Summersmut Mod (summersmutmod) wrote in hp_summersmut, @ 2007-09-10 10:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | fred weasley, george weasley, george/hermione, hermione granger |
[FIC] A Lack of Impact: George/Hermione, Fred
Originally posted here on 8 September 2007
Title: A Lack of Impact.
Requestor: modestyrabnott
Author/Artist:
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: George/Hermione, (Fred)
Summary: One plus one still – unfortunately – equals two.
Warnings: Spoilers for Deathly Hallows
Author's Notes: modestyrabnott, I’m afraid this is as close as I could come to voyeurism and a threesome, though I know the latter is your biggest kink. I hope I fulfilled the request at least semi-satisfactorily.
Most people when they came back as ghosts were tied to a place.
Fred Weasley was tied to a person.
Not surprising, after all, considering it was his twin brother.
It hadn’t been his choice, but the return to earth was. His death he barely remembered – after all he had been dead once the explosion occurred, though he did remember Percy making a joke, and in the heat of battle no less. Never thought he’d live to see the day when the stick up his brother’s arse shifted an inch or two – and, well, he really hadn’t. The irony was not lost on him. But for all the specifics of his death escaped him, a fact he would be eternally grateful for as he was not fond of pain, it was the ‘after’ he remembered.
He still couldn’t quite explain what it had been - some odd place between living and dead, that somehow resembled the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. George, or rather some facsimile of him, had been there as his guide to the afterlife. He wondered if it had been someone else, even his mum, if he would have chosen differently. To cross over to the other side and embrace death. Well…….that didn’t sound exactly like him, did it, but yet neither did the maudlin feeling that came over him when he spoke with ‘George’ that had led him back to earth.
It had been a split second decision, really – for he was good at those. Go back, live the life of a ghost, walk palely where his living self had once trod, exist in a unfulfilling state between living and dead….and have a bloody lot of fun doing it, even if he’d never actually be corporeal like Peeves. He was a charismatic bloke – what George wouldn’t do for him, he could entice someone else to. Besides, his taste in music had always been abysmal anyway. Perhaps then he could actually enjoy the crap that was Cecilia Warbeck if his mum ever came to visit.
When he’d been sucked back to earth as if through a vortex he’d expected to end up in Hogwarts, after all it had been where he had died. Fred figured once it was rebuilt, he would be there terrifying the first years, and leading the rest into mischief. George could come teach….well, something, he hadn’t quite figured out what yet, or at the very least visit often – and then when he died at the ripe old age of two hundred and ten, preferably from something poetic involving a joke device, he could come back with Fred and they’d be together there on earth, living - or as close as they could come – forever.
Therefore, it was a large surprise when he had opened his eyes to find himself in their flat – George’s flat he supposed – sprawled out across the floor of the other brother’s bedroom. He’d grumbled to himself, sure this would mean a lifetime of the flat and joke shop alone, but things could have been worse, he could have been tied to the Burrow with his mum nagging him repeatedly.
It surprised him then when he could go where George went. The first day back his brother had gone to the apothecary for a way to make some dreamless sleep potion, which were in high demand after the war – how bloody exciting, but yet he’d been able to leave the building that housed their shoppe and flat. Fred had been ecstatic, sure this was the best life a ghost could have. But, in the end it hardly mattered.
George never left. Once in awhile he ran an errand. Once in awhile he visited the family when a howler came. And that was it. He didn’t even go out to eat, choosing instead to cook solitary meals in his flat, and eat them on the couch while listening to the wireless. It was the life of a seventy year old. Not worth of a Malfoy, let alone a young and virile Weasley twin.
What Fred wanted to do was hex some sense into his younger brother – yes, coming out of the womb a whole thirty seconds ahead of him counted – but ghosts were hardly capable of spells, which was a complete shame really. But the largest shock he’d had coming back that was ghosts were also apparently invisible, at least beginning out. It had never occurred to him that might happen. Every ghost he’d ever known had been visible, if without substance. They had all been wandering the halls of Hogwarts since the moment he arrived, ready and willing to be bothersome, and never going away.
Though he supposed, there could have been others around his whole life he never knew about, because really, how in Merlin’s name would he know?
Still, Fred wished he could go back to that moment he’d been given a choice between this and death, and demand some sort of instruction manual. Being a Ghost – a guide for Dunderheads, and a reference for the rest of us, perhaps. Because really, no matter how many times he held his (non-existent breath), no matter how many times he concentrated, no matter how many times he thought happy thoughts – or angry ones, he couldn’t make himself appear to George. Which was a rather large pain in the arse considering he was quite sure it was the only way to poke his brother out of his annoyingly depressing existence.
Instead, he was relegated to the role of observer, something he’d never really had to do before.
That was how he found himself perched invisible on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, wishing George would at least get one of those muggle telermiffin things if he was never going to leave, or at least a few up to date copies of Playwizard, when Hermione Granger stopped by for the first time. The ringing of the doorbell had made his invisible ears perk up, because to his knowledge, the only company George had got to the flat since he had been there was Lee, bringing up some receipts from the days total sales. He loved his brother, but he was a bit of a bore now when one couldn’t talk to him.
"You’re coming to supper at the Burrow," she snapped, eyes blazing when George opened the door. She didn’t wait for an invitation, walking past him into the flat. Her eyes scanned the room, as if expecting squalor instead of this utterly boring neatness, and for a moment Fred thought she might see him, but her eyes swept past and returned to George, "And then after dinner, you are going to go out for Charlie’s bachelor party like a good little Weasley."
Fred wanted to cheer, if only she could hear him. And, Merlin’s beard, Charlie was getting married? What blind and deaf girl had he managed to land? For all he knew, cut off from the world like this, Percy might be doing stand up comedy and Ginny might have declared her undying love for Filch. If Hermione could get George out of the flat, and into the land of the living, he’d offer her his first born. If only he’d ever have one.
George was staring at her in utter shock as she scolded him, then seemed to snap back to himself, "I have things to do, the monthly accounting…." His voice trailed off when she held out a thick ledger, slamming it against his chest.
"Done, and done," she replied, a little smugly, as he grabbed it and flipped through. "Lee was a great help. Listen, George, we know there’s no excuse for your continual absence from everything but the fact you are living here, wallowing in self pity." That sounded a little harsh, even to Fred, but when she added, "It’s been two years," he realized he had no idea how long it had been really, since his death. "You have to move on. Your family is worried about you George, but they’re too scared to push. They’re content to buy your excuses, ‘oh, he’s just working all the time’, and ‘oh, I’m sure he and Lee go out often’ – because it’s easier."
She was on a roll, and continued on even when his brother began to object, "But I see your mum stare worriedly at your arm on the family clock – always pointed at ‘home’. She waits for it to switch to mortal peril you know, every day," she shot George a look, which sobered Fred, knowing what she was implying their mum worried about. "They avoid mention of you, of Fre…."
George cut her off, "Don’t, Hermione, don’t talk about him." His voice sounded angry, which was at least a relief from his usual defeatist attitude.
A snort escaped as she waved her hand around the flat, and her tone never softened in sympathy, "Why not George? Somebody has to. You’ve all been pretending Fred doesn’t exist since the day of his funeral. And you’ve been pretending your family doesn’t exist as well. I bet you barely spend any time in the joke shop now, I bet it’s Lee and Verity doing most of the work. You avoid everything you used to do with him, so you don’t have to accept he’s not coming back."
Fred could attest to that fact. Although the idea had probably never crossed the virginal Miss Granger’s mind, he had to assume it was part of the reason that George hadn’t had a proper shag, probably since the last time the two of them had enticed Angelina into that wickedly delicious weekend in the country. It was a crying shame too – even though he was sure George wouldn’t have the same charm without him to lay it on thick alongside him, pity sex was not something to turn one’s nose up at. Merlin, George probably could have even snagged a night with Katie Bell, who’d been ignoring their advances for years, thinking them too frivolous, just because she felt bad that he was all alone now. Without Fred. Which really was a deprivation to the entire world.
George could have probably even managed a night with Hermione, a thought which caused Fred to let out a sigh, remembering a fantasy they had shared of her pressed between them among the stacks of the library. Just because they couldn’t do it together, he’d easily forgive George getting with the bird they’d both thought lustily about for years. After all, someone had to release all that lovely tension she was brimming with, especially since it seemed she was now free of Ron and his bumbling attempts.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked towards the closed door that housed what used to be Fred’s bedroom, "I bet his stuff is still in there, and intact, isn’t it?"
Fred knew it was. He had watched, with a heavy heart, as George had gone in there one day and just sat on the bed, looking around and saying nothing - doing nothing. Just existing in the little room that was like a mausoleum. George’s silence in response to her question seemed to confirm it for Hermione. "I’m getting you out of here," she told him firmly, summoning his cloak from the closet and tossing it to him, "even if you hate me for it. Both for your sake, and for your family’s. This isn’t healthy, and I’m going to force you out of it even if they won’t. There’s grief, and then there’s throwing your life away. And you mean too much to me to let you do that."
"You’re not my bloody mum," his voice sounded petulant, and Fred wanted to roll his eyes.
Hermione didn’t bother to resist, and her eyes rolled in annoyance– though she was placing his cloak around him like she was indeed Molly incarnate, in spite of his height advantage, "Thank Merlin, as I’d have not been able to retain my sanity these last twenty or so years. You and Fred were enough to drive a woman to drink – and I’m talking poison, not just firewhiskey."
A smile was starting to dawn on George’s face and Fred knew the expression on his would mirror his twins if only he were visible. A veritable grin – and after a sentence that had mentioned Fred’s name, and in the past tense no less. It was surely a step in the right direction. Maybe this was all it would take to make him visible, George vanquishing the inner demons that haunted him. And surely a smile was enough to suggest….still, no matter how hard he concentrated and wished, Hermione and his brother looked right through him every time they glanced over at the couch where he sat – feet propped up on the table, a fact that he was fully aware would have probably earned him a scolding from Hermione, at least the second she got past the him being alive part.
Fred would have let out a sigh and lamented his invisibility, but they were leaving the flat, and he was too busy fighting the elation that he finally got to fucking leave. It was incredibly sad that the trip to Flourish and Botts Hermione was suggesting as they walked down the stairs, him trailing behind, sounded like a slice of heaven right about then.
.