Back to the land of the living

[thrihyrne]

Well, I've survived Salome and the first week of opera renewals. Won't bore you with RL stuff, but it is as though I have lived at least six lifetimes in the past few days. Today was blissful, though, and I've actually been doing lots of research into the characters Fred and George Weasley for the novella I have in mind. Not only that, but I finally have done some writing today, the first in weeks. I think I got some knitting done this week too, and have managed to incur $8 in library fines for a DVD that I didn't even get to see. Ah well.

I promise to check up on everybody and make vast amounts of comments (like to you, edrys; I went by HASA today and it kept kicking me out when I went to do anything, but I just assumed it was a fluke since I've never had any problems accessing forums and my own stuff before), to you jensa especially, since you are on the cusp of moving.

But being the I-wanna-share-my-even-barely-halfbaked-fanfic person I am, here's the first part of what will hopefully be a unique undertaking, a kind of re-telling of OotP from George Weasley's POV. I must say that writing HP would be easier if the books had Appendices like LotR. But doing the background research has been fun, too. Skimming is my friend.


Ten

“G’night.”

“G’night.”

There was a slight rustling of sheets as George Weasley shifted in his bed, placing his freckled hands behind his head. He stared up at the now-familiar ceiling at 12 Grimmauld Place, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Hey Fred?”

His twin stirred in the bed across the room. “Hmmm?”

“How’s this for an additional delicacy for the snackboxes? ‘Fever Fudge.’”

An appreciative but sleepy noise came from his brother’s direction.

“You remember those sandblast snaps we had in Egypt? Those were fiery alright. If I can just figure out…”

“Leshtalkaboutitinmorning,” Fred mumbled.

George sighed, listening to his brother’s deepening breaths which soon turned into an expected, all-too-familiar snore. With a practiced arm, he lobbed a fake wand at Fred, who muttered, “Ickle prefect,” and rolled over, his snoring temporarily silenced. George snickered, though Fred’s subconscious reply reminded him of just how much on his own he was.

They were.

He had been as shocked as Fred that Ron had been appointed prefect that year for Gryffindor, and in a convoluted way, he was grateful. If nothing else, it had stopped his mum’s seemingly unceasing litany of how many ways he and Fred had managed to be continual disappointments to the Weasley name. After Percy’s royal row with their dad, George had, in a rare attempt at familiar maturity, made a point of mentioning to their mum that he was actually doing quite passibly in charms, even if it didn't show up in his marks. It had not made the positive impression he had hoped for.

“Doing well in charms with only three O.W.L.s?” she had replied absently, flipping through the recipe section of Witches Weekly and glancing furtively at the ever-moving hands on their kitchen clock. Then she had sat up straight, her blue eyes boring into him, surprising him with their intensity. “It’s not too late,” she had said, eyes shining. “You and Fred are clever boys, if you would only quit putting so much energy into those infernal toys of yours.”

At that, George had lost his temper, an event rare enough given his agreeable personality, but exceedingly so because he had been sitting along with his mother.

“First of all, mum,” he simmered, “those ‘toys’ are not infernal, they’re popular. They’ve got market value. We can actually make real money selling them. I’ve been talking with Zonko, and he says…”

“The joke-shop owner?” his mother had interrupted, reproach heavy in the words. “You should have higher aspirations than running a store like that. You two…”

“I’m the only one here talking with you,” George had fumed, standing up, his face scarlet with rage underneath his freckles. “Even you may not always be able to tell us apart but we are NOT one person.”

As his mother gaped, he had paced from one side of the table to the other before rounding on her and saying heatedly, “For your information, Fred’s piss-poor at charms. Ruddy brilliant at numbers, though. Maybe if all else fails he can work at Gringott’s.” The wave of anger was receding, but he had had to leave with one last jab. “Wouldn’t that be irony for you; a Weasley working at a bank.”

“GEORGE XAVIER WEASLEY!” she had yelled to his back. “Don’t you EVER talk back to me like that again!”

He had continued with pounding footsteps to a side door of the Burrow and then after getting outside had let it slam satisfyingly behind him. He had been forced to be especially ginger around his mum for days afterwards, and had had to deal with mini-lectures from Fred about leaving their mum out of it on top of it all.

Admittedly, it could be far easier to think of himself as GeorgeandFred, though it was usually FredandGeorge. Always together, and identical.

Only they weren’t. And they weren’t.

Really, it was much more apt to say it was FredandGeorgeandLee. George didn’t want to give much thought to the fact that while Lee Jordan was the Third Musketeer in their trio (having a Muggle mother, Jordan had come up with that analogy, and their other roommate, Kenneth Towler, had never been close to them), he actually had plans beyond Hogwarts that did not include being a part of their joke-shop enterprise. They had invited him in, of course, but he really had his heart set on being a professional Quidditch announcer.

And they weren’t identical. Not really. Well, they were in appearance, usually, though Fred was more likely to forget to do his shaving spell for days on end until he received an affectionate but pointed comment from Angelina Johnson about having dragonhide for a chin and withholding her favors. George was also left-handed, and Fred was not. It was part of what made them such brutally seamless beaters, able to act like two hands on one body. George sometimes wondered if Hermione, Ron’s overly-observant friend, had told Harry about that, as the two of them were among the few outside of their immediate family who almost never confused their identities.

Fred’s newly rumbling snores brought George out of his reverie, and he leaned over to find something - anything- under the bed to toss at him. At Hogwarts they all had curtains which shut out the noise, but he had always been a much lighter sleeper than his twin. While being in this house had certainly had its advantages, namely a perfect place to pick up unexpected things like doxies and snuffboxes with wartcap powder, for some reason it had seemed to amplify noises in ways that didn’t happen in their own house, which, granted, was never quiet.

His hand scrabbled around on the floorboards until they closed around a broken quill. “Useless,” George grumbled, his fingers still searching for something that would make it across the room. He smiled tiredly as he found a dungbomb, then closing one eye, aimed at Fred’s thigh.

“Fizshing… Filch, never there, honest…” Fred commented in his sleep, one arm rubbing his nose.

Though he didn’t know how long they would actually be there, George was more than ready to return to Hogwarts. He closed his eyes and dozed off in the interim quiet.



I think I'm really going to enjoy writing about the twins. Other stories stewing, like the Eowyn/Aragorn. Just busy. And my dad and stepmom will be visiting from Washington state next weekend, so I guess I'll be cleaning the house this week. Was very pleased with myself on Saturday; I did my 4 1/2 mile run, got home, drank a heap of water, then mowed the backyard. Go me.

Comments

[jensa.livejournal.com]

snail mail on its way to you :)

I can't believe you jog so far, so often. it canna be good for you, lassie...lol. my exercise at the moment = pushing boxes around, dragging bookshelves to different rooms, parrying people's attempts to fit in yet another farewell event...

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

it canna be good for you, lassie...lol

Because of your comment alone I opted not to go running when I got home yesterday! ;) You must be continually sore with all of your packing; I hope that these farewell gatherings all involve yummy food. *grin*

Can't wait to get your letter! I just got a bunch of aerogrammes so I can write you shorter letters but perhaps more often. If there's anything to say... sigh...

[edrys.livejournal.com]

...I went by HASA today and it kept kicking me out when I went to do anything, but I just assumed it was a fluke since I've never had any problems accessing forums and my own stuff before)...

Ang got it fixed - or shall I say that she kept after the ISP till the issue was resolved. It will be a good thing in the end if I'm understanding her correctly (non-techie that I am); it sounds like the ISP has switched HASA to a better server. She posted a notice in Bug Reports explaining what has and is going on. not entirely shure if that last is grammatically correct... :-p

BTW you should be receiving a little package in the mail. I sent it off in Saturday's mail - I carried it around with me all day Friday, hoping for a chance to stop at the post-office to mail it - no dice. You do not want to know how Friday evening went *stupid cars* I would say that I wouldn't drive another Ford-Lincoln-Mercury vehicle if you paid me, but that is what I get paid for. *sigh*

I did my 4 1/2 mile run...

Kristi, add another twenty-one plus miles onto that run and I could be cheering you on in today's Boston Marathon. Go you! :-D

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

Ang got it fixed

I figured it was a passing thing, and it all seems to be fine now. It's kindof strange; even though I spend a fair amount of time at HASA in bits and spurts, I'm feeling a bit out of the loop. I was pleased to see that a few more of my stories had been added to people's recommended lists. Fascinating what people really gravitate to and what they don't.

BTW you should be receiving a little package in the mail.

Ooooh!! Between licia's beautiful drawing, your package and an expected letter from jensa, this will be the best mail week I've had in ages! Thank you so much. I'll really enjoy listening to the music you've picked out, I'm sure.