Author's Note: This chapter is slightly bigger than the rest.

Expect crying and laughing. And feels. Loads of them.

- A Creature Of The Dark

The similarity creeped him out.

Fred, named after his Uncle Fred who had died during the Second Wizarding War, had his pants pulled down, by a gibbering monkey, presently on its path to destruction.

That night in his house, when he was sneaking upstairs to his room from the kitchen at the dead of the night, he heard voices coming from his parents' room. He looked over to the clock and saw the time as 2 am.

What were his parents doing at such an ungodly hour? Was his father planning revenge on him for making him drink the Hiccoughing potion as an 'experiment'? Or…no no no not that.

He tip-toed to the door of his parents' room which was slightly ajar and he peeked inside. What he saw almost shocked him to oblivion.

His father, George Weasley, a prankster even in his adulthood, the funny Weasley, the cheeky Weasley, was crying, crying, with his head on his wife, Angelina's lap, and she was whispering soothing words to him while stroking his hair. It seemed like they had just woken up. The sheets in George's side of bed were mussed up.

Fred realized that his father just had had a nightmare.

He heard George say, "He's gone, Angie! He's gone, forever! He's not coming back! He can't come back…."

Angelina whispered something which Fred could not hear.

"But he….he didn't even say goodbye! He just left! He left me and mum and dad and everybody else! We still were working on our shop….it was incomplete! He left in the middle of things. He left me alone!" George sobbed.

In that horrible moment, Fred realized that the subject of George's sorrow was Fred Weasley the first, his namesake.

But the young wizard had never seen his father fret over his twin's death. He sure had those moments where his eyes lost focus and he obtained a grimace but with a small tap to his arms and he was brought back to reality. His other family members told Fred not to speak of his late Uncle as it was a sensitive topic for George and he might break down.

Now, looking at his idol's miserable state, Fred's heart constricted. His father looked like he had seen the devil himself, like all the happiness within him was lost, was non-existent, like half of his soul had gone on a stroll and hadn't come back and George couldn't find it no matter how hard he tried, as if there was nothing but despair.

He couldn't bear to see his father like this. He would not allow it. All his life his mother had told him privately how much he reminded his father about Fred the first and how much relief he brought to his father. He was going to continue that and would not allow his father to fall in the sorrow of loss.

So, as he backed up into the living room in the ground floor, Fred pulled out his reliable wand, one which had ironically belonged to Fred the first, and let the image flood his mind.

His father, without his missing ear and Uncle Fred, alive and happy, were flying on identical broomsticks in the Great Hall, the year when, as Uncle Harry had told him, an old hag with kitties and pink clothes called Dolores Umbridge had taken over Hogwarts and had made their lives hell, and his father and his namesake had set off bewitched fireworks from their Weasley Wizard Wheezes during OWLs and had irked the pink harpy to no end.

He had seen this picture which had somehow been captured during the mayhem. It had made a lasting impression on him; it was his inspiration in all the years he had planned pranks, marveling at the execution. He hoped that someday, Merlin knows when, he would pull off such a great prank and irritate another toad-faced old woman.

So he whispered, "Expecto Patronum," in hopes to instill joy in every pore of his father's being, ensuring that Fred hadn't left him, and he was far from alone. Fred had come back again, with the same spirit, and numerous adventures awaited them.

Fred heard the whooping before he even saw the monkey. It immediately burst from his wand. The adrenalin pulsing in his veins, reaching the tips of his fingers, into his wand, charging it up with power, gave shape to this noisy, mischievous creature.

The silver monkey, with one look around the living room, started making loud chattering noises and jumped up a table, knocking a bowl, and then swished its strong tail, making a chair fall on the ground. It brought down the curtains, ripped the cover off the sofas with its nails, broke vases, spilled water and basically made the whole room look like a mini hurricane had destroyed it.

Before Fred even knew it, the monkey had stolen his belt and zipper, his pants were around his feet on the floor and he was left standing in his boxers in front of his wide-eyed parents.

Angelina looked like she might start yelling any moment now or throw a Quaffle straight into Fred's face. But Fred felt the corners of his lips twitching as he noticed his father shaking with silent laughter behind his wife, who was obviously thinking that he was red in the face with anger but couldn't actually see him or else she would have hit him with a Quaffle too.

George sobered up in a millisecond when Angelina turned to him, expecting him to chastize their son.

"Fr-Fred…son….I'm proud…oh no …disappointed…I'm very disappointed with you….it was such a good idea….I mean good idea of sleeping! You know Angie….and the neighbors must be so irritated now….Great….that was such a cool thing!" George could not help himself anymore and he burst out laughing.

His laugh was so infectious that Angelina shook her head so as not to smile and immediately turned to her son. He could see in his mother's eyes that she was relieved that George was not crying anymore.

"Back to bed. Now," Angelina's voice cracked slightly at the end as she was trying her hardest not to laugh alongside her husband.

Fred sighed in relief at the quick escape, picked up his pants, noticing that his patronus had vanished, and trudged up the stairs. But then, "We are going to talk about this in the morning, son!" he heard his mother yell and Fred gulped in fear.

When he opened the door of his room….well, things were not in the best condition.

The sight was similar to the havoc downstairs and the patronus monkey was sitting on his study table, its face stuck inside a packet of Maltesers Fred had managed to sneak inside his room a few days ago.

"Oh no," Fred whispered, making the monkey look up and it obtained the mischievous look signaling that his room was about to get demolished.

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