SPOILER fic: "Quiet Steps" (G/gen)
Title: Quiet Steps
Rating: G/gen
Words: ~950
Warning: Besides the spoiler warning, ouchyish.
Characters: George, Weasley family
Summary: He's not ready to be around happy people yet.
A/N: Nothing in the epilogue contradicts this.
Quiet Steps
"George?"
George is outside. He heard the baby wail, and it's a happy bloody occasion and he can't-- he's not someone who should be around happy occasions, even when it's his first niece or nephew. He couldn't stay in the room with everyone, exclaiming excitedly, and they all know it by now; they let him leave and didn't try to chase him or keep him inside.
Though he suspects Charlie may have actually physically held Mum back. He can't really blame her; she just wants to fix him, despite that they both know that's impossible.
"Oi. George."
It takes him a moment to realize he's being called by way of the window to the left, not from the door behind him as he sits on the steps. He frowns. "Yeah?"
"You come over here?"
He shrugs. It isn't like he's got anywhere else to be, and if Bill wants him in particular, well, Bill knows about hard times and he asked for it. He stands and brushes off his arse and steps down, then goes around to stand amid the roses. "I heard the baby cry," he says. "I just--"
"Psht." Bill shushes him easily. "Why do you think I went looking for you out the window? I wanted to ask you a question before we go out there."
"You haven't taken it--him? her?--out to Mum yet? She's going to…" George trails off, then chuckles roughly. "I suppose probably you don't actually take your life in your hands, do you?"
Bill reaches out the window and cuffs George on the top of the head, gentle and still rough as a big brother. "That's what I wanted to ask about. We'd originally intended some sort of victorious name, you know? But. It's a boy. And we thought we might name him for Fred. But only if it's all right with you."
George snorts. "He's your brother too. Was. He was--"
"Yeah, I might have noticed that."
"It's not up to me. I've noticed a lot of things aren't up to me."
"Shut it. It is. Honestly. If you hate the idea, we'll go with Victor or something along that line."
George is silent for a long moment, then he shakes his head. "I don't know what to tell you. It's just a name, but it feels like it's not."
Bill nods. "Want to hold him? Before Mum?"
George blinks, then when he opens his mouth, Bill is gone from the window, and then he's back.
"Here," Bill says. "Support the head… Good lord. Just as well you hold first; I sound like Mum; clearly some other influence is required. You won't remember, but when each of you lot were born…"
George supposes he keeps on speaking, but right this minute he's absorbed in holding this wriggling tiny person, who is frowning at him and flailing an arm to get loose from his bundle. The tiny fist whacks him in the nose, which hurts, then tangles in his hair, which is down and loose, and yanks. "You're intent on doing harm, aren't you?" George says to the little guy.
The baby tugs again, but stops frowning, and George finds himself rubbing the back of his finger on the downy little cheek until the baby turns toward it, latching onto the knuckle and sucking. "All right, not harm. Mischief, more like." George looks up. "Can I come in?"
"Always." George hands the baby back because Apparating with it would only startle it, then joins Bill and Fleur in the bedroom.
"'e's quite certain what 'e wants already," Fleur says. She looks tired, but well, and gestures to the rocking chair nearby. "Sit." George sits, because really, they all pretty much do what Fleur says most of the time, and Bill hands back the baby, who stares at him more, scowling again.
He finds it impossible not to say something, nonsense really, just words, and the baby watches him until its eyes droop closed. George watches him sleep for a long while before he realizes it's probably quite selfish for him to have invaded their room and taken over the chair and the baby. He looks up. "I--"
Fleur smiles. "I think," she says, "'e likes you."
Bill's climbed up on the bed next to her in his jeans and boots, and he nods. "So. What d'you say?"
George bites his lip. "You don't think it's unlucky or anything?"
"Not with you watching." When George raises a brow in question, Bill adds, "Someone's going to have to teach him to channel that mischief impulse, right?"
"Right." George nods, and says it again. "Right." He smiles and looks down at the little sleeping guy. His hat's gone askew as he squirmed himself comfortable, and George can see the fuzz of red-gold strands there. "Hi, Fred," he said. The baby puckers, ghost-suckling in its sleep for a moment, and it looks like a kiss. George concludes that honestly, nothing would make him feel good, but this is close. It's better than most things, anyway. He stands to hand the little guy back to Fleur.
"You will come to see 'im, any time," she says--it's not a question, and George nods before he thinks.
Bill gets up to go open the door and let in the flood of people, and George steps back. He's not ready for the happy people yet, not ready for people to comment on the name, not ready for anything but the ease of a tiny warm person that only needs him to hold it and teach mayhem, so he catches Fleur's eye, nods, and Apparates back outside.
He sits back down on the steps to hear the exclaiming and fuss for a few minutes before he goes home, and smiles into the dark.
Rating: G/gen
Words: ~950
Warning: Besides the spoiler warning, ouchyish.
Characters: George, Weasley family
Summary: He's not ready to be around happy people yet.
A/N: Nothing in the epilogue contradicts this.
Quiet Steps
"George?"
George is outside. He heard the baby wail, and it's a happy bloody occasion and he can't-- he's not someone who should be around happy occasions, even when it's his first niece or nephew. He couldn't stay in the room with everyone, exclaiming excitedly, and they all know it by now; they let him leave and didn't try to chase him or keep him inside.
Though he suspects Charlie may have actually physically held Mum back. He can't really blame her; she just wants to fix him, despite that they both know that's impossible.
"Oi. George."
It takes him a moment to realize he's being called by way of the window to the left, not from the door behind him as he sits on the steps. He frowns. "Yeah?"
"You come over here?"
He shrugs. It isn't like he's got anywhere else to be, and if Bill wants him in particular, well, Bill knows about hard times and he asked for it. He stands and brushes off his arse and steps down, then goes around to stand amid the roses. "I heard the baby cry," he says. "I just--"
"Psht." Bill shushes him easily. "Why do you think I went looking for you out the window? I wanted to ask you a question before we go out there."
"You haven't taken it--him? her?--out to Mum yet? She's going to…" George trails off, then chuckles roughly. "I suppose probably you don't actually take your life in your hands, do you?"
Bill reaches out the window and cuffs George on the top of the head, gentle and still rough as a big brother. "That's what I wanted to ask about. We'd originally intended some sort of victorious name, you know? But. It's a boy. And we thought we might name him for Fred. But only if it's all right with you."
George snorts. "He's your brother too. Was. He was--"
"Yeah, I might have noticed that."
"It's not up to me. I've noticed a lot of things aren't up to me."
"Shut it. It is. Honestly. If you hate the idea, we'll go with Victor or something along that line."
George is silent for a long moment, then he shakes his head. "I don't know what to tell you. It's just a name, but it feels like it's not."
Bill nods. "Want to hold him? Before Mum?"
George blinks, then when he opens his mouth, Bill is gone from the window, and then he's back.
"Here," Bill says. "Support the head… Good lord. Just as well you hold first; I sound like Mum; clearly some other influence is required. You won't remember, but when each of you lot were born…"
George supposes he keeps on speaking, but right this minute he's absorbed in holding this wriggling tiny person, who is frowning at him and flailing an arm to get loose from his bundle. The tiny fist whacks him in the nose, which hurts, then tangles in his hair, which is down and loose, and yanks. "You're intent on doing harm, aren't you?" George says to the little guy.
The baby tugs again, but stops frowning, and George finds himself rubbing the back of his finger on the downy little cheek until the baby turns toward it, latching onto the knuckle and sucking. "All right, not harm. Mischief, more like." George looks up. "Can I come in?"
"Always." George hands the baby back because Apparating with it would only startle it, then joins Bill and Fleur in the bedroom.
"'e's quite certain what 'e wants already," Fleur says. She looks tired, but well, and gestures to the rocking chair nearby. "Sit." George sits, because really, they all pretty much do what Fleur says most of the time, and Bill hands back the baby, who stares at him more, scowling again.
He finds it impossible not to say something, nonsense really, just words, and the baby watches him until its eyes droop closed. George watches him sleep for a long while before he realizes it's probably quite selfish for him to have invaded their room and taken over the chair and the baby. He looks up. "I--"
Fleur smiles. "I think," she says, "'e likes you."
Bill's climbed up on the bed next to her in his jeans and boots, and he nods. "So. What d'you say?"
George bites his lip. "You don't think it's unlucky or anything?"
"Not with you watching." When George raises a brow in question, Bill adds, "Someone's going to have to teach him to channel that mischief impulse, right?"
"Right." George nods, and says it again. "Right." He smiles and looks down at the little sleeping guy. His hat's gone askew as he squirmed himself comfortable, and George can see the fuzz of red-gold strands there. "Hi, Fred," he said. The baby puckers, ghost-suckling in its sleep for a moment, and it looks like a kiss. George concludes that honestly, nothing would make him feel good, but this is close. It's better than most things, anyway. He stands to hand the little guy back to Fleur.
"You will come to see 'im, any time," she says--it's not a question, and George nods before he thinks.
Bill gets up to go open the door and let in the flood of people, and George steps back. He's not ready for the happy people yet, not ready for people to comment on the name, not ready for anything but the ease of a tiny warm person that only needs him to hold it and teach mayhem, so he catches Fleur's eye, nods, and Apparates back outside.
He sits back down on the steps to hear the exclaiming and fuss for a few minutes before he goes home, and smiles into the dark.