onlyholey | 4 Mischiefs Managed - [accidental video]

Entry tags:

4 Mischiefs Managed - [accidental video]

[The video cuts in mid-action. George is standing in what some may recognise as the Weasley cabin's kitchen. He has a glass of water in his hand which he is staring into, his eyes wide. Both hands are shaking, and he shoves his right one into his pocket to steady it. His breath suddenly hitches, and he looks like he's having difficulty breathing again. All of a sudden his arm is whipping out and he flings the glass across the room so that it explodes with a wet crash against the far wall. George is trembling worse than ever, and breath his coming in and out of him in short gasps. He rubs a hand angrily across his face, trying his best to hold back the tears.

Although it's hardly noticeable, the blue floral of the kitchen wallpaper blooms out in colour under where the glass hit, spreading across the kitchen until the entire wall is covered. George no longer in frame, the feed slowly flickers out.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The sound of glass shattering doesn't go unnoticed, even from where Fred's lazing about on his bed. George had only gone to get a glass of water - what in Merlin's name could've happened in the meanwhile? Being that they've just come from a war, an uncomfortable wariness instinctively spreads to the pit of his stomach, and then Fred's on his feet. Running, because he doesn't have the sense to just Apparate there. He can't stop to think that far.

All he knows is he needs to be with George - now.]

George!

[He whips around the corner of the stairs unsafely fast, considering he's just in his socks, but he doesn't care. He doesn't stop until he's in the kitchen with his brother, hands holding tight to both of his arms so he can see if he's hurt. Some of the red seems to be returning at the roots of his hair, panic feeding the concern in Fred's eyes as they rove across his face and person to see where he's been injured. He doesn't even notice the blue on the wall - it's not important to him at the moment.]

What is it? What's happened?

[He barely notices Fred until he's holding onto him. His eyes are still swimming with tears. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand hastily, covering his shaky breath with a cough. He's here, George. He's not going anywhere. It's a mantra he's been saying to himself for weeks now, and keeps repeating it in the front of his mind as he tries in vain to remember what exactly he was doing before all this.]

I'm fine. Just... thought I saw something.

['Nothing,' he says. Rubbish, Fred's not buying it for a second. George is shaking and - Hell, there are tears. His still-born heart leaps up into his throat, because George is doing his utmost not to cry, and this does not sit well with him at all. There are so few things able to incite this sort of reaction--.

One hand leaves George's arm to cup his head beneath the only remaining ear so Fred can get a better look at him. Not bleeding, not hurt - at least not physically - and that's enough to at least let him clap a hand playfully to his twin's cheek before letting go of him completely.]

Hardly one to be spooked so easy, mate. It wasn't a spider, was it?

[Subtly teasing Ron; always a good way to deflect from the tearing in his throat. He tries, tries damn hard, but the words still come out strained. What could he have possibly seen?]

[Fred knows something is going on, and George can tell. Of course he can tell. He can tell everything that bloody man is thinking. He wants to laugh with him. He wants to tell jokes and smile and pretend everything is fine. More than fine. But he's never been able to lie to Fred. Not before, and he doesn't want to make a habit of it now, now that Fred is...

Well. If he can't tell Fred, who can he ever tell?]

I think this place is playing tricks on me again. I went to get a glass of water and I thought I saw...

[He rubs his hands over his face again. Don't make him say it. He's been avoiding saying it for months.]

[Bloody Hell, he did see-. He must've, and Fred knows it as true as he knows his own name, just like everything else he knows about his brother. His twin. His other bleeding half, and he's struggling so much right now but there's not a single bloody thing he can do about it because he's been struggling with the same exact thing. He knows, and he doesn't want to hear it said, doesn't want to have to face it straight. But at the same time, he knows George has to.

Fred's free to rot here in blissful ignorance of all the icky painful bits, but regardless of whether he stays here or leaves, George will still have to cope with his death. This is the last thing he ever wants to talk about, but he has to. For George.]

Oh, you know how well I enjoy the suspense. [No, Georgie. His hands go into his pockets to hide the fists they curl into. He keeps his eyes glued to George's. And the only reason he isn't breathing shakily is that he has no need to breath at all - and isn't that the problem in the first place?] Go on, then. Spit it out.

[You bastard, Fred Weasley. He's now had to watch you die twice, you pillock. George's eyes harden behind the tears, and he masks it with another wipe across his face.]

You died, Fred. You bloody died again in my glass of water.

[The rage from before fills him again, making him want to lash out, grab everything that's nearby and break it. Instead his hands clench onto the counter behind him, turning his knuckles white.]

[Fred's not quite so composed. He tries to be, inhaling stiffly out of frustration, but it only lasts a minute before the blue tinge to the wall starts to make sense and it all boils over. He turns and grabs a chain from the dining table - and throws it against the wall. It splinters apart, but it's easily Repared, not that Fred cares right now. He braces both hands against the table, keeping his back to George, and just. Breathes. Tries not to let the anger and guilt and irritation and guilt and depression and ungodly amounts of fucking guilt take over.

But he fails. Again.

One more chair gets thrown to the floor in his haste to leave the kitchen, to leave his brother's mess of glass and water, those cruel and unfair tears biting at his twin's eyes. He can't stand it, can't take it, and much as he knows George needs this, he just can't. There isn't a thing in the world that'd get him to abandon George, so he won't Apparate away. Fred just needs to get outside and find fresh air - more useless, unnecessary and hurtful air - so he stalks from the house without even closing the door and stops just before reaching the woods. Be a man about this, Freddie. Don't cry. Don't fall to pieces here. Not now, not when you've been trying so hard to keep it together.]

[George just stares is shock at the door where his twins stormed out only minutes ago. It takes him a moment before the rage boils over again and he finds himself racing after him, shouting after Fred's retreating back.]

Oi! Plonker! Where the blazes do you think you're going? You're the one you wanted to bloody TALK about this!

[God, why does Fred make him feel like this and then run away? George was perfectly willing to let this one go. Pass it off as another trick the City played on them. Have a cup of tea, or maybe something a bit stronger, to calm his nerves. Wait for his heart to start beating again, and move on. But no, Fred had to go in and POKE at it, they way he always had to go in and make a mess out of everything he did, leaving George standing there to pick up the pieces. He stops a few yards away from his twin, staring him down, waiting for an answer.]

[It's all because he can't let it go. Not when he's kept up at night with the thought of it, kept conscious of the fact every time he's made aware his heart still isn't beating. He's hurt himself working a few times - he just heals right up as though nothing's happened. He can't just let it go because it won't bloody let him. The red spreads out to the tips of his hair, giving him back his Weasley flare and Merlin, does he wish there was more to break than just a chair.

Instead he inhales deeply at his brother's presence, feels him at his back like fire running along his spine, like cold air nipping at his neck, like that blasted wall coming apart before he's even got a chance to blink-.

Against all logic, Fred turns to face him, grey eyes brimming with colorless tears, just as biting and bitter and painful as the rest of it.]

What in the Hell am I supposed to say, Georgie? You said it yourself - I've died. What more is there?

I don't know either, Fred. I just... I really don't know.

[He can't stand to look at his brother this way, so instead his grabs him roughly and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Yes, he's colder than he should be and George's heart is still the only one banging away between them, but he's still here. Why can't Fred understand this. This is enough for them. There will be a time when one of them will have to leave, but until that moment things are so much BETTER here than they had been at home and George just wants to cling to it as hard as he can and never let go.]

[Well, that's just it, isn't it? The hug says it all. For the first few moments, Fred's arms hang limp at his sides as George hugs him, because he is never more self conscious of his lack of heartbeat than the moments when his brother is so close to him - but he's always close to him. Always there beside him, in every waking and sleeping moment when Fred's lying awake at night, staring into the depths of the ceiling as George breaths evenly, worlds away and peaceful and whole and every bloody breath is just one more stab at the fact this won't last forever.

He's here and they're together and everything should be brilliant but it isn't and that hurts.

So Fred doesn't hug him back, not right away. He's too busy trying to swallow down his anger, trying to stop the guilt from tearing them both apart, but it only lasts just a few seconds before an overwhelming grief takes control and he's clinging right back. Grief, because he's lost, been lost, lost to the universe save for this one pin-prick in time and space where two brothers, two halves of a whole, one perfectly imperfect soul, have only this moment to hold on to. Fred doesn't know what's happened to him, how things got so horrendously mussed up, but he does know that this single point in time means all the world and more.

So he clings. And he doesn't say a word beyond an unintelligible whisper and an audible weep. What else is there to say?]

[George squeezes his brother closer. You're lucky you don't have to breath any more, Fred, because he would be making it very difficult for you.

Then again if he still had to breathe...

George pulls away finally, running his hand over his face in an attempt to more subtly wipe away his tears.]

[Fred doesn't bother with wiping anything away. They're there, the tears, but only in streaks down cheeks that've begun to flush in the same blotchy way that they always have, and always will. He doesn't bother, because he doesn't care. He's too upset, too angry, and just feeling out of his skin. There's a lot to be said, and he should say something, but he just...can't.]

Think I'll start on a new lot of Whiz-bangs today.

[A general statement, but also something of a warning. Loud and clear. He's not going anywhere today, and he's not seeing anyone either. Their room's not even quite the stronghold he'd like - it's not the same as their room - but at least he can surround himself in their work. That simple statement and a sidewards glance are all Fred can afford George before he's stepping around him back towards the cabin.]

[George watches him go, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He's not sure what he expected to happen when he stormed out here after his brother but, well...

Anyway.

He scuffs the ground a little with his toe before heading back inside. He desperately needs a cup of tea right now. Maybe something even a bit stronger.]

[Quietly.]

Georgie?

Yes. Hello.

You alright?

[Now, she's been having a foul day herself. But she hasn't been lucky enough to run into any water-filled anything. Yet.]

Is Fred there? What happened?

Yeah, 'course he is. Just another one of the City's tricks, is all.

I know enough of the City's tricks to know you don't want to laugh at this one.

Not so much this time, no.

I've been here ages, you know that. Can't be anything I've not heard of before. What was it?

[He runs his hand over his face. Merlin, he's already dealt with the explosion from Fred already.]

Have you seen anything in... water, today?

Water?

[Not what she expected at all.]

Any sort of water? I mean, I was going to make a pot of tea in a bit, but...

It's just... I think it's been happening to others today. But people are seeing something. In the water.

I've seen things in the fountain, but never anywhere else.

[Pause. Half of her wants to go searching in the apartment not only for her missing things but for these water visions. But...]

What did you see, George?

It's the City. Take a guess.

Snape having an ice cream at Fortescue's.

[The words are teasing, the tone is far from amused. Of course she can guess. There are a select few horrific things the place likes to remind her of, and she knows George has his fair share, too. One in particular would be the worst of all.]

Surprisingly, I'd actually take that one.

[He's glad Ginny hasn't switches on the video yet, because his hands are still shaking, and he shoves them into his pockets again.]

Yeah, I wouldn't mind it half the time, either.

[Pause.]

Want me to come over?

[It only takes him a moment to think about it before he sniffs heavily, taking a deep breath in.]

Yeah, alright.

[She releases a sigh, inaudible but relieved. She'd worried he'd brush her off again, like their conversation in the kitchen the day after he arrived. There's no guarantee he'll want to talk about this, of course, but she isn't comfortable with leaving him alone, either. Not that he is alone in the literal sense, but... well, there's something to be said about Weasleys and their loyalty to family.

She'll be over soon enough.]:

I even picked up a few pastries from the bakery this morning. You're in luck.

Good timing, then.

[It's a good thing she's got her wand now, because Ginny Weasley isn't about to put any time between her and her brother when he's clearly distressed. She's been watching both twins carefully since their respective arrivals, because she knows that no matter how good it is that they're all together, there are still the darker things they have to struggle with - not just as a family, but just to themselves, too. She had a year to get used to the idea of Fred's death, despite having not lived it, and it still stopped her own heart to hug him and not feel or hear his. She didn't like the reminders and she knows neither of them do, too. She packs up a few pastries, and wastes no time in getting there.

So Ginny Apparates to the cabin and reappears with a sharp crack. She isn't sure where to find her brother—either of them, really—and calls out softly.]

Oi, anyone there?

Ginny?

[George is seated on the sofa, nursing a cup of tea (well, it's not entirely tea, but what Ginny doesn't know won't hurt her). He looks much calmer than before. Slightly too calm, in fact. He's sitting very sit, only moving to bring the mug to his lips and back.]

[She'd turned up right in the middle of the kitchen so she jumps when George's voice sounds behind her, whirling around and grip tightening on her wand before she can realise it. She relaxes almost immediately, though, expression easing into a smile and covering up just fine as she sets down the paper bag of pastries and slides her wand away.]

Merlin, George, you're almost as good as Mum at that.

[Because Molly Weasley can sneak up on her children like a ghost. Or maybe that's just how Ginny feels about it. Her brows knit as she properly looks at him, having expected a bit more... well, a bit more of a mess, really. Not this. It reminds her of someone. No, someones. She's seen the same in members of the DA.]

Got any more of that tea, then?

[George nods his head in her direction.]

Beside the sink.

[He keeps staring into his mug as he hears Ginny clattering around the kitchen. Lately he's found staying very still tends to fool people into thinking he's holding together, so he stays on the couch, waiting for the inevitable.]

[The question is whether or not she'll go for the inevitable. She glances at him once more before sighing to herself and fetching a mug and pouring herself some tea. Ginny takes her time with it, giving him as much peace and quiet as she can, and even goes so far as to set a plate full of chocolate croissants in front of George before joining him on the sofa.

He's too still, too quiet. The whole cabin is. It isn't right, she thinks as she drinks in silence. A house full of Weasleys should be full of life. Not this. She scoots down the sofa a little and gives his shoulder a gentle nudge with hers.]

Knut for your thoughts? [She pauses, then flashes a faint, sheepish smile.] Or you can tell me to bugger off.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

4 Mischiefs Managed - [accidental video]

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

a cup full of nothing for him to indulge - he feels alone;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

voice | private

primary resistance at a critical low

primary resistance at a critical low

primary resistance at a critical low

primary resistance at a critical low

primary resistance at a critical low