Title: Restore Life

Summary: "Georgie boy, you won't ever be him, but did you ever really want to be? Fred's dead, after all, and darling, you've always thrived more down here on earth." Fred, George, and treading the line between not caring and caring too much. / One-shot, for Slytherin Sadist Angel.

Prompt: Advent Calendar challenge - FredGeorge

Day: Seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, five gold rings... four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and partridge in a pear tree.

Recipient: Slytherin Sadist Angel

Notes: Seventh of December, ladies and gents - just 18 days 'til Christmas! If only my stocking was Fred and George wrapped in a bow... and not much else... Anyway, this was written for the fabulous Slytherin Sadist Angel (or Zoe, as she is known) as part of my Advent Calendar challenge. Warning: this includes hints of incest. Big hints. I sincerely hope you enjoy!


"A dark world aches for a splash of the sun." - Young The Giant, Cough Syrup.


"No, Fred, don't..."

"Don't what, Georgie? Don't you love me?" That is how it starts.

Come on, Georgie boy. Head up.

You've got a whole world on your shoulders, babe, waiting for you to rise up, not fall to your knees. You can't give up, Georgie. It doesn't work like that, don't you understand? You put all your snitches in one basket, and dear, it backfired.

What did you expect? That things would go in your favour? Don't hold your breath.

"Fred, no please, Fred. Fred, don't leave me. Dear God, I don't want you to leave. Freddie, please..."

"I don't want to go."

The London streets are smiling up at you, Georgie boy; smirking at you and your ignorance, sneering at you and your arrogance. You're one in two, darling, not one in a million.

"The red-headed Weasley twin. The only one in the world."

Oh, but look up Georgie boy - the clouds are crying down on you, you made them weep, because what good are you, sweetheart, other than to hurt everyone else? You were the second twin; the unwanted twin; the discarded twin; the immoral twin.

Fred was going to shine and you were only ever holding him back.

"I can't replace you, Fred. I can't be you."

"No one expects you to, Georgie."

"But everyone wants it."

Who are you, George? Are you your own person, or the shadow of Fred Weasley, the second twin; the wanted twin; the needed twin; the brilliant twin? You were only ever riding on the coat tails you ripped apart, and babe, Fred isn't here to save you now. You're on your own, for the first time in twenty-two years. Isn't it peaceful?

This is, Georgie boy, peaceful has never exactly been your strong point, has it?

Georgie boy, you won't ever be him, but did you ever really want to be? Fred's dead, after all, and darling, you've always thrived more down here on earth.

"I'm sorry, Freddie."

You can try, dear; you can go back to the shop and make up pranks, like Screaming Saucers and Crying Crepes, but how will it help you, George?

Voldemort is gone and no one needs you now.

Remember?

A cab drives past, one of those Muggle ones with funny tinted windows and funny little men with hats and chewing gum. A young couple hold hands on the footpath and share glances that even you can tell, from way up here (but still not high enough), are full of love and promise and I'm gonna shag you when we get home.

Of course, no one ever really says it; it's all a bit ridiculous, to be honest.

Because if people just said what they were thinking, well; George, darling, you wouldn't be in this mess (or on this rooftop).

Right?

"What is this, George?"

"Come now, Freddie. When have we ever learnt from asking questions?"

But baby boy, maybe you should have delved deeper into your so-called "relationship." After all, Georgie, playing pretend has never helped you before, so why should it help you now? You were more than friends, my dear.

You were brothers. But was that all?

He was your playmate, when you were younger. Your best friend, brother-in-arms, fellow marauder... boyfriend? Fuck buddy? Brother-with-benefits? Who knows, really...? After all, you can't ask him now.

Oh, was that too harsh, Georgie boy? Grow up. He's not coming back.

You had that special kind of bond that didn't come from being born seven minutes away from each other, or growing up together; or even looking at the other to see your reflection. You had that bond of late-night whispers and kisses in the dark and fumbling hands that knew (know) every inch of each others' bodies.

You were so much more than just Gred and Forge.

Weren't you?

"What are we doing, George?"

"I don't know Fred. All I know is that I don't want to stop." And that is how it continues.

Maybe your family was oblivious and maybe it's wrong, in oh-so-many ways, but darling, you were special. You weren't normal; where was the fun in that? Georgie, you've never been anything but out of the ordinary, so why would you stop at relationships?

Incest is such an ugly word.

Don't you think?

Darling, don't look down. The world is so small, from up here. So breakable. Just like him. And just like you. Is it worth it?

You've got Mum and Dad to think of, Georgie boy, but let's face it; they've got enough spares to be getting on with. Fleur's expecting, you know. Another generation of the Weasley clan. Briefly, you wonder how messed up this lot is going to be.

You wonder if there's going to be some doubling up on the ol' family tree. You smirk into the wind.

"I'm scared."

"Weasleys aren't allowed to be scared. Let alone admit it."

"Maybe I'm not a true Weasley then. I think I'm okay with that."

Marauders, you two were. Troublemakers to the end. Because if you spend so much time in the company of fireworks, you begin to expect them, and only he could make you spark, Georgie boy.

That particular brand of fire is hard to find. Red hair, freckles, and hand-me-down robes mean one thing and one thing only, sweetheart. So what were you searching for? Angelina Johnson, maybe? Katie Bell? Like they could even send a shiver up your spine.

It's only ever been him.

Didn't you know?

And right now, you can feel the heat, feel the fire, lapping at your toes and your fingertips, shining in your hair and warming your heart. You are on fire up here, Georgie boy, because you've only ever run on danger, and without him, danger is confined to boring methods of escape and recreational substitutes that will never, ever compare to him.

"And... if I was to say I love you?"

"That's not what brothers do, Georgie."

You're getting higher and higher, but you keep looking down, dear, not reaching upwards, upwards. You need to see the sun, but don't you remember the story of Icarus, sweetie? He flew too close, and he fell. He fell so far. And he didn't get back up.

Darling, you can keep a joke shop and never laugh.

Keep a wife, a family, and never love.

Keep a facade, and never live.

Or you could go to the summit of a rooftop and laugh out your tears. Turn down a first date with Angelina Johnson and love the one who won't leave you. Jump of a rooftop, and die. But live too, sweetheart. Live with... him? It's time to grow up, George. It's time to restore your life.

Don't look down, Georgie boy.

"FRED!"

This is how it ends.