Disclaimer: The characters played with in this story are property of JKR.

A/N: Because I'm an older sibling. This is for my younger brother – you may be bigger, boyo, and you may never read this, but despite the mistakes I've made, know that you will always be my baby bro, and I will always love you and want to protect you.

Summary: Grow together, or grow apart. Some choices you make, others are made for you.

SMALL PACKAGES

--December 1961--

"No," Mother said, and she meant it.

Chin propped on the edge of the bassinet, Sirius fixed one eye on the quiet bundle. But, he's mine too. Father's hand on his arm pulled him away from his new brother, and deposited him alone in the nursery. Isn't he?

He wanted to hold the baby.

"He's too tiny," some well-meaning woman had tried to explain, dark eyes earnest and utterly blank, not mirroring the smile on her mouth.

Mother, every hair in place, had thrown a party celebrating the birth of her second son. The people were everywhere, giving those tinkling laughs that didn't really mean they were happy, with napkins and bits of food no bigger than his thumb. Not really doing much more than passing by and peering over the baby-crib, using big words in quiet voices.

What was premature?

But the nursery was empty, and Sirius was alone. Maybe soon, he'll be in here with me.

He'd just wanted to hold his brother.

"Why?" Father wasn't smiling.

"Dunno."

"Sirius. How old are you?"

Almost four wasn't – "Three." He'd learned to hold up the fingers, so he showed Father.

"Answer me properly. Why do you want to hold the baby?"

"He's yours," pale eyes blinked up at the man sitting in a fat leather chair. "And mine. Want to make sure he knows." Something huge was filling up his whole chest, bursting to get free – it felt like a laugh and a smile and everything warm and good, and he wanted to give it to his brother. It would be a good gift, the best ever, and –

"No." Father's voice was level, and Sirius knew a tantrum wasn't acceptable. "You can't. He's too small."

Tried again. "But -"

"No."

Didn't make sense. It was still there, the big happy feeling, but his chest was getting tight now like tears and skinned knees. Didn't his brother want what he had to give? Sirius was little too, and even if the baby was smaller – he wasn't that small.

Pop!

The house-elf was even bigger than him. Green-brown fingers laid out sheets of parchment and a quill on the Sirius-size desk. "Mistress says the young master is to practice his letters."

"Yes, Kreacher." Sirius moved to the small chair and table. Maybe . . . "Did you see my brother, Kreacher?"

"Mistress says young master will not bother about the new master. Mistress says young master will stop sulking and practice his letters."

Pop!

Alone again.

The bursting feeling had stopped being warm now, and was hot in his eyes. Sirius took a deep breath, and let what had been a giggle out on a wail, wetness pouring down his cheeks. Brand new, and his brother – doesn't love me! He could hear his own cries, loud against the nursery walls.

For a long time, no one came.

--December 1980--

House-elves kept the hinges well-oiled.

So when the small form pushed, heavy oak swung gently aside, letting little feet stagger in. Mouse-quiet, the boy padded across silky slats and the edge of the flat rug, toward the sturdy cradle.

Mother and Father had gone to sleep, but he was curious. There had been people in and out of the house all day, and Father had smiled.

Baby.

He had come home days ago, but Mother and Father hadn't let Nothos come to the party. Didn't matter anyway, the only people there were growed-up and never wanted to play blocks. But the baby would, he knew it. Draco.

Nothos made his way over thick carpet to the crib, wrapping pudgy fingers as high as he could reach on the bars and pulling up. Again, and again, until he could tip over the railing and tumble down into the mattress.

Hitting something soft, his blue eyes widened and he scurried against the bars. Didn't – didn't crush him, did I?

In the middle of the mattress, something moved.

Nothos blinked.

It was little and really, really red, and smelled kinda funny. He stuck his nose closer, and sniffed. Not stinky like before, but fresh and clean and like the powder Nothos had played with and accidentally spilled. Dobby had cleaned it up, though, and Mother hadn't found out.

He guessed this was his brother.

"Hi Draco," he whispered. Mother and Father were asleep, and he didn't want to wake them.

Eyes opened, and Nothos grinned. Blue, just like me! Yellow fluff on top of the baby's head, very much like Mother and Father and not like Nothos' dark brown curls at all. The tiny mouth opened in a yawn, giving him a glimpse of toothless pink gums and tiny tongue.

The baby was looking at him, and then Draco made a noise.

"Shhhh!" Nothos held a finger to his lips, but the baby squirmed against the mattress, and whimpered. Oh, no!

Mother and Father were going to wake up and then Nothos would be in so much trouble for sneaking out of bed and he wasn't allowed in Father and Mother's room at night and he knew they told him to stay away from the baby and –

Nothos reached out a small hand and gently petted the yellow fluff on Draco's head. "Shhh, shhh," he tried to tell his brother. "Father and Mother will be mad at me, so's you gots to keep quiet."

Draco blinked, little mouth closing.

Surprised, Nothos grinned. "I'm gonna be the best big brother ever," he whispered into one tiny, shell-like ear. "We're gonna go on a'ventures an' 'splore and have lotsa fun."

The baby cooed, and Nothos yawned. "Tired," he explained to his new brother. That said, he curled up between bars and blanket, tugging it so that he could have some and Draco could too. "But in the mornin' I'll show you my favorite book an' teach you t'play blocks an' you can see Dobby an' the Nursery and we'll play broomsticks an' trolls . . ."

Sleep crept up on quiet feet and smiled over them both.

--December 1981--

"What's her name?"

"Ginevra," Arthur smiled proudly at Charlie, Ron on his hip. Molly gave him a tired smile. A daughter. "Ginevra Molly Weasley."

Bill peered at the bundle in his mom's arms, a twin holding each hand. Percy, at five, was curled next to Molly where she was sitting upright in bed. "Come now," she nodded at her eldest.

Bill rolled his eyes, but sat, arms crooked and waiting.

"Mama, wanna hold the baby!" Percy burst out.

"And you will," Molly soothed, gently transferring the sleeping girl-child into the care of her oldest brother. "After Bill and Charlie."

The twelve-year-old looked as fascinated as he had when he was three and holding Charlie for the first time. It's important, she believed. There was a claim the heart made, an irretrievable, irrevocable statement of mine, on holding a newborn for the first time. She'd felt it with all of her children, as had Arthur – and she made sure all her children felt it for one another.

George scrambled over the edge of the bed, crawling closer. Fred followed. Molly smiled as Charlie reached out to give Fred a little boost under the tush when he slipped. Two identical faces peered over the pink-wrapped bundle in Bill's arms.

Fred gave her a poke, startling the newest Weasley awake – with a howl. With the experience of five previous siblings, Bill rocked a little and the babe quieted. That was easier than I thought it might be.

From the look on Arthur's face, he felt the same. She cast him a secret smile, and he took it gently from her lips. "Love you."

"I love you too, Molly."

One arm circling her shoulders, Arthur edged on to the bed, settling Ron in his lap.

"You wanna?" Bill held both arms out to Charlie, and in a few very careful moves, the baby girl changed hands.

"Ginevra?" Charlie's nose wrinkled.

Molly smiled. That's not quite unexpected. Arthur had insisted on naming their daughter after her as well. "Yes."

"It doesn't fit," he announced with all the authority of a nine-year-old. "She's too little for it."

"Whatcha gonna call her, then?" Bill had taken over the twin-watch, and caught George before he tumbled off the mattress as the two romped over the lower half of the bed.

"Ginny," Charlie nodded to himself, stepping carefully around to her other side where Percy was still jealously curled. He perked up as his older brother approached, sitting up straight. "My turn?"

"Yeah," Charlie grinned, and Molly wrapped an arm around Percy, showing him again how to bend his arms. He'd held the twins and Ron, of course, but he was still young.

Ginevra again switched holds. For a long moment Percy just stared, then bent his head to drop a kiss against her cheek. "Ginny," he said authoritatively. Blue eyes shot up to Charlie, and Percy nodded. "I like it."

"Me too," Bill added, giving another big-brother stamp of approval.

Percy eventually handed her off to Fred and George, who made a bridge with their arms and carefully held her, as they did everything, together. They whispered something to her, and knowing the twins, Molly just smiled and was glad she couldn't hear it. Ron, last and littlest, stayed in Arthur's lap with his father's arms wrapped around his own when Ginny was finally transferred, with a little bump and squall, to his grasp. He blinked at her, twisting around to look solemnly up at Arthur before staring back down in puzzlement.

When Ginny finally completed the circle and the Weasley family tradition by returning to her arms, Molly found Percy pressed tight to her side. Bill and Charlie were peering over from where they stood by the nightstand, Arthur with Ron to her right and the twins perched by her knees, all intent on the newest Weasley. It's a good tradition.

Looking down, her own gaze was captured by Ginny's unfocused stare. Her heart thumped against her ribs, pushing a glaze of tears over her eyes and insisting, Mine. "Welcome home, baby."

Fin