Authors' notes: Fred and George, so what? I'm going to hell. At least I'm going to hell doing what I love.
Disclaimer: I, in now way shape or form, own Harry Potter or anything in Potterverse. They all belong to J.K. Rowling…I merely play with her toys.
Weather the Storm
The rain was pounding down around him relentlessly in a thunderstorm that seemed to have only started, promising much more. The rain was sharp, stinging when it beat down upon him, and the wind was blowing it in just the right angle so that his sanction under the tree was invaded. Useless. Not that it mattered, he was soaked to the bone and the stinging sensation was a welcome one as it held no comparison to the searing of his heart. He was barely aware of the music blaring around his neck. It was some muggle contraption he'd bought on a trip to Muggle London with George, and the one thing he left the house with. He'd found that he was rather fond of Muggle music, one of those many sad songs of dramatic love loss would be perfect for the moment. He couldn't remember if he'd put a water repelling charm on the thing or not, and frankly couldn't care less. Bullocks to it for all it mattered….for all anything mattered.
The sky could fall down upon them and it could not make anything worse. In fact it could only improve things. It would kill him and take all of those that disapprove with it. At least this eternal aching would stop. You see, there is no cure for a broken heart, muggle or magical. Nor were there any bandages that could cover a gaping wound. It would be better to pour salt into it then try to repair it.
Fred Weasley leaned back against the trunk of the tree that he was "trying" to find sanction under to no avail. At least now it held some support to his shaking knees. Hell, his whole body was trembling and it wasn't from the biting chill of the rain, but that his nerves were completely shot and raw from the jarring scene that happened only hours ago.
The scene took place in his very own home, the one place that he saw as his Sanctuary. However, today his place of refuge had turned into a battle ground. It was a war of love and misunderstood disgust. Ill repute. A battle between sons and mother. Condemning. It could only be described as heinous. Molly just couldn't understand them or wouldn't because her corrupt morals of wrong and right were severely out of proportion. Lord Voldemort was wrong; loving your brother…your twin…your other half…how could that be wrong? No matter how they tried to reason with her or to explain it, it never got through. In the end it was a harsh ultimatum, George or the family. Well, Fred thought that to be quite easy. He chose George in a heartbeat. Without George was without air…
However, George was not so quick to choose. You see they were alike in so many ways, but different in so many more and though George was a prankster, he hated to disappoint their mother. None of the pranks would piss her off, that was child's play and would be dismissed as such. But this was pure, unadulterated disappointment, maybe even loathing and all it took was one glance from George to know that this was killing him inside. The look in his eyes tore into Fred's heart and he knew where they stood. Realizing that he was not top priority to George, knowing that the love they shared wasn't high enough on the list to leave no reasonable doubt of their path….that, that was killing Fred.
Seconds ticked away into a few minutes that almost seemed like forever. That is, until the splintering end of his mother's wand was raised in his direction. Her own son. In the infinity that he'd lost himself in, he realized that where he'd been unable to even think, George had made his decision as he now stood next to their mother. He stared at Fred with heart-breaking eyes, trying to express how sorry he was. That coupled with their mother's eyes, so full of contempt was just too much. Whatever he wanted now didn't matter because what he wanted was the exact opposite of what George chose. However, he was not one to bend and conform, he'd be damned if he started now. Not even for family.
"I'm sorry you don't understand." The ginger-haired man whispered, which only seemed to add fire to the flame for their mother. "I'm sorry neither of you understand." He rephrased, knowing that once he'd said it, he'd wounded George as badly as he could fore it was plainly drawn upon his face. Only now did he regret saying it, but he didn't then. He was furious at his twin, but he'd never meant to hurt him that way, no matter what he did.
After that, Fred had bolted from the house, running as fast and hard as he could, willing himself to get away from the burrow and those that resided within it with all the warped misconceptions they held. He didn't realize until he got there that he was in the grove that they used to play in when they were little, it was the first place anyone would look, but he didn't want to leave. The place always held a sort of serene tranquility that he needed now lest he do something stupid.
They were wrong. What George and he had was not disgusting and sinful, it was beautiful and ethereal. Few people find true love and they'd found it. Damn those that tried to spit upon it. Damn those that tried to convince them that this was wrong, they were wrong, and worst all…wrong for each other.
How could they be wrong for each other? They were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly. Fucking hell, they used to be one cell, one person. You don't get more right then that. Had one cell split differently they would be different, they wouldn't be themselves and that scared him to his very core to think about, but they weren't. They were meant to be this way, and now people were trying to split them up differently anyway.
Fred reached up and placed his hands on his face, meaning to scrub them over it, but this small sense of comfort broke something within him and he ended up cupping his face as he slid down the bark roughly. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the salty sting, but gave in momentarily. What did he care if anyone saw? Not that they would, but he had nothing else to lose…not face nor life. He'd left it all back at the house.
He pulled his legs up to his chest, moving his hands to wrap them protectively around his legs before burying his face in his knees. There his body shook with silent tears. Tears for his predicament, tears for his lost love… God what he wouldn't give to have those warm arms around him now, to comfort him, keep him safe and have that voice that could lull him to sleep, tell him that everything was going to be okay.
He wanted George there so bad that he thought he might have been crazy when he felt himself being folded into those arms. Had he not known it was George, he might of thought some stranger had scooped him up, but he knew, just knew it was his love and though he was half-tempted to shove the man away, to yell at him and tell him what he'd done, the magnitude of heartache and despair he'd caused, he just couldn't. Instead he disentangled himself and clung to George, forgiving him for what he'd done silently. He was here now, after all, no sneaking, no secrets. Everyone knew, everyone hated them, but still he was here.
"I'm so sorry; you know I love you so much." Fred could only shake his head quickly in knowing as words failed him. He was so happy to hear those words that he looked up, looking into his mirror image, watching as tears ran down his face. He hated when George cried, it broke his heart and he always had the impulse to kiss those tears away…and so he did.
The kiss was intense, like molten fire, passionate and breath-taking. It was a kiss to end all kisses, only that this kiss promised so many more. Suddenly, it didn't matter what had happened or what was said. You might think that they'd left everything back at the burrow, but that just wasn't true, because they had their everything in their arms. They'd weather this storm.