Twin story update

[thrihyrne]

In which the author elaborates on a few throwaway lines from JKR to write pages about the twinses.




***

“Right Lee? Got the chronomos set?”

“Bloody hell, yes!” Lee stood, holding the timepiece in his hand and looking insulted. “I’m not dim. All I have to do is write down how long it takes for the fever to set in and how long before it subsides.”

George glanced down at the square of confectionary in his hand, then back at his friend.

“We’re none of us Ravenclaws, though I’m beginning to wonder about you two,” Lee continued.

Fred chuckled. “They care far too much for rules to my taste. No, it was always Gryffindor. The few, the brave. Eh, Georgie?”

“Most certainly,” George replied. “Let’s give this a go.”

“Right lads.” Lee stood at attention. “On my mark. Now!”

Lee waved his wand at the timekeeper and it began tallying the seconds which passed. George put the fudge in his mouth at the same time as his twin. They both chewed, then swallowed. George looked over at Fred, who was licking his fingers with zeal.

“Where’d you get the recipe?” Fred asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Where d’you think?” George retorted. “Mum, of course. Tried and true. It’s not as though I spent the summer sitting on my bum looking through her cooking books.”

“You wouldn’t know it,” Fred said, admiringly. “Excellent stuff. Very chocolaty, but smooth as silk. And nuts! You put-“

“A few bits of walnut. Shut it. I wanted to be sure to cover the taste of the potion.”

Fred grinned at Lee. “George here has missed his calling! He should be a chef at one of those posh… Oh. Bollocks.”

George felt the sensation as Fred started to swear. It was a wave of heat, beginning in his stomach and spreading outward, settling in his forehead and in the palms of his hands. He began to sweat.

“Now, Lee,” George muttered.

“Got it.” His dark hands clutched at a quill, scratching down the time that had elapsed from when they had ingested the chocolate until the effects took place. “Wow, that was fast.” He gazed at them worriedly. “How d’you feel?”

“Hot,” George answered.

“Ill,” Fred said, and George quickly turned to look at him. “No, not really,” he backpedaled. “Just hot. Guess it’s working.”

While George was uncomfortable, he was gratified that his research into the mysterious ingredient in the biscuits he’d had in Egypt had come to fruition. Now all he had to do was sit out the odd sensation of getting a sunburn from the inside out.

Fifteen minutes later the heat dissipated as quickly as it had surged through him at the onset. George looked at his twin. “Gone?” he asked.

Fred nodded. “Vanished!” he said encouragingly. “Time?”

Lee turned the face of the chronomos to the pair and confirmed it had lasted a quarter of an hour.

“Just long enough to get out of class and say you’re going to have a lie-down and have proof to back up your claim if you get waylaid in a corridor,” George explained as he stood up from his bed.

Lee shook his head, a look of awe on his face. “You’re really clever, you know?”

George acknowledged the compliment with a grudging shrug of his shoulders, then busied himself with juggling three items currently transfigured into red and gold balls with a big “C” on them. He enjoyed juggling; it allowed him to concentrate one part of his mind while the rest worked through other, more complicated thoughts and issues. Or not being embarrassed.

“We should celebrate the creation of yet another successful product in the Weasley line!” Fred said with enthusiasm.

“Firewhiskey?” Lee asked, motioning toward their well-stocked pantry of contraband alcohol.

“Excellent choice,” Fred replied, rubbing his hands together. “You in, George?”

“’Course.” He applied more muscle into his throwing and the balls arced into impressively high zeniths before he collected them in his left hand and dropped them onto his bedcovering. He joined Fred and Lee in a toast to their continued success and had just tossed back the liquid and slammed down the glass when their door opened.

“Towel-head!” Fred enthused as their roommate walked toward them.

“Gentlemen,” Kenneth said, making disapproving ‘tsk’ing sounds with his tongue but striding straight toward the bottle. “There are terms for people who are found drinking at two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Magnificent,” George said as Fred rejoined, “Bloody fantastic.”

Kenneth got his own glass and poured a healthy shot, then raised his glass to the trio.

“Hypocrite,” Lee scowled as he watched Kenneth drain the contents.

“No, my dear Lee. I was merely making an observation.” He looked over at George’s lab table, saw the fudge and chronomos and suddenly went pale. “Fuck,” he swore. “Did you put something in this? I’ll kill you both. I’ll kill you all if…”

“No, Towler,” George reassured him. “We were trying something out, but only Fred and me. If anybody’s doctored the firewhiskey, it’s Lee.”

Lee raised his hands in innocence. “We’re all drinking from the same bottle. You’re safe.”

Kenneth relaxed his shoulders. “After the bulbadox powder incident, you can’t blame me for wondering.”

Fred snickered. “Water under the bridge, mate.”

“It wasn’t funny,” Kenneth glared.

“We aren’t wasting our time on trivial pranks like that now,” George said. “Too many other projects. Speaking of, I need to visit the library.” He poured himself another dram of the amber liquid and swirled it around his mouth briefly before swallowing. “Lee, thank you. You are a true gentleman, generous in all things.”

“I’ll go with you,” Fred volunteered. “The weather’s dismal and there’s just no challenge anymore into seeing how quickly I can make Ron wish he were invisible. The common room isn’t like it used to be.” He looked at Lee. “You coming?”

“Nah,” Lee said. “All those people studying. Gives me a headache. Got the new Quidditch Weekly at breakfast that I’ll read in the comfort of my bar. I mean bed.”

“Off you go,” Kenneth said, dropping several books for his Ancient Runes class on the floor beside his desk with a resounding thud. “For whatever reason, I find it far easier to concentrate without you two around.”

George rummaged around for some parchment and a quill. Fred picked up a small journal and an extendable ear and shoved both into his robe pocket. George eyed him curiously.

“One should never go anywhere unprepared,” Fred explained.

There was only the quiet sounds of pages turning and a quill scratching on paper as they left the room.

***

It was the next day when George realized that there was a flaw in his potion. He woke up uncharacteristically early with painful, unfamiliar swollen sensations in his… unmentionable area. It was still dark when he gingerly got out of bed and walked carefully to the bathroom, only to find Fred already there.

“You have them too?” George asked, sitting on the toilet in the stall next to his twin.

“Piss off,” Fred replied grumpily. Then, after a pause, he tacked on, “I trusted you.”

“You piss off!” George railed back. “Let’s see you do something as complicated as a time-release potion next time. You knew there might be side-effects. They’re bound to be temporary. Very temporary,” he echoed quietly, reassuring himself.

“They’d better be,” Fred said, sighing. “We have Quidditch practice this afternoon.”

“Merlin’s mangy moustache.” George leaned his head into his hands and tried not to think about what it would feel like to be on his broom in his current state with throbbing blisters on his backside.

***

George took the lead as he and Fred tried valiantly to walk through the common room as normally as possible; as though it didn’t feel like he had miniature volcanoes erupting in his bum with every step. It didn’t work. He had to slow his usual fast pace and widen his stride as though he were a cowboy from an American western, recently dismounted from his horse.

“You all right there, Fred? George?” Patrick Gross called, overseeing a game of chess being played by two of his fellow sixth-years. “What’s with the silly walk?”

“Oh. Nothing,” George managed, but the pain in his arse would not allow him to put his legs any closer together.

“Nothing to see here,” Fred said as he grimaced, and a few of the first years who they had paid to try their nosebleed nougat looked as though they would faint.

“George?”

He looked around to see Thalia staring at him, anxiety veiled loosely in her gaze.

“Rough Quidditch practise, that’s all,” George lied. “’Til we got rained out. Couldn’t see a bloody thing.” That, at least, was honest truth.

“You lot should just subscribe to The Quibbler,” Fred suggested. “You’d find as much truth there as anywhere. Nobody else would care so much about Gryffindor Quidditch players. See yous later.”

“Another cup for Gryffindor, eh!” This was uttered by Grant St. George, an enthusiastic fourth-year, who sparked a chant soon picked up by the rest of the students in the room. “Gung-ho for Gryffindor! Gung-ho for Gryffindor!”

George and Fred made their way to the staircase where they bowed with all of the aplomb they could muster, waving as they climbed the stairs.

“It’s like a circus,” Fred grumbled.

“Who is the one who wanted fame and fortune?” George threw back, cranky and ready to go and beg Madame Pomfrey for whatever it took to make him feel like a regular person again.

“Not fucking me,” Fred replied, bow-legged and cross.

“Shut up, you liar,” George said, shoving him against their room door.

“No! I didn’t want this,” Fred snarled.

George stared at him, physically uncomfortable beyond belief and furious. “Always wanting to be on the edge. Always. Well, here’s the edge of my potions knowledge. Eat it and weep.”

“Wish I hadn’t,” Fred said, repentant, pushing George away.

George pondered that comment for a moment. “It’s still a prototype.”

“Well, don’t go too much more proto with it.”

Despite the aching in his backside, George couldn’t help but laugh. “Pomfrey?”

It was raised as a flag of peace, and he knew that Fred would acquiesce.

“Yes, but not through the common room. There’s got to be another way.”

“’Course there is,” George smiled, though it was couched in pain. “You’re the one who originally found it. Plunder that under-used brain of yours and tell me which statue we need to stroke, or sing to, or throw a damp washcloth over. Because this is dismal.”

“Too right it is,” Fred said, shaking his head.

“Not that I want anyone, of any kind, male, female, neuter, whatever, touching that part of me,” George breathed out, angry at himself.

“I don’t either,” Fred agreed. “But I’m sure as hell not asking Lee to put some kind of salve on my arse.”

When couched in such obvious terms, the rest of the plan fell into place. Get to Madame Pomfrey’s, as quickly as possible without being caught.

Not a problem.

***

Three hours and infinitesimal questions later, George found himself much relieved but in a rather unfamiliar area of Hogwarts.

“Thank heaven for Madame Pomfrey,” Fred gesticulated, moving his hand from left to right across his forehead, thrusting upward to represent where the top of her hat would stand were it on his head.

“Indeed,” George agreed. She had seen them often enough in their seven years to know better than to ask any questions which required more than a yes or no answer, but she continued to ask nonetheless. She also sent her Healer’s notices straight to McGonagall, whose only admonition was a raised eyebrow as long as points had not been deducted from Gryffindor prior to the twins landing in the infirmary. If points were lost, it was another issue entirely.

“Hush,” George hissed, suddenly aware of another noise. It was music. A mournful tune, almost certainly not meant for anyone else to hear.

He stood still. Then, as though to hide from the secretive melody, he pressed his back against the cold stone wall, leaning into a column.

“What the…?” Fred asked, then George saw that he heard it as well.

“Clarinet,” George answered, pulling Fred toward him. “Where are we?” he whispered, shamefully aware that he had never paid quite as much attention to the map as Fred had. As long as the two of them were around, they didn’t need to double up on their knowledge, and George had been more than happy for Fred to play Grand Navigator.

“Near the dungeons,” Fred replied, implied meaning dripping from the two syllables.

Dun-geons. Snape.

Shit.

Peeves at least was on their side, and Filch could be easily evaded. The potions-master was another case entirely, especially since neither of them had had a class with him in two years and he would as sure as sheep and shit assume that they were there to steal something…

“I kindof like his music.”

“WHAT?”

In that moment, George decided, identical twin or no, they had absolutely nothing in common.

“I like it. Makes him seem almost human.”

“You. Are. Mental. And not in a good way,” George gushed, staring narrow-eyed at his brother.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Are you raving?”

“Probably,” Fred shrugged, dislodging himself from George’s hands. He cushioned his hands behind his head, a fulcrum to counter-balance the rest of his body, grounded in his splayed feet. “It’s cool in a melancholy way. I never reckoned the old Snapester had a soul, but to play that, you’d have to.”

George gaped. “Soul. Snape. You just used those two words in one sentence. You are mad.”

“Mayhaps.”

“Mayhaps? Lee obviously put something exceptionally strong into your tea. I mean, your firewhiskey.”

Fred was quiet, and George found himself silenced for a while, listening to the reedy phrases which meandered from under the dungeon door in a disquieting, soothing manner.

Common sense found its way back into George’s consciousness, and he thwacked Fred twice on the shoulder. “Time to get out of here.”

“Why?”

“Why?! I’m going to think you’ve started drinking polyjuice potions and are channeling Slytherins if you don’t start talking sense soon.”

“What could he do?” Fred asked, nonchalance etched on his visage. “We’re FredandGeorge. We are untouchable. We’re seventh years.”

“’What could he do?’” George echoed. “Hmmm. Well, being Severus Snape, he could slip something into our pumpkin juice. And I don’t know about you, but there are parts of myself I’d rather not lose to a maniacally private potions master and general prejudiced git extraordinare who would love nothing more than to string us up by the balls and have us serenade the Slytherins with a rousing chorus of Deatheater’s Delight.”

“Personally, I prefer the Sarabande for Salazar, but that, sadly, seems to have gone out of fashion.”

The icy voice was accompanied by a swish of robes as Professor Snape emerged out of the dark.

“That being said, ten points from Gryffindor - apiece- for lurking.”

Snape gazed in a focused, malevolent way at George and Fred.

“But we aren’t…” Fred began.

“Ten more - apiece - for talking back,” Snape continued.

“I haven’t even…” George offered in consternation.

“If I were you,” Snape drawled, drawing his robes around him in what was surely meant to be an intimidating manner, “I would stop speaking.”

The problem was that that George and Fred really couldn’t give a hair out of Merlin’s beard what made Snape intimidating or not, but as he continued, they did take a breath before talking.

“You are not in my house. However,” Snape drew in an admirable intake of breath through his nose, “I do have the sense that Professor McGonagall will be, shall we say, livid, should she find that it took only two students under five minutes to empty her house coffers of the few points it previously contained.”

George shut his mouth, and in a flight of cognizance, realized that he was as tall as the potions professor.

“You shouldn’t keep that talent in the dungeons.”

George heard the sentence. He most certainly hadn’t spoken it.

“I beg your pardon?” Snape asked, his dark glaze glittering as he stared at Fred.

“The music. It was profound, in a dark kindof way.”

George counted the 35 or so times while his heart continued to beat, waiting to be hexed into the sixteenth century or so. If he were lucky.

“Get out.”

“Good evening to you, too, Professor Snape.”

George pulled on Fred’s elbow, and they walked upward into far more neutral territory.

They were standing on one of their favorite trick staircases when George looked at Fred.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?” Fred shot back.

“Why… Oh, I dunno,” George repeated, petulant. “Why in poltergeist's purgatory would you pick a fight with Snape?”

Fred feigned ignorance. “It wasn’t a fight. I was telling the truth. He is talented.”

George rolled his eyes. “Great. Be sure to remind him next month at our Quidditch match that you are his one person fan club.”

“When did you become so cynical?” Fred asked.

“Must’ve been the fever fudge,” George grumbled as they walked up the stairs toward the Gryffindor Tower.

Fred draped an arm around his shoulder. “You’re forgiven for that, y’know.”

George made a half-hearted chuckle. “Thanks for nothing.”

Fred was quiet for a few steps. “Do you know how much we’ve already made?”

George shook his head, noticing that they were in front of the Pink Lady’s portrait.

“Enough that we need to be getting serious about putting some galleons down on a place after we graduate.”

George looked at Fred, his shaggy red hair falling into his eyes. “You need a haircut,” he observed.

“So do you. Shut it. We’re a success. The fudge incident was a temporary setback. ‘Naughty knickers,’” he spoke cheekily to the portrait.

“Ooh!” she giggled. “Not quite.”

“I knew that, love,” Fred quipped. “’Harried harridan.’”

The door swung open.

***

Comments

[romanticalgirl.livejournal.com]

Mmmmmmtwinses!

Though I'm a bit skittish as to where this whole Snape thing is going. *hides Fred behind her for to protect him*

Hee. Yeah, *that's* why I'd have Fred be...er, never mind.

*blinks innocently*

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

Though I'm a bit skittish as to where this whole Snape thing is going.

Nowhere scary. I just thought it would be cool for Snape to play a musical instrument, and have some knowledge that the twins would know that might be useful in... say... securing ingredients or somesuch. Of course, it would then be obvious that they had told people, and Snape would contemplate many things of unmentionable cruelty. *g*

[romanticalgirl.livejournal.com]

Glad it's not anything frightening. I have leeriness after accidentally stumbling across a F/G/Snape threesome, you know. *g*

More? Soon?

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

I have leeriness after accidentally stumbling across a F/G/Snape threesome, you know.

Besides that being so far out in OOC-land, I think that would make my eyes bleed. Nothing against the twins, or Snape, but, um, no. And why is this fandom so obsessed with incest, may I ask??

More? Soon?

Mais, bien sur. I've been thinking through the next couple of sections in my head while mowing both the front and back yard. A productive way to multitask!! And I wanted to figure out a scene where the word "obstreprous" is used. It certainly wouldn't be in F&G's vocab, so I guess there's going to have to be another run-in with Snape. ;)

[romanticalgirl.livejournal.com]

why is this fandom so obsessed with incest, may I ask??

I don't pretend to have any real insight into this, other than to say that fandom in general tends to like to make hott boys have the sex together. And the Weasley clan has an abundance of the hott.

I'm thrilled to know that more will be coming soon as there is a distinct lack of non-incest twin fic out there. And I'm still pretending Fred and Hermione are seeing each other on the side.