Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. This was written just for fun.
Character(s): Fred Weasley II, James S. Potter
Word Count: 306 | 4,921
"Do you ever think about the bloke you were named after?"
James leaned against the balcony and shook his head. "Why are you so bothered about that?"
Fred shrugged. "I don't know, sometimes I wonder what Fred was like. Not in stories, but for real." His dad had never minded talking about his twin brother. He'd happily recount the time that they turned a corridor into a untransfigurable swamp or the time that they set off fireworks in the castle. But afterwards, he would get quiet and go to another room in the house. Fred knew why - it was because the stories weren't just stories for him, they were memories.
James was also named after someone who had died because of You-Know-Who. So were Lily and Albus. But Lily was a Hufflepuff and Al was a Slytherin, so Fred didn't consider asking them the same question.
"No mate, I don't think about it."
Fred waited for a moment, hoping that James would offer a reason why. But instead, silence settled between them.
"Are you ready?" James asked after a few moments, and Fred nodded. The buckets that were perched on the edge of the balcony were quickly tipped onto their sides, emptying red and gold paint onto the Slytherin Quidditch team as they emerged from the locker rooms.
James beamed proudly as frustrated Slytherins in green and silver robes shouted colorful words and phrases, before he caught sight of a Slytherin that looked way too familiar. "Oh shit, Al," James muttered as he scrambled away from the ledge.
Fred paused for a moment as he tried to imagine what Fred I would have said, before deciding that it would probably be a better idea to follow James back to Gryffindor before Al caught either one of them.