A little bit of Fremione for you all. Definitely AU, with the wonders of a much-loved couch. Happy reading!
House: Ravenclaw
Category: Drabble
Prompt: A couch
W/C: 833
0-0-0-0
"I don't want it," I argue, dancing out of Fred's way and over to the other side of the room in our ridiculous game of Tag. "Take it back to your old apartment. Maybe George wants it."
"Hermione, my couch should be in our new house. It's a place we're going to share." Fred persists with me, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. He places on hand on the couch arm, and runs the other through his tired-out red hair. I watch his face carefully, as he slowly moves to sit down, and thinks better of it. Instead, Fred opts for the power pose, arms folded and waiting for my next attack.
"It belongs to your family," I insist, not feeling bad enough yet to let him win. Sure, I love him, but the couch is absolutely disgusting, and our house happens to be pretty much brand new. "Plus, we already have a new couch, so we don't need this one. And we don't have room for it."
It's true. Our house isn't big, and we chose a new couch several weeks back, which contrasts this one so completely. Well, sort of. The new couch is new, and it's blue, and it's comfortable. Whereas Fred's ugly, disgusting couch is old and a bright, viper green. The material is torn, and dotted with large purple stains in periodic places for some unknown reason. It's shrouded in some sort of sheep-skin blanket, which I first thought to be a simple cover, with something more beautiful underneath. Then, I revealed that monster beneath, and decided to not let it into my new home. Simply replacing the blanket led a tear to pull open down the side cushion, and me to step back in vehement disgust.
"We can extend the rooms," he continues, laughing more lightly this time, as if I am simply being just a little bit ridiculous. "Magic does exist, you know."
"I know that, thanks," I cut across, annoyed at his jibe. "Why can't you just give it to George? Or even Ron?"
"Can we not bring other people into this?" Fred demands. I shake my head in mirthless laughter.
"Stop it. We're talking about this damned couch. Why won't you listen to me?" I plead with him, inching ever so much closer. A little further from my safe-zone, but Fred has been safe for so long now that I can't possibly consider him to be a danger. Fred makes a small move, as if trying to reach out to me. But then he gives in, and lets him arm fall to his side again.
"Why won't you listen to me?" he parries right back, voice cracking. "I want this couch, Hermione."
Goddammit.
"Why do you want it so much?" I ask, moving another couple of steps towards him, venturing a little further into the beyond of Fred and his emotions. "What makes this couch important?"
I reach out to him, finally. My hand brushes along his arm, diffusing any of the tension from earlier. His eyes catch mine, and I know there's a story to come.
"It's been in my family forever," he starts. "George and I took it for a joke when we left the house for our apartment, and then I kept it in my room for ten years. It's just got so many memories attached to it." He appears to look back at the past. "You know, George and I used to sleep on it."
"When?" I laugh, imaging two ginger boys top-and-tailing it. He grabs hold of my hand and squeezes it lightly. Of course, I feel the same tenderness I naturally do towards him.
"We didn't have enough money for beds. Mum and Dad were sleeping on a mattress, Bill and Charlie shared a second, before the both of them went off to Hogwarts. By that time, George and I were 5, and could easily fit onto their mattress." He pauses. "Before that, it was hauling that green sofa into our room."
"Next best thing to sleeping in a drawer, right?" I ask, thinking back to the multiple movies I've seen where small babies are kept in drawers instead of the less affordable cots.
"I was really sick on that couch once. George and I used to set out our boxes of sweets on it. The last decent chat I had with Percy was on that couch. And you want me to pass it on to someone else?"
Several long moments are filled with silence.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know..."
"And that's okay. It may be just a couch, but it's an important one. Everything before and after the war, you know?"
"I get it, Fred," I tell him. "I really do."
He smiles at me, a little more weakly than I am used to.
"We can keep it if we can clean it," I suggest.
"We can't clean it," he informs me. I raise an eyebrow, groaning in frustration. Fred simply laughs. "I've tried."