George actually remembered being in the midst of finishing up some paperwork for the Werewolf Capture Unit when he had been given orders to stop and get rid of it; that having been a particularly bad day, he did it without asking questions, finding the action more satisfying than knowing the reason. Now that he heard this mentioned, however, it sounded strange that they had told him to get rid of the papers; was that why?
"Fabian," George repeated quietly, recognizing the sound of it. That was his middle name. Prewett had also been marked as his mother's maiden name. So that was where those names had come from.
"George Fabian Weasley," he said aloud, tasting it for the first time. It sounded oddly good, satisfying, like finally breaking through the surface of water, or breaking that stupid rule that had never made any sense in the first place. It felt right.
Curious, he said his other name aloud, wondering how it would feel. "George Michael Liam Harris," he said in a softer voice, and was not surprised to notice that it felt off, like it always had. He just hadn't noticed that the feeling he had gotten when he said was name was precisely that: off. The sensation had never been named until now.
His eyes flickering up, he asked in a suspicious voice, "So you've talked to these people about their kids before, members of the Order of the Phoenix, but they're not arrested? Then how did you talk to them in the first place? Cheery run-in at a tea shop?"