Living in the shadow of a person you had never met was extremely difficult, Fred knew that from experience.
He had only ever heard stories of his namesake uncle, but that had been enough for Fred to know that they shared very little, other than name and hair. Few noticed the difference though, so the expectation of who he was supposed to be hung in the air around him, constantly at the back of his mind.
For one, he didn't share the fondness of pranking with his sister and father which often meant that he was the target for many of their pranks. He had taken the brunt of his sister's early pranks and had gotten used to setting up a couple of detection spells in any room he walked into.
He knew his father was disappointed. He could see it every time he was asked to help set up a prank and declined without hesitation, yet, his father continued to ask as if waiting for the day that he would finally receive a 'yes' from Fred.
Sometimes Fred wished that he hadn't managed to inherit the Weasley hair. It would make him look like a different person to his father, and hopefully force him to realise that Fred was different. He had tried it when he was younger, but his father had only assumed that he had gotten caught in another one of Roxanne's pranks. His mother had spelled his hair back to normal within seconds before turning to scold a very confused Roxanne.
Only his diary was aware of all the trouble and hurt that caused him. His mother was a little more understanding, but even she saw the other Fred instead of him many times.
His grades at Hogwarts didn't seem to matter as much as pranking everyone in the near vicinity seemed to. Not wanting to help out at the joke shop seemed to automatically mean that he was uptight, because he would prefer reading a book over that.
Quidditch didn't particularly interest him either, despite the fact that everyone in his family was enthused about it, and that surprised even his mother. Fred didn't see the point in being several hundred feet above the ground for fun. He didn't see how anyone would find that entertaining. He could fly on a broomstick and that was good enough. He really didn't need to know how to perform some feint or the other in mid-air with the possibility of breaking a couple of bones.
He preferred his feet firmly on the ground.
The scarlet train whistled and it was time to leave for Hogwarts, hopefully where there would be no one with an overpowering expectation of who he was supposed to be.
Some people say 'parting is such sweet sorrow' but there was no sorrow in him leaving home for the first time, at least not for him. It was more of a feeling of utter relief, and the hope of finally being able to be who he was instead of a living memory.
Written for The Game of Life Challenge: diary; Fred Weasley II; "Parting is such sweet sorrow."