"Head…Uncle Albus?" Rick approached his friend's grandfather hesitatingly in his office. Yes, his Headmaster was not at all an impressive, eccentric figure when he was just being Sev's grandpa – although perhaps eccentric still applied – but it took some serious getting used to calling the man 'Uncle Albus' during the holidays.

Albus smiled kindly at the boy. Although he had sent the children to bed over an hour ago, it was hardly surprising Rick did not sleep very well.

"Yes, Rick? Is Severus asleep already?"

Rick nodded. "Yes…we talked some but he was tired. I…I…."

Albus moved away from his desk and guided the boy, who was now slightly shivering in his pyjamas, to the living room. He wrapped a blanket around the boy and asked Dobby to bring up some warm milk. When the mugs arrived, he turned to Rick.

"What is bothering you, child?"

Rick stared at the mugs on the low table. Then he sighed and produced a handful of coins – a few galleons, a sickle or two, a larger amount of knuts.

"Aunt Phoebe spent a lot of money on me," he said, his eyes wide and earnest, "and…and you too. I make everyone go through all sorts of trouble for me. I had some money left from what my…from what I had at the start of term…I know it isn't enough…"

Albus stared at the money. After a moment he smiled gently and took the child's hand in both of his, folding the fingers back around the coins.

"Listen to me, carefully," he then took the child's face in his hands so that Rick was forced to look into his eyes, "you do not owe us anything, Rick. The clothes, staying here, we do those things because we care about you. Because it is the right thing to do. I would not dream of asking Severus to repay me for any of HIS clothes, neither will I accept any payment from you."

Rick swallowed thickly. "Then what do I have to do?"

"Do?" Albus shook his head, "you do not have to do anything."

The gaze went to the mugs again, and Albus' face got serious.

"What would you think appropriate compensation?" he asked carefully.

The boy shrugged. "My parents didn't ask money. When they got me clothes, they made me parade around in them and commented how much or how little I was like Cedric. They made me walk a certain way, saying that's how Cedric walked. They like it when I am like him. When I like something, a…a shirt or pants, I have to be really careful to walk just like Cedric did, or they won't let me have it."

Albus listened to the words spilling out of the child's mouth with wide eyes and a profound sense of disbelief. He fully admitted he wasn't the best parent. Granted, he did better with Severus this time around, but it still required help from his friends to keep him on the right track. The only excuse he had for his behaviour in the past was that he never had children of his own. The Diggories, however, had to be just as deluded not to see how their behaviour would harm their second son.

"What was Cedric like?" Rick looked up at his Headmaster, "Was he really so perfect?"

Albus smiled softly. "He certainly was a very nice young man," he recalled, "A Hufflepuff. He worked hard and was a good student, with quite some talent in Charms and Transfiguration. He was usually very fair, too. Professor Potter can tell you a little more about the year of the Triwizard Tournament. He was a good person, Rick, but no one would claim he was perfect. He got detentions just like anyone else, he got bad grades just like anyone else."

"Do I look like him?" the child whispered softly, in a voice that seemed torn between hope and fear.

Albus studied the young face carefully. "A little," he said eventually, "I can see some family resemblance. But Cedric had more of your mother, your features seem a little closer to your father's side of the family. Your hair is a few shades darker, too."

Rick's lip trembled. "I…I…"

His Headmaster suddenly changed back into his friend's kind grandfather, who opened his arms and enfolded the confused, sad boy in his embrace while he cried out the accumulated stress of over a decade.

sssssssss

"Of all the ungrateful things to do," Amos Diggory stamped up and down the room, "after all we did for him…"

His wife, her eyes dull with pain, watched her husband silently.

"And that insufferable woman from Children's Welfare…as if we would ever abuse our child!"

He did not notice the slight doubt pass over his wife's features.

"Cedric would never have disgraced us like this!" Amos finally exclaimed.

The long silence that followed, where he had expected quick agreement, made him turn to the woman with him.

"Surely you agree?" he said in disbelief.

"I…" the woman hesitated.

"I do not know, Amos. I really do not know. I went to his room, Cedric's room…to spend time there…"

"I know, love," Amos gently pressed a kiss on his wife's head, his eyes softening.

"Amos…you know what I saw?" she clasped his hands urgently, her eyes boring into his own.

"I saw Cedrics toys. The kind of clothes Cedric liked to wear. Remember how he liked to wear those blue robes you got him, the ones he said that were so great for practicing Quidditch?"

Amos smiled happily at the memory. "I do. I think it was just an excuse to play more."

"Do you know what clothes Rick likes to wear?" his wife asked him.

His features tightening with anger at the thought of his second son, Amos shrugged. "Blue, too, of course. We bought him plenty of those robes."

"I know. I like to see him in them, too. But what does he like to wear?"

Amos stared. "I fail to see your point, dear."

"His room is Cedrics room. The toys, the clothes, everything, everything is Cedrics. Even his name is Cedrics," his wife said bitterly, "we gave him all that is Cedrics, but nothing of his own. I sat there and I sat there, for hours, and then it hit me – who is our second son, Amos?"

Her husband opened his mouth, and closed it again.

"Amos…often I forget that he is our second son…not our first," tears ran down the woman's face, "and even I know that can't be right. We have two sons…"

Amos swallowed thickly. "Two sons."

"Had Rick been born, say, five or ten years after Cedric…would we have expected him to be a copy of Cedric? Or would we have rejoiced in the differences between them?"

The portrait Cedric gazed down upon his distraught mother, as if approving her line of thought. Amos bit his lip.

"But Rick was born ten years too late. No, Amos, we did not deprive him of food, clothes, or anything else…but we did rob him of himself. Of his chance to be his own person. Maybe, maybe that was even more cruel."

Amos shivered, and dropped to his knees next to his wife's chair. "But…Cedric…I want…"

"I want Cedric back, too," the exhausted woman whispered, "Remember the Tournament? We had bought him the snitch he been looking at so often at Quality Quidditch Supplies when he was chosen as Champion."

Amos nodded. "…I was so proud…so proud"

"We both were," his wife smiled, "I was worried, but I knew our boy could complete those tasks…and he did. It wasn't the Triwizard Tournament that killed him, it was the war. He was the Hogwarts Champion, and he won."

They shared a proud smile and looked at the portrait. "But Cedric died…the night of the Third Task…Harry brought back his body…and we buried him. Remember, Amos?"

A sob escaped, and tears began to ran down the aged man's cheeks. His wife continued in a faraway voice.

"We took those blue robes he loved so much, and we clothed him in them…we kissed him goodbye and told him to rest well. We told him that when he woke up, he should have fun and play lots of Quidditch…"

"We…" Amos picked up, his voice broken, "we folded his hands over the snitch we bought him, so he would have something to chase. You tucked an extra blanket over his legs so he would be warm while he lay…lay…"

"While he lay in his grave," his wife finished what her husband could not.

Amos lowered his head, his forehead resting against his wife's bosom as her arms encircled him. He clutched her robes desperately, finally grieving for their firstborn son.