Justprompts: Ten risks you've taken.
1. Fred peered around the corner, keeping an eye out for Filch or that nasty cat, as George quickly arranged the carton full of dungbombs and homemade fireworks. Deep into second year and deeper into the third floor corridor that they certainly weren't meant to be in, the Weasley twins had a plan. Please: when Dumbledore announced last week before breakfast that this hallway was no longer accessible because of an uncleanable potion spill, did he really think they weren't going to figure out a way to use this? Especially when it turned out, based on their experiments, that the hole in the floor led, not to the second floor hallway as would be expected, but to an improbable spot just outside the Slytherin Common Room? This -- this was just asking to be taken advantage of. And, sure, the hole was invisible and, sure, Fred and George had figured it out just by accidentally falling right through right on top of a rather smelly but very large Slytherin, and. Well! Now they were going to take advantage. And no Filch in sight. Tip-toeing up to the edge of the hole, or at least where they were pretty sure it was, the twins got ready to make some mischief.
2. The note was crumpled and worn, each fold done so many times it was almost tearing. Fred took a deep breath, waiting behind in Potions class a few extra seconds, and then. Then he stood up, walked by Terrence Higgs's desk, and set it down without looking back.
3. Fred stared at George, waiting for the other boy to -- to do something in response. The silence grew, the confused and almost hurt look on George's face intensified. Fred ended up leaving first, wishing like hell he could have been straight.
4. Alright, how about the whole bet thing at the Quidditch World Cup.
5. And, yeah, the shop. Jesusfuck, the shop. The best shop in Diagon Alley, that.
6. Fred charged down the hallway, his mind racing, remembering two absurd things at once: the time he and George had charmed every fourth years shoes to stick to this very carpet and, a few years later, the half hour he had spent with Terrence in that broom closet just five feet to his right. He grinned at Percy, thrilled beyond all recognition to have his brother back, his brother. He was laughing, smiling, so sure of everything good in the world. This was going to end up alright. Percy had made a joke: what could go wrong?
7. His hand danced over the chocolate frog. He had to touch it. He had to go home! He had to go home. He had to see his family. It had been -- thirteen years. A moment for him, a lifetime for some of them. He was going to meet nieces and nephews, see GEORGE and Ronnie and Mum and Percy and. Fuck. Fred rubbed his eyes and took another quick drink from the vodka bottle, grimacing as the burn raced down his throat. He had to do this, he had to do this, he had to do this. Fuck. He did it.
8. Ennis was the one who asked him to bed. Fred had been perfectly okay with the couch. Quid pro quo! Ennis had slept in his ugly couch, and now it was his turn. But -- then the cowboy had suggested the bed, had gone all quiet (well, quieter), his eyes shifty and soft. Fred's heart had forgotten its job for a good few seconds, and then he had nodded. It had been awkward at first, lying there in the small bed, next to the other man, but -- again, it was Ennis who slowly started to invade Fred's already very limited personal space, with an arm there and a head there. Soon, the feeling of the other man's hair against his cheek, their legs roughly entangled, and their breathing settling down -- it was all natural and right. He fell asleep like that and, even better, woke up like that. It was his birthday. As the other man woke up, as they relaxed into each other and mumbled about plans, Fred decided -- well. After all, it was his birthday. And they had had rough, horribly good sex almost a month ago and nothing since so fuck that. He leaned over, on top of the cowboy, and kissed him in the middle of a sentence, closing his eyes and not backing off.
9. And then it was Ennis who brought up Montana. Fred wasn't sure what made the other man suddenly decide to move. Maybe -- maybe it was partly his influence, putting the idea of travel in the cowboy's head. Maybe it was since Junior and her husband were looking at a ranch up there. Fred didn't know and didn't mind. It wasn't as if he had much keeping him tied down in Wyoming, after all. In fact, he had way more reasons to move back to London than he did to stay floating around in the Mid West with some cowboy who barely smiled. But, well. Who knows why he had come back to life in the States, but Fred was willing to try it out for a while longer. Even if horses did hate him.
10. The new shop was going to be amazing. Every time Fred thought about it, he couldn't help but grin. It was larger than the one in wizarding London, mostly because real estate in a Montana suburb was cheaper than in the limited space of Diagon Alley, but also because Fred was still besotted with the idea of living above his shop, so had insisted on one of the more expensive options he had looked at, just because it included a small apartment on the second floor. The shop itself had two large rooms: the first, which the street opened up to, was filled with Muggle toys and some simple Wizarding inventions that could be passed off as shiny new technology; and the second room, shielded magically from Muggle eyes, was going to be more reminiscent of the store back home. Back in London, that is. Montana was, with each passing day, more and more Fred's home. Oh, and of course the new location had a workshop in the back, smaller and even more cramped than the one in Diagon Alley, but Fred loved the freedom even that small space allowed.
It was scary to open a business all by yourself, Fred realized. Last time, he had been young and excited and overwhelmed with the money Harry had given he and George. Now, though, he was all too aware of the possible shortfalls, the problems, the worries. Come on. He was a random British ginger, who was slightly obviously gay, opening a toy store in a Montana suburb, where he had just moved a few months ago, accompanied by a ridiculously sexy and maybe gay cowboy? (And even though Ennis and he didn't live together, they might as well, since more often than not one fell asleep at the other's place.) But, well. That's what life was, right? Risks. And the excitement that coursed through him every time he went in to work and set more up more than convinced Fred that every single risk he had taken and every one he had yet to take would be worth it, to a ridiculous and insane degree.
2. The note was crumpled and worn, each fold done so many times it was almost tearing. Fred took a deep breath, waiting behind in Potions class a few extra seconds, and then. Then he stood up, walked by Terrence Higgs's desk, and set it down without looking back.
3. Fred stared at George, waiting for the other boy to -- to do something in response. The silence grew, the confused and almost hurt look on George's face intensified. Fred ended up leaving first, wishing like hell he could have been straight.
4. Alright, how about the whole bet thing at the Quidditch World Cup.
5. And, yeah, the shop. Jesusfuck, the shop. The best shop in Diagon Alley, that.
6. Fred charged down the hallway, his mind racing, remembering two absurd things at once: the time he and George had charmed every fourth years shoes to stick to this very carpet and, a few years later, the half hour he had spent with Terrence in that broom closet just five feet to his right. He grinned at Percy, thrilled beyond all recognition to have his brother back, his brother. He was laughing, smiling, so sure of everything good in the world. This was going to end up alright. Percy had made a joke: what could go wrong?
7. His hand danced over the chocolate frog. He had to touch it. He had to go home! He had to go home. He had to see his family. It had been -- thirteen years. A moment for him, a lifetime for some of them. He was going to meet nieces and nephews, see GEORGE and Ronnie and Mum and Percy and. Fuck. Fred rubbed his eyes and took another quick drink from the vodka bottle, grimacing as the burn raced down his throat. He had to do this, he had to do this, he had to do this. Fuck. He did it.
8. Ennis was the one who asked him to bed. Fred had been perfectly okay with the couch. Quid pro quo! Ennis had slept in his ugly couch, and now it was his turn. But -- then the cowboy had suggested the bed, had gone all quiet (well, quieter), his eyes shifty and soft. Fred's heart had forgotten its job for a good few seconds, and then he had nodded. It had been awkward at first, lying there in the small bed, next to the other man, but -- again, it was Ennis who slowly started to invade Fred's already very limited personal space, with an arm there and a head there. Soon, the feeling of the other man's hair against his cheek, their legs roughly entangled, and their breathing settling down -- it was all natural and right. He fell asleep like that and, even better, woke up like that. It was his birthday. As the other man woke up, as they relaxed into each other and mumbled about plans, Fred decided -- well. After all, it was his birthday. And they had had rough, horribly good sex almost a month ago and nothing since so fuck that. He leaned over, on top of the cowboy, and kissed him in the middle of a sentence, closing his eyes and not backing off.
9. And then it was Ennis who brought up Montana. Fred wasn't sure what made the other man suddenly decide to move. Maybe -- maybe it was partly his influence, putting the idea of travel in the cowboy's head. Maybe it was since Junior and her husband were looking at a ranch up there. Fred didn't know and didn't mind. It wasn't as if he had much keeping him tied down in Wyoming, after all. In fact, he had way more reasons to move back to London than he did to stay floating around in the Mid West with some cowboy who barely smiled. But, well. Who knows why he had come back to life in the States, but Fred was willing to try it out for a while longer. Even if horses did hate him.
10. The new shop was going to be amazing. Every time Fred thought about it, he couldn't help but grin. It was larger than the one in wizarding London, mostly because real estate in a Montana suburb was cheaper than in the limited space of Diagon Alley, but also because Fred was still besotted with the idea of living above his shop, so had insisted on one of the more expensive options he had looked at, just because it included a small apartment on the second floor. The shop itself had two large rooms: the first, which the street opened up to, was filled with Muggle toys and some simple Wizarding inventions that could be passed off as shiny new technology; and the second room, shielded magically from Muggle eyes, was going to be more reminiscent of the store back home. Back in London, that is. Montana was, with each passing day, more and more Fred's home. Oh, and of course the new location had a workshop in the back, smaller and even more cramped than the one in Diagon Alley, but Fred loved the freedom even that small space allowed.
It was scary to open a business all by yourself, Fred realized. Last time, he had been young and excited and overwhelmed with the money Harry had given he and George. Now, though, he was all too aware of the possible shortfalls, the problems, the worries. Come on. He was a random British ginger, who was slightly obviously gay, opening a toy store in a Montana suburb, where he had just moved a few months ago, accompanied by a ridiculously sexy and maybe gay cowboy? (And even though Ennis and he didn't live together, they might as well, since more often than not one fell asleep at the other's place.) But, well. That's what life was, right? Risks. And the excitement that coursed through him every time he went in to work and set more up more than convinced Fred that every single risk he had taken and every one he had yet to take would be worth it, to a ridiculous and insane degree.