A/N: My first HP fanfic! Please, if you have any critique or advice, let me know. I'm pretty new to this whole thing. I'd appreciate it.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, not even the computer I used to type this. =P
A Lover's Dream
"Are you ready, George?" Ginny's head peered around the corner. George looked up absentmindedly. He blinked himself out of a reverie and had to make a conscious effort to figure out what she had just said. "Oh. In a minute, Gin." He didn't make eye contact, his gaze fixated somewhere near his sister's feet. It seemed that the calm tone in her voice was forced when she said "Okay. Mum's getting impatient. Better hurry." He nodded to no one after a minute, Ginny had already left the room.
He wearily rubbed his eyes and got up from Fred's empty bed. He walked towards the door, and as he turned the overhead light off, he smiled into the room. "I'll bring back some of Auntie Muriel's cookies. I know how much you love them."
~O~
It had been two months since the battle at Hogwarts, and the world was recovering. The pace of life had taken back its normal speed, and the initial victory celebrations were now almost entirely over. George had returned to work at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and business was booming. He stood alone behind the counter on a crowded Friday afternoon. His mind wandered as he checked out customer after customer, paying no mind to the words being spoken to him.
He was ringing up a rather rotund woman when an alarm in his mind went off. His head snapped up, and the woman in front of him continued on with her chattering, unaware that he hadn't been listening. He cut her off. "Excuse me, ma'am, what was that?"
The woman eyed him suspiciously, perhaps realizing he hadn't heard a word she'd said. She smiled politely, however, and said. "Oh, dear, I was just saying that it was a such a shame we had to lose your poor brother. Fred, was it?" She pulled out a large handbag and dug through it, looking for money, no doubt.
"Oh. Fred... yeah." George responded lamely. It had been weeks since he'd heard the name spoken aloud. Even his family seemed to side-step around the road block that was his brother's memory. It had become almost taboo. And yet here was this woman, with no connection to him at all, bringing it up as if it were a topic for idle chit-chat! She wasn't even sure of his name! George took her money without a word and practically threw her change back. "Thank you for shopping at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes." He said it in a monotone. The woman huffed in indignation, but made no retort. She turned her back on him and left the shop.
~O~
"You're looking haggard, mate. I'd say you need a shave." He was staring at himself in the mirror. His voice, Fred's voice, filled the room. "I'm going for the ruggedly handsome look. You don't like it?" There was no conviction there, no real reassurance that he hadn't really stopped caring. "You look like hell, George. I'm the one who's dead, remember? You don't have an excuse." The words stung, even as they left his mouth. But he knew Fred's reasoning, his own reasoning, really, was right. "You have a point, dear Brother. I'll shave in the morning." He knew he was going crazy, trying to convince himself that Fred's voice lived on inside his own, but he couldn't help it. He missed his brother. "I wish you were here, Fred." He turned to leave the bathroom and answered himself. "Me too, Georgie. Me too."
George wanted so badly to dream of Fred, to see him again outside of his memories, but his dreams were never kind. He would wake in the morning feeling emptier than the night before. It was becoming harder and harder for him to function, to dress, to brush his hair. But, true to his word, he got out of bed and gave himself the first shave he'd had in over a month. Once he was finished, he looked again into the mirror, and for an instant, for the faintest second, he saw Fred's face looking back from behind the glass.
Oh, how he wanted to touch that face, so very like his own. He put his hand to the glass, hoping that by some miracle the slick coolness of the mirror would give way to his brother's heated skin. He sighed helplessly when his fingers felt only the coldness of glass beneath them, and turned quickly away from his memories, leaving the bathroom in a rush.
He dressed in a hurry, eager to be away from the flat that had once been home to both himself and his brother. With his shoes still untied, he opened the door and practically fled to the flight of stairs beyond. Today was Saturday, his day off, and he knew that he would have to pass Ron in the shop below on his way to the street.
This was always difficult, for the both of them, it seemed. George and Ron had never been close, but now that Fred was gone, their relationship was almost nonexistent, both of them too awkward to really hold a conversation for more than a few tense minutes. George made his way down the stairs slowly, trying to put on a happy face so as not to worry his brother more than necessary. He reached the foot of the stairs with little better than a grimace, but he thought it'd have to do.
Ron was sitting behind the counter, his eyes closed and drool forming at the corner of his lips. George almost managed a real smile at this; His younger brother was not a morning person. George crept closer to the still oblivious Ron, picking up a Screaming Saucer along the way. He leaned over the counter, less than a foot away from his snoring sibling, and cooed "Wake up, ikkle Ronnykins." Ron snorted, still asleep. George shook his head, a small amount of laughter playing at his lips. "Okay, then. You asked for it." And with that, he let the saucer fall onto the counter top, where it shattered and began shrieking in a very offensive and high-pitched manner.
Ron started with a yelp and fell out of his chair, looking around for the source of the incredibly annoying sound. He blinked up at George and finally seemed to realize what was going on. He took out his wand and cast a silencing charm on the broken saucer, before rubbing a sore spot on his back. "Bloody Hell, Fred. You could've just--" He looked horrified. "I-I mean... I mean you could've just--" But what George could've done, he would never know. He cut his brother off. "Fred's dead, Ron. He's dead." His voice was quiet, but there was something poisonous behind it.
Ron's ears began to turn pink along the edges. His tone was cutting. "It was a stupid mistake, George. You know it." He stood up from his spot on the floor and made to walk around the counter. George shook his head and began to walk towards the door. He could see a small crowd had already formed in front of the still closed store. "Whatever." He couldn't stay here, not with his emotions so close to the edge, but it seemed that Ron had a different plan.
As George was about to reach for the door handle, he felt Ron's hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face him, eyebrows raised. He was impatient. Ron looked sheepishly up at him. "Look. I'm sorry, okay? It won't happen again." George brushed Ron's hand off his shoulder. "I said whatever." He turned without giving Ron another look and grabbed once again for the door.
"What the hell's wrong with you?!" Ron's voice was icy. George had never heard him take such a tone with anyone, let alone a family member. He rounded on Ron and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Why don't you tell me, Ron? Since you know so much about my problems? Enlighten me." Ron's face was bright red now. It seemed he was having a hard time confronting his older brother. He managed a quiet "We all miss him, okay? It's hard on all of us!"
He was building courage. "You're the only one acting like an idiot about it! You don't live at home! You don't hear Mum fussing over you all the time." He put on a whiny falsetto. It was surprisingly convincing. "George shouldn't be cooped up in that flat all alone. George must get so lonely. Do you think I should ask George to come stay with us for a while, Arthur? His old room's perfectly fine. George, George, George, George! She thinks you're going nutters! We all do!"
George's head was reeling. He wanted so much to cry. He knew Ron was right. He was causing his family so much worry, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. And he was angry. He was so angry that for all the trouble he'd gone through to seem normal, no one had been convinced. He wanted to shout, he wanted to kick and scream and bite. And he wanted, most of all, for Fred to be there, by his side, but he wasn't. So George punched Ron. And Ron punched George back.
George was suddenly murderous. He lifted his hand to his face and felt blood there, running freely from his lip. He lunged at Ron, forgetting completely about consequences. Ron was obviously not expecting this, and the two men toppled back over a row of boxes filled with Skivving Snackboxes. George's fists were everywhere. He could see Ron through a cloud of red, his face alive with fury, and George knew he was being attacked just as fiercely, but he couldn't feel it. He delighted in the sensation of being numb. Ron was screaming, though he only barely heard it.
A blow to the head finally rendered him completely aware again, and Ron was screaming "GET OFF ME, YOU LOONY. GET OFF!" And so he did. He picked himself up and began to back away, but Ron grabbed at his trouser leg. He aimed a kick at his brother's side, and he was free once again. He looked down at Ron for the first time, really seeing him. His nose was bleeding down his face, and there was a large, nasty looking gash above his eyebrow. He was panting heavily, almost wheezing. George hoped he hadn't broken any of Ron's ribs, but he didn't think to ask about it.
He made his way for the door, talking over his shoulder as he went. "Don't worry about keeping shop today, Ron. I'll pick up the mess when I get back. Go home and get yourself cleaned up. Tell mum whatever you want." He reached the door and opened it, looking back at his still prone brother. Ron had a look of utter shock on his face, but George ignored it and said "See you later, then." As he closed the door behind him, he heard his brother shouting "You're bloody crazy! Crazy!"
He sighed and turned towards the curious crowd that had gathered around the shop. He put on a toothy grin and clapped his hands in front of him. "Sorry, folks. Shop's closed today. Maintenance, as it were," and before anyone could ask any questions, he apparated away.
~O~
Saturday night found George, black-eyed and and otherwise roughed up, at a small muggle pub in London. George could be found here most nights, actually. He liked the place. Here, in the muggle world, he was anonymous. If the men and women in the wizarding community didn't recognize him from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, they recognized him as "one of Harry Potter's friends." No, here, he could drown his sorrows in pint after pint, and no one would pay him any mind. He had received a few worried glances from the patrons of the bar, but he assumed it was normal, looking like he just fell off of a very tall building, and he ignored these looks easily enough. He ordered himself an ale at the bar and selected a booth in a rather desolate corner of the pub.
When his drink arrived, he took a large swig, and he let his eyes wander to the small fire that was burning merrily on the wall opposite him. He took another swig, his eyes still fixated on the flames, and tried to ignore the burning pain in his chest. This pain followed him everywhere, but it was especially bad today. After his fight with Ron, guilt had consumed him, making the ache for his brother, his best friend, ever larger. Fred wouldn't have let things get out of hand like that. Fred would have made some stupid joke about Ron's temper, and they all would have laughed and forgotten the whole thing. But Fred was gone, and George was making a mess of himself.
"It happens to the best of us, mate. Forget it." And there was his voice, nagging at the back of George's head. "It wouldn't have happened to you. I'm such an idiot. Ron's never going to forgive me." He took a long drink from his mug, trying to keep his eyes locked on the fire. "Of course he'll forgive you. He's your brother. You forgave me, didn't you?" George didn't know where Fred was going with this. This voice inside his head was unpredictable, sometimes. "Forgave you for what? You never did anything as stupid as what I did today." Fred's voice sighed. "...I left you." Oh. That. George didn't want to forgive him. He wanted to hate Fred. But it wasn't Fred's fault. And George could never be selfish with his twin. "Of course I forgave you." He watched intently as the fire twisted into undefined, beautiful shapes. "Just like Ron will forgive you. He loves you, George."
George was quiet. He drank deeply from his ale until it was gone. He ordered another. "I love you, Fred." He smiled to himself, and Fred smiled back. "I love you more, little brother." George thought this a bit unfair. There was less than ten minutes' difference between them, but George knew Fred would always tease him about this, and he secretly enjoyed it, anyway.
His second ale came, then, and he let Fred's voice fade away. As he drank, he thought about his brother. Very rarely did he allow himself to think freely about his past and the memories he shared with Fred, but if there was any occasion to reminisce, tonight was it. He didn't want to think about his fight with Ron anymore, so he forced his mind away from the present and into the past.
~O~
"Shh! Mum will catch us if you keep clomping around like that!" Fred reprimanded him, a finger to his lips. George huffed quietly. "I'm not the one who's being loud." He poked his twin playfully in the side. Fred squeaked and jumped away slightly. "Are you daft? I said be quiet! Do you want to get caught?" George shook his head and stood at attention, showing his brother that he was going to behave. Fred smiled. "Good. Now follow--
--me?" Fred furrowed his brow in confusion. "Do I like you?" Of course I like you. You're my brother! Who else would I be able to get in trouble with all the time?" Fred laughed at his own joke. George, however didn't seem comforted. Fred seemed to realize this, and said "Why do you ask?" George blanched slightly and unconsciously twiddled his thumbs as he replied "Well, I mean... 'cause you seem to like Lee a lot and I-- I was just... worried that maybe you liked him better than me." He felt rather foolish. But they had just arrived at Hogwarts, and George didn't want to be left alone in a new, intimidating place. Fred looked at him as if he were crazy before bursting into laughter. "Of course I don't like him better! I just met him. I've known you my whole life!" He rolled on the floor of the common room, before sitting up suddenly, a mischievous look on his face. "Why? Are you--
--jealous?" George thought about this for a moment before replying. "Of course I'm not jealous. If you're interested in her, go for it." Fred narrowed his eyes at him, seemingly trying to figure out if George was being honest with him. "You sure?" George wasn't, not at all, but he wasn't going to let Fred know this. "Of course I'm sure. But be careful. I heard that she and Zabini had a thing going on." Fred's mouth turned downwards in disapproval. "That second year Slytherin bloke? Yeuchh!" George was happy that his statement had cause this reaction. He thought maybe he could make it worse by telling him she'd been interested in--
--Malfoy!" Fred was seething, and George wasn't feeling very calm himself. "I can't believe that git got us off the team! Mark my words, George, next time I see the bastard I'm going to hex him until he's unrecognizable!" George liked the sound of this a lot, but knew it would most certainly get them into far too much trouble. "Fred. We'd likely be kicked out of school. You know how Umbridge is, she'd use any excuse to expel us." Fred suddenly looked round at him like he was a genius, the smile on his face stretched to his ears. He kissed George on the cheek and said "Georgie-boy, I have a plan." George was a little taken aback by the sudden affection, but he felt strangely excited by it at the same time. He found this odd, and decided to keep it to himself and listen to Fred's plan instead. "Le'mme tell you, Brother, this will be the cause for a most joyous--
--celebration toast, Fred?" Fred laughed loudly, quite drunk already, and clinked his glass against George's. "To a plan that went off without a hitch!" He knocked back his Firewhiskey, and seeing that George had not yet finished his, seized it from his hand and took a healthy swig from it. George laughed at his brother, and said "Did you see that old bat Umbridge's face? I don't think I'll ever forget that look." Fred nodded feverishly. "It was perfect!" They sat together, laughing every few moments in drunken happiness, until a pleasant silence fell between them. George was steeling himself for something, though he wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say, he knew he had to say something.
"Fred?" Fred looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Yes, George?" George took a long gulp of his "liquid courage," and sated, quite plainly, "I'm having rather inappropriate thoughts about you right now." He felt both relieved and anxious, and thought that maybe he had put it a little too bluntly. Fred stared at him, wide eyed, before slumping against the wall and saying "Oh. Everyone has those feelings about me. I mean... look at me! I'm the image of bloody perfection." George raised an eyebrow at this statement and pointed out "We're identical twins, Fred." Fred looked at him, confused, and George was positive he was playing the drunken thing up a bit. "Ah, yes. We are, aren't we?" He pushed himself away from the wall, and sauntered over to his twin. The breath hitched in George's throat. Fred didn't seem to notice as he inched ever closer, his lips parted in a dangerously seductive fashion. "I always wondered what it'd be like to kiss--
--myself." George was incredulous. "If you say so yourself?! I did more than half the bloody work on this place." Fred smirked at his brother. "Oh, George. You say toe-may-toe, I say toe-mah-toe." He waved his hand as if he were brushing the issue aside. George looked at him like he was stupid. "That saying doesn't even make sense in this situation." Fred just continued grinning at him. George shook his head, and finally said "At any rate, the place looks great. I think we're all ready for opening day." He heard an audible "Tsk" from behind him, and turned to look at his brother. "What? You don't think so? What have we forgotten?" Fred smiled that dangerous smile of his and beckoned George closer.
George was a little apprehensive, but walked slowly over to his twin, who was standing next to the counter. "Okay. So tell me, what's missin--" George had all the breath knocked out of him as Fred shoved him roughly against the counter. Fred leaned over him, slowly running a finger along his jaw. "I believe, dear Brother, that running a successful business requires more than just marketing skills. No, a certain amount of luck is involved." George wasn't sure if he liked where this was going, but Fred's close proximity and gentle fingers kept him from having any coherent thoughts, so he played along. " Alright, Fred. Since it seems you know everything, tell me how we may acquire some luck." Fred leaned closer still, stopping only when his nose brushed George's. "To make our little operation prosperous, I think a christening is in order." His voice was a purr, and George bit his lip briefly before replying. "A christening, you say? But when will we ever get the chance?" He feigned innocence and put a hand to his cheek. Fred's lips connected with his own, pushing against him with fervor. He pulled back, only slightly, just enough to whisper "How about right--
--now!" Fred's hands were all over him, touching his stomach, his hips. Those hands were pulling at him, pushing him down further into the small mattress they shared at Auntie Muriel's. Fred looked down evilly at him, his lips pulled into a wide smirk. A moan escaped George's mouth, and he arched his back upwards. He felt Fred quiver above him, and he brought himself up closer to meet him. Their lips clashed together, and Fred audibly moaned George's name. George liked this quite a lot, and bit roughly at Fred's lip. Fred moaned again, this time louder, and thrust deeply into George. George's hand flailed outwards, reaching the sheets and balling his fists around them, his head thrown backwards in pleasure. Fred's mouth kissed a long trail down George's neck, and he shook harder than ever, his movements becoming frantic. George ground his hips downwards onto his twin, and bucked roughly at the feeling it produced. "Fuck me, Fred." George pleaded between gasps of pleasure, and Fred groaned into George's mouth.
George ran his hands down Fred's sides and onto his stomach, delighting in the feeling of the muscles tightening and relaxing beneath the flushed skin. Fred was rolling into him now, his body rocking frantically against his brother's, and George's hands continued to explore, stopping to roll a sensitive nipple between his fingers, and then on to trace lines down Fred's back with his fingernails. Fred growled at this strange, sensuous pain, and began to shudder involuntarily, releasing a cry of ecstasy. George felt his own release building, and as Fred came inside him, the hot pressure of his orgasm spilled over. He cried Fred's name and grasped once more for the sheets; He was spent. Fred placed a delicate kiss on his temple before rolling to the side and wrapping a warm arm around is exposed chest. George looked over to his brother and smiled fondly. "I love you, Gred." Fred laughed quietly at this, and wound his arm tighter around his twin. "I love you too, Forge." George placed a hand gently on top of Fred's, and said "I wish we could just stay like this--
--forever?" George was suddenly back in the pub, the fire flickering before him, and a rather drunken man accosting him from a nearby table. "Could you repeat that?" George asked. The man looked at him like he was crazy. "I said. Are you planning on sitting there staring off into space forever?" George was slightly embarrassed, but he shook the man off. "Oh. No. I'm finished here." He stood up from his booth, and placed a small tip on the table. He gave one last fleeting glance to the man before leaving the pub and apparating back to Diagon Alley.
~O~
The shop was empty when he returned, which he was was thankful for, and he made quick work of cleaning up the scattered snackboxes before he locked up and preceded up the stairs to his empty flat. He took a quick shower, and threw on an old muggle T-shirt that Fred used to wear. George could almost pretend it still smelled like him, but he knew he was kidding himself. He chanced a glance at himself in the mirror, and was surprised by just how horrible he looked. He had two black eyes, and his split lip was caked with dried blood that even his shower hadn't gotten rid of. He smiled sadly at his reflection, and said "I really am a wreck without you, Fred." Fred didn't answer.
As he laid down in bed, George stared out his window, looking at the moon and trying everything he could to convince his subconscious that tonight would be different. "Tonight," he thought, "tonight I'll dream about Fred." And Fred's voice asked him "Was I good to you, Georgie?" And George sleepily replied, "The best." Fred's voice purred inside his head as he felt himself slowly falling asleep. He smiled sleepily to himself and clutched Fred's pillow closer. He knew tomorrow would be different, he could sense it. Tomorrow, he would be happy. Tomorrow, things would fall into place. He sighed as dreams of Fred flooded his mind, and as he drifted away, Fred's voice reached his ears. "I'll see you in the morning, George." George knew it was true this time, and answered. "I can't wait."
~O~~O~
A/N: So, there it is. I don't have a beta or anything, so there are probably some mistakes. If you catch any, please let me know. Thanks.
As a bonus, I guess. Here's the poem I wrote that inspired this story. It's not amazing or anything, but I thought I'd post it anyhow:
A Loss of Love
(And the Love Thereof)
Laughing all the way
The Jester meets the Reaper
He leaps, stunned, into the embrace
And leaves the broken world behind
A lonesome brother
looks, tired, to the empty bed
Yearning for his lover's arms
He breaks the silence with a cry
The lord of fire's lost his way
He wanders the empty house, the empty lanes
He searches for the life he lost
Quietly, the jester sighs
Mother soothes her angry son
Rubbing circles on a freckled back
He screams when she touches his neck
His lover's lips belong there
Jester dances in his mind
Tells him to forget
He won't, he won't, but Jester pleads
he turns away, and dreams empty dreams
Fire god has had enough
The flames dance, crimson, on his skin
Jester yells and pounds inside his head
But brother knows what he is doing
Smiling wide
The reaper meets him
Jester's fingers brush his own
Brothers, lovers, find each other
And cry and kiss and love, forever
They walk away
Hand in hand
Side by side
Together