Make The Best Of What's Around
I should probably post some actual content this month, before it's gone, huh?
Have a story:
Title: Make The Best of What's Around
Pairing: George/Angelina
Rating: PG
Count: ~350
Summary: Sometimes you just have to make the best of what's around. Sometimes it's better than you imagined.
“So. What now?”
The war was over. Voldemort was dead, and the Wizarding World was celebrating. The funerals were over, and instead there was an engagement or a wedding or a christening every week - often more than one as relief and celebratory champagne flowed, giddy and sparkling.
But Fred was dead too. And as well as the gaping hole in the lives of the Weasley family and a gaping hole in his twin’s sentences, he had also left behind a pregnant girlfriend. A bereaved young woman and an unborn child. There was only one thing to do, obviously, so George and Angelina had solemnly joined the merrier couples lining up to be wed.
It had seemed so clear at the time. It was what needed to be done. Fred’s child needed a family, and Angelina’s was gone, her mother long dead, her muggleborn father lost to Voldemort’s Ministry. And now they sat at the small dining table in the cramped flat above Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes staring at each other, suddenly excruciatingly aware that although the wedding was over they weren’t done. That for every step they took, there was another one waiting to be taken.
“Damned if…” The pause was still automatic. Years of having his sentences finished for him made it difficult to finish them on his own. “Oh, um. Damned if I know, Ange. I thought I might see if we… I could work out how to turn little Fred orange.”
The brown eyes that had grown dull over the preceding weeks sparked with sudden ferocity. “George Quintus Weasley, in the first place, her name will be Roxanne. In the second place you will not under any circumstances, ever turn her orange!”
Blinking at the finger suddenly so close to his face that it was in danger of poking him in the eye, George looked back down at the chipped table and muttered, “No Ange. Sorry. Just, um…”
“You may, however, turn that French bint any colour you fancy. Self-righteous cow that she is. I assume you tried carotene, but have you thought of shrimp? It works for flamingos.”
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible, if they just took it one step at a time.
Have a story:
Title: Make The Best of What's Around
Pairing: George/Angelina
Rating: PG
Count: ~350
Summary: Sometimes you just have to make the best of what's around. Sometimes it's better than you imagined.
“So. What now?”
The war was over. Voldemort was dead, and the Wizarding World was celebrating. The funerals were over, and instead there was an engagement or a wedding or a christening every week - often more than one as relief and celebratory champagne flowed, giddy and sparkling.
But Fred was dead too. And as well as the gaping hole in the lives of the Weasley family and a gaping hole in his twin’s sentences, he had also left behind a pregnant girlfriend. A bereaved young woman and an unborn child. There was only one thing to do, obviously, so George and Angelina had solemnly joined the merrier couples lining up to be wed.
It had seemed so clear at the time. It was what needed to be done. Fred’s child needed a family, and Angelina’s was gone, her mother long dead, her muggleborn father lost to Voldemort’s Ministry. And now they sat at the small dining table in the cramped flat above Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes staring at each other, suddenly excruciatingly aware that although the wedding was over they weren’t done. That for every step they took, there was another one waiting to be taken.
“Damned if…” The pause was still automatic. Years of having his sentences finished for him made it difficult to finish them on his own. “Oh, um. Damned if I know, Ange. I thought I might see if we… I could work out how to turn little Fred orange.”
The brown eyes that had grown dull over the preceding weeks sparked with sudden ferocity. “George Quintus Weasley, in the first place, her name will be Roxanne. In the second place you will not under any circumstances, ever turn her orange!”
Blinking at the finger suddenly so close to his face that it was in danger of poking him in the eye, George looked back down at the chipped table and muttered, “No Ange. Sorry. Just, um…”
“You may, however, turn that French bint any colour you fancy. Self-righteous cow that she is. I assume you tried carotene, but have you thought of shrimp? It works for flamingos.”
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible, if they just took it one step at a time.