When Fred II was 22, he cracked.
“I’m not him, Dad! And he’s not me! All my life, I’ve done what you wanted. You never said anything, but all you had to do was look and I knew what you wanted. I was good to you! I was a good brother! I could do that for you! But you couldn’t be a good father? Not once - not once in my life have you ever looked at me like I was your son! You’ve been seeing a ghost, for twenty-two years, and yes, that’s sad, but I don’t look like him alone. I look like you. I’m your son, not his. Do you know how bad it felt, dad? I was eleven, and I knew that the only way to get you to love me was to act like a brother. I was eleven when I realized that. And you never did. What’s it going to take for you to look at me like I’m your flesh and blood? That your proud of me for what I did, as your son, not Fred? Can I make this any clearer? Oh, wait, I can! I’m. Your. Son. Not some dead fucking guy making friends with the worms in the dirt.”
And then he disapparated. He didn’t talk to George for months. He didn’t have much contact with his family at all. He was too angry. And then Roxanne fire-called to tell him that George had been admitted to St. Mungos following an accident.
