Memories
A/N: Hi! I'm back :). This is a one-shot for my Quidditch team, the Kenmare Kestrals. I'm using these lyrics from the song Memories by Within Temptation (which I do not own):
All of my memories
Keep you near
In silent moments
Imagine you'd be here
All of my memories
Keep you near
The silent whispers, silent tears
Get ready for the tears ;)
George sat on the dirty, torn, old couch in his mothers living room, legs thrown over the edge of the sofa and eyes dead set on three holes in the ceiling, each differing in size. George squinted, trying to make out the rough edges of the holes. He frowned, and rolled over. He could see better with his mind anyway.
The smallest hole. Now that was a memory.
Fred and George were laying on their stomachs, licking Neapolitan ice cream off the soggy sides of waffle cones. Fred kicked George in the knee. "Ow, Fred." George frowned. George scooted over, away from his 7-year-old twin.
"I'm bored, George."
"Well good for you, Fred. You don't have to kick me though."
"Make me un-bored, George!" Fred crammed the last inch and a half of ice cream into his mouth.
"That's not even a word."
"You're not a word."
"You're right I'm not."
"GOD SHUT UP GEORGE." Fred sighed, rolling over. He sat up quickly. "Did you see that?!
"See what?" George gazed at the sky.
"That was a crazy bird! It was HUGE! Wait, come inside!" Fred dashed inside, leaving George behind.
George moaned and rolled over, then lazily sauntered into the house. "Fred?!" He called, walking into the kitchen.
"I'm in the living room!" Fred exclaimed. George walked to the aforementioned location, then doubled over with laughter. "What?" Fred frowned, crossing his arms.
Tied to Fred's nose was a cup, and he had covered his hair in grey play-doh. He was holding a knife in each hand, and he had put black dots on the sides of himself with permanent marker. "You look ridiculous!" George exclaimed, laughing at Fred's confusion. "What are you?"
"I call it," Fred raised his head and stood proudly, "The Fredinator."
George giggled again, and Fred fought off a smile. "Oh, you think this is funny? It's funny, eh? Well how funny is THIS." Fred lunged at George, who only laughed harder. Fred laughed too, and chased George around the room. "I'll get you!" He yelled, and eventually George fell down in a heaping pit of laughter.
Seizing the opportunity, Fred climbed on top of their mother's huge new couch. "CHARGE!" Fred hollered, thrusting his right fist into the air.
A little plaster sprinkled on his head.
"FRED WEASLEY, WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Molly Weasley scolded, running out of the laundry room. She looked at her son on the sofa, the knife in his right hand plunged into the plaster. Molly took a deep breath. "Son, why are you dressed like a muggle airplane?"
"Is an airplane a really cool fighter person that can fly?" Fred asked, eyes wide and scared.
"No. It's like your father's flying car. Now tell me, dear: WHY IS THERE A HOLE IN MY CEILING."
Fred tapped his chin. "Well, um, you see... RUN, GEORGE, RUN!"
The twins dashed out of the house and into the green front lawn. They ran behind the house into the small forest behind their home, safe from their mother. "Fred?" George asked.
"Yes, George?"
"Are you wearing shoes?"
"Yes, I am."
"Were you wearing them when you went inside?"
"Yes."
"Were you wearing them on mom's new sofa?"
"Ye-NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
George laughed, harder than he had for quite some time now. He only imagined what Fred endured when their mother finally found him: nothing pleasant, that was for sure.
George hummed a little song, and that reminded him of the next hole.
13-year old Fred and George stood on their mother's dirty sofa, posed in front of the camera. "Veelcome to Vred and George's Vantasteec Show!" Fred announced, twirling a golden staff. He and George bowed to the camera. "Virst up, I weel make zee lovely George DISAPPEAR!" Fred pulled out a red cloth and wiggled it. "Ready?" Fred asked, pulling up the cloth. He waited, then put the cloth down again and wiggled it. Pulling it up again, he announced, "READY?" Waiting again, he put the cloth down and put a hand on his hip. "George, are you ready or not?"
"Do I really have to wear this?"
"Well duh, I wouldn't have given it to you if it was optional."
"I look like an idiot."
"Well I'm glad to hear you're looking like yourself."
"Don't laugh, Fred!"
"Fine."
George came out, covered in glitter and in tall black stilettos. He was wearing a flapper dress that was loose around his rail thin body, and makeup was artfully applied to his face. His hair was styled into a mess of curls, with diamond barrettes pinned into his hair. Immediately the room erupted in laughter.
"Fred, you said you wouldn't laugh!" George whined, stamping his foot into the ground.
Fred shrugged. "I'm not laughing."
George blanched and looked around the room, fear's cold grip accelerating his heartbeats. Ron, Ginny, Percy, Charlie, and Bill were all laughing themselves senseless. George glared at Fred.
"I haven't broken any rules we made. Let's go, George." Fred nodded. George frowned and took a deep breath. He threw his shoulders back and strutted to the front.
"Work it, girl." Bill muttered, and the family fell into hysterics once more.
George glared, and Fred rolled his eyes. "Anyvay, let us beegeen." Fred held out the cloth. "Can my lovely asseestant please geet behind my meestical cloak o meestical-nees." George rolled his eyes and walked behind the cloth. "Now I weel make him deesappear!" Fred continued to hold out the cloth, occasionally glancing down.
In the "audience", Percy raised an eyebrow. "Is he ever going to disappear?"
Fred glared. "Shut up, Percy." Fred shook the cloth.
"I'm not ready!" George whispered.
"Then hurry!" Fred whispered.
"I'm gonna go get crisps from the kitchen..." Ron said, moving to get onto his feet.
"NO!" Fred exclaimed. "I mean, uh... Voila!" Fred dropped the cloth, and Ron and Ginny's eyes widened.
"Woah!" Ginny stared.
"Awesome!" Ron nodded.
"Is that a stiletto heel?" Percy asked, one eyebrow raised.
"GOD PERCY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH A DOWNER ALL THE TIME. Come on, George, get out from under the couch."
George scrambled out and took a deep breath. "Wow it smells horrific under there."
Fred took a deep breath. "For my next treeck I veel make my lovely asseestant, George, eescape these handcuffs before I punch heem in the stomeech." He turned to George. "Ready, George?"
"As I'll ever be."
Fred nodded. "Leet us begeen." Fred attached his handcuffs to George's wrists, then tied a string from the handcuffs to the couch's leg. "Here we go!" Fred exclaimed. He then proceeded to punch George in the stomach, full force.
"That was really uncalled for, Fred." George moaned in pain.
"No, what was really uncalled for was you stealing my Falco Aesalon chocolate frog card." Fred nodded.
"This sucks." Bill whined.
"Veel, my last treeck certeenly veel not! Drumroll, please!" Ron excitedly pounded on his legs before realising he was the only one. "I veel cut my lovely assesstant George in half!"
"No way." George shook his head. "My body is staying whole."
"Come on, George, thees veel be fun!"
"Nuh-uh, I was born whole I'm staying whole."
"Actually I'm fairly ceerteen we virr conjoined." Fred nodded
"Nope."
"Yees, eet vas our heeds. They virr attatched."
"No way, not a chance. I've seen baby pictures."
"But eet's true. You got brains I got good looks."
"We're identical twins, Fred."
"Don't care I'm cutting you in half."
"I don't think so!" George winced as he wrenched his hands out of the handcuffs. He grabbed the staff in Fred's hand, and they pushed against each other for quite some time. Fred finally kicked George in the stomach, effectively getting him to lay on the ground, clutching his stomach in pain.
"Finally!" Fred yelled in triumphant awe. He hoisted the staff above his head with force, and he heard a crack.
"Aw, man." Fred sighed. He yanked the staff out of the ceiling and grabbed the camera.
"Scatter, scatter!" Bill was yelling, pointing his frightened siblings any which way.
"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW?!" Molly hollered. She looked at the two boys, who were trying to sneak out the front door.
"Well, mom-" Fred began.
Molly raised an eyebrow. "Are those my stiletto boots?" She looked at George's feet.
"Yeah, but-"
"And my dress?" Molly switched her gaze from George to Fred, registering who the true culprit was.
"Well uh-"
"ARE THOSE MY REAL DIAMOND HAIR CLIPS?!"
"RUN, GEORGE, RUN!" Fred screamed, and he and his brother tried to dash out the door.
"Ohh, no you don't." Molly scolded, grabbing Fred by his collar an George by his spaghetti strap. She dragged the boys behind her to the living room, where they would sit on the couch in time out. When they got there, rage burned even brighter in Molly's eyes.
"Why are there tears in my couch, George?" When she looked at him, George could feel the white hot rage in his mother's eyes licking his face.
"Stilettos sure are pointy!" Fred said in awe, never one for fear.
Molly glared at him, melting the grin off his face. She looked at the couch in confusion, then picked up a white chunk of plaster. She closed her eyes, trying to remain calm before she slowly lifted her gaze to the ceiling.
She smiled at her boys. "Oh, you two are getting it now."
George couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. The beating they got that day? Very fitting of their crime. He wondered what had ever happened to that tape. He knew Fred kept it, because during their fourth year at Hogwarts people called him fancy feet. George shook his head at his brother's antics, and finally confronted the last hole.
This one did not have a pleasant memory behind it.
No one had left their room for days. For George it was a different story: he hadn't entered his in days. Not since the war was one, not since he lost the most important person in his life. As he sat in Percy's old room, his brother was the only thing on his mind, and it was destroying him.
After two weeks of silence, of food taken from the kitchen to their rooms, and of occasional bathroom breaks, George couldn't take it anymore. This was not the life his brother wanted him to lead.
As he stood in front of the ratty oak door to his bedroom, he hesitated. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, and this hyperawareness made moving even harder. After what seemed like an eternity, he grasped the brass doorknob and pushed the door open.
Inside was surprisingly normal.
It smelled like it always had; outdoors and sweaty boys. It looked like it always had; messy and dirty. It only felt different. It only felt like the spirit which had held this room together was gone, and this "normal room" was chaotic and dizzying. George wobbled over to his bed and sat down, then laid his head on his pillow and closed his eyes.
POP!
George sat up with a start as confetti covered his face. A fire cracker went off at the foot of his bed, and when it was done a banner fell open, reading "Fred is the best!"
George laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh; it was the hysterical sort of laugh a madman feels during his descent into insanity. So George sat there, laughing, which only progressed into unending tears. Fred was really gone, and this was his last words to him. Fred is the best. And it was fitting, in George's eyes, that his brother's last words reassert his awesomeness. And it was painfully, painfully horrid, because George should never have had to hear, see, or read his brother's last words. Live together, die together; that was their rule. But Fred didn't like rules, and he had to break every last one, no matter the pain it caused people.
George turned to rage, and he picked up his alarm clock and threw it as hard as he could at the ground. Springs and plastic flew all over the room as the clock shattered. George pulled out all of his drawers and threw those at the ground, too, dress pants and silly sweaters and socks flying every possible direction. And when he ran out of things to throw, he collapsed, and he punched the ground.
Molly appeared in the doorway. "George, stop!" She pleaded, fresh tears falling down her face.
"How could he do this?!" George screamed, rage and pain bubbling and boiling and spilling over. "He's so selfish, how could he just go and die? Didn't he realise that he's left us all behind? Didn't he realise we were suppose to go together? Why wouldn't he just pay attention for once in his bloody life?" On the last word, George punched the ground as hard as he could. George Weasley punched the ground so hard his fist went through the plaster and out the other side.
George blinked, snapping out of his hysterical stupor. "Son of a gun." George whispered. He pushed past his mother and dashed down the stairs into the living room. He looked up. Above his mother's torn, dirty, old couch there was a hole in the ceiling, a third, large hole. George's rage twisted into a more beautiful sadness, a feeling of the colour blue and sad love stories and sitting alone in front of the sunset. George say on the couch and wept, and he wept harder than he had for a long time.
Arthur, his father, wiped tears from his face. "I can have it fixed by morning, son. Let me go get my tools-"
"No." George whispered, and he smiled. He smiled a real, genuine smile for the first time since his brother had died. "I like it like that." And George laid back on the couch, at peace with the 3 holes in the ceiling of the house. He was content, because George's hole and Fred's holes could be together, even when the brothers themselves could not be.
George smiled at the holes, just like he had so long ago. Suddenly a hand grasped his. "Are you ready to go, dear?" Angelina, his wife, asked, smiling at him.
"Yeah." George smiled. He stood up and placed a hand on her stomach. "How is Fred II doing?"
"It could be a girl, you know." Angelina smiled.
George out an arm around her waist and smiled at the holes in the ceiling. "It's not."
A/N: Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this, and to my team: sorry it's late, there was a lot of confusion around this one. Anyway, I hope you liked it :)