Beta: thanfiction, thank you and sorry about the whinging.
Characters/pairings: Fred Weasley (next gen), George Weasley, Arthur Weasley, other family members
Rating: R (due to some strong language and adult themes)
Warnings: There are a couple of time jumps in telling the story.
Summary: This was for prompt 8 – One of the children (any of them) is a Squib and the ramifications of that for the Obscure Character Challenge.
June 15, 2013
Fred Weasley sat on the porch swing with his sister Roxanne sitting beside him, holding his hand in hers. She opened her other hand, showing Fred the tiny purple flower in her palm. He smiled without envy. "How do you do that Roxy?"
"I don't know, Fred." She handed it to him. "Happy Birthday."
"Cheers." He took it in his hand, and they sat together, swinging. He stared at the flower in his hand as it changed colors from lilac to lavender to purple and spoke quietly. "Uncle Neville says he didn't show magic for a really long time either, but look what he did. He killed the snake. It's in all the new books Aunt Hermione brings over."
"We'll have him for Herbology, you know. He's a professor."
He nodded at his sister, but stared at the flower. They looked up as they heard the flutter of wings, both wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the big brown owl soared overhead, seeming to float on the breeze above them as it dropped an envelope between the two siblings. They watched it drift down slowly and stared at it as it landed on the wood planks of the bench. The ivory-colored parchment was almost glowing against them as their dark fingers brushed over the delicate calligraphed letters. One envelope. One envelope. They gaped at it with rapt attention, neither of them moving, barely breathing.
It lay between them and when Fred picked it up, handing it to his sister, his fingers were trembling. One envelope addressed to Roxanne Weasley. "Congratulations," he whispered, his voice quivering. "Happy Birthday, Roxy." His fingers left the parchment and he leapt off the swing, running towards the orchard.
Fred ran. He ran, and he didn't look back until he was just beyond the edge of the orchard. His breaths came in ragged bursts; spit flying out through his teeth, tears stinging his eyes, burning as he squeezed them closed. For a moment, he was moving so fast, he felt like he was flying.
He stopped just beyond the tree line, bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His chest was heaving, lungs wheezing and as he opened his eyes, he glimpsed his father standing just outside the kitchen door. He saw Roxy standing in the window behind George. Fred stood--barely out of sight he hoped--and leaned his tall frame against the tree, peering through the branches, still trying to catch his breath. He watched his father as he stood, and he thought of returning, but then he saw him cover his mouth with one hand and lean on the picnic table with his other. Fred imagined that he was crying, disappointed in his only son. The Squib. He watched his father's body shake for only a moment more, and then he turned and ran some more. He went deeper into the orchard, tripping on roots and apples that had fallen. He didn't notice that it was a bit early for the apples to fall, but he sidestepped a few before stepping on a large one and sliding, falling over, banging his face on the ground.
He lay there, breathing in the sweet smell of the apples and the musty flavor of the dirt. There was a spicy scent as well from the peat and right under his nose was the smell of fermentation and he thought of the apple wine he drank with Granddad. He wanted to drink it in now, to forget what hadn't happened today; what he didn't get today; what he'd lost today. Everything would be different.
He lay curled up, face down in the dirt, his lanky body shaking with sobs, his curly hair covered in bits of twigs and leaves. He could hear the crunch of leaves under his father's heavy boots. He said nothing until he was sitting beside Fred and touching his soft curls with gentle fingers, then he said his name. Fred jerked away at the sound, and George made no move to touch him again, speaking quietly, "Fred," he said, "Come sit with Daddy. Let's talk."
Fred remained motionless except for his shaking back and silent except for his sniffling and the occasional release of a mournful sob. He felt his father's hand move to his back and he spoke hoarsely. "There's nothing to talk about. In two months, Roxy goes to school. I stay here or at Grandma's or at your flat."
"No, Fred. That's not what happens."
"Of course it does, Dad. I'm a Squib." George watched Fred moving the leaves under his fingers in an aimless way, picking up a handful and pushing them away, lifting them up again and throwing them. "Go away," he said quietly. George leaned his back against the tree, pulling his hand away from his son's hair, but he didn't leave. They sat there in silence for several minutes until Fred said again, "go away, Dad. I can't face you."
"What does that mean, Fred? What do you mean that you can't face me? What are you talking about?"
"Dad. I'm worse than a Muggle. They're not supposed to be magical, and if they are, they come here. Where am I supposed to go? Where are you going to send me?"
"I'm not sending you anywhere, Fred." George sounded appalled.
"I can't stay here. How can I face everyone? Teddy, Victoire, Molly, even little Lily has more magic than I have." He sat up now, facing the tree, criss-crossing his legs, staring into his lap, fiddling with his hands.
"Fred…" George reached out his hand to touch his son's, but Fred pulled back, lurching his whole body away. George lunged for him, grasping him by his shoulders.
"Dad! Get off me!" Fred pulled, but George was stronger, and he held on, pulling his son into his lap, sliding an arm around his back, and pulling him closer. He ran his hand through the soft curls, and when Fred laid his head on his father's shoulder, he began to cry again. "This is the worst day of my life. At least, yesterday, I could pretend that I would get the letter; that I was magical. Now, I'm nothing." The tears began to flow freely, wetting George's neck and the top of his shirt. He felt his father cringe and he began crying in earnest and shaking again. He could feel George's hands rubbing his head and his back, trying to be comforting but failing.
"You're not nothing, Fred. You are Frederick Arthur Weasley. You love apples and climbing trees. You draw better than anyone I've ever met in my life. You can do the shop's books better than your Aunt Hermione. You're brilliant at those card tricks –"
"Muggle card tricks," he sobbed.
"So what if they're Muggle card tricks? They're still brilliant. You dance better than me."
"That's not saying much, Dad." His tears stopped if only briefly and a smile flickered.
"You remember everything you've ever learned. You're my son, Fred, and you're amazing."
"But I'm not a wizard." He pushed his face deeper into his father's neck, and began to sob once more. George rested his head against his son's and rocked him like he used to do when he was a toddler who skinned his knee, but this was no skinned knee and a few kisses and well-chosen words wouldn't make it all better. They both knew that, and they cried together at what was now lost, their tears mixing together. Even Fred knew that he needed to mourn before he went forward.
June 16, 2013, 1 day later
The Burrow was filled with people. Aunts and uncles and cousins. Teddy Lupin was there with his grandmother. He and James were playing Catch the Snitch. Fred watched as youngest cousin Lily rode around on a toy broomstick. Fred had a similar one when he was five. Al was playing Exploding Snap with Rose and as the cards blew up in his face, Uncle Ron came by, swishing his wand and the singe marks were gone. Magic was everywhere here. Everywhere except with Fred.
He tried to smile as his uncles thumped him on the back, wishing him a happy birthday. He smiled when mum's boyfriend, Martin gave him his gift – a journal to keep track of the first special year at Hogwarts. He had given him a special quill to go along with it that changed colors for his sketches. Martin had really grown on him in the last year. It had been difficult when his parents sat him down with Roxy when they were seven to tell them about the divorce. He was even more surprised when Mum sat them down just over a year ago to introduce them to Martin. Dad had already met him and he was nice enough and he did like him. But now, as he watched him, wand out, guiding the platters out of the kitchen and then levitating little Hugo up into the tree, he seemed more like a Weasley than Fred did. He was a wizard. And Fred wasn't.
Fred managed a weak smile when Grandma Molly showed him the birthday cake with images of him and Roxy as they grew up flashing through the cake frosting. He swallowed and felt as though the garden were closing in around him. He caught sight of his Dad and realized for the first time today that he looked sad as Fred looked at him. Dad was watching him as he wandered around the garden, avoiding everyone. Fred realized as well that his father had been watching him, following him around like he was a small child who couldn't be left alone; couldn't be trusted. Was he afraid everyone would find out? Their eyes met briefly, but then Fred broke the gaze first and turned away and looking at the orchard, his favorite place here and at home. He moved away from under his Dad's watchful eye and sat down under an apple tree, his long legs stretched out in the leaves and grass. He looked up in the tree, wanting to taste an apple, but not wanting to get up.
"Want an apple, Fred?"
His eyes flickered over to his cousin. Victoire stood over him, casting his legs in shadow, wand already out. "No thanks," he mumbled tonelessly.
"Sure? I can drop one in your lap."
"No thanks."
"You love apples, don't you Fred? Aren't you hungry?"
"I said no thanks Victoire. Leave me alone." His voice rose an octave as he became more annoyed with his intrusive cousin.
"You're very grumpy for someone having his birthday party today." Victoire was fingering her wand, directing her eyes from one apple to the next, thinking. "You'll get your own wand soon, and then you can get the apples yourself." She flicked the wand at the tree and landed a nice bright red one in his lap.
Fred's eyes burned as he looked at the shiny round fruit balancing between his legs. "Fuck off Victoire." His voice had a hostile, nasty bite to it.
She gasped, sounding very much like her mother, but it wasn't Victoire gasping. Or her mother. It was Grandma.
"Fred! That was uncalled for. Apologize to your cousin."
Fred reluctantly looked into Victoire's smug face. The idea of apologizing when he'd done nothing wrong brought the bile up in his throat. It burned. His nostrils flared. He swallowed down the taste and looked into his cousin's blue eyes. "I'm sorry I told you to fuck off. Will you please leave me alone?" He picked up the apple and tossed it into a nearby grouping of trees. Victoire's mouth gaped and his grandmother gave another audible gasp. Fred was pleased. He had obeyed his grandmother after all, but then he heard a new voice, and he knew that having won the battle, he had lost the war. It was Granddad's voice.
"Molly, Victoire, leave Fred be. It's not every day a boy turns eleven. I'm sure he has a lot on his mind."
Molly took Victoire's hand and they headed back into the garden. Arthur awkwardly folded himself onto the ground next to Fred and looked at his grandson. "You shouldn't have said that to Victoire." His statement was non-judgmental and matter-of-fact, but it stung the same as if Fred had been struck.
"She hears worse at school."
"That doesn't make it okay." Fred met his grandfather's eyes for the first time. He had soft blue eyes, not as bright as Uncle Bill's, but there was always a twinkle, even now when he was angry. "Fred," he began gently. "You're getting older. You need to set your priorities. One of them should be to remember who your friends are. You'll be starting school in the autumn and your cousins who are there already will help you, but you can't tell them…" He paused, but surprisingly followed through, and finished his thought with, "to fuck off and expect them to help you out." Fred's eyes widened as he looked into Arthur's face, shocked that he repeated the profanity, but then his mind returned to what he said about school and his face fell again, looking away.
"I won't be at school in the autumn. I'm not going."
"Of course you are, Fred. You and Roxy –"
"No Granddad. Roxy's going. I'm not. Didn't Daddy tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Fred's eyes pooled with tears and he looked into his grandfather's expectant face. He looked down for a split second, but he raised his eyes, looking unwaveringly into his grandfather's eyes, biting his lip, needing to say the words out loud to someone besides his father, and wait for the consequences; for the horrid reaction. He was eleven after all. He might not be going to Hogwarts, but he was eleven. He balled his fists as he returned the look to Arthur and he smiled at his grandfather, feeling a warm embrace from the kind eyes he'd seen his whole life. He did not want to disappoint the man who shared his Muggle workshop with him since he was four, who taught him to de-gnome the garden, who shared his first satsuma with him. He spoke slowly and clearly, so he would only have to say it once. He couldn't say it more than once. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as they began to water, taking a deep breath, not wanting to cry. His voice shook, but only a little. "I'm not going to school, Granddad. I'm a Squib." And there it was. There was a long pause while their shared gaze held.
"Well, Fred, you'll still need to go to school."
"Sorry?"
"Fred, you're eleven. You'll need to go to school. If it's not Hogwarts, it will be someplace else. I'd think that would be apparent."
Fred's lip quivered and his eyes became wet. He twisted up to his knees and lunged at Arthur, throwing his arms around his neck and hugging him so forcefully they both fell over in laughter.
"You're a bright and beautiful boy, Fred. You can't change what you are; only what you become. You have many talents. Play to your strengths, Fred. Always remember that. Focus on what you're good at, and the rest will come." Arthur held Fred's face with the palm of his hand and kissed his forehead. "I don't know about you, but I'd like some of your Grandma's lunch now."
December 20, 2013, 6 months later
Christmas at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was almost as busy as back to school. Fred was helping during the holiday, waiting for Roxy to return home from her first term at Hogwarts. He was restocking the Daydream Charms, wondering if Dad would notice one missing. Fred rolled his eyes. Of course he would. Dad knew how many Fainting Fancies were in the case at any given time. It was almost lunch time, and Fred was hoping for break. He had already put out the Whiz Bangs, the trick quills and a new supply of Phony Prophecy Orbs, breaking only one. He was a little embarrassed, but there was no one in the store and he cleaned it up quick with a broom and dust pan, binning the glass. He knew that when he went out for lunch, Dad would take it out of the rubbish bin and repair it with his wand. Dad was too stingy to just bin it, but he wouldn't embarrass Fred by taking it out while he was there.
Fred was still having a tricky time navigating the Muggle world. He had started school, saying that he just moved to London from the country, and he could walk there from the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom would let him through to Diagon Alley so he could floo to Mum's or he stayed with Dad, doing homework in the office or hanging out in the flat. The flat was pretty boring. He couldn't even turn on the wireless without help.
For George's part, he tried to ignore his son's lack of magical ability, asking no less of him than he would Roxy around the flat and the shop, but Fred knew that he also realized that it would be more difficult for him. Like breaking and repairing the prophecy orbs. George hated taking it out of the rubbish, but he couldn't afford to throw one of those away. And Fred knew it. And he understood. It still hurt. And George knew that as well.
George tossed his son a couple of Galleons. "Roxy'll be here soon. Your mum as well I think. Do you want to pop over to the sandwich shop and get us some lunch?" He smiled.
"Sure, Dad. What do you want?"
"Corned beef, lots of mustard."
Fred rolled his eyes. "I'm so surprised. Drinks?"
"Not for me. Get what you like."
"Firewhisky?"
"Pumpkin juice then, Freddie."
"Okay. Butterbeer?" George smiled at him with a nod.
Laden down with his sandwich bag and a carry tray of drinks for himself and Roxy, he headed back to the joke shop. He was walking swiftly but carefully, trying to balance everything. He was thinking that he should have brought his grandmother's push cart when he heard his name.
"Weasley."
He turned to face in the direction where the voice had come from, seeing the dark haired, troll shaped figure before him. "Flint."
"I haven't seen you much at Hogwarts this term."
Fred shrugged and started walking again.
"Where's your wand, Weasley?"
Fred paused but didn't turn around. "Must have forgotten it at the shop."
"Really?" Flint took out his wand. "No wand. No Hogwarts. If I didn't know any better, I might think you were a Squib. A Weasley Squib."
Fred took one step away from the taunt, but then he was frozen in place. He could feel the power of Flint's wand over him, and he grimaced. He tried to step away again, but he was immobilized.
"Don't you know any counter-jinxes, Weasley?"
"Let me go, Flint."
"Make me."
"I'll make you," came another voice from behind Fred. He heard Flint groan, and now that he was able to turn, he did, seeing Flint crumpled on the ground, wand still in his hand with Roxy standing over him, her wand out and pointed at the wanker.
Fred could feel the blood coursing through his veins. His breath was trying to escape through his closed mouth while his nostrils flared. His fists tightened on the bags he carried; the bags of lunch. He felt like he would be sick as he looked at his sister standing over Matthew Flint. His eyes burned in anger. His head throbbed. "I don't need your fucking help, Roxy. I can handle an arsehole like him."
"Handle me?" Flint mocked. "Yeah, you handled me, alright."
Fred felt something twitch in his neck. He didn't feel the bags drop from his hands to the cobblestones below. He didn't hear the glass of the butterbeer bottles shatter. He didn't feel the butterbeer as it splattered his trousers and boots. All he felt was the throbbing in his head, the beating of his heart and all he heard was the sound when his boot connected with Matthew Flint's jaw and the loud crack of it breaking. He glared at his sister with a look so hateful she recoiled. "I don't need your help." He turned back towards the joke shop, picking up his mangled packages and moving swiftly to bring his father lunch. He knew there would be hell to pay later, but right now, he felt good.
Fred and Roxanne sat in their bedroom, looking at each other, not speaking, but listening to the shouting that was happening in the living room. Mum and Dad were really going at it. Fred and Roxy exchanged a pointed look. At least Martin had the good sense to stay out of it this time. From what Fred had gathered using an Extendable Ear, Flint's father was pretty upset about his son's jaw being broken and wanted charges filed. He mentioned Azkaban more than once. Martin was able to talk him out of that, much to Mum's relief. Then the Flints wanted Fred banned from Diagon Alley. He was a Squib after all, and didn't belong in the wizarding world. Martin couldn't get a word in edgewise once Dad started in on how his son would not be banned. The wizarding world was his world. He lived over the shop. He worked in the shop. It would be his shop one day. It was his legacy. Fred thought back to what he should have done differently. What else could he have done? He knew that he needed his sister's help. Part of him hated her for that. But he knew that he had to stand up to Flint or the taunts would never end. The bedroom door opened. He looked at Martin's distressed face as he beckoned Fred into the living room. To his parents.
"What happened?" Angelina's voice was strained. He looked at his mother's face, but couldn't hold her dark eyes with his. He looked for Dad, but he was sitting next to the fireplace, staring into the flames. His mother would never understand, he knew that, so he took a step towards Dad when he spoke.
"Dad –"
"I asked you a question, Fred." She grabbed his elbow as she spoke, her tone slightly harsher than the first time.
He shook her hand off with a glare. "Nothing happened. Dad," he repeated, taking another step forward. George faced him, looking angrier than he'd ever seen his father.
"Your mother asked you a question, Fred. Answer her."
Fred chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling as though he had been struck. He looked at his mother. "Nothing happened. I was bringing lunch back. He, Flint, wondered why I wasn't at Hogwarts and asked me where my wand was. He called me a Squib. I walked away and then I was frozen in place. Then I wasn't."
"How did his jaw get broken?" Her tone told Fred that she was losing patience with his eleven year-old bravado.
"I kicked him in the face."
"Fred." Her tone was severe.
"Is Roxy in trouble?"
"Sorry? Roxy? No, she's not in trouble. She was –"
"Yes, I know. She was protecting me, but as you can see I don't need protecting. I handled it fine on my own."
"Fred –"
"Mum, are you saying that if I used my wand instead of my boot this would have all been okay? Is that what you're saying?" Silence overtook the room, and he saw his father's body stiffen. "Because Mum, I don't have a wand." His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. "I don't have a wand. Maybe the Flints are right. Maybe I don't belong here after all. Just get me a cat and ship me off to some Muggle cousin to live with." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Oh, that's right. Weasleys don't have Muggle cousins. They're all pureblood wizards. Except me. Fred the Squib. Can I go to bed now?"
Angelina looked at her son, her eyes moistening. She nodded slowly. He left the living room without another look for anyone. After that, it was quiet in there as his parents, sister and mum's boyfriend had tea. He couldn't even lie in his bed and cry. He couldn't cast the Muffliato spell on the bedroom for privacy. He reached into his bedside table and grabbed the blank journal Martin had given him for his birthday six months ago. Taking out the multi-colored ink quill, he began scratching furiously until he had created a sketch. It was a troll looking boy crumpled in a heap on red cobblestones, his mouth bleeding onto his crisp white shirt. Fred smiled and turned the page and began scratching again. On the second sheet of bound parchment, he saw his sister's face peering back at him. On the third page, he drew the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop front. The fourth page became his mother. By the time Roxy came to bed, he had several pictures finished. He placed the book under his pillow and fell into a thoughtful sleep.
July 7, 2020, 7 years later
"Dad!" Fred ran through the shop, shouting, ignoring the customers' odd stares, stopping in the office, surprised to see his father in an in-depth conversation with Martin. "Dad!" he called again before he realized he was interrupting. "Oh, sorry. I thought –"
"It's all right, Fred," George said. "Do you want to tell him?" he asked Martin.
"I think Angelina might like to tell him, don't you think?" Martin winked and left through the shop. Fred watched him go, and turned quickly back to his father.
"Tell me what?"
George laughed. "He may be right. Your mum may want to tell you herself."
"Come on Dad. You can't keep a secret. Remember when Uncle Lee eloped and you accidentally announced it on the wireless? What's going on with Martin and Mum?"
"Just for that, I'm not telling you anything. What's got you so excited?"
Fred waved two envelopes in his father's face. "I can't believe they both came today."
"What are they?" His father's eyes were twinkling.
"This one," he said, holding up the white envelope, "are the results of my GCSEs and this one," holding up the green one, "is my response from the uni."
"Well?"
"I haven't opened them yet."
"Well, what are you waiting for? Open them."
Fred's eyes twinkled, but held the envelopes just out of reach of his father. "What is it Martin wants Mum to tell me?"
"Fred."
"Dad. I'm willing to trade one envelope for a nugget." He smiled.
"You're going to be a big brother." As the words reached Fred's ears, he was momentarily stunned, leaving an opening for George to lunge forward and grab the green envelope. "So, you don't know what this says yet, do you?"
"Give it here, Dad," he said, reaching.
"You open yours, I'll open this one, and then we'll trade."
"Deal. So, Mum's going to have another baby?"
"Yeah. Are you okay with that?"
"Sure. I'll be a great big brother. What about you?"
"I'm already a big brother."
"You know what I mean."
"I'm fine. I'm happy for her. Ready?" Fred nodded and they both tore open their envelopes.
"I passed my GCSEs!"
"Fantastic. You've also got into the uni."
"I what?"
"Congratulations." He gave his son the letter and watched him read it. "What are you planning on studying?"
"Art."
"Really?"
"It's something I'm pretty good at, and I can do it for Muggles and Wizards."
"You're brilliant at it," George agreed, looking around his office at the many pieces that Fred had done for him over the years. "That's good thinking," he nodded.
"And the girls love an artist."
George laughed, drawing his son tightly to him in a long hug, kissing his head.
February 5, 2021, 7 months later
"What are you doing here?"
"Hey Fred. Roxy said you liked to eat lunch here between classes. Thought I'd surprise you. I didn't know you'd have a date."
"Dad," Fred winced. "This isn't a date. This is my professor. Dr. Sarah Price, this is my Dad, George Weasley. Dad, Dr. Price."
He looked at her bright smile as she brushed a dark hair out of her face. "Why don't you join us, Mr. Weasley?"
He sat down in the empty chair. "And what subject do you teach, Dr. Price?"
"Live nudes."
Fred rolled his eyes as George's smile broadened, shaking the professor's hand.