The Broken Children

-Fred-

There's a man in the mirror and he knows his name, because he him whilst not being him at all. He's identical to the man, with the softest differences . . . where one's eyes are cold the other's are warm and where the other wears a sneer, he's always smiling.

The only thing is that he's never sure who lives in the mirror and who chooses to live in him. It's interchangeable, sometimes he's stronger and sometimes he loses control, giving over his control to the man who has his face but not his soul.

Or maybe they share the same soul, and are but two fragments of the same being.

He can never be sure.

"Hey," a wan voice catches his attention and he turns, eyes clouding with consternation as he tries to recognise the woman in the doorway. She's the woman who married his nephew . . . or is she the lady he wed? Suddenly, he doesn't recognise her at all.

"It's time for dinner, Fred," she smiles but he can see that it's forced. Somehow it doesn't bother him as much as it should, he knows her name even if he can't remember if she belongs to him or his mirror-image.

Olivia.

"Brilliant, Livvy," he smiles his Cheshire grin and follows her to the dining table downstairs, eyes flickering over the many pictures that fill their home, feeling pangs of familiarity in some whilst forgetting others. As usual, he isn't sure who he is.

He hasn't been sure since the curse.

There's a roast leg of lamb on the table, and the aroma wafts into his nostrils and causes his mouth to water. It's his favourite . . . he thinks, and it's got the perfect sides of roast potatoes and steamed veggies. Across the table though, are two children who he knows belong to him and not to the man in the mirror who sometimes escapes into him.

A lanky boy, fresh out of toddlerhood and a little girl with a round face – Bartido and Amoretta . . .his children. They are his.

Dinner is calm, for once, and there's laughs and giggles as he entertains them, basking slightly in his ability to retain his sense of self for once. His wife smiles fondly, a mountain of stress and strain melting of her face as for a rare moment, they're a regular family enjoying their dinner.

Then the floo roars to life and out steps a woman, dark-skinned and long legged, well into her middle-years and he meets her eyes. Before he can stop himself, he feels himself slip, no matter how hard he tries to hold on.

The man in the mirror takes control, letting his true reality slip through his fingers like drops of dew.

"Angie?" he mutters in confusion, "What are you doing here? Why do you look so grown?"

Just like that, Olivia's smile falls away and Angelina adopts a crestfallen expression that speaks volumes. The children look on in confusion, unsure of what to do, till Olivia gestures at Bartido to lead his sister to their room.

"Lock the door," she whispers, and Bartido nods because he's just six but he's well-versed in his father's shattered mental state.

"Fred," says Olivia when the children are gone, and he whips around, his eyes hardening as he sees her.

"Who are you!" he all but yells, "Why are you in my home? Why is Angie here?"

"Fred!" Angelina grabs him and forces him to look at her, "This isn't you. You died over thirty-five years ago. You need to let go. This isn't your body!" Her voice quavers as she speaks but after all this time; she's learned how to handle her son in his moments.

"This is some Death Eater trick!" he declares, pushing her away and backing away towards the wall, hands shivering as he draws his wand. Olivia pales, she doesn't know how he's gotten hold of a wand this time . . . She usually has his locked away in the safe as it isn't safe for him to have access to it given his condition.

"You were killed during the Battle of Hogwarts," says Angelina, tears sparkling in her eyes, "You died. This is my son's body. My son with George. You can't keep possessing it. You. Need. To. Let. Go!"

"I don't believe you! You're working for He Who Must Not Be Named, aren't you? Traitor!" Fred barks, red sparks dancing from the tip of his wand.

Olivia exchanges a glance with her mother-in-law and nods once before flicking her wand, stunning her husband before he can react. He crumples, but she rushes forward to catch him as he falls and forces a foul-smelling green potion down his throat before moving him, with Angelina's aid, to the couch.

"It's getting worse," murmurs Angelina, lips trembling as she wipes her lace handkerchief across her son's sweaty brow.

"They come and go," whimpers Olivia, "I just wish that they would stay gone."

"George spent almost forty years wishing Fred was still with us . . ." she replies, biting her lip to keep from bursting into tears, "But not like this. Not like this."

"I want her dead for doing this to my husband, Angelina," mutters Olivia, "She took him from me. She cursed him to host two souls instead of just his own. She destroyed my family. Bartido is terrified of being alone with his own father. Amoretta knows something is wrong. If I ever get my hands on Dominique Weasley, I will kill her without even blinking."

Angelina stares at her daughter-in-law following the younger Weasley bride's declaration. Then she shakes her head and lays her hand on her shoulder.

"No, Olivia, as his mother . . . that honour belongs to me."