Fred: Ferblunjit, Fercockt, Faygala
Title: Fred: Ferblunjit, Fercockt, Faygala (1/3)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Fred/Teddy
Rating: PG-ish, this part.
Wordcount: 3708
Warnings: None for this part. Except for, uh, spoilers for DH?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling, Scholastic, and Warner Brothers. Not, y'know, me.
Author's Notes: The title loosely means, "Fred: Lost, Confused, Gay" in Yiddish. Because living this close to Hollywood, you're gonna pick up some Yiddish. And look some of it up on the internet.
Part One: Summer, 2017.
He wasn't funny. It wasn't that he lacked a sense of humour, or that he didn't find things funny, he just never tried. Sure, sometimes he'd say something off-handedly, like the time he told his aunt that if he wanted a girlfriend, he'd rather go window shopping in Amsterdam, and everyone in the room giggled profusely. This wasn't "funny." Funny was when his uncle tested his new, improved, and better-than-ever Tickle Taffy on his mother, and she couldn't stop laughing for a week. Funny was Scorpius Malfoy being hexed into speaking in limericks. Funny was his father's hair at two in the morning.
No, he had to admit it. Fred Weasley, son of George Weasley, nephew of the late Fred Weasley, was just not funny.
He had a tendency to brood in corners, and at his grandmother's house, he was most likely to be found up in his father's old room, reading Muggle authors such as Kafka. He liked this room more than all the others. It remained exactly the same, so many years after Fred Weasley's death, and he felt comforted when he was close to his namesake. He was sure he would have like the original Fred Weasley, from what he could tell from his bedroom: It was decorated haphazardedly, and the bed was firm, but with just enough give to make it comfortable. While the rest of the family sat downstairs, eating and making merry, Fred was sitting on the bed, taking in the smell of the dust and examining the posters on the walls. The sound of people often came crashing through the door, but Fred didn't mind. He had learned a long time ago to tune out. It was a habit that had to be reigned in once in a while, because he'd find himself daydreaming during an important Transfiguration lesson, or worse, a detailed explanation of avoiding Botuber pus. The boils had made him a hermit for half the summer of his second year, even though it wasn’t much of a change. This room was where he wanted to be the most, hidden in nostaglia and privacy, at the core of the world.
And this was where Teddy Lupin found him.
Teddy cracked open the door momentarily before knocking. "Can I come in?" he asked.
Fred didn't glance at him. "You already are," he pointed out.
Grinning nervously, Teddy slinked in, his hair a platonic, muddy brown. "What are you doing?"
"Having an existential crisis," Fred answered, flashing the cover of his book at him.
"Well, you'd better come downstairs. Everyone's already eaten without you."
"Everyone's always eaten without me. I don't eat."
"There's a name for that, you know. The Muggles call it 'Manorexia'."
Fred sniffed. "It's called Anorexia Nervosa, and I eat fine, just not with people."
“But you haven’t eaten yet?”
“No, I haven’t.”
"Right, well, we can't have you starving yourself!" Teddy answered cheerily. Obnoxiously cheerily. “Head off downstairs, then!”
"And what are you planning on doing in here?" Fred asked suspiciously. "If you were planning on having a wank, you can't. This is my dead uncle's room."
"Well, you're tactful," Teddy said, frowning slightly. His hair turned slightly muddier.
Fred was unabashed. "Right. I'm going downstairs." He placed the book on the bedside table and sauntered to the door, opening it with surprising enthusiasm. Teddy blocked the doorway, looking Fred over once or twice, very quickly. "This was your father's room too," he said quietly. "You really should give him some of the credit as well."
Fred ran his tongue over the front of his teeth. "Yeah." He pushed Teddy aside and ran down the stairs.
Teddy crossed his arms and shook his head.
*
The sun was setting over Ottery St. Catchpole, and Fred was in the yard, looking for puffskeins. This was especially difficult, on account of the fur of Lily's puffskein matched the color of the clouds, the sun's rays splayed across them a deep purple-pink. Every once in a while, as soon as Fred was about to give up, he'd hear a pleased rumble coming from behind one of the bushes, and he'd trek on, knowing that a little darkness was nothing compared to his cousin's rage.
"Beast?" Fred called out, as sweetly as possible. "Beast? Come here, darling! Come here!" He was crawling on his hands and knees behind the rosebush. "Beast!" Sighing, he got up and brushed the dirt off his knees. "Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous Beastie," he mumbled. "How appropriate."
Beast purred again, this time from atop a prickly Cycad. Fred scoffed. "You are kidding me!" he exclaimed. "All right, then, Beast! I give up!" he yelled at the Jurassic tree. "You win! Now, I'm going to go inside!" He paused, waiting for a response. Nothing. "Er, okay!" he hollered, feeling more and more ridiculous by the second. "This is your last chance!" His eyes scanned the large, green leaves. "Okay, I'm going! I'm leaving right now!" He exhaled, blowing his bangs off his sweaty forehead. "Here I go! I'm leaving! I'm going inside!" He took a few tentative steps backward. "I said, I'm going inside! I'm going to go and eat some of Gran's delicious treacle tart! And... and... dance on tables!" Exasperated, he wiped his brow with his sleeve. "Bye, Beast! Farewell! Goodbye forever! I hope you're happy out here, with all the gnomes and the flobberworms and the Flibbertigibbets!"
"Are you talking to yourself?" a voice behind him asked, amused.
Fred whipped around before he could regain his dignity. "Teddy," he yelped. He cleared his throat. "I mean, Teddy," he said again, calmer. "What're you doing out here?"
"Looking for Lily's puffskein," Teddy said, his eyes twinkling. "She said she sent you, but I figured I'd help you out. Clearly, you need it."
"Clearly, I don't need anything from you," Fred retorted, his composure restored. "What I need is to be able to do magic away from school. And maybe some Ice Mice."
"I agree with you on the Ice Mice," Teddy said. "You're disgusting."
"Says the man with the green hair."
"Says the ginger. Besides, it's not green, it's cerulean."
Fred smiled, admitting defeat. "So, er, you were going to help."
"Yes. Yes, I was."
"Well? Are you planning on turning into a puff and luring it with your mating call?"
Teddy rolled his eyes. He pulled his wand out from his back pocket. It was long and thin, shiny even in the darkness. Fred thought of his own wand, dull and twiggy, and felt a twinge of jealousy. Teddy flicked his wand carefully. "Accio puffskein!" he called, and Beast flew out of the tree and landed in his arms with a gentle flop! Fred was impressed.
Beast rumbled and nuzzled up against Teddy's chest. Teddy gave a triumphant smile. "And that is how you retrieve a puffskein."
"Easy enough if you can't be expelled," Fred replied.
Teddy ran a hand through Fred's hair and ruffled it. Grabbing him by the nape of his neck, Teddy pulled Fred in close and pressed their foreheads together. "The next time you're digging around in the mud," he whispered, his breath coming hot onto Fred's face, "don't be afraid to ask, alright?" He let Fred go and gave an incredibly unmanly giggle. "Let's go inside, then, shall we?" Beast tittered approvingly. Teddy skipped off with the big purple fuzzball in his arms, leaving Fred completely confounded.
Fred blinked, then exhaled slowly. He hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath.
*
As it turned out, Fred was incredibly bad at Quidditch. And, in some bizzare twist of fate, Teddy was very good at it. His father never let him forget that he and Fred Weasley used to be beaters on the Hogwarts team, and even though he never meant any harm by it, Fred could never help resenting the sport for reminding him constantly of his shortcomings.
The morning of the big game between the Chudley Cannons and the Holyhead Harpies, Fred escaped again to “his” room. He peered into the cracked, old mirror and sighed.
“It’s not Dad’s fault,” he told his reflection. “It’s not his fault I look like Fred.” He frowned. “Fred Weasley, that is, the first one. Who looked like his twin, George Weasley, who is my father. And obviously, I must look like him. Then, I guess,” he concluded morosely, “There’s no one who looks like me.”
The door creaked and Fred turned.
Teddy.
“Don’t you ever knock?” Fred asked, slightly annoyed.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Teddy asked, wearing the same affable grin day after day.
Fred raised an eyebrow in disapproval.
“Sorry,” Teddy said sheepishly. He stepped back to the door and knocked on it.
Fred smiled despite himself.
“So,” Teddy said, meandering over to Fred and placing his hands on Fred’s shoulders, “I know that you’re probably very busy with your teenage angst and whatnot”-he paused for a reaction. Fred didn’t give him one.-“but we’ve got a game to go to. Shall we?”
Fred hung his head and turned to face him. They were quite... close to each other, Fred observed. “Actually,” he said guiltily, “I was thinking of staying here. Get caught up on my, ah, schoolwork.”
“Bah! Who needs schoolwork? This is a Cannons game, boy! Don’t you know what that means?”
“Er. Not really?”
“This is the one time of year our family is divided! The drama, the passion! You can’t possibly miss it! I won’t let you!”
Fred lifted his gaze to meet Teddy’s eyes. He had always noticed that Ted’s eyes twinkled, but at this closeness, he suddenly noticed that his eyes, well, twinkled. Literally. As in, his eyes glittered. This was very strange.
“You...” Fred trailed off. He was going to say something along the lines of, “You great poofter, you have confetti in your irises!” but decided against it. He though it was rude, which in itself was a revelation, since rudeness had never stopped him, especially that one time he asked Victoire if she looked like a bird because she was part Veela.
“Come ooooooooooooooooooooon, Fred!” Teddy mock-whined. “I bet James three Galleons that Aunt Ginny would end up hitting Uncle Harry on the head at one point during the game! You wouldn’t let me lose that much money, would you?”
“Well, no one’s stopping you from going, are they?” Fred asked sullenly.
“Well, no, but I can’t just leave you here, can I? What kind of a person would that make me?”
“I... really don’t know, Tedward.”
“Ted is short for Theodore, Fred.”
“Not in the wizarding world, it isn’t. By that logic, Aunt Ginny should be Aunt Virginia.”
“Virginia? That’s just crazy talk. That’s not the point! It would make me a right awful person, and we can’t have that!”
"You're already a bloody awful excuse for a human being, you can't just very well blame me for that."
Exasperated, Teddy shoved a peice of hair out of Fred's face. "Look, what's the real reason you don't want to go?"
"I already told you--"
Teddy cut him off by covering Fred's mouth with his hand. Fred's eyes flashed with anger.
Teddy spoke gently, in jest. "Okay, now. I'm going to take my hand off your mouth on one condition."
Fred nodded obediently. "Mm-hmm."
"That one condition is that you have to be honest with me. I know you can be honest," he said, fluttering his eyelashes. His tone was sickly sweet, and coated the inside of his mouth like honey. "I trust you."
Fred was not amused.
"I'm going to take my hand off your mouth now. D'you promise to be honest?"
Fred nodded again.
"Okay." Teddy took his hand off Fred's mouth. "Now, why don't you want to go to the game?"
Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. "Well, it doesn't help that I'm rubbish at Quidditch--"
"Oh, no!" Teddy gasped, before clutching Fred to his bosom. "No, no, no! You don't have to be able to play Quidditch to watch it! What have they been teaching you at that school of yours, my precious child?"
Fred wriggled free of Teddy's grip, albeit with much effort. "Geroff me!"
Teddy's face shone with delight. "What did you expect me to say, then?"
"Something useful, preferably!"
"Well, being rubbish at Quidditch is no reason not to go! After all, how old are you? Twelve? Thirteen? There's still time for improvement." Teddy flopped onto the bed. He patted the bed merrily, signaling Fred to sit down.
"I'm sixteen," Fred muttered, sitting down beside him. "Seventeen in September. And how old are you? Thirty? Forty, even?"
"I'm nineteen," Teddy answered. "God, Quidditch isn't the only thing you're rubbish at, apparently."
"I'm not thick, I knew you were younger than that. I just don't like Quidditch."
"It wouldn't have to do with the fact that the rest of the Weasley family really, really likes it, would it?"
Fred looked over at Teddy, perplexed by the question. "What do you mean, exactly?"
"Well, it's very simple, actually," Teddy declared pedantically. He moved back to lean against the wall. "You, Fred Weasley, are of the species Snobbus rebellicus. That means, in short--"
"That I'm a snob and a rebel. Normally, I'd agree with you, but..." His focus shifted to a yellowed Chudley Cannons poster on the wall. Teddy followed his gaze.
"Ah," he whispered softly. "I see." Teddy shifted himself behind Fred and wrapped his arms around Fred's waist, his mouth dangerously close to Fred's ear. "You're not Fred Weasley," he told him. "And you don't have to be Fred Weasley."
"I didn't even tell you that was the reason," Fred said, a little loudly. "That's jumping to conclusions, if you ask me."
"You don't need to tell me," Teddy said, and even though Fred couldn't see him, he could hear him smiling.
Teddy pulled Fred closer. "Look at me. I'm not Ted Tonks. And I'm not Remus Lupin. I'm Teddy Remus Lupin. Just like you. You're not Fred Weasley. You're Fred Weasley." He emphasized the words as if they were altogether completely different.
"Yeah." Fred was unconvinced.
"Then you'll come to the game?"
"Nope."
"Everyone's going to be there. Hugo, Rose, Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron, James, Al, Victoire..." Teddy's eyes glazed over for a moment.
"I said I'm not going."
Teddy sighed. "Okay."
They sat there for a fleeting few seconds before Fred cocked an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"
"Well, if you're staying here, I guess I'll have to stay with you. To, you know, make sure you don't slit your wrists or something in a fit of tragic sadness."
"You can't--"
A voice called "FRED!" from outside the door. Teddy leapt backwards, dropping his arms from Fred's waist immediately.
George Weasley opened the door. "Are you coming? We're going to be late."
"Erm, no, we're not going," Teddy told him. George's face fell.
"Actually," Fred declared, and sprang off the bed. "I think I'm going to go. Teddy, if you want to stay here and cry or whatever it is you do, that's fine."
Teddy, looking somewhat confused, stood up slowly.
"Come on, then, boys!" George said cheerfully. "We can't miss the annual Potter-on-Potter violence!"
Teddy grinned. "I am so winning that bet."
*
The end of the summer was drawing near, and it was prevalent in everyone's actions. Molly Weasley was in the kitchen more than ever, and her usual frenzy had morphed into a hurricane. With some encouragement from Teddy, Fred decided that human interaction was perhaps not such a bad thing after all. He even sort of liked his cousins. He even liked Victoire, even though she was entirely too friendly and too beautiful.
Still, Fred enjoyed his privacy, and though he went outside more often, he spent most of his time sitting under the large elm tree, reading, and sometimes writing. He liked observing things, especially people, and in the warm, lazy evening, he had been watching his cousins zoom around on brooms. They were playing makeshift game of Quidditch, without goal posts, and Albus and James were using wooden spoons as Beaters' clubs. There were no bludgers, however. As always, Victoire was the keeper, her platinum blonde hair shimmering when there was no sun, and she swerved to block the tennis balls that Hugo was throwing at her.
But that was a while ago, and Teddy had stopped looking up from his parchment. He was exactly the type to wait until the week before school starting an essay on Hengist of Woodcroft. But he could tell it was getting dark, and any moment now, Teddy would be standing before him, brandishing his broomstick and telling him to wash up for dinner. Fred smiled slightly at the thought of his hair changing into what Teddy considered a boring brown. Fred had noticed that Teddy, always the exhibitionist, wore his hair green (cerulean, he corrected himself), except for when they were together. He wondered what this meant.
But a female voice greeted him today, and the hands that gripped the Firebolt were softer than Teddy's.
"Hello, Victoire," Fred said cordially, masking his surprise.
"Well, if it isn't little Fred. Or Frédéric, as Maman says." Victoire flashed her teeth at him.
Fred put down his quill and crossed his arms, amused. "What's the matter, Vicky? No human men to seduce?"
Victoire looked him up and down. "Not here, no. Maybe in a couple years, when you've reached puberty."
Fred cackled, then mocked moral outrage. "You know, you really shouldn't think such things about your cousins. It's rather taboo."
"Mmm. It's too bad. My weakness for gingers mocks me."
"Quite," Fred agreed. "Listen, Victoire, what do you know about Hengist of Woodcroft?"
"I know enough to know that I'm not helping you."
"Victoire, my lovely. My darling! My heart belongs to you!" Fred clasped his parchment to his chest. "My love for you shines like the brilliance of a thousand stars! Days and nights go by, and I do not sleep or eat! What is this curse called love with which you have bewitched me, my sweet?"
Victoire rolled her eyes and sighed. "Come inside for dinner. Ever since you started eating with us, we tend to notice when you're gone."
Fred took the rest of his supplies in his arms. "Victoire, my beautiful nymph! Your intelligence--"
"It shines with the brilliance of a thousand stars, yes, I know. If you plan on doing this every time you need to write an essay, I'm going to get bored very quickly." Victoire turned to walk away. "Come on, then!"
Fred trudged after her, calling, "Victoire! Your flaxen hair, like the straws which the cows in Dover eat so happily! Those cows provide us with milk, the nectar of life!"
Victoire didn't look back. "Is that the best you can do?"
"No, it's not!" Fred said, picking up his pace. "Victoire! Your beauty can only be compared to that of a glass of water after a trek through the desert!"
"Hengist of Woodcroft founded Kent."
"And your eyes! Have I mentioned your eyes?"
*
This was the last time he would board a train for Hogwarts on Platform 9 3/4, Fred thought. It was strange. He was late as it was, and he couldn't bother with nostalgia for long. Besides, as soon as he approached the rest of la famille, as Victoire had him referring to it, James ran up to him.
"Fred! Fred!" James's eyes glinted with wicked brightness; he was smart, incredibly smart, and he didn't realize it. James began to walk alongside him, towards Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny.
"Yes, James," Fred answered, but he was searching the platform for an oddly-colored head of hair.
"I saw Teddy kissing Victoire!" James announced triumphantly.
"Victoire kisses everyone. Even that strange Scamander child," Fred said, half-interested. "It's a French thing, I think."
"No, Fred, they were snogging!" he said earnestly.
"You don't even know what snogging is, James. Now, I need to find--"
"Snogging is what they do in the Muggle movies! I've seen it!"
Fred's stomach sank. He turned to James, who had his full attention. "What?" he hissed.
"Fred! Over here!" Aunt Ginny called, waving at him.
Fred gave James a suspicious glance before pushing his cart over to her.
"You're late," Aunt Ginny said. "As is Victoire, but she's doing other things." She smirked. So it was true.
Teddy and Victoire soon appeared, their heads bobbing towards them through the crowd.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Fred thought. It was more than obvious. They were even holding hands. How was it possible not to know?
It didn't help that Teddy skipped over to him as soon as possible. He was cheerier than normal, which was to say, about as cheery as a small terrier when drunk. "Freddy!" he exclaimed, looping an arm around Fred's neck. "Fred Fred Freddy! Last year of Hogwarts! You're a man now, as well! Good job! Well done!"
Fred slid out of Teddy's grasp. "I didn't know you were Victoire's boyfriend," he said, as calmly as possible.
Teddy's smile faltered slightly, if only slightly. "Didn't I tell you? I thought I must have mentioned it."
Fred fiddled with his luggage to avoid looking Teddy in the eyes. "Yeah, well, you didn't. It's okay, I didn't think we were friends enough or anything--"
"Fred." Teddy wheeled him around and held him by the shoulders. "We are friends. What are you, blind? I thought James was the only one who hadn't noticed. How thick are you, mate?" he tried to ask jokingly.
Fred only glared. "Right. I'm sorry that I'm so thick, Teddy. Excuse me, I have to board a train."
Teddy's face darkened. "Fred, look. Don't... don't be like that, all right? Just--just let it go."
"Fine. Consider it let go," Fred said in a tone which stated that it clearly had not been let go. "Now, may I please board this train, Ted?"
Teddy let his arms fall slack at his sides. "Yeah. Yeah, you can go." He was hurt. Fred could see that he had hurt him, but he didn't care.
"Good." He started to wheel his trolley towards the train.
"Fred. I changed my hair to turquoise." Teddy called after him.
Fred didn't turn back. He had noticed, but he didn't tell him that, either.
End of Part One.
Part Two: Ich Bin Eine...
Hey guys? I have a favor to ask. Don't let me forget this fic, alright? Because I'm generally flaky with my writing, but I really sort of like this piece, and I don't want to leave it. So, uh, whatever you have to do. Drive me insane until I finish it.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Fred/Teddy
Rating: PG-ish, this part.
Wordcount: 3708
Warnings: None for this part. Except for, uh, spoilers for DH?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling, Scholastic, and Warner Brothers. Not, y'know, me.
Author's Notes: The title loosely means, "Fred: Lost, Confused, Gay" in Yiddish. Because living this close to Hollywood, you're gonna pick up some Yiddish. And look some of it up on the internet.
Part One: Summer, 2017.
He wasn't funny. It wasn't that he lacked a sense of humour, or that he didn't find things funny, he just never tried. Sure, sometimes he'd say something off-handedly, like the time he told his aunt that if he wanted a girlfriend, he'd rather go window shopping in Amsterdam, and everyone in the room giggled profusely. This wasn't "funny." Funny was when his uncle tested his new, improved, and better-than-ever Tickle Taffy on his mother, and she couldn't stop laughing for a week. Funny was Scorpius Malfoy being hexed into speaking in limericks. Funny was his father's hair at two in the morning.
No, he had to admit it. Fred Weasley, son of George Weasley, nephew of the late Fred Weasley, was just not funny.
He had a tendency to brood in corners, and at his grandmother's house, he was most likely to be found up in his father's old room, reading Muggle authors such as Kafka. He liked this room more than all the others. It remained exactly the same, so many years after Fred Weasley's death, and he felt comforted when he was close to his namesake. He was sure he would have like the original Fred Weasley, from what he could tell from his bedroom: It was decorated haphazardedly, and the bed was firm, but with just enough give to make it comfortable. While the rest of the family sat downstairs, eating and making merry, Fred was sitting on the bed, taking in the smell of the dust and examining the posters on the walls. The sound of people often came crashing through the door, but Fred didn't mind. He had learned a long time ago to tune out. It was a habit that had to be reigned in once in a while, because he'd find himself daydreaming during an important Transfiguration lesson, or worse, a detailed explanation of avoiding Botuber pus. The boils had made him a hermit for half the summer of his second year, even though it wasn’t much of a change. This room was where he wanted to be the most, hidden in nostaglia and privacy, at the core of the world.
And this was where Teddy Lupin found him.
Teddy cracked open the door momentarily before knocking. "Can I come in?" he asked.
Fred didn't glance at him. "You already are," he pointed out.
Grinning nervously, Teddy slinked in, his hair a platonic, muddy brown. "What are you doing?"
"Having an existential crisis," Fred answered, flashing the cover of his book at him.
"Well, you'd better come downstairs. Everyone's already eaten without you."
"Everyone's always eaten without me. I don't eat."
"There's a name for that, you know. The Muggles call it 'Manorexia'."
Fred sniffed. "It's called Anorexia Nervosa, and I eat fine, just not with people."
“But you haven’t eaten yet?”
“No, I haven’t.”
"Right, well, we can't have you starving yourself!" Teddy answered cheerily. Obnoxiously cheerily. “Head off downstairs, then!”
"And what are you planning on doing in here?" Fred asked suspiciously. "If you were planning on having a wank, you can't. This is my dead uncle's room."
"Well, you're tactful," Teddy said, frowning slightly. His hair turned slightly muddier.
Fred was unabashed. "Right. I'm going downstairs." He placed the book on the bedside table and sauntered to the door, opening it with surprising enthusiasm. Teddy blocked the doorway, looking Fred over once or twice, very quickly. "This was your father's room too," he said quietly. "You really should give him some of the credit as well."
Fred ran his tongue over the front of his teeth. "Yeah." He pushed Teddy aside and ran down the stairs.
Teddy crossed his arms and shook his head.
*
The sun was setting over Ottery St. Catchpole, and Fred was in the yard, looking for puffskeins. This was especially difficult, on account of the fur of Lily's puffskein matched the color of the clouds, the sun's rays splayed across them a deep purple-pink. Every once in a while, as soon as Fred was about to give up, he'd hear a pleased rumble coming from behind one of the bushes, and he'd trek on, knowing that a little darkness was nothing compared to his cousin's rage.
"Beast?" Fred called out, as sweetly as possible. "Beast? Come here, darling! Come here!" He was crawling on his hands and knees behind the rosebush. "Beast!" Sighing, he got up and brushed the dirt off his knees. "Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous Beastie," he mumbled. "How appropriate."
Beast purred again, this time from atop a prickly Cycad. Fred scoffed. "You are kidding me!" he exclaimed. "All right, then, Beast! I give up!" he yelled at the Jurassic tree. "You win! Now, I'm going to go inside!" He paused, waiting for a response. Nothing. "Er, okay!" he hollered, feeling more and more ridiculous by the second. "This is your last chance!" His eyes scanned the large, green leaves. "Okay, I'm going! I'm leaving right now!" He exhaled, blowing his bangs off his sweaty forehead. "Here I go! I'm leaving! I'm going inside!" He took a few tentative steps backward. "I said, I'm going inside! I'm going to go and eat some of Gran's delicious treacle tart! And... and... dance on tables!" Exasperated, he wiped his brow with his sleeve. "Bye, Beast! Farewell! Goodbye forever! I hope you're happy out here, with all the gnomes and the flobberworms and the Flibbertigibbets!"
"Are you talking to yourself?" a voice behind him asked, amused.
Fred whipped around before he could regain his dignity. "Teddy," he yelped. He cleared his throat. "I mean, Teddy," he said again, calmer. "What're you doing out here?"
"Looking for Lily's puffskein," Teddy said, his eyes twinkling. "She said she sent you, but I figured I'd help you out. Clearly, you need it."
"Clearly, I don't need anything from you," Fred retorted, his composure restored. "What I need is to be able to do magic away from school. And maybe some Ice Mice."
"I agree with you on the Ice Mice," Teddy said. "You're disgusting."
"Says the man with the green hair."
"Says the ginger. Besides, it's not green, it's cerulean."
Fred smiled, admitting defeat. "So, er, you were going to help."
"Yes. Yes, I was."
"Well? Are you planning on turning into a puff and luring it with your mating call?"
Teddy rolled his eyes. He pulled his wand out from his back pocket. It was long and thin, shiny even in the darkness. Fred thought of his own wand, dull and twiggy, and felt a twinge of jealousy. Teddy flicked his wand carefully. "Accio puffskein!" he called, and Beast flew out of the tree and landed in his arms with a gentle flop! Fred was impressed.
Beast rumbled and nuzzled up against Teddy's chest. Teddy gave a triumphant smile. "And that is how you retrieve a puffskein."
"Easy enough if you can't be expelled," Fred replied.
Teddy ran a hand through Fred's hair and ruffled it. Grabbing him by the nape of his neck, Teddy pulled Fred in close and pressed their foreheads together. "The next time you're digging around in the mud," he whispered, his breath coming hot onto Fred's face, "don't be afraid to ask, alright?" He let Fred go and gave an incredibly unmanly giggle. "Let's go inside, then, shall we?" Beast tittered approvingly. Teddy skipped off with the big purple fuzzball in his arms, leaving Fred completely confounded.
Fred blinked, then exhaled slowly. He hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath.
*
As it turned out, Fred was incredibly bad at Quidditch. And, in some bizzare twist of fate, Teddy was very good at it. His father never let him forget that he and Fred Weasley used to be beaters on the Hogwarts team, and even though he never meant any harm by it, Fred could never help resenting the sport for reminding him constantly of his shortcomings.
The morning of the big game between the Chudley Cannons and the Holyhead Harpies, Fred escaped again to “his” room. He peered into the cracked, old mirror and sighed.
“It’s not Dad’s fault,” he told his reflection. “It’s not his fault I look like Fred.” He frowned. “Fred Weasley, that is, the first one. Who looked like his twin, George Weasley, who is my father. And obviously, I must look like him. Then, I guess,” he concluded morosely, “There’s no one who looks like me.”
The door creaked and Fred turned.
Teddy.
“Don’t you ever knock?” Fred asked, slightly annoyed.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Teddy asked, wearing the same affable grin day after day.
Fred raised an eyebrow in disapproval.
“Sorry,” Teddy said sheepishly. He stepped back to the door and knocked on it.
Fred smiled despite himself.
“So,” Teddy said, meandering over to Fred and placing his hands on Fred’s shoulders, “I know that you’re probably very busy with your teenage angst and whatnot”-he paused for a reaction. Fred didn’t give him one.-“but we’ve got a game to go to. Shall we?”
Fred hung his head and turned to face him. They were quite... close to each other, Fred observed. “Actually,” he said guiltily, “I was thinking of staying here. Get caught up on my, ah, schoolwork.”
“Bah! Who needs schoolwork? This is a Cannons game, boy! Don’t you know what that means?”
“Er. Not really?”
“This is the one time of year our family is divided! The drama, the passion! You can’t possibly miss it! I won’t let you!”
Fred lifted his gaze to meet Teddy’s eyes. He had always noticed that Ted’s eyes twinkled, but at this closeness, he suddenly noticed that his eyes, well, twinkled. Literally. As in, his eyes glittered. This was very strange.
“You...” Fred trailed off. He was going to say something along the lines of, “You great poofter, you have confetti in your irises!” but decided against it. He though it was rude, which in itself was a revelation, since rudeness had never stopped him, especially that one time he asked Victoire if she looked like a bird because she was part Veela.
“Come ooooooooooooooooooooon, Fred!” Teddy mock-whined. “I bet James three Galleons that Aunt Ginny would end up hitting Uncle Harry on the head at one point during the game! You wouldn’t let me lose that much money, would you?”
“Well, no one’s stopping you from going, are they?” Fred asked sullenly.
“Well, no, but I can’t just leave you here, can I? What kind of a person would that make me?”
“I... really don’t know, Tedward.”
“Ted is short for Theodore, Fred.”
“Not in the wizarding world, it isn’t. By that logic, Aunt Ginny should be Aunt Virginia.”
“Virginia? That’s just crazy talk. That’s not the point! It would make me a right awful person, and we can’t have that!”
"You're already a bloody awful excuse for a human being, you can't just very well blame me for that."
Exasperated, Teddy shoved a peice of hair out of Fred's face. "Look, what's the real reason you don't want to go?"
"I already told you--"
Teddy cut him off by covering Fred's mouth with his hand. Fred's eyes flashed with anger.
Teddy spoke gently, in jest. "Okay, now. I'm going to take my hand off your mouth on one condition."
Fred nodded obediently. "Mm-hmm."
"That one condition is that you have to be honest with me. I know you can be honest," he said, fluttering his eyelashes. His tone was sickly sweet, and coated the inside of his mouth like honey. "I trust you."
Fred was not amused.
"I'm going to take my hand off your mouth now. D'you promise to be honest?"
Fred nodded again.
"Okay." Teddy took his hand off Fred's mouth. "Now, why don't you want to go to the game?"
Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. "Well, it doesn't help that I'm rubbish at Quidditch--"
"Oh, no!" Teddy gasped, before clutching Fred to his bosom. "No, no, no! You don't have to be able to play Quidditch to watch it! What have they been teaching you at that school of yours, my precious child?"
Fred wriggled free of Teddy's grip, albeit with much effort. "Geroff me!"
Teddy's face shone with delight. "What did you expect me to say, then?"
"Something useful, preferably!"
"Well, being rubbish at Quidditch is no reason not to go! After all, how old are you? Twelve? Thirteen? There's still time for improvement." Teddy flopped onto the bed. He patted the bed merrily, signaling Fred to sit down.
"I'm sixteen," Fred muttered, sitting down beside him. "Seventeen in September. And how old are you? Thirty? Forty, even?"
"I'm nineteen," Teddy answered. "God, Quidditch isn't the only thing you're rubbish at, apparently."
"I'm not thick, I knew you were younger than that. I just don't like Quidditch."
"It wouldn't have to do with the fact that the rest of the Weasley family really, really likes it, would it?"
Fred looked over at Teddy, perplexed by the question. "What do you mean, exactly?"
"Well, it's very simple, actually," Teddy declared pedantically. He moved back to lean against the wall. "You, Fred Weasley, are of the species Snobbus rebellicus. That means, in short--"
"That I'm a snob and a rebel. Normally, I'd agree with you, but..." His focus shifted to a yellowed Chudley Cannons poster on the wall. Teddy followed his gaze.
"Ah," he whispered softly. "I see." Teddy shifted himself behind Fred and wrapped his arms around Fred's waist, his mouth dangerously close to Fred's ear. "You're not Fred Weasley," he told him. "And you don't have to be Fred Weasley."
"I didn't even tell you that was the reason," Fred said, a little loudly. "That's jumping to conclusions, if you ask me."
"You don't need to tell me," Teddy said, and even though Fred couldn't see him, he could hear him smiling.
Teddy pulled Fred closer. "Look at me. I'm not Ted Tonks. And I'm not Remus Lupin. I'm Teddy Remus Lupin. Just like you. You're not Fred Weasley. You're Fred Weasley." He emphasized the words as if they were altogether completely different.
"Yeah." Fred was unconvinced.
"Then you'll come to the game?"
"Nope."
"Everyone's going to be there. Hugo, Rose, Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron, James, Al, Victoire..." Teddy's eyes glazed over for a moment.
"I said I'm not going."
Teddy sighed. "Okay."
They sat there for a fleeting few seconds before Fred cocked an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"
"Well, if you're staying here, I guess I'll have to stay with you. To, you know, make sure you don't slit your wrists or something in a fit of tragic sadness."
"You can't--"
A voice called "FRED!" from outside the door. Teddy leapt backwards, dropping his arms from Fred's waist immediately.
George Weasley opened the door. "Are you coming? We're going to be late."
"Erm, no, we're not going," Teddy told him. George's face fell.
"Actually," Fred declared, and sprang off the bed. "I think I'm going to go. Teddy, if you want to stay here and cry or whatever it is you do, that's fine."
Teddy, looking somewhat confused, stood up slowly.
"Come on, then, boys!" George said cheerfully. "We can't miss the annual Potter-on-Potter violence!"
Teddy grinned. "I am so winning that bet."
*
The end of the summer was drawing near, and it was prevalent in everyone's actions. Molly Weasley was in the kitchen more than ever, and her usual frenzy had morphed into a hurricane. With some encouragement from Teddy, Fred decided that human interaction was perhaps not such a bad thing after all. He even sort of liked his cousins. He even liked Victoire, even though she was entirely too friendly and too beautiful.
Still, Fred enjoyed his privacy, and though he went outside more often, he spent most of his time sitting under the large elm tree, reading, and sometimes writing. He liked observing things, especially people, and in the warm, lazy evening, he had been watching his cousins zoom around on brooms. They were playing makeshift game of Quidditch, without goal posts, and Albus and James were using wooden spoons as Beaters' clubs. There were no bludgers, however. As always, Victoire was the keeper, her platinum blonde hair shimmering when there was no sun, and she swerved to block the tennis balls that Hugo was throwing at her.
But that was a while ago, and Teddy had stopped looking up from his parchment. He was exactly the type to wait until the week before school starting an essay on Hengist of Woodcroft. But he could tell it was getting dark, and any moment now, Teddy would be standing before him, brandishing his broomstick and telling him to wash up for dinner. Fred smiled slightly at the thought of his hair changing into what Teddy considered a boring brown. Fred had noticed that Teddy, always the exhibitionist, wore his hair green (cerulean, he corrected himself), except for when they were together. He wondered what this meant.
But a female voice greeted him today, and the hands that gripped the Firebolt were softer than Teddy's.
"Hello, Victoire," Fred said cordially, masking his surprise.
"Well, if it isn't little Fred. Or Frédéric, as Maman says." Victoire flashed her teeth at him.
Fred put down his quill and crossed his arms, amused. "What's the matter, Vicky? No human men to seduce?"
Victoire looked him up and down. "Not here, no. Maybe in a couple years, when you've reached puberty."
Fred cackled, then mocked moral outrage. "You know, you really shouldn't think such things about your cousins. It's rather taboo."
"Mmm. It's too bad. My weakness for gingers mocks me."
"Quite," Fred agreed. "Listen, Victoire, what do you know about Hengist of Woodcroft?"
"I know enough to know that I'm not helping you."
"Victoire, my lovely. My darling! My heart belongs to you!" Fred clasped his parchment to his chest. "My love for you shines like the brilliance of a thousand stars! Days and nights go by, and I do not sleep or eat! What is this curse called love with which you have bewitched me, my sweet?"
Victoire rolled her eyes and sighed. "Come inside for dinner. Ever since you started eating with us, we tend to notice when you're gone."
Fred took the rest of his supplies in his arms. "Victoire, my beautiful nymph! Your intelligence--"
"It shines with the brilliance of a thousand stars, yes, I know. If you plan on doing this every time you need to write an essay, I'm going to get bored very quickly." Victoire turned to walk away. "Come on, then!"
Fred trudged after her, calling, "Victoire! Your flaxen hair, like the straws which the cows in Dover eat so happily! Those cows provide us with milk, the nectar of life!"
Victoire didn't look back. "Is that the best you can do?"
"No, it's not!" Fred said, picking up his pace. "Victoire! Your beauty can only be compared to that of a glass of water after a trek through the desert!"
"Hengist of Woodcroft founded Kent."
"And your eyes! Have I mentioned your eyes?"
*
This was the last time he would board a train for Hogwarts on Platform 9 3/4, Fred thought. It was strange. He was late as it was, and he couldn't bother with nostalgia for long. Besides, as soon as he approached the rest of la famille, as Victoire had him referring to it, James ran up to him.
"Fred! Fred!" James's eyes glinted with wicked brightness; he was smart, incredibly smart, and he didn't realize it. James began to walk alongside him, towards Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny.
"Yes, James," Fred answered, but he was searching the platform for an oddly-colored head of hair.
"I saw Teddy kissing Victoire!" James announced triumphantly.
"Victoire kisses everyone. Even that strange Scamander child," Fred said, half-interested. "It's a French thing, I think."
"No, Fred, they were snogging!" he said earnestly.
"You don't even know what snogging is, James. Now, I need to find--"
"Snogging is what they do in the Muggle movies! I've seen it!"
Fred's stomach sank. He turned to James, who had his full attention. "What?" he hissed.
"Fred! Over here!" Aunt Ginny called, waving at him.
Fred gave James a suspicious glance before pushing his cart over to her.
"You're late," Aunt Ginny said. "As is Victoire, but she's doing other things." She smirked. So it was true.
Teddy and Victoire soon appeared, their heads bobbing towards them through the crowd.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Fred thought. It was more than obvious. They were even holding hands. How was it possible not to know?
It didn't help that Teddy skipped over to him as soon as possible. He was cheerier than normal, which was to say, about as cheery as a small terrier when drunk. "Freddy!" he exclaimed, looping an arm around Fred's neck. "Fred Fred Freddy! Last year of Hogwarts! You're a man now, as well! Good job! Well done!"
Fred slid out of Teddy's grasp. "I didn't know you were Victoire's boyfriend," he said, as calmly as possible.
Teddy's smile faltered slightly, if only slightly. "Didn't I tell you? I thought I must have mentioned it."
Fred fiddled with his luggage to avoid looking Teddy in the eyes. "Yeah, well, you didn't. It's okay, I didn't think we were friends enough or anything--"
"Fred." Teddy wheeled him around and held him by the shoulders. "We are friends. What are you, blind? I thought James was the only one who hadn't noticed. How thick are you, mate?" he tried to ask jokingly.
Fred only glared. "Right. I'm sorry that I'm so thick, Teddy. Excuse me, I have to board a train."
Teddy's face darkened. "Fred, look. Don't... don't be like that, all right? Just--just let it go."
"Fine. Consider it let go," Fred said in a tone which stated that it clearly had not been let go. "Now, may I please board this train, Ted?"
Teddy let his arms fall slack at his sides. "Yeah. Yeah, you can go." He was hurt. Fred could see that he had hurt him, but he didn't care.
"Good." He started to wheel his trolley towards the train.
"Fred. I changed my hair to turquoise." Teddy called after him.
Fred didn't turn back. He had noticed, but he didn't tell him that, either.
End of Part One.
Part Two: Ich Bin Eine...
Hey guys? I have a favor to ask. Don't let me forget this fic, alright? Because I'm generally flaky with my writing, but I really sort of like this piece, and I don't want to leave it. So, uh, whatever you have to do. Drive me insane until I finish it.