twinfic!

[thrihyrne]

But first, a hearty welcome to snottygrrl. Welcome to LJ and my flist!! (got your letter yesterday too, you sweetie... I'll write soon and hope that the visa thing works out to your satisfaction)


V. January

“And next is Ron Weasley, Gryffindor’s newest Keeper! Hope you were practicing over the holidays- oops, watch your step!”

Fred had chosen Lee Jordan to act as Master of Ceremonies given his well-practised abilities at keeping a crowd involved, plus his ability to project his voice. Ron, sporting a rosy glow underneath his freckles, strutted a bit unsteadily down the makeshift catwalk the twins and Lee had transformed in one part of the Common Room.

“I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts…” Right Said Fred crooned over the crowd, as Lee had also been put in charge of the music spells for the small gathering. On the bruising ride back to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus, Remus asked them if the seventh-years still engaged in a “Beginning of the End” party the night before their spring term began.

“No,” Fred said, his eyes lighting up in such a way that George knew meant one thing: he was planning. “But certainly if it was a Gryffindor tradition, it should be revived!”

“Oh no,” Ginny moaned as Fred shoved her over just as the bus took a sickeningly sharp turn. “Mr. Lupin, why did you give him an idea like that?”

“Make room for George!”

“Ow! Stop pushing me!”

Remus had only smiled as he clutched the seat pole and said that he had fond memories from that time, and after being cooped up in Order headquarters for a month, they deserved it.

Fred and George had conferred through the trip and decided that a party was indeed in order. Now the seventh-years and a few other brave souls were taking their turn walking down the catwalk while the others stood to the sides, parchment and quills in hand to judge poise and ability not to take themselves too seriously. Katie Bell had embraced the celebration idea with gusto and transformed one of George’s juggling balls into a large, rotating disco ball which hovered in the corner. George, with some help from Towler and an old family recipe, had concocted a blood-red punch which burbled in a cauldron, a pink iridescent haze hovering over it.

“Boo, hiss!” Fred shouted up at Ron. “Too prissy! You get a 2.”

“I am not prissy, you twit!” Ron slurred back, and to prove his point he unfastened his robe until it fell around his shoes, stepped on it, and tugged his Got Quidditch? t-shirt over his head.

There was a gasp from a nearby cluster of sixth-years as Ron twirled the shirt around like a lasso. Lee whistled a cat-call and Fred and George applauded.

“You’re at least up to a 4, now!” George yelled, scribbling a large number four on his parchment and waving it at him. “But put your shirt back on. You’ll blind some of the first years!”

“Bloody hell!” Towler swore, patting his robes. “Where’s my flask, you no-good thieves? I know one of you’s got it.”

“Just using the contents for comic relief, mate!” Fred replied, producing the flask but not returning it to Kenneth’s outstretched hand until he had poured some of the potent contents into his own goblet of punch. “It seems to be working, wouldn’t you say?” He wiggled an eyebrow at Ron.

“Our Keeper’s a keeper!” Angelina hooted, bumping hips with Alicia and raising her chalice in a toast.

Lee Jordan had just announced, “Ron Weasley, ladies and gentlemen! A round of applause!” as Ron unsteadily pulled his shirt over his head when Harry and Hermione came through the portrait hole. Fred had, of course, put a silencing spell on the common room.

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione exclaimed, looking shocked behind the stack of books in her arms.

“They made me do it,” Ron said apologetically, struggling back into his robes.

Hermione shoved the books at Harry, then stormed toward the upperclassmen. Lee Jordan had changed the music to another of his Muggle favorite bands, and the words all I learned in school was how to bend, not break the rules wafted through the room.

“Have you been drinking?!” she squeaked in fury. “I wasn’t even gone but an hour! And you a prefect!”

“No,” Ron mumbled, then comprehension hit him. “Bollocks, Fred! You spiked it, didn’t you?”

“It was George,” Fred answered, turning to his twin. “How could you?” he asked, smirking.

“Liar. You know it was Towel-head.”

“Me? The last thing I want to see is any of you out of your robes. All of those freckles.” Kenneth shuddered and took a hefty swig of punch.

“Enough,” Hermione seethed. “We are back at term.”

“It’s our last one!” Katie complained as she bouncing enthusiastically with Lee to the fast tune. “Loosen up, will you? Or is having fun now forbidden under Umbridge’s Educational Decree Number Fifty-Four?”

“She can shove her decrees in her massive - ”

“George!” Hermione hissed. “There are first-years…”

“Who will, in all likelihood, need to have Obliviate spells cast on them to protect their innocent memories from the vision of seeing Ron without his shirt,” Fred joked.

“Piss off,” Ron said darkly.

“Fine.” Hermione looked at Angelina and Alicia who had joined Lee and Katie in a writhing, jumping circle, obviously happy, and her expression relaxed. “But if your spell isn’t strong enough and McGonagall comes up here, you’re on your own.”

“Oh please,” George said, rolling his eyes. “That was one of the first ones we learned to master, way before Hogwarts.”

“Think about it,” Fred suggested. “All of our family under one roof?” He grabbed Towler and George by the shoulders, and went to accompany their classmates.

“Baggy trousers! Baggy trousers!” Lee sang along as he hopped around, doing a zealous do-si-do with Angelina.

“Catchy song, Lee!” George said, linking elbows with Fred and performing a similar dance move with his brother. “Baggy trousers! Baggy trousers!”

***

A while later, out of breath and for the first time wishing that he had some pumpkin juice, George found himself distracted by the sixth-years, clustered around Vicky Frobisher. Thalia waved him over, and he left Fred and company dancing to another of Lee’s favourites.

“Thank you for the owl,” he said, noticing that her hair was shorter than it had been before Christmas. “It meant a lot. Dad’s okay. And yes, we’ve been working on new products. Just wait ‘til tomorrow!”

She smiled warmly at him.

“How were your hols?” he went on.

“Passable,” she replied, then pointed to Vicky. “Not as exciting as hers, though. Look at that!”

“Again?” Vicky Frobisher feigned irritation, but she looked rather pleased as she swept up her robe and raised the hem of her shirt. At the base of her spine was an orange flower.

“It’s a tattoo!” Thalia exclaimed with a thrill in her voice. “Can you believe it?”

“Wicked,” George agreed. “What flower is that, though?”

“Tiger lily,” Vicky said, dropping her robe. “Lily’s my middle name. My sister and I snuck out to get them.”

“Sister?”

“Her parents sent her to a smaller school in London,” Thalia said.

“Oh,” George said, as though he understood the implications of that statement.

“Looking forward to Hogsmeade next month?” Thalia asked, tilting her head just a bit to the side as Vicky turned around to talk to the other sixth years.

“Definitely,” George said, quickly scanning for a wall, or chair, or anything to lean against. Wall. He nonchalantly put his hand out and planted it on the stone surface. “Must say that we didn’t get out much over Christmas. Say- Fred and I will have some business to do, but would you like to meet at the Three Broomsticks?”

“Oy!” Fred hollered from across the room. “Heart-breaker! Need you this way.”

Thalia made an odd amused expression, wrinkling her nose in the process. “Sure. He keeps you on a short leash, doesn’t he?”

George’s mind raced for a comeback. “Yeah, but I’m the keeper of the handcuffs.”

Her brown eyes widened. “I knew you two were close, but…”

“And I thought I had a twisted mind!” George winked. “Well, brotherly love and all that, gotta go.”

Thalia’s coughing laughter rang behind him George walked back over to the catwalk where Lee and Angelina and Towler were trying to show off dance moves. Fred was leaning back in a chair, his legs providing a tenuous fulcrum to his seat as leaned back in it, his feet resting on the makeshift runway.

“Have a seat,” Fred offered with a sweeping gesture of his arm. George sank into the chair, sticking out his legs in parallel to his twins’. “Pranking. Seriously, mate. It’s been ages since we’ve done anything extraordinarily memorable.”

George mulled over the possibilities. “Filch?” he said hopefully. “Or maybe Mrs. Norris. We could enchant a bell with some kind of sticking charm and tie it to her tail.”

“Good concept, though perhaps too obvious,” Fred said, scratching his upper back with his wand before shoving it into his courderoys pocket. “Maybe some kind of unwashable ink we could put on her paws, and drop her outside of Filch’s office.”

George snickered. “Can you imagine the look on his face if he saw black pawprints all over his pristine hallways?”

Fred nodded in appreciation.

“Wait – I’ve got it,” George exclaimed. “That swamp idea you’ve got. We could give it a test run outside of the Slytherin common room.”

Fred mulled over the idea, steepling his fingers and placing them under his chin. “Excellent,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure we’ll need to get in touch with our friend Dung.”

“Let me try,” George said. He turned toward the back of the common room where Ron and Harry were playing chess, Hermione watching. “Oh Ronniekins?” he shouted, earning an irritated glare from his brother. “Can we borrow your darling Pig for a wee bit?”

“No. Bugger off!” Ron yelled back.

George turned back to Fred and shrugged, unsurprised.
“Worth a shot,” Fred agreed, dropping his feet to the floor with a loud thud. “Reckon it might be inventory time- what say we go up and see just how much we need before starting another successful term?”

“Fine with me. Dancing’s not really my thing, though the music’s not bad. “ Fred had levered out of his chair and extended a hand, pulling George up from his chair. “Jordan!” George’s voice carried over the small crowd. “Later! Brilliant music, mate!”

Lee smiled in acknowledgement, then continued his enthusiastic, though uncoordinated dancing as close to Angelina as she would allow.

George led the way from the disco light after waving to the assembly and Fred followed. They pounded their way up the staircase until they reached their room. Both brothers shucked off their robes, then George went to the locked cupboard that housed their more unique ingredients. Fred retrieved a red ledger book from below his bed. It snarled at him until he stuck his wand up its spine – rather perverse, George thought – and tickled it, at which point it fell open. He brought it over to the cabinet, quill in hand.

“Right,” Fred pronounced. “So. I think we should start off selling our Headless Hats as soon as possible while everyone still has their Christmas money. Do we have what we need to keep going with the rest of the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes line?”

George worked the unlocking spell and the doors opened. There were a number of glass bottles on a couple of shelves, some making the wood underneath them buckle with weight, but mostly they were at least half-empty. Some remnant bits of withered bucksnort jostled together in one corner, and toward the back of the cabinet some dismal-looking toadstools had tried to make a colony on the bottom shelf and cowered against the light. A liquid of malevolent blue began rising against the confines of a glass decanter and some skittish moths flattened themselves against the inside door.

“Bloody hell,” George moaned. “This is hopeless. We’ve definitely got to do some buying, and fast, if we’re going to try out the portable swamp.” He shook his head as the miscreant moonshadow sloshed in its beaker, moving toward the end of its shelf. “Oy! Back with you,” George snarled, pushing the glass back against the wall.

“Time to talk to our friend Mundugus?” Fred prodded. “And how much do you think it’ll set us back?”

George gave the cabinet contents an experienced eye, then looked at his twin.
“Shouldn’t break the bank,” George admitted. “Especially if we sell a few hats.”

“That’s the spirit!” Fred said, slamming the ledger shut and walking over to his bed.

George pointed his wand at the cabinet doors, which shut and locked with a fair number of clicking sounds. “Talk to Towler?” George asked, tossing his wand on his bedside table and toeing off his shoes.

“Not yet. It’s only our first night back,” Fred reminded him, wrenching open his trunk and hauling his set of clothes up onto his bed. “Plenty of time for that. Besides, our Hogsmeade trip isn’t ‘til February. So we’ve got ages to draw up any official documents we might wish to present to the right shop-owner.”

George knelt in front of his trunk, emblazoned with a Chudley Cannons sticker. He heard Lee’s unmistakable three-knock rap on the door before bursting in. “Plenty of time,” he agreed, though he found himself thinking that there wouldn’t be enough hours to do all that he wished. They had stopped doing homework for the most part, which helped, and more than once George thought that McGonagall was keeping them there purely to spite Umbridge since they were barely passing their courses.

“Gents!” Lee enthused, Towler mere steps behind him.

The rest of the evening was a rehash of their holidays, yet another toast to their final term, and an atypically early bedtime.

George dreamed. He was sledding through Hogsmeade, capturing as many woolen hats off of passersby as he could. He tossed them back behind him into a sleigh, which he suddenly realized he was pulling. Fred was in it and had a whip, cracking it at his back, though it seemed to be miles away and never hit him. They slowed through a narrow alley, going past all of his professors. McGonagall. Snape. Lupin. Flitwick. Face after face, then there was no ground below him. He was falling down a cliff, falling, falling… he tried to grasp at anything, but there was nothing to hold onto. Then he was in a valley, brushing snow off of himself. Fred was nowhere to be seen. Thalia stood next to him. “Eat this,” she said, holding out a piece of chocolate.

“Okay,” George shrugged, reaching out toward her.

He started awake, sitting abruptly, his left hand clutching air.

“Shut it you git!” he heard, and was about to explain that he’d been dreaming, but realized that it was Fred, speaking in his sleep. George sank back into his bed, fumbled for his wand and said Silencio toward his curtains. He was back asleep in minutes.

***

“SHE DID THAT TO YOU?”

Fred yelled a string of profanity so foul that even George winced. Lee simply shook his head in agreement, staring at the back of his hand.

“Someone’s got to get rid of her! I’m owling Dad. The Ministry has got to kick her Dark Arts arse out of this school, or I’ll do it!”

“The Ministry sent her, Fred,” Towler reminded him, handing Lee an open butterbeer since he was unable to unscrew the top himself. The words ‘I must not talk back’ were oozing blood which glistened brightly against his dark skin.

“Not helping, Towler,” George warned, quickly boiling some murtlap tentacles in an effort to recreate the salve that Harry had told Lee would help with the pain.

“I’ve got to go back,” Lee said thickly. “Four weeks of this.”

George had never before seen the expression of controlled rage now present on Lee’s face like an ill-fitting mask. Lee was one of the most naturally cheery people he had ever met, and seeing him like this made George furious.

“UNFORGIVABLE CURSES ARE TOO GOOD FOR HER!” Fred was still shouting, pacing in front of a window.

Towler came over to the cauldron and looked at the contents. “You should have stayed in potions,” he said appreciatively. “You don’t have to work at it like I do, and Merlin knows I could have used the company.”

Still stirring with one hand, George pulled open a drawer and fumbled through a chaotic pile of instruments and utensils until he found a strainer. “Thanks,” he said. “Can you get the pestle for me?”

They finished the solution and poured it into a bowl. As Lee let his hand soak, he began to look much more like his usual self, even joking that he was going to change the words next week to say ‘Lee Jordan, Announcer Extraordinaire.’

“It’s not as though she pays any attention to what I’m writing,” he said. “She’s too busy with other things and making those hideous noises to know what I’m doing. I would write ‘Umbridge should be sacked,’ but then I’d be stuck with it. Permanently.”

“Swamp! Slytherins! Tonight!”

George turned as Fred let out his last barrage. “Tonight?”

“Yes. Serious pranking. It’s the only thing to keep me from going to Umbridge’s office, knocking, and then hexing her from here to next week once I saw her fat face. Or next year, if I could.”

“You’d be expelled,” Towler observed, finishing off Lee’s butterbeer.

“Big loss, that,” Fred said, busying himself at the cabinet of ingredients.
to be continued...

Comments

[helveticat.livejournal.com]

Baggy trousers! Baggy trousers!

(That's going in the t-shirt slogan collection. ;-)

This story is really great! I love it! You never cease to amaze me--the way you put action and dialog together. You're a true weaver.

<3

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

You never cease to amaze me--the way you put action and dialog together. You're a true weaver.

**blush**

Wow. People are going to think I'm paying you! ;)

Thank you ever so. I don't think that I can write scenes with as much atmosphere as you, but I'm glad that you think the two elements work well together. It's great to have so many astounding influences; you for quirky gorgeous sentences, and llembas, who has convinced me not to be afraid of dialogue.

thanks for the welcome

[snottygrrl.livejournal.com]

hi sweety, thanks for the warm welcome.....barely been near a computer today and now am in desperate need of food (and need to work on my sort of hp fanfic as well), so only have time to say, i was so pleased to see your posting this morning - warmed the cockles of my heart as it were [grin] - now to food....

Re: thanks for the welcome

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

Welcome, welcome!! (((hugs)) What is the focus of your HP fic? This is so exciting, all of us scampering back and forth between Tolkien and HP. Yes, please do go feed that skinny body of yours! Hope you're staying warm; I remember how cold you were last winter.

*sends warm thoughts*