Well that was a strange day [story!]
Fred cracked open another can of Whisker Pete Wheat, the local brew he had picked up on his way home from work. He definitely need a drink. Like six of them. Well, okay, so he was on his fifth. Maybe he'd get around to another. So maybe he only actually needed five. Jesusfuck. Today was insane.
He lolled back in the bright blue beanbag chair, one of the only actual pieces of "furniture" in the apartment. He was going to fix it up soon, he really was, but he was doing surprisingly okay with sturdy boxes, the beanbag chair, a card table, and a bed. Once he got back, maybe then he'd put more time and money into actual stuff.
Back. Right.
First with the puppets, then the lunch and the whoa! conversations all over the place, then Fred's random decision to ask Cora, his boss, for some time off next week, and. Well. Cora had been surprisingly very okay with giving Fred a whole week off, in addition to the normal three days he didn't work, so he suddenly have ten free days.
And he could -- should, he knew -- use those to make his way back to London for a bit and see everyone and reconnect and... Shit, it was going to be strange.
Fred rubbed his eyes, then took a long drink of beer. He had only openly discussed the inherent weirdness in his coming back with Ronnikins, of all people, but there was no doubt that the rest of the Weasleys were just as aware of it. He had been dead. Not just gone for ten, twenty years. Actually dead. When Ron had started to talk about how George had dealt with it -- or, as Ronnie had put it, not dealt with it, Fred had honestly wished he had just stayed dead. Whatever that meant.
Sometimes he suddenly remembered things he knew hadn't happened to him, at least not in life. It was like deja vu, but nothing so ordinary, and instead it was so completely disconnected with the reality he knew, sometimes Fred forgot how to breathe. He'd be riding his bicycle to work, and a sudden sound from a passing car, with their radio on loud, would shock him so much he'd just topple over. Or a dream would be so cuttingly real he'd jerk awake in the middle of the night, alone except for the dark.
It was pretty awful. And it's not like anyone else could really understand, either. Thank Merlin, actually, because this was one of those things Fred didn't want anyone ever to have to deal with. Fred maybe understood why Jesus supposedly only stuck around after he came back to life for a few weeks or something. It messed with the head, resurrection did.
Anyway. Going back to London. Maybe it wasn't good timing, what with his light-shedding conversation with Ennis today, but it did have to happen. And it's not like he and Ennis hung out all the time anyway. A week or so would go by, normally, without them so much as seeing each other on the street. The cowboy probably wouldn't even notice he was gone.
Fred wasn't quite sure how he was going to get home. Apparation seemed daunting and terrifying. It would take a dozen or so jumps just to get to the East Coast, and then what about the ocean? Fred really didn't want to try going over it in one trip. But what would he -- well. That just seemed not plausible. He could look into a portkey, but he had never learned how to make them himself. A broom wouldn't be bad, except it would take the whole week to get to London, and then he'd have a sore bum while he was at it.
Draining the beer can, Fred absently crushed it and sent it flying into the garbage with a flick of his wand hand, even though his wand was halfway across the room.
It had been kind of awesome doing magic today, in the field with Ennis. Okay, it had only been a few spells, but he hadn't even done that until now. He had stuck with the small bits of wandless magic he had always been able to manage, undefinable things like throws and unlocking things. Charms had always come natural to he and George.
George. It was going to be so insanely weird to see George again. But, even so, just the idea of his twin brought a mad grin to Fred's face. Weird, yes, but just what he needed. Fucking Merlin, it would be amazing.
Maybe he'd bug Hermione about portkeys and all that. Although she'd probably make him go legit and register it with the Ministry. Since Fred wasn't really sure how the Ministry would react to the news that he had come back to life -- he really didn't want to have to deal with officials claiming he was a zombie or some other result of necromantic magic -- getting to and from London with as little fuss as possible would be ideal, really.
He wriggled into a more comfortable position in the beanbag chair, folding his arms behind his head -- his NOT BALDING head, thank you very much -- and smiled. Okay, today was weird as fuck, but that was normal. In a way.
He lolled back in the bright blue beanbag chair, one of the only actual pieces of "furniture" in the apartment. He was going to fix it up soon, he really was, but he was doing surprisingly okay with sturdy boxes, the beanbag chair, a card table, and a bed. Once he got back, maybe then he'd put more time and money into actual stuff.
Back. Right.
First with the puppets, then the lunch and the whoa! conversations all over the place, then Fred's random decision to ask Cora, his boss, for some time off next week, and. Well. Cora had been surprisingly very okay with giving Fred a whole week off, in addition to the normal three days he didn't work, so he suddenly have ten free days.
And he could -- should, he knew -- use those to make his way back to London for a bit and see everyone and reconnect and... Shit, it was going to be strange.
Fred rubbed his eyes, then took a long drink of beer. He had only openly discussed the inherent weirdness in his coming back with Ronnikins, of all people, but there was no doubt that the rest of the Weasleys were just as aware of it. He had been dead. Not just gone for ten, twenty years. Actually dead. When Ron had started to talk about how George had dealt with it -- or, as Ronnie had put it, not dealt with it, Fred had honestly wished he had just stayed dead. Whatever that meant.
Sometimes he suddenly remembered things he knew hadn't happened to him, at least not in life. It was like deja vu, but nothing so ordinary, and instead it was so completely disconnected with the reality he knew, sometimes Fred forgot how to breathe. He'd be riding his bicycle to work, and a sudden sound from a passing car, with their radio on loud, would shock him so much he'd just topple over. Or a dream would be so cuttingly real he'd jerk awake in the middle of the night, alone except for the dark.
It was pretty awful. And it's not like anyone else could really understand, either. Thank Merlin, actually, because this was one of those things Fred didn't want anyone ever to have to deal with. Fred maybe understood why Jesus supposedly only stuck around after he came back to life for a few weeks or something. It messed with the head, resurrection did.
Anyway. Going back to London. Maybe it wasn't good timing, what with his light-shedding conversation with Ennis today, but it did have to happen. And it's not like he and Ennis hung out all the time anyway. A week or so would go by, normally, without them so much as seeing each other on the street. The cowboy probably wouldn't even notice he was gone.
Fred wasn't quite sure how he was going to get home. Apparation seemed daunting and terrifying. It would take a dozen or so jumps just to get to the East Coast, and then what about the ocean? Fred really didn't want to try going over it in one trip. But what would he -- well. That just seemed not plausible. He could look into a portkey, but he had never learned how to make them himself. A broom wouldn't be bad, except it would take the whole week to get to London, and then he'd have a sore bum while he was at it.
Draining the beer can, Fred absently crushed it and sent it flying into the garbage with a flick of his wand hand, even though his wand was halfway across the room.
It had been kind of awesome doing magic today, in the field with Ennis. Okay, it had only been a few spells, but he hadn't even done that until now. He had stuck with the small bits of wandless magic he had always been able to manage, undefinable things like throws and unlocking things. Charms had always come natural to he and George.
George. It was going to be so insanely weird to see George again. But, even so, just the idea of his twin brought a mad grin to Fred's face. Weird, yes, but just what he needed. Fucking Merlin, it would be amazing.
Maybe he'd bug Hermione about portkeys and all that. Although she'd probably make him go legit and register it with the Ministry. Since Fred wasn't really sure how the Ministry would react to the news that he had come back to life -- he really didn't want to have to deal with officials claiming he was a zombie or some other result of necromantic magic -- getting to and from London with as little fuss as possible would be ideal, really.
He wriggled into a more comfortable position in the beanbag chair, folding his arms behind his head -- his NOT BALDING head, thank you very much -- and smiled. Okay, today was weird as fuck, but that was normal. In a way.