Fic: Live For Me
Title: Live For Me
Author:
silentdescant
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Fred/George
Summary: Fred is always first....
Wordcount: 2729
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, I'm just making up stories for my own enjoyment.
Warnings: *incest*, deathfic. Angst.
Live For Me.
George. It doesn’t sound right, not without the Fred to come before it. That’s how it’s always been: Fred and George. Not Fred, not George, not even George and Fred; always Fred and George. I’m never alone, but Fred can be. That’s one difference. I hate being without him by my side, but somehow he can handle it.
I don’t mind being the younger twin; it’s not as if anyone else ever knows who’s older, or even who’s who. I don’t know if it’s because he’s older that he’s the dominant twin, or if we’re just different that way. Different. That word doesn’t seem to fit us on the outside, but inside… That’s all we ever are, different. No one ever knows, though. We find comfort in being the interchangeable twins.
I always follow him, and I always will. Wherever he goes, I’ll be half a step behind him, just like always. Even if he chooses the dark side, I would go with him. I would follow my brother to Voldemort himself. If Fred was killed… I wouldn’t think twice before killing myself to join him. But he’s not dead. And I made him swear not to do anything that would get him there. He only agreed because I told him what I would do if he died. He agreed instantly, with the most serious face I’ve ever seen on either of us.
George put away his journal as Fred entered opened the door to their room above the shop. The apartment had two bedrooms, but they both stayed in one, leaving the other as an extra workroom. George didn’t have anything to hide from Fred; in fact, George often showed his journal entries to him.
“Keeping busy?” Fred asked, obviously worn out from a full day in the shop.
“Yeah. You didn’t have trouble down there without me, did you?” George joked.
“Nah. Little buggers are so hyperactive all the time, though. Drives me mad,” Fred flopped down on the bed, peeling off his Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes t-shirt in the process. George tossed his pen onto the desk and sat down next to his twin.
“I thought your energy never ran out. I’ve finally found something to wear you down,” George laughed. “You do remember what we were like, don’t you? About twenty times the energy level of all the other kids?”
“Age has finally crept up on me,” Fred sighed. “I guess I’m just not as young as I used to be.”
“You’re twenty-one. I guess you are getting old…” George shot back with a mock-serious expression.
“If I’m twenty-one, you are too. I’m not the only old fart here.”
“But you’ll always be older. No matter how you spin it, you’ll be older than me.”
“Yeah, but not by much.”
“Who’re you kidding? Eighteen minutes is quite a bit of time. You always do everything first: you were born first, had your first kiss first, you always make the first joke, and you’ll…” George suddenly stopped talking. Their playful banter had unexpectedly turned serious. Too serious. Fred instantly knew what was wrong and sat upright, placing a hand on his brother’s shaking arm.
“I won’t Georgie. Never ever. Isn’t that what I promised?” Fred asked softly.
“I just… didn’t expect…” George whispered, close to tears.
“I promised it wouldn’t happen, and I never break a promise.” George gave him a disbelieving look. “I never break a promise to you, anyway,” Fred amended.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… fall apart like this.” George drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m really scared, Fred.”
Harry Perfect Potter is taking his own sweet time with his one mission in life: save the world from You-Know-Who. Ron and Hermione trailed after him like pets, following his every order, hanging on his every word. If they hadn’t found each other, Fred was sure they’d have gone insane long before now. Harry keeps making excuses like, “I don’t have the strength to defeat him yet,” or “I have to figure out my secret weapon.” Meanwhile, You-Know-Who is running around Europe, killing everything in sight. By the time Potter is ready to fight, there won’t be a world left to save.
“We’ve managed to stay alive so far, haven’t we? I’ll protect you, Georgie,” Fred said softly, pulling his twin closer. George leaned his head against Fred’s bare chest, absently counting the numerous freckles there. He already knew the number. It was the same number he counted every night. The same number on his own chest, even. Eighteen spots on each, one for every minute they were apart. Fred placed a hand on George’s head, stroking the long, fiery hair. They stayed that way for several long minutes, each taking comfort in the presence of the other. Then they started to crack lame jokes, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Eventually everything was normal again, and they carried on bustling around the small apartment, finding leftover food and dirty dishes for dinner.
Normally, anything made by the Weasley twins should be kept a far distance from your mouth, but the twins never played tricks on each other. They trusted each other completely, more so than their other siblings, or even their parents.
Fred didn’t bother putting his shirt back on for dinner, and so he proceeded to drop a forkful of spaghetti on his torso. George laughed, and then flung his own forkful at his brother. Soon enough, they were both covered in pasta and tomato sauce, but neither cared. This was how they wanted to spend their evenings for the rest of their lives. They never discussed this; they just knew it to be true.
After dinner, Fred hopped to the bathroom for a shower, leaving red, sticky footprints all the way. George peeled off his own sticky clothes and found a washcloth and sponge to clean up the kitchen. Fred came out of the shower ten minutes later, carefully avoiding the footprints, and saw that most of the spaghetti had been wiped from the walls and table.
“Aw, Georgie, you could have waited for me,” Fred whined.
“What, so you could throw a sponge at me? I don’t think so,” George looked up from his position on the floor, where he was wiping a squished meatball off the tile.
“I wouldn’t have thrown it at you. Maybe charmed it to float over your head and drip on you, but not thrown.”
“Well, I appreciate that. You can clean up the floor while I’m in the shower.” George tossed Fred the washcloth and stood up. He was identical to his brother in nearly every way except his posture. Though technically, the twins were exactly the same height, Fred always stood tall, while George seemed to hunch over, his head slightly down. This made a couple inches difference in their heights, but no one really noticed. Also, George weighed marginally less than his twin, though, again, no one cared to notice. This made George appear smaller, slighter, and Fred larger and stronger. They were both shirtless, and Fred could count the same freckles on George’s body that George had counted on his. Fred sighed at his brother’s appearance, then dropped to the floor to finish cleaning up. George walked slowly around him, trailing his finger along Fred’s back as he passed, always in need of physical contact.
When George came out of the washroom fifteen minutes later, he found Fred lying on their bed, reading a quidditch magazine. Fred smiled when he entered the room and tossed the magazine to the desk, where it landed roughly and slid off to the floor. Fred laughed softly and patted the blanket next to him, inviting George into the bed. George crawled over Fred’s legs and pushed the blanket down so he could get underneath.
“I’m going to stay up for a bit and finish this order form. You go on to sleep, Georgie.” Fred reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a clipboard and pen. George nodded and slid deeper under the blanket. He lay facing his twin, studying Fred’s strong arms and facial features, features George was sure he didn’t possess. His own arms were thin and bony, though just as pale and freckled. George rolled over, away from the light, and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep. Their earlier conversation was still on his mind; it never left his mind. He curled his body into the fetal position and slowly fell asleep.
The minute George was asleep, Fred knew, and he put the clipboard carefully on the nightstand; George was a light sleeper. Fred leaned over and looked carefully at his brother’s face. George obviously wasn’t eating right; his face and neck were skeletal and gaunt, much the way Sirius looked when he first escaped from Azkaban. This troubled Fred, as did the fact that George had become more withdrawn and quiet in the past few months. A real smile was no longer a constant in their days; instead, it had become a rare treat to see it appear. More than once, Fred seriously considered telling their mother about George; but Molly would only insist he eat more and more often, that was about it.
Fred carefully slipped underneath the blanket, still watching George carefully. Sleeping in the same bed as a light sleeper was difficult. That was another thing Fred worried about: George’s sleeping habits. Fred would often find him lying awake at midnight or sitting at the kitchen table, breakfast already finished, at four in the morning. Fred sighed and studied the bare back in front of him. George was pale even by Weasley standards, and the bones of his spine were easily visible, even through a t-shirt.
Fred reached out and touched the pattern of freckles on George’s right shoulder lightly. It looked like only half of a heart, and Fred had the same pattern on his own shoulder. They often joked that this was proof that they were always supposed to be together, but Fred believed it, and he knew George did too. George shivered at the touch and reflexively pulled the blanket higher. Fred shifted closer to his twin, placing a strong hand on his back. George shook again.
“Cold?” Fred whispered quietly; he knew his brother was awake. He could always feel it.
“Yes,” George breathed back, his voice barely audible. Fred pulled even closer, until their bodies were touching. Fred wrapped his arm around his shaking twin and held him close, letting his body heat warm him. Fred planted a soft kiss on the pattern of freckles and George relaxed slightly.
“It’s alright,” Fred whispered soothingly. “There’s nothing to be afraid of right now. I’m right here.” Just then, an explosion shook the building. Fire flashed outside the window. The twins sat up instantly, turning to face one another. Fred jumped off the bed and grabbed a shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head hurriedly. He grabbed his wand from the table and turned back to George, who hadn’t moved a muscle.
“Please don’t go,” George pleaded, his eyes already watering.
“I have to go, Georgie,” Fred whispered sadly, glancing out the window, where the fires still raged. They could hear screams on the street below.
“You don’t. You could stay with me.”
“They’ll find us, Georgie. I have to go.”
“Fred, please!” George was crying now. His body was shaking in terror.
Fred jumped at the sound of another explosion. He grabbed the pot of floo powder from the desk and shoved it into George’s hand. “Take this and go. I don’t care where, just go, George, please. Go tell Mum and Dad what’s going on.”
“They already know. Fred, we can escape. Come with me, Fred.”
“I can’t,” Fred mouthed, not trusting his voice.
“Then I’m coming with you,” George stated, snatching his wand off the table as well. “We stick together, always.”
Fred bit his lip, thinking. George was weak; he knew that. He would never last long in a battle. But George would go wherever he went, and he was going out into battle. The smoke from outside wafted in through the window, the tendrils wandering around the darkened room.
“Remember your promise, Fred,” he yelled over the growing noise. “Remember what you promised me?”
“I promised I would never do anything that would get me killed. I know I promised, but…” They paused to listen to the chaos outside. “George, I have to go.”
“I’ll follow you,” George said in determination.
“No, you won’t,” Fred replied sadly.
“Yes…” George trailed off, tears flowing from his eyes. “Always, Fred.”
“Please leave, George. You’ll be all right. I’ll find you.”
“You know I won’t be. I can’t take care of myself, and you know it, Fred. I can’t live without you.”
“You will.”
“I won’t.”
“I can’t lose you out there,” Fred sobbed, glancing at the window. Flames licked at the outside of their building now.
“Fred, please!”
“Georgie…” Fred stepped closer to his brother, reaching out to touch him. When he did, George didn’t pull away or flinch. Instead, he leaned into Fred’s touch, taking a step forward. Fred closed the distance between them and kissed George softly on the lips. They fit together perfectly. Their bodies matched exactly. In the kiss, George could feel Fred’s sadness, his insistence, and his love. Fred snaked his arm behind George’s back, rubbing him gently. “I love you,” Fred said against his mouth. “I love you more than I can stand.”
“Fred, you can’t leave!” George exclaimed as he pulled away slightly. Their foreheads and noses were touching; it was like leaning against a mirror. The window exploded inward, shooting shards of glass at the pair. The fire had grown; it was creeping inside the room. Their pale skin reflected the harsh firelight. Fred reached up to caress George’s face. A drop of blood from where the glass hit him slid slowly down his cheek and Fred brushed it aside like a tear. George’s pale skin was covered in the red dots of blood. Fred leaned back, taking in his twin’s full appearance. The droplets looked like bright crimson freckles, splattered across George’s chest and right arm. Fred knew he had the same red spots on his body, but he couldn’t feel them. The room was growing hotter by the second as the flames crept in. Fred pulled George away from the window, to the tall fireplace outside the door.
“Fred…”
He pushed George into the fireplace after tossing a handful of the powder on the flames. “Say it, George. Please, say it.”
“Come with me, Fred. You don’t have to stay here!”
“Say it!” Fred cried desperately.
“I love you, Fred,” George sobbed, the green flames licking at his legs. George pulled Fred into the fireplace and kissed him hard. Fred pushed his fingers through George’s long, red hair. One hand fingered the half-heart-shaped pattern on George’s shoulder. George’s hand clutched at Fred’s chest and arms, pleading with him to step into the fireplace. They pulled each other into a tight embrace, each whispering words of love into the other’s ear.
Slowly, Fred pulled away. He stepped away from the green flames. George didn’t move. “Live,” Fred said to his twin. “Live for me.”
“I love you, Fred,” George whispered, the sentiment unheard over the roar of the flames. “The Burrow!” he shouted suddenly.
“I love you, George,” Fred cried, watching his brother spin away through tear-filled eyes. “I love you.”
Just George doesn’t sound right. It needs the Fred. But Fred doesn’t need the George. Fred can stand alone, Fred can fight. All the things I can’t do. The last thing Fred did before he left was write me a note. He wrote it in my journal and gave the small, slightly singed book to our Owl, Wheezy. The note was only seven words, but they were seven very important words. That was the last time I saw Fred, standing just out of reach through the flames. Our love may not have been right, but it was right enough for us. We never did things the conventional way anyhow. We needed each other, in more ways than just being twins could satisfy. We never told anyone, and I never will. It will be our secret, Fred. Our secret.
Georgie,
I love you.
Always yours,
Fred.