’s head disappeared from the fire.
you, Ginevra Weasley…” Fred said under his breath. “George! Mum’s coming!”
Something fell in the
bedroom as George yelped loudly. A shriek followed the yelp, and Fred shook
happened?” he asked as the shriek turned into a relentless wail. He winced at
the high-pitched sound. The girl was crying again.
George stumbled into
the kitchen, Margot in his arms. Her face was red and covered with tear
streaks as she screamed at the top of her tiny lungs. At least she was dressed
this time, Fred thought with yet another sigh as he looked the girl over.
George had successfully managed to put a crimson baby robe on her. She looked
like a proper Gryffindor, Fred decided. Though her hair…
“George?” Fred began,
a frown creasing his freckly face, “what the hell did you do to her hair?”
The other twin looked
down at the girl in his arms and touched her knotted black hair. “What, this?”
he asked, seemingly confused.
Fred nodded, keeping
one eye on the fire for his mum. She always seemed to choose moments like
these to make her entrance…
“It’s braided,” George
said, sounding proud to have attempted something as hard as braiding a
two-year-old’s hair. “Don’t you like it? It’s like what Angelina used to do
with her hair back at Hogwarts.”
Fred knew for a fact
that Angelina’s braids had never looked a thing like the knots on poor little
Margot’s head. Her braids had been sleek and round, not a single strand
sticking out of place. And she had used magic rather than attempting to do it
by hand, which was probably what George had done…
Both twins jumped at
the familiar sound of their mother’s voice. Margot’s grey eyes widened as the
plump middle-aged woman stepped out of the fire, not bothering to brush the
soot from her greying red hair. She stopped crying immediately, fascinated by
this new person.
/* Has Margot
stopped crying, as well? */
“Mum,” Fred began,
stepping back so that he stood even with his brother and Margot. If they were
going to do this, they would have to do it together, no matter if it had been
George’s idea or not. No blame was put on a single Weasley twin. They were
together, never apart on anything, especially when it came to Mum.
“Don’t you ‘Mum’ me,”
Mum said, her voice dangerous. She did not seem to notice the frightened
toddler in George’s arms, or else Fred was certain she would not yell. “Ginny
told me you did something. Both of you did something.” She glared at
George, then at Fred, still not seeing Margot. “What did you do-” her eyes
returned to George suddenly, the glare gone instantly as she took in the little
this sweet thing?” she asked, sounding more like the Mum they’d known when they
were four and fairly innocent. She held out her arms, and George gave up
Margot instantly. If there was one woman in the world who knew how to calm a
frightened child, it was Molly Weasley.
Fred gave a sigh of
relief and fell into a chair at the kitchen table as Mum began walking around
the room, talking to Margot in her sweet motherly voice. George watched with
wide eyes for a moment before joining him.
“I thought we were
goners,” Fred whispered to him, still watching his mum. “I haven’t seen her
look like that since we came home early from Hogwarts in our seventh year.”
George nodded, his eyes
still wide. “I thought she’d never see Margot,” he said in an equally low
“Why won’t she say
The twins turned to
their mother, who stood by the fireplace, frowning at Margot. George glanced
at Fred before replying. They had to tell her sometime.
“The lady at the
orphanage-” he began.
asked. The dangerous tone had returned. “This little girl is an orphan?”
“Well, she isn’t
anymore…” Fred said. “She-”
“We-” George attempted
Mum’s eyes flashed.
“You what?” she asked. “Answer me now, before I have your father
She had never seemed to
realize that their father was no threat to them, George thought to himself,
amused. Yet they both answered instantly, out of habit.
“We adopted her,” they
Fred cleared his throat
and stood to take Margot from his mother’s arms. “Yes. We adopted her. Her
name is Margot Persephone Weasley, and she’s our daughter.” He attempted a
grin, but all he could manage was a foolish looking lopsided smile that he knew
wouldn’t fool his mother.
“You and George-”
“We’re fathers,” George
finished for her, succeeding in his own confident smile. “She’s our daughter.”
appeared to have run out of things to say to her sons. George didn’t blame
her. Of all the things they had ever done together, this was the most
unexpected. More unexpected than the stolen toilet seat in their third year,
more than the thousands of letters home during their six and a half years at
Hogwarts. George was fairly confident when he thought that no one had expected
the Weasley twins to adopt a two-year-old orphaned girl.
Three head snapped
towards the girl in Fred’s arms. Margot smiled shyly and pointed at her
grandmother. “Mami?” she asked. “That Mami?”
welled up in their mum’s eyes as she hurried over to the little girl in Fred’s
arms. “You can call me Mami if you want,” she said in her kindest voice. “I’m
your…I’m your…” She paused and looked up at her two sons, who watched with
curious and wary eyes. “I’m your grandmum.”
asked, a frown creasing her small face.
Mum nodded. “Yes,
“Mami? My Mami?” The
two-year-old yawned and watched the strange old woman with red hair.
“If you like,” Mum
whispered. She reached forward to stroke the sleepy girl’s knotted black
hair. “If you like, angel.”
yawned once more and rested her tiny head against Fred’s shoulder. Something
inside him swelled up deeply as he grasped the helpless little girl tighter.
He recognized the feeling from long ago…many years before, when he had held
another tiny little helpless girl. That girl’s hair had been red, however.
Yet this girl, this child called Margot, would grow up with the same love and
care as Ginny had. Both were Weasleys, red hair or not.