Disclaimer: Nothing pertaining to Harry Potter, or the plot of Stardust, belongs to me. HP belongs to Harry Potter and the original plot of Stardust came from the brilliant and eccentric mind of Neil Gaimen.
A/N: Ah yes, more Fred romance. Gotta love it. This fic takes place two years after Deathly Hallows and Fred survived the Battle of Hogwarts.
After reading, watching and repeatedly listening to the Stardust soundtrack, I decided to write something along a similar plot. Similar - but not a crossover!! This story is what happens when I'm struck down with flu and have nothing else to do other than let my imagination run away with me (actually my other Fred fic, Twin Vice, was put together during a spout of glandular fever lol XD).
'Catch a falling Star
And put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away'
Evil, See no Evil
In Which Westminister Bridge is Alerted to an S.O.S.
As with every fairytale, this one begins with a series of very peculiar events. The first of these events started on an otherwise normal day, but not, perhaps, in an otherwise normal city.
The day in question was a Tuesday. The place was London city, heart of the British Isles. And the month was April; a remarkably dry April – it is important to note the weather in the case of the particular event which was about to take place above the Thames, bringing traffic across Westminister Bridge to an abrupt stop. The congestion tailed all the way back to Charring Cross and generally brought chaos to an already chaotic city.
This did not concern the cluster of tourists and drivers on Westminister Bridge, however, many of whom had left their Landrovers, Bentleys and modern Minis in order to get a better look at the thing which now hung, suspended, about a hundred feet above the Thames. Later, a few spectators would claim that they had seen a shooting star thunder over their heads like a rocket before it exploded in a shower of hissing, spitting fireworks which then coiled and slithered to form the three suspended letters. A woman from Tottenham Court insisted that the three letters had appeared in a puff of purple smoke and another man visiting from Woking argued that the letters had risen from the muddy waters of the Thames itself.
Whatever their origin, every man, woman and newspaper article accordingly printed agreed on one thing – the smoky letters hanging in the clear sky above the Thames spelled S.O.S.
There were only two people in the entire chaotic city of London who truly understood what these three letters signified.
To most people S.O.S. translated asSave Our Souls, and would likely evoke images of cruel storms, undulating waves, ships lost at sea, and to a few more imaginative minds, perhaps, the ghosts of the Mary Celeste and the Unsinkable Titanic.
Arthur Weasley was not most people. In fact it would be somewhat rude to call him most people. Arthur Weasley was not most people. Arthur Weasley was father to seven very talented children, husband to one very exceptional wife and friend to the person responsible for the first of our peculiar events.
But most importantly, Arthur Weasley was a wizard.
The second of our two spectators to grasp the true meaning of the three suspended letters above the Thames was quite the opposite of the strange and wonderful Arthur Weasley. Detective Gertrude Nox had just turned twenty-one and she was not a romantic. She was what you might call a very safe being. She was reliable, down to earth and she did not like change. She enjoyed plain food with little spice, picked her clothes from the bargain bins, almost always wore a white cotton shirt, black trousers and braces, and enjoyed her own company. She did not suffer fools gladly and was not the greatest detective the city had ever seen, but she was not the worst either.
Detective Nox was most certainlynot a wizard. This is not to say that she was without her own curiosities. She did, after all, know that the letters above the Thames did not signify Save Our Souls. This was due to one distinct feature – or rather, three distinct features. Between each letter, where a period normally stood, was placed a tiny symbol, visible only to her carefully trained eye. Each symbol was a Rune glyph.
As mentioned briefly, Arthur Weasley had seven children and the middle-born of these had recently come close to being the first to die, but that is another story altogether. The name of the middle-born was Frederick Gideon Weasley and he was a twin.
Fred Weasley was not down to earth. In fact, his mother could swear that her son had been born with springs in his feet. Fred was also unpredictable and he thrived on change. As long as there was food on the table, he would eat it. His clothes were picked from the finest Wizarding shops (for he was no longer a poor man), and often clashed violently with his flame-red hair and nut-brown freckles. He was a prankster, a jester and a self-professed player. He was never alone because he always had George.
Fred was an outstanding wizard.
He ran a successful business in the heart of the Wizarding community, Diagon Alley – a long, cobbled lane in London where the shops and houses are squashed together and boast signs such as Eeylops' Owl Emporium, Old Mallard's Magical Mayhem, The Leaky Cauldron and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The last of these belonged to Fred and George Weasley.
No ordinary person can see Diagon Alley, you understand. Muggles, as that as how we will refer to ordinary folk from now on, are happy in their ignorance of magic. Occasionally a Muggle will glimpse into the Wizarding world and afterwards they are never quite the same again, but most are content with looking the other way – Muggles and magic folk live in very separate worlds, after all.
Fred Weasley had no idea of the strange occurrence happening above the Thames in the not so far off distance. For the past six years he had been courting Angelina Johnson on and off, and at that moment she was clinging to him, hard, and fumbling with the buttons of his cloak and jeans.
Angelina was beautiful. Her skin was nut-brown like his freckles and her hair was black as ebony. She had turned many heads in the time he had known her, including that of his best friend, Lee Jordan, and every now and again Fred noticed his own twin casting her a long and lingering look.
Angelina was strong, he admired that, and she always knew what she wanted. Currently, she had him straddled, naked and slippery with sweat, and there was a triumphant twinkle in her dark eyes. Her lips, full and perfectly shaped, smiled at him and when she leaned down to his open, waiting mouth, Fred tried to remember the first time they had shared a kiss. They had attended the same school, of course – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – and walked out to the Yule Ball together. With a grin and a gasp, he concluded the Ball must have been the scene of their first kiss.
He ground and bucked against Angelina, tasting her skin, letting her long legs wrap around him. Towards the end she tried to keep him inside her, but Fred never allowed her to win that game.
It was a good relationship. Not what he had expected, but comfortable and it made sense; he had been playing around for too long now. Fred expected they would be married soon.
But the letters hanging above the Thames said differently.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed the prologue (it's so nice to write short chapters in compared to my other full-length monstrosities). Anyways, please do review and let me know what you think! Oh, and BOO to JKR and her GeorgexAngelina news! Grrrr, that women is so intent on making his life a bloody misery. She even admitted in a recent interview that his relationship with Angelina is a bit unhealthy because she was Fred's ex. Argh argh argh. I don't need to read crap news like this when i'm sick!