poly_chromatic

Entry tags:

harry potter - fred weasley

oo1.

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[ The feed turns on to flames in a patch of flowers, bright red in stark contrast to the healthy colour of the grass and roses about it, but they don't appear to be burning. Perhaps it's not a flame after all, but rather a particular head of hair - familiar to some, certainly - and then he begins to stir.

Up sits one Fred Weasley, bleary eyed and stretching with a yawn. He blinks a bit, taking in his surroundings curiously before noting the recording device and taking it with a vague sense of amusement. One more yawn and a lazy scratch of the back of his head, and then he speaks with a tired smile. ]

Not a bad place to kip, eh?

[ ooc; Fred returns to the City! He's just woken up in Xanadu, and he has no clue that he's been gone. This is completely open to 4th wall shenanigans of all sorts - only just don't tell him they're characters from a book, and anything from the age of the epilogue will be forgotten after the curse. I missed you all, and I love you. ;; ♥ ]

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[George gave up checking the network a long time ago. He'll answer if someone calls him. Sometimes. Apart from that it's better to just stop getting his hopes up everytime someone crawls out of the fountain. He knows it's one of those visitor weekends again, so he's holed himself up in the shop. He has an office with a lock on it, which he intends on keeping shut.]

[ The first and only thing Fred wanted to do once he'd been informed (berated, really, abused) of his absense was hunt down George, but emotions were high and little to nothing made any real sense. He doesn't understand how a month could have past without his knowing, but he supposes it's because there's no passage of time to be kept where he was.

Wherever that is.

No, Fred had to gain some sort of footing before allowing himself to stand, but then he skipped the standing part and went straight to the running. Running, because the only thing he needs is his brother - and he's fair certain his brother needs him too. He knows for a fact that he does. So he heads to the shop, crack!ing into the main room because Merlin knows where George might be hiding. ]

Oi! Wanker!

[His heart jumps. Of course it does. He can't stop it from doing that. And Merlin, so much of him wants it to be true. He presses himself up against the wall of his office and tries one of those calming breaths everyone's been telling him about. When he talks, it's barely under his breath.]

You're not here. Not for real.

[ Fred can't hear the whispers from outside, but he's not entirely convinced George isn't here either. They've shared everything together from their first crib to the freckles on their necks. The shop is very much the embodiment of that bond, and if there was one place he'd run to find him, it'd be here.

It suddenly makes him terribly aware of what that'll mean once George is back home again. ]

If you're here - and I know you are, you tosspot - you really ought to speak up 'fore I start tossing Whiz-Bangs about the place!

[ Smoke him out with taunts and teases. He's going to be angry, and Fred's going to let him. ]

[He sinks down against the wall. Go away. He's not home. He doesn't want this. How many times does he have to say goodbye again? He's not sure he can take it a third time. He barely made it through the first time. And how many people have to watch their twin bother get taken away from them again and again? He brings his knees to his chest and stays perfectly still. He's not home.]

[ Still nothing. Ariadne did say the shop or a pub, but it's George. There's only so long a pub can hold his interest, especially like this -- but he hasn't responded, and there's near nothing to say he might be here other than a gut instinct. But how's he supposed to know what his brother's like without him when it was never meant to happen, never meant to be possible and now it's happened twice.

True to his word, a few Whiz-Bangs can be heard going off downstairs, but it's the result of him shouting a frustrated, devastated 'fuck!' and the fireworks setting off from the burst of emotion. They crackle about and destroy a few products, nothing serious, and among the explosions, George might be able to discern the crack of Fred Disapparating. ]

[George leaves the back room. His hands are shaking, so he shoves them in his pockets. What the hell is he doing? It's Fred. He just can't... merlin, why can't he work anything out these days? All he wants to do now is go home and pass out for a few hours. He grabs his keys and coat. Maybe Ginny will know what's going on.]

[ Before George can make it out the door, though, Fred Apparates back into the shop looking much worse for wear. He stumbles into a display, sending some Extendables and Telescopes toppled to the floor before he finally steadies himself against the counter top. ]

Don't - [ HUFF ] - if you've ever considered Apparating to seven pubs and the cabin within a minute, don't.

[There are so many thoughts and feelings flooding through his brain, and he doesn't have the time to compartmentalize them and work out which part is anger and which part is relief and which part is that piece of him that's been missing for so long coming back into place. Instead it all just hits him at once like a tidal wave and it's making his eyes prickle.]

You were gone, Fred. You were in the portrait hall.

[ The world's spinning and the ground's slipping from beneath his feet, but Fred can't quite tell if it's from the pounding in his head or the fact that George is in front of him - or rather, a ghost of him. He looks awful, sleep deprivation and drink doing terrible things to the state of his eyes and why does he look so bloody sad? How did this happen?

'You left.' ]

I know.

[ His tone is entirely apologetic, though it's better seen in his eyes. The guilt, the sorrow. The realisation that this is now the second time, and it won't even be the last - but one day it'll be permanent. Will George continue to look like that forever? ]

[There's a moment of hesitation before George does what he's been picturing for months. His fist goes back and he clocks Fred right in the nose.]

You prat! How can you keep doing this to us?

[ If he had the heart to laugh, he'd note the irony in this situation - and how it was reversed not a few months ago when George finally arrived. But he doesn't, and he won't, and he takes the hit dead on and doesn't retaliate. Just wipes beneath his nose and gives a sniff - it'll likely start bleeding soon - then straightens up and looks back over to him. ]

Said it yourself, mate. I'm the world's biggest prat.

[Dammit, why does he have to do that. George wants to be angry! Angry is so much easier to deal with than any of the other emotions that are spilling out. He shoves him - hard - probably enough to hit the shelves behind him.]

Why are you even here if you're just going to keep leaving us again?

[ And hit them, he does, sending more of their products onto the floor and Fred just takes it. The punches, the shoves, the accusations and the blame. It's his. He knows it. And he swallows hard. ]

I don't know, Georgie. I haven't got a clue.

[ None of it makes a lick of sense to him. Why's he here? Why'd he have to leave in the first place - why'd he have to die? It isn't fair and it doesn't make sense and he just doesn't know. ]

[George backs up until he hits the opposite wall and slumps there. He can't keep hitting him when he won't fight back like this. But he can't forgive him quite yet. His whole body slouches, exhausted to the core.]

I can't take it any more. Getting left behind.

[ If the assault's mostly over, then Fred's taking this opportunity to advance. He steps closer, warily, and stops just in front of him with a sad look. ]

I know.

[ A beat, and he grabs the front of George's shirt to pull him into a tight hug. Too tight, it might hurt even, but Fred doesn't care because fuck all, he's going to start crying. ]

I'm sorry.

[It takes a moment before George lets his body relax, and brings his arms around his brother, holding on tightly. Why is the universe so intent on separating them?]

I know, Fred.

[ Because J.K. Rowling is a whore they were the unfortunate victims of an unfortunate time, and all wars have casualties or some rubbish like that. Fred's proud of his death - an honourable one, fought beside people he loves for a cause he believed in - but the damage left in its wake is a mess he can't clean, and -- ]

It's not fair.

[No, it isn't. George doesn't know any way to respond to that other than to hold him a little tighter.]

[ He buries his face into his brother's shoulder. The same height, the same build, the same damn everything and yet worlds apart. Lifetimes apart, because someday they'll be in this same position all over again and he won't be there to hold him.

Fred inhales deeply, shakily and it's very clear that he's crying but he won't make any sign of it beyond that. They're together again - for now - and he isn't going to spoil it with tears. ]

[George's hands go in circles on his back. He's not sure when they swapped places - that it now him comforting his twin - but he feels familiar and he doesn't mind. This is what they do. Did. Do again. They look after each other.]

[ Honestly, it's a wonder the switch took this long. Fred spent so much time in denial, acting as though nothing was wrong and covering it up with anger and aggression that he never took a chance to actually feel, and now he's being crushed with the weight of it. He's mourning his own bloody death and there's something terribly cruel in that. It hurts and he's not sure what to do about it.

But pride can only permit so much, and not a few moments later, he's pulling away to turn his back to George and try to put himself back together. They are broken and falling apart and Fred is back and he just can't let that happen. He has to at least try. He turns back with a sigh, face blotchy and red and unflattering in every way but he smiles anyway. ]

Fancy some fresh air or would you like to have another go at me?

It's no fun when you don't fight back. Come on, we'll go home.

It'd be a shame to muck up that lovely face of yours.

[ He'll knuckle George's chin lightly just to show he's joking. ]

But sounds a good plan all the same. I think I'm due for a good cuppa.

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