Disclaimer: I own nothing.

This is a response to Kore-of-Myth's Father's Day Challenge on the HPFC. I hope you enjoy.

It was Fred's twelfth birthday, and the entire Weasley clan had shown up to celebrate. His grandmother had baked an enormous sponge cake with his name written in bold, red letters across it, and there was a large pile of presents by the sofa in the living room that he couldn't wait to open. Roxanne had vowed to be extra specially nice to him all day, and had so far stuck to her promise, having bitten back a few snide remarks about him still being her immature, irritating, attention-seeking brother, no matter how many years he had been living on the planet. His Uncle Charlie had even taken time out of his job to visit his nephew, which he found especially thoughtful.

Fred was not feeling overly enthusiastic about everything, however. His father was mad at him, and the worst part was it wasn't even unexpected. It happened every year. Starting on the first of April, George Weasley's eyes would mist over with gloom, burying the twinkle that normally sparkled in them, and his jokes would become less frequent, less invigorated. Starting on his birthday and finishing shortly after Fred's (April 5th), George felt grief, and although his son new perfectly well the real reason for his sorrow, he couldn't help but feel partly to blame.

He had never known his late uncle, but he knew he was named after him, and he felt guilty about it. How could he ever try to match his father's witty humour, when from what he had heard, his twin brother had been even funnier? He had let George down. Mr. Weasley had wanted his son to be able to crack jokes endlessly with him, help him think of new ideas for the joke shop, even finish off his sentences for him, but he could do none of that. Sometimes he didn't even understand his dad's jokes, and that was what made him feel really at fault. George wanted him to follow on, to join in with all the whacky, hilarious lines that everybody was laughing at, but Fred couldn't even understand what he was talking about. The real Fred would have understood. His real twin would have laughed and joked and made him happy, but he was dead, and now all George had left was his failure of a son, a pathetic replacement for the best friend he had lost.

He must be so disappointed. His child had turned out to be so much less than he had wanted, had expected him to be. It must upset him so much that his own son hadn't lived up to his namesake. It must upset him so much that his brother hadn't lived on in another, that he was truly lost forever. And it was all because of him.

Fred smiled weakly at his relatives, and looked down at his cake again. Twelve small candles were lit and burning fiercely, lighting up his coloured face with a flickering glow. His little cousin Lily was gazing at his birthday pudding with wide, bright hazel eyes, finding it hard to keep her small, delicate hands from grabbing it and eating it all herself.

Glancing quickly around once more, Fred took a deep breath, filling up his mouth and lungs, and blew out with effort. The candles' light wavered and was then snuffed out as the gust of wind hit them, transforming the fire into an upward twine of smoke. The distinct but pleasant smell wafted towards the onlookers, and spurred them into action. There was an explosion of noise as his family broke out into an unorganised by hearty chorus of 'Happy Birthday', his cousins Rose and James singing particularly loudly and off-key above the others. The pair had developed some interesting dance moves, swaying their arms wildly and nodding their heads (Rose was closer to head banging, her bushy hair flailing madly around in a mass of fiery red curls). Albus had to jump swiftly out of the way before she head butted him, but ended up crashing into Teddy who in turn stumbled clumsily into Bill.

"What are you doing?" Albus hissed to Rose, who had finished dancing now that the jovial chant was over. James was still caught up in the moment.

"We're doing the locomotion," Rose answered smugly, repeating some of her moves again. Albus ducked under her arm as it came swooping round during her execution of a sharp twirl.

"The...what?"

"The locomotion!" Rose repeated, grinning. "Because we're causing a commotion? And we're in motion, so, locomotion!" James nodded, having finally ended his rabid dance routine. Albus continued to stare at them as if they had flown into the party on three-headed sheep, but Molly Weasley ignored the disruption, beaming at Fred instead and clapping her hands. The others followed suit, his dad clapping the hardest, banging his hands together and whooping. Fred reddened slightly but smiled back.

"Cake!" Lily exclaimed as her grandmother summoned a knife from the drawer (it flew precariously close to Ron's head as it zoomed past) and sliced through the sponge. Fred screwed his eyes shut and made a wish, concentrating with all his might. When he opened his eyes he was being handed the first piece of his birthday pudding, which he accepted gratefully and tucked in along with the rest of his family.

A few minutes later the cake had been completely devoured, the last remaining crumbs being licked hastily off fingers before their plates were taken away. Fred chose his moment carefully, waiting until the adults had moved to the living room and descended into an engaging conversation about the legendary band, 'The Weird Sisters'. (His mother, Angelina, had played him a few songs of theirs and to be honest, he really didn't see what all the fuss was about.)

"Elf Adventure was definitely one of my favourites," Molly said, and several redheads nodded knowingly. "The melody was just so beautiful."

"Dad," Fred said quietly, nudging his dad in the arm. George looked up at him, slightly surprised but smiling nonetheless. "Um...can you help me get my broom out of the shed please?"

"Yeah, sure!" he answered, standing up abruptly and following his son to the back door. Fred opened it and stepped outside. The early April sky was mostly cloudy, but smidgens of blue were dotted around like an unfinished patchwork quilt, breaking valiantly through the unclear, grey haze that tried to obstruct it. The young Weasley pressed briskly forward, passing by Roxanne, Lily and Lucy who were practising cartwheels on the soft grass. Mr. Weasley watched them as he followed, confused as to why his son was acting rather oddly for his own birthday. Usually he was much livelier...

Fred stopped outside the small broom shed, studying the roughness of the wooden planks before turning around lying against the door, facing his dad. George frowned at him from above but didn't speak, walking forwards and joining him on the dirty ground. Normally he would be the one to speak, but after a minute or so of silence, Fred realised that he was waiting for him to explain.

"Well, dad..." he began, barely louder than a whisper, fiddling with a lengthy blade of grass. Another pause. "I'm...I'm sorry."

If he had made eye-contact with George, he would have seen a much taken aback expression etched on his face, but he was determined to fix his eyes on his cousins and sister further down the garden.

"For what?" George asked simply, frowning at his child. Fred refused to look back at him, and continued to mumble at the grass, fidgeting with it nervously.

"For...for not being funny," he answered. "For not being like Uncle Fred..."

The trees that stood behind the shed were rustling, urging him on, and he allowed the words to spill out of him, unable to bottle up his feelings any longer. "I'm sorry that I can't join in with your jokes or make everyone laugh like Uncle Fred could, 'cause now you're really unhappy with me and I can't make you happy again because I can't make people laugh like you and I don't like it when you're upset 'cause it makes me sad too and-"

"Fred..." George interrupted quietly. Fred clamped his lips together immediately, finally brave enough to look his dad in the eye. "I..." George shook his head, his brown eyes a little too moist. His stomach dropped; had he really managed to make his father even more upset?

"Fred, listen to me." The child did as he was told, staring anxiously into the man's eyes and pursing his lips firmly together. George shifted his body so that he was facing his son, and put his hands on the boy's shoulders, bringing all his attention to him. "You and Uncle Fred are completely different people. Just because you're named after him doesn't mean you have to act like him, or be him, okay? Look, I know... I know I get sad around this time, but it's not you, Freddie, I just miss him. And that's not your fault, Freddie, it's not. You don't need to try to be anyone you're not because I like you best, just the way you are."

Fred's eyes were welling up with warm tears, and George bent over him, sliding his hands around his back and drawing him into a tight embrace. "I love you Freddie," he said, his words muffled by his sons shoulder. "Okay?" Fred nodded into his dad's chest, allowing the tears to finally spill out. They stayed there for a few minutes, just holding each other, until gradually breaking apart. George smiled, not goofily like he normally did, but a serious, loving smile which Fred instantly returned, wiping his eyes. His dad grabbed his hand and pulled him up, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and beginning to amble back to the house.

"By the way, I don't know what planet you're living on, but you're definitely one of the funniest men in existence," George said bluntly as they walked. Fred grinned proudly.

"Funnier than you?" he asked teasingly.

"Nah, not quite there yet," George replied, ruffling his sons hair. "Happy birthday son."

Thank you for reading. Please review, it would make my day. :) There's a link to the HPFC (Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges) in my profile, if you'd like to check it out.