Categories > Books > Harry Potter
The gauze over his ear is simply to keep people from staring, they all know, but he still periodically touches it. At one time, he turned to his twin and whispered daringly, "Wish he'd taken out my eye. Don'cha think I'd look smart with a patch?"
"It ain't clever, George," was all Fred had said, staring at the gauze and wondering if he might be sick. He still wonders, looking over and watching George just be George, trying to keep the mood light when that is surely impossible. Trying to keep the mood light even though their mother sent everyone to bed, looking harried and distraught and strung out; he wishes he could have done something. He wishes he wasn't so helpless.
George removes the patch of gauze and winces as he looks in the mirror. But he grins over at Fred.
"Well, now, just to mess mum up, you'll have to take yours too."
"It's not clever, George," Fred reminds him. He knows George is just trying to get a rise out of him, just trying to get his mind off everything. George knows that he knows that, and it's why he's trying so hard.
George prods the skin close to the wound, and wonders, "I wonder what the scar'll look like. Right big scar, ya think? I don't think I could sport a bolt like Harry's."
Fred throws a sock at George's shoulder. He doesn't want to think about scars and the fact that his brother's got /only one ear/, and how they're at war and could die in the morning, for all any of them know. But he also doesn't cite his worries and fears-George would make some farce of them, offer up ways to wile away the night ("Hate to see you die a cherry, Fred!"), and he can't deal with that now.
"Think sales'll go down, now I'm not so dashing?"
Fred throws a jumper, and buries his face in his pillow. Above him, he can hear Ginny and Harry talking; and a ways from that, Hermione and Ron. Below, their parents speak, hushed mumbles with Lupin and Tonks and Hagrid. He finds he's feeling sick again, and wishes he could just /hide/.
"Least I don't have to worry 'bout those nicks I always get shaving--," George was staring to say, before he had to dodge out of the way of a particularly heavy book he hadn't realized Fred had been hiding by his bedside.
As the book flew, Fred snarled a scathing, "Shut /up/, you ruddy arse!" There were tears on his eyelashes. His chest heaves irregularly. There is a moment of silence all around them when the book crashes against the wall. George stares at him as their mother hollers up at them to settle down. When the quiet talking comes back up slowly, Fred deflates against his own wall, arms crossed over his chest.
George crawls onto the bed, shuffling forward on his knees, until he's sitting right in front of Fred. He smiles a little, whispers an apology as he leans forward to burrow his face into the dip between Fred's knees. He looks up at his twin dolefully. Fred's fingers coast through his hair, then cover where his ear should be.
"They can't grow it back," he says, feeling stupid covering what should be warm, freckled flesh but which is air and the dull heat of blood under the ruined skin.
"Just need to grab the other one to get my attention, now won'cha?" His breath his hot and moist against the inside of Fred's lower legs. He smiles when he brings his chin up to rest on Fred's left knee. Fred's thumb skates the foremost edge of the wound; George flinches a little. "Oi. Still a bit raw there."
Fred's fingers go back to dancing through George's hair. They sit, curled and staring at close distance, until at some point George's eyes close. It's the only thing to do. It's natural.
"Don't ever do something stupid like this again. Git."
George's lips are cool. They tremble a little, and Fred is only glad that he is not as brave as he makes a play at. He's glad George is frightened by what happened. His heart swells, because he knows that George was afraid he'd leave everybody-leave Fred.
Fred covers where George's ear should be, and George does not stay docile for very long. The lights snuff with quiet words, and there is only the peaky light from the moon and stars, and a little residual glow from lights elsewhere in the house-down and up from the floor boards and seeping in from the outside.
When they curl together, in George's bed, afterward, Fred finds himself clinging to his twin. He punches him in the shoulder. George laughs sleepily.
"If you get yourself axed," Fred begins. He chokes on his words, then thunders forward, "I'm gonna kill you."
"I know, Freddie," George whispers. His fingers ghost over Fred's face, and find his ear. He tugs, and Fred is sure he's grinning. "I know."
"It ain't clever, George," was all Fred had said, staring at the gauze and wondering if he might be sick. He still wonders, looking over and watching George just be George, trying to keep the mood light when that is surely impossible. Trying to keep the mood light even though their mother sent everyone to bed, looking harried and distraught and strung out; he wishes he could have done something. He wishes he wasn't so helpless.
George removes the patch of gauze and winces as he looks in the mirror. But he grins over at Fred.
"Well, now, just to mess mum up, you'll have to take yours too."
"It's not clever, George," Fred reminds him. He knows George is just trying to get a rise out of him, just trying to get his mind off everything. George knows that he knows that, and it's why he's trying so hard.
George prods the skin close to the wound, and wonders, "I wonder what the scar'll look like. Right big scar, ya think? I don't think I could sport a bolt like Harry's."
Fred throws a sock at George's shoulder. He doesn't want to think about scars and the fact that his brother's got /only one ear/, and how they're at war and could die in the morning, for all any of them know. But he also doesn't cite his worries and fears-George would make some farce of them, offer up ways to wile away the night ("Hate to see you die a cherry, Fred!"), and he can't deal with that now.
"Think sales'll go down, now I'm not so dashing?"
Fred throws a jumper, and buries his face in his pillow. Above him, he can hear Ginny and Harry talking; and a ways from that, Hermione and Ron. Below, their parents speak, hushed mumbles with Lupin and Tonks and Hagrid. He finds he's feeling sick again, and wishes he could just /hide/.
"Least I don't have to worry 'bout those nicks I always get shaving--," George was staring to say, before he had to dodge out of the way of a particularly heavy book he hadn't realized Fred had been hiding by his bedside.
As the book flew, Fred snarled a scathing, "Shut /up/, you ruddy arse!" There were tears on his eyelashes. His chest heaves irregularly. There is a moment of silence all around them when the book crashes against the wall. George stares at him as their mother hollers up at them to settle down. When the quiet talking comes back up slowly, Fred deflates against his own wall, arms crossed over his chest.
George crawls onto the bed, shuffling forward on his knees, until he's sitting right in front of Fred. He smiles a little, whispers an apology as he leans forward to burrow his face into the dip between Fred's knees. He looks up at his twin dolefully. Fred's fingers coast through his hair, then cover where his ear should be.
"They can't grow it back," he says, feeling stupid covering what should be warm, freckled flesh but which is air and the dull heat of blood under the ruined skin.
"Just need to grab the other one to get my attention, now won'cha?" His breath his hot and moist against the inside of Fred's lower legs. He smiles when he brings his chin up to rest on Fred's left knee. Fred's thumb skates the foremost edge of the wound; George flinches a little. "Oi. Still a bit raw there."
Fred's fingers go back to dancing through George's hair. They sit, curled and staring at close distance, until at some point George's eyes close. It's the only thing to do. It's natural.
"Don't ever do something stupid like this again. Git."
George's lips are cool. They tremble a little, and Fred is only glad that he is not as brave as he makes a play at. He's glad George is frightened by what happened. His heart swells, because he knows that George was afraid he'd leave everybody-leave Fred.
Fred covers where George's ear should be, and George does not stay docile for very long. The lights snuff with quiet words, and there is only the peaky light from the moon and stars, and a little residual glow from lights elsewhere in the house-down and up from the floor boards and seeping in from the outside.
When they curl together, in George's bed, afterward, Fred finds himself clinging to his twin. He punches him in the shoulder. George laughs sleepily.
"If you get yourself axed," Fred begins. He chokes on his words, then thunders forward, "I'm gonna kill you."
"I know, Freddie," George whispers. His fingers ghost over Fred's face, and find his ear. He tugs, and Fred is sure he's grinning. "I know."
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