For George Weasley—and the rest of his family, in fact—Fred was always the clearly perfect name for his son. He had decided such a few months after his twin's funeral—when he finally got his head just a little bit screwed on again and could think beyond where his next shot of firewhiskey would be coming from.

For his young wife, Angelina, however, this was the "worst choice he had ever made."

Knowing Georgey-boy as the Weasleys did, they never doubted that he was happy [or as happy as half a person could be] in his marriage with Angelina. Molly liked to sit back and daydream about a George who could grin freely again, a house full of laughter, a rosy bride who could replace [if not quite completely] the brother that George could never forget.

Nobody would've expected or suspected the bitterly biting remarks, the strained smiles, and the hands tensely clenched together with tears dripped on.

And as a master man of masks, George never breathed a word about the vicious debate that his son's name became. It all started on a February afternoon, when a few-months-along Angelina breathed the magic words, "It's a boy," over a mug of hot cocoa when George walked in shaking the snow off his hair.

George didn't even shrug off his damp cloak, instead wrapping Angelina into a tight hug and smiling more authentically than he had since the dark day that ended the war. "His name is Fred!" he declared. In his excitement, he didn't see the way Angelina's dark eyes flashed and her pale lips tightened. But even a boulder could've felt the way her whole body tensed and the embrace was ended.

"No," she said firmly.

The young wizard flinched as if he'd been struck but Angelina hardly saw it before his shoulders squared for battle. She didn't give him the chance. "Isn't there enough of Fred looming in this house already?" she hissed, tears springing into her eyes as she turned away from her husband.

George closed his eyes, unable to reply as he bent his head to a wave of memories… Fred asking Angelina to the Yule Ball… George double-dating with Fred and Angelina, Katie Bell's hand in his… gossiping like a girl with his bolder twin about the witches they were so scared to be falling in love with while on a warfront…

He shoved the memories aside, focusing instead on the slideshow of pranks they'd engineered together and the bravery his brother had never failed to show. Fred was a strong name, the name of a hero, the name their son would surely deserve to carry.

"His name," George said in a voice that no longer allowed room for protest, "is Fred." And he left the room. Angelina let him go—her battle was lost.

And the years passed, and Angelina watched with a sad smile as the boy turned into the spitting image of the wizard she'd fallen in love with… but only in physical appearances. He was a quiet, shy child that always looked back at his parents before biting his lip and plunging ahead in his uncle's path as though he had never doubted when his mother looked one way and his father the other. He lusted after dragons and fairytales instead of broomsticks and pranks… he found his safe place curled up in the library instead of on the Quidditch pitch. And although no one would ever speak the foul word "disappointment," everyone [and best of all the boy himself] knew exactly what that look in George Weasley's eyes meant.