Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of JKR's characters.
Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction! Criticism is appreciated, but please, be kind. :)
"Weas—"
Her voice broke. There was an uncomfortable silence, students shifted in their seats and twisted their faces into looks of concern while Minerva still stared at the parchment. Weasley, Fred it said, and then after the name, a II that was written as if mocking her, to prove that this Fred Weasley was not the first, would never be the first. She stared down at the list, an unfamiliar lump in her throat seeming to block her breath, and her fingers almost broke through the parchment. Weasley, Fred II, Weasley, Fred II, Weasley, Fred II.
She looked up and saw Fred II, the last first-year left to be sorted. He was staring at her wryly. Minerva had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly what she was thinking, because that was what everyone thought when they looked at him. Fred. And once again Minerva thought about the unfairness of it all, the cruelty of a life cut short at twenty years old. One moment Fred Weasley had been alive. Breathing, laughing. And then he wasn't. Why? Why hadn't it been her, an old woman who sometimes felt that she had experienced far too much life?
Minerva remembered May 2nd, 1998, exactly two years before Victoire Weasley was born. She remembered seeing Fred's body lying almost exactly where his nephew was now standing; she remembered the brief moment of panic, Fred or George?, before realizing that the body had both ears intact, and that the young man kneeling over the head had a gaping hole where an ear should have been; she remembered staring at the body of the boy she had taught – the boy she had watched grow up – disbelievingly, sure that at any moment Fred would sit up and wipe off the blood that had trickled from the corner of his mouth; she remembered the fact that he hadn't, and she remembered the weight that had seemed to settle on her shoulders the moment she accepted the fact that he had died, the weight that had lightened slightly throughout the years, but had never been completely lifted; she remembered how he had just laid there, his face pale, his eyes open and unblinking, his characteristically bright hair in disarray, and his lips turned up slightly with his last laugh. Wasn't it fitting, Minerva had thought, that Fred Weasley had died laughing?
"Weasley, Fred II," she said loudly, cutting off the students murmurings. She watched as Fred walked, rather slowly and with a weariness that worried Minerva, to sit on the three-legged stool. He didn't look at her as he sat, nor did he acknowledge Minerva's slight intake of breath as she remembered putting this same, worn old hat onto another Fred Weasley. The hat slipped over his eyes, and he gripped the edge of the chair with his fingers.
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted, further enforcing the thought that the second Fred Weasley was not to be mistaken for the first.
Life, Minerva decided, was never fair.
I hope you enjoyed the story! I put Fred II in Slytherin, becuase I feel that he would have a very strong desire to prove himself, which is a Slytherin trait. However, in my mind he is definately not a pure-blood supremacist. Oh, and by the way for anyone who doesn't know, Fred II is George's son. JKR has said that George marries Angelina Johnson, and they have a son named Fred and a daughter named Roxanne. Anyway, thanks for reading, review if you want. :)