[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.
.
**********************************
.
Was it a date when the two participants didn’t so much as hold hands? Fred had plenty of time to ponder that scintillating question as he sat on the table currently inhabited by Hermione and George at the Five Broomsticks. After all, there wasn’t anything else to do, outside of listening to their exciting conversation. It was chalk full of sexual tension, of inane chitchat and nothings, interspersed with discussion of feelings - there wasn’t even a mention of him more than once or twice to keep things interesting. He’d tried to wander away, to go someplace interesting since he wasn’t even capable of numbing the boredom with firewhiskey, but the tie to his brother kept him within the confines of the pub, and he could only entertain himself looking down Madam Rosemerta’s robes for so long.
He had to admit – if the answer to that question was yes, his dear brother and Miss Granger would be considered an item. Ever since that first day when she’d dragged him out of the flat, they’d been spending a lot of time together. But as it was, they’d limited themselves to longing glances and a whole lot of talking. He’d give them a kick start himself if he was corporeal, but apparently George was pants at seducing a female on his own. Either that or he had some misguided notion they were friends. It was easy to admit things were different from an observer’s perspective – but these things were so fucking obvious to him. If the woman to his right had ever looked at him, at them, like that when he was alive Fred liked to think he would have noticed too, and had them do something about it. Because really, they had been a package deal.
Irregardless, George seemed clueless. Or perhaps he’d decided to switch sexual orientation – a fact which would have carried more weight in Fred’s mind if he hadn’t been privy to his brother’s wanking sessions in the shower. It wasn’t Gilderoy Lockhart’s name he was moaning as his hand slid up and down his cock. And it wasn’t Oliver Wood’s arse he was ogling as they walked down the street. No, despite his acting annoyingly like an eunuch around Hermione herself, it was obvious his younger brother was carrying a bit of a tendre for….no, that sounded too feminine, but yet the sentiment was the same.
"I’m grateful for all your help around the shoppe," George was saying pleasantly, sipping at his butterbeer, "I’m pants at finances, and Lee’s been spending more time working on his radio show now – QuidditchWatch isn’t perhaps as wordly important as Potterwatch, but he’s taking it just as seriously. And, Merlin, I swear, we were hemorrhaging galleons before you had that little talk with the suppliers. Now you just need to help me work out the kinks in the 'orgasm in a box' for the new adult line, and you’ll be well worth the – well, nothing – that I’m paying you." He waggled his eyebrows, not as innocently as he looked for Fred knew him, "Perhaps you could stop by and test it out."
Fred rolled his eyes as his brother finally stopped his inane talk, he interjected as Hermione began to speak, summarizing George’s speech without the double talk, "I’m madly in love with you, you saved me from the depths of despair, and now I’m just looking for an excuse to get into your knickers."
"It’s not a problem at all," Hermione’s smile was satisfied as she replied, "You know I’m glad to help. I’m just glad you’re inventing again, and at least you can’t let the accounts be an excuse anymore. Besides, I’ve got so much free time working for the Ministry, I might as well put it to good use."
"I want to save your poor tortured soul, all alone and needy without your brilliant, wonderful, and much more handsome brother, and I’ll forgoe sleep to do the drudgery that is your finances to do that," Fred added, summarizing what he felt was her intent in a falsetto tone.
George swirled the butterbeer around in his cup, "Still, I owe you something in return." He didn’t add ‘shagging’ like Fred had gotten up to yell in his ear, hoping at least something subliminally came through. "Besides my entertaining company," he continued with a grin, tossing the liquid back, "though, really, that should be more than enough. Just name your price Miss Granger. What will it be? Galleons? A few patented daydream charms to get you through the boredom of work? I tell you what, I’ll even make sure something happens to Lavender Brown whom Ron’s been shagging all over London again. Just say that word, and vengeance shall be yours. Maybe I’ll just make sure something happens to him, I’ve never been too fond of the prat anyway."
"I want to slay your dragons….but more importantly fish around rather obviously to make sure you’re not still in love with the wanker that is my younger brother," Fred snorted, wishing the two of them would just let him do the conversation for them.
The table wobbled as Hermione leaned forward, speaking matter of factly, but he was sure he could hear the earnest tone in her voice, "There’s nothing any more between Ronald and I – it took about three months of arguing to realize that we weren’t meant to be anything more than friends." She gave a small smile, "Doesn’t mean I’ll be inviting them around for a dinner party anytime soon, but I’m not feeling malicious towards Lavender. Besides, I’m interested in somebody else."
"Ding ding ding ding," he pointed down to Hermione as George looked crestfallen, completely missing the point of her statement, "I want you, you big manly man, even if you're no Fred."
It was obvious to anyone not blind that George was disappointed as he muttered a quiet, "Oh," and reached for the dessert menu that sat in the middle of the table at the same time Hermione put her hand forward – Fred was sure for the purpose of taking his brothers. They hit awkwardly, and both snatched their hands back to their respective laps, looking everywhere but at each other.
Fred sighed frustratedly, and began to repeatedly hit his head on the table. Unfortunately one of the side effects of his ghostly state was not an absence of pain, and he had to stop after a few seconds. But it was enough to annoy a more patient man. They were acting like a pair of first year Hufflepuffs, and more cowardly then the Gryffindors they apparently had been. If the majority of his existence was going to be consumed with watching his brother and his lady love, he’d prefer it at least involved some sex for Merlin’s sake. Sadly enough, everything regarding that for the rest of his life would be lived vicariously through his brother.
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Eight months.
Four days.
Twenty two hours.
That’s how long it had taken George and Hermione to get to the point where she was coming up to his flat - for a drink. Not that Fred was counting, not at all. But his brother had been acting annoyingly virginal, and Hermione the same – and it had seemed they were destined for the life of friends, without any benefits, before Hermione had finally been the one to rest a hand on his arm after their sojourn to the Mariam Eyre concert and forcefully suggest that perhaps the evening wasn’t done. Apparently she was the one who’d be wearing the pants in this relationship, it was a bit of a shame how emasculated his brother had become, at least from where Fred was standing.
But that had been his thought at the time – watching them now, sitting almost like strangers on the couch, the confusion that had been plaguing Fred since the moment the two had become involved began to lift.
At first he’d been befuddled. Taking it slow, he could see that, for despite the fact his brother’s girlfriend had been his other brother’s girlfriend first, with all the side benefits, she was remarkably inexperienced in comparison to the women who had come before. But this….stalling, this unwillingness to go anywhere, had confused him. Before, George had always been the more aggressive one when it came to sex and women. Fred was willing to admit he was all talk, but George, he had been action. And to see him now, like he’d never seen a woman naked before, was a bit disconcerting.
Then it had come to him though, as George rested a hand awkwardly on Hermione’s knee – but no more. Without Fred, he didn’t know what to do. He only knew how to act as part of a pair – in tandem. Have someone finishing his sentences, as they went – and Fred had always been the one to initiate the seductive speeches as they played in bed with their partners. Essentially being in two places at once, acting with someone rather than alone. He knew how to be part of FredandGeorge in bed, he didn’t know how to be just George.
"Go for it," he urged, wanting to make George see that sex was a perfectly bloody brilliant thing even with two, and that he was there in spirit, if not in body.
But his brother was sitting, still as a statue, as Hermione worked her hand up over his shoulder, tentatively, fingering his hair before leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. George responded, but chastely, like it was his first kiss. His hands moved nowhere, and one stayed still on her knee while the other clenched against his side. Hermione seemed to know she was up against something, and took the one in hers, moving it up to graze her breast, dragging her blouse up as it went.
"I can’t," George broke away from the kiss, his breath ragged, "I don’t know….I mean I can’t….I don’t know…." His voice cut out helplessly, without actually saying anything. And now it was Hermione who was confused, looking at him like he’d grown a second head. Fred wanted to yell at his brother to shut up, because she now looked moments away from bolting. He wanted to lecture on knowing exactly how to hit on a woman’s insecurities, but that was impossible, and solved nothing. "What?" Hermione was asking slowly, readjusting her blouse and moving away from his brother.
He bolted over, sitting beside his brother on the couch, speaking intently in his ear – wanting something to get through. For their sake, and for his. "Remember how it started," he murmured, resting a hand on his non-feeling brother’s shoulder, "you don’t need me for that. You always made the first move. Remember Naomi Hunt? That time, in the complete dark? We didn’t know where she ended, and we began, and you'd two been half done by the time I arrived."
"Your favourite way to start, Fred remarked almost offhand, moving his own hand to graze over Hermione’s shoulder, "was to soothe them, to make them comfortable. To caress them into a sense of complacency and make them feel safe. They loved you more for that, and whenever things got too intense they always turned to you before me."
The hand attached to George’s arm seemed to move of it’s own volition, and Fred watched in satisfaction as he reached up to cup Hermione’s face, sliding a thumb over her cheek. "I can," he was saying softly, sliding it town to her shoulder, letting a single finger trail down her chest to the still covered crease between her breasts, "so beautiful."
He was sliding his hands up and down her sides then, leaving forward and kissing her softly and lingeringly, letting his thumbs end each time just before her breasts, lightly tickling the skin there, "I’m going to make it so good for you, for us," he murmured, "I love you so much Hermione." He slid his hand to pinch a nipple through her shirt then, soothing it with a rub of his palm as she cried out.
Fred was watching them, knowing George could function on his own now, if indeed he had prompted anything with his comment – but the words continued to come as his brother stood, taking Hermione’s hand and pulling her up with him. "You always liked to startle them next," his voice was quiet as he watched, "to bring them back to the moment. You always had me initiate it, but I preferred the joking in bed. It was you who brought the edge of violence to the table. I never thought my own brother capable of such a thing until I witnessed it. Such a contrast from the beginning."
He could picture the shock evident on Hermione’s face when George pushed her up against the wall then, even if he couldn’t see it. It was the same every time – they always expected that from Fred, but never from George. He was the more quiet one, the one who had caressed them so gently just moments before. But she almost bounced off the wall with the force he used to push her against it, and Fred shifted his head to see her mouth open in a delectable, ‘Oh!’ of surprise as she gazed up at his brother. It was no surprise to Fred at the attempt, for the wall had been a tool they never utilized, for it was impossible with three together, and they were about the team rather than taking turns.
The trick then was the subtlety, something he’d always been proud of in his little brother. He stood close to her, but not touching outside of pinning her arms above her head. There was that tantalizing little bit of space between them, that he knew George would not breach himself. That little inch between the erection and Hermione’s body, and as Fred wandered over to watch, he could see the smile of satisfaction on George’s face as she closed this distance herself, arching against him and rubbing her stomach against his erection. "Please," she whimpered, trying to move closer to George, and Fred thought in that moment she had never looked more beautiful.
There was a moment where neither spoke, and he could have sworn there was a spell cackling in the air between them. Then all of a sudden George’s hands cupped her breasts, kneading through the fabric, and Fred could hear Hermione hiss loudly as her knees buckled, held up by the pressure of him against her body.
"We can take this very very slow," Fred listened to his brother murmur, as he used his nose to brush aside her hair, nuzzling against her before using his tongue to trace a path down the side of her neck, nipping gently at the skin at the bottom, before continuing quietly, "or I could fuck you fast right here, make you feel craved. I think I like that option, for we’ve been dancing around this for months. I can make you forget your name, and anything but me. Does that sound appealing to you Hermione?"
Anything more than grunts during sex had never been George’s forte, and Fred wanted to cheer at his adequate attempt. Hermione for her part, let out an unintelligible noise as he pinched on her nipples lightly, before stripping her blouse and her bra from her body. "Or, we could take it so slowly in bed," he was murmuring, "hard from behind, maybe languidly with you on top, drawing it out until you scream too loudly not even a muffliato will be of much help. Perhaps doing it so many times you can’t walk tomorrow."
"Everything," Hermione replied, helplessly, and Fred and George chuckled in tandem though only one of them was in position to do anything about it.
Fred found himself dragged along as George wrapped his arms around Hermione and apparated them to his bedroom, dropping to his knees the moment they arrived, pushing her back against the wall of the room, pulling off her skirt and spreading her legs apart. "Want to taste you," he murmured, as Hermione was bared to both their gaze, and Fred felt his mouth go dry at the sight, as he could only see the crown of his brother’s head as he leaned forward, tongue dragging up the inner part of her thighs, then teeth nipping on her hips, small kisses on the crease where leg met torso. When he leaned forward further, kissing between the folds of her legs, Fred watched as Hermione gasped loudly, fisting hands in George’s hair and simultaneously trying to push him away and pull him forward. She let her knees buckle as George pulled back slightly, and slid as if boneless to the ground.
He chuckled as she pulled his mouth to hers in a bruising kiss, lips moving over one another and tongues warring together, "I wanted this to last at least a little while."
"Later," Hermione promised, pushing him backwards onto the floor as her lips met his again, moving up over him. For all he had taken the time to remove her clothes, she didn’t waste any, vanishing his clothes with a simple spell. It was in that moment that George began to look a little lost again – for there had only been so many permutations and positions in the past possible with the twins and a partner.
Fred watched as Hermione tossed back her hair, and he took a trembling step forward, reaching out his hand, wanting to touch her, wanting against everything else to be a part of this with them. To take part. To actually feel something. But his hand slipped through as it always did. He tried to follow the path of his brother’s hand as he trailed it along her hip, to experience what George did, but it was to of no avail. There was no sensation, except a shiver from Hermione that had nothing to do with arousal.
He didn’t recover from that easily, but his brother had from his confusion, rolling Hermione beneath him and kissing along her stomach, her chest, dragging his teeth along her nipples. He kissed her once, hard, mouth slanting over hers as he slid into her, thrusting deep and grinding. His kiss mimicked the force of his body, and Fred licked his lips, wanting more than anything to be a part of it – but had to content himself with standing there, watching, chest rising and falling in rhythm with their movements.
There was no knowledge of how they felt outside of a vague memories from his past, and none of those had included the delectable Miss Granger. Fred was limited to inferences from Hermione sobbing George’s name as she came, and George’s grunt as he collapsed on top of her. It was sightly anticlimactic when one wasn’t actually climaxing, or capable of actually getting an erection. His face was impassive then, as he watched Hermione grin, lazily running her hand over the bare expanse of his brother’s skin, and his brother let out a genuine laugh he’d become more capable of these last months as he rolled onto his back, dragging her with him.
His footsteps were silent as he left them alone, any thrill he might have gotten from the moment gone. For all he was happy for George – he felt oddly forgotten, pushed aside, something he never thought he would feel with his brother. But he couldn’t begrudge it, for to them he was gone. Fred would have made his way to the bathroom, to stare at his non existent reflection and depress himself further, but the bond to George held him there in the room – with them, watching silently as they chatted, as they petted, and as they made their way to the bed and fucked again. He settled himself against the floor, trying not to look at them, because at the moment he felt almost dirty doing it.
There was no way to know how long he sat there in silence, listening to them whispering and laughing with each other, but everything was still and silent outside when he glanced up to find Hermione having fallen fast asleep across his brother’s chest. Years of experience had taught him to know his brother was still awake, even if he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open and closed in the dark
"I wish you were here Fred," the words cut through the silence, and his head snapped up at George’s soft voice.
Fred padded over to the bed. For a moment he allowed himself the hope that perhaps that would be all it took to make him visible. This was the first time George had spoken his name since his death, and maybe a wish of his appearance was all it took. But his hopes were dashed again when his brother looked straight through him as he glanced idly at the wall. But, somehow, it couldn’t dash the smile on his face when he realized something – besides the fact he was touched at his brother’s remembering and caring about him in such a crucial moment.
His brother was dating the brightest witch in the world.
Forget making him a visible and audible ghost, she’d find a way to bring him back to life.