George can't help but be surprised when no less than a week into his son's first semester at Hogwarts, he gets his second letter. He's already gotten one two days ago letting him know that he's a Gryffindor with Albus, and to his brother's fury and sister-in-law's delight, Rose had ended up in Slytherin. It's short, does nothing more than to say he misses his dad, Hermione and his younger sister, Anna, and wanting George to Floo him tonight. He has permission from Professor Longbottom (scratched out on the letter is Uncle Neville, his son not quite used to the formal names), he says, to use his fireplace to contact him.
He waits in the living room to greet his son, talks for a while about Hogwarts and how everything is going before Fred says, 'Hey, dad, is everything okay at home? You're not dying or anything, right?' A frown marring his face.
'Of course I'm fine, buddy,' he says, wanting to laugh at the question but seeing the serious glint in his eye and deciding against it, 'why are you asking? What's happened?'
He relaxes a little then, the frown fading from his freckled face. 'Oh, good,' he hesitates, 'it's just I been seeing someone. I think he's a ghost and he's been popping up when I'm by myself and he looks just like you only he has two ears! He keeps staring and he doesn't talk much but he's got this wicked grin, like you get when you're annoying mum, and he's showing me all these cool rooms. You have to see them, Dad,' he says excitedly, 'though you probably found them years ago!'
Fred, who's head is currently over the fireplace, doesn't quite understand why Uncle Neville who's been sitting silently behind him marking papers has suddenly slipped and had all the paperwork on his desk fall to the ground with a giant crash and a mumbled apology, or why his dad grows pale and he's suddenly talking to his sister.
He shrugs it off and he doesn't talk to his dad again tonight, says goodnight to his mum and heads back to the common room and figures he'll ask the next time he sees his ghostly companion about the reaction.
George, conversely, spends the rest of his night clutching Hermione to him, gasping through the tears wracking his body as she rubs his back in circles soothingly, pillow damp and his shirt clinging to him from the combination of their tears, hers quiet and leaking through the corners of her eyes.
He can't help but wonder why, out of all the Weasley's that have wandered through the passageways of Hogwarts since the war that took him, the ones that've been there for years, why it's Fred he finds.
But it's a stupid question, he knows; he's his namesake, identical to his father, identical to him, could easily have passed as Fred or himself as an eleven year old if one didn't know the slight differences. He's happy to know he's still there, still present and still alive in some form after all these years of lost hope that his only memories would last in the mirror, but his heart aches to know that despite he's with his son, he's somewhere that isn't with him.