Disclaimer: I don't own the HP characters, I apologize.

Author's Note: This came to me suddenly and I just had to write it...It's terribly short, I'm afraid.

Summary: Molly Weasley would later blame the incident on the fact that she'd been caring for six, wild, young, devilish, red-haired children at the time. It could've happened to any parent.



Sierra Sitruc

Molly Weasley remembered the day she found out she was having twins, the joy as she stared at the medi-witch before her.

"Are you kidding me?" Molly gasped out, "Twins?"

"It's not so bad, twins are lovely - " The witch began, misconstruing what Molly had meant.

"Oh, no! I'm quite excited to be having twins - I've always wanted a large family...I just can't believe we got so lucky as to have twins..."

She'd been rethinking the words 'lucky' ever since.

When George and Fred were born, she had immediately felt pressured to tell them apart. She searched them well and good, discovering a large birthmark on the back of Fred's neck. At last, the key.

She would never admit it to anyone (especially not the twins), but sometimes while teaching the twins to talk, she would revert to that birthmark for help.

By the time they were three, Molly found that she was capable of knowing who was Fred and who was George on her own. She bragged frequently about being the only one who could tell them apart without looking - the boys and Arthur on the other hand, were incessantly checking.

One day she realized that Fred and George had grown into three year-old terrors. They grabbed, they stole, they sneaked, they hid, they tricked! It was always a never-ending game with them, more so now that little Ron had been born not so long ago.

That was when she invented the sweaters.

She began knitting, all-colored sweaters for each boy in the family (even Arthur). However, two small twins refused to wear theirs.

"I'm not the 'G', mummy!" George whined hiding under his blankets, "I'm Fred!"

"No, I'm Fred!" Fred giggled, but was also hiding with George.

Molly, aggravated with their antics, roughly pulled one into her arms. She glanced at his face, confirming that she'd grabbed George.

"I'm NOT George!" He insisted.

She cursed the day she ever taught them the alphabet, "I don't care, from this day forth you are George, now keep that sweater on, young man!" Molly told her son sharply. He looked thoroughly chastened as he scampered off out of the room.

Rustling up the other twin she asked him, "And I suppose you're Fred, too?"

"I'm the only Fred!" He laughed.

"Well, at least one of you is sensible," she muttered, forcibly putting the other sweater on the little boy. He ran off, still giggling, from the room to find his brother.

That night, after dinner, she found herself chasing after the tiny devils again. Seeing the birthmark, as she caught one by the backs of his trouser pockets she said, "Fred! What is the meaning of this!"

Arthur, who was watching amusedly from his spot at the table, listened in.

"I'm not, Fred, I'm George!"

"What -?" Molly glanced down at the blue sweater, noticing the knitted letter, 'G'. She realized her mistake the same time she remembered what she'd told them, 'from this day forth...'

"He looks like Fred to me," Arthur was saying.

"No, no, Arthur, this is George, see the sweater?" She let 'George' run off. Placing her hands on her hips, she addressed her husband, "Can't you recognize your own son?"

From that day on, she could not manage to convince the young lads to answer to their original names. But she swore to herself that she would never, ever confess to her blunder. No matter what.

Besides, what was in a name anyhow?