Chapter Text
November, 1995
George
The day his seventh year finally derailed (though getting to know Umbridge better was certainly the first step) was probably the day of the match against Slytherin. The entire day was a blur. It started with the adrenaline of winning a match – and ended with a bloodied lip and a lifetime ban from Quidditch.
George started to understand that the ferret was insulting their family around the time he started talking about their mum.
"We wanted to write another couple of verses! But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to sing about his mother, see – we couldn't fit in useless loser either – for his father, you know –"
Both he and Fred turned around slowly to face him.
Usually, they weren't prone to responding to provocations – honestly, both knew that the best way to deal with such things was to provoke and mock back. But insulting their parents – their beloved parents, who, despite their faults, always tried their damnedest to put food on the table and care for them – may have been the line drawn in the sand.
"Leave it," said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm – as if it would help. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little –"
"– but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay –"
He felt Harry grab his arm.
Honestly – he saw red. It was rather rare for him to get so angry, but Malfoy's face begged for a beating, it did.
"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it –"
Harry was no longer holding his arm – good –
He pounced the little wanker and slammed a fist straight into his nose, and when his two stocky mates jumped to his defence, and one of them split his lip and it mattered very little as he tried to punch Malfoy in the eye now, the anger beating in his veins –
"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!"
His hands were still shaking. He sat down on his bed, staring out the window, as Fred paced furiously, swore, and threatened to leave the school.
"The bloody little wanker!" he raged. Lee, from his own bed, made a noise of agreement.
George kept quiet.
"The little ferret – and having a go at our parents – as if his mother is a looker and his dad is not a pale, lanky bloody vampire – and no bloody Quidditch!"
George's grip on the windowsill tightened.
"No Quidditch!"
Outside, a winged creature flew out of the Forbidden Forest.
"No Quidditch, George!" Fred said a third time, as if George hadn't heard him the first two, or as if he needed the reminder.
"I know!" he snapped.
"Why stay, exactly, then? Why do we bloody need it? To get more time with precious Umbridge? I'm telling you, we should bloody get on with it already –"
"We are here to test and market, you know that! We've talked about this!"
"Well, we can't even do that with bloody Granger around, can we?!" Fred snapped back.
George looked out of the window again.
It wasn't even that Fred was wrong – and that things weren't grim. Quidditch was about the last thing worth staying for – and now, with the lifetime ban, George started to agree with Fred that it seemed less reasonable to stay. Nothing worth sticking around for.
*
There was one thing they did make use of – Hogwarts' potion ingredient supply. Fred was the best in Potions – George usually guarded the door, and cut things up for him if he asked him to. They were making a love potion – for their WonderWitch line.
They did it in Moaning Myrtle's loo – ignoring her shrieks and complaints.
That day, Fred was supposed to finish, finally. He was making a classic love potion. Only once he mastered it, they'd start modifying it. While Fred worked on that, George tried again at the bloody Headless Hats – at enlarging the radius. It would only make what was under it disappear, at the moment, so it just looked as if the person wearing it had no hair. With a book about modifying Transfiguration spells, he wrote down anything he could find in his notebook – wand movement, incantation, intent, possible combinations…
"George, I did it – it's ready. It's ready!"
"Really?" George left the hat there and went to look more closely, "that's brilliant!"
"Right! And I've written loads of things I can do differently to try to tweak it – but come and smell the sodding thing, it's so addictive…"
George bent down and took a whiff of the shiny, pearly-white potion.
It really was rather addictive. One of the smells was a buttery, sort of sweet smell – apple pie, was it? Apples were there too – and it was his favourite dessert; he simply adored it when, as a child, he would wake up to the entire house smelling like it because his mum had just made an apple pie.
Then there was… that smell of that first rain, fresh, especially the smell of that first rain in the meadows as they flew about on a broom…
Finally – whoa – he knew that smell…
He pulled back a bit as Fred took another big whiff and grinned. "Apple pie –"
"Me too," George grinned.
"That smell of the first rain –"
"Me too!"
"And – and, blimey, I don't know if it's a sign I should get back together with her, but Angelina's perfume," Fred smirked.
"Hm," George made a noncommittal sound. He didn't particularly fancy that – because Fred and Angelina were rather volatile, and every time they broke up (and they always did), his twin would be snappy and moody about it for days.
"Not you too? Her perfume?" Fred mistook his silence.
"Oh – no, no," George said hurriedly, "not sure what that last smell is, actually."
"What do you mean?"
"It's – er – I think it's, it's like coconut, or like, pineapple, but I don't like either fruit that much. Drop it – dunno what it's about."
"Okay," Fred raised an eyebrow at him, but George kept quiet and Fred finally dropped it. "I mean," he said then, "she's pretty bloody furious with me, especially since we got banned from the team, but blimey, maybe a nice shag every once in a while could give me another reason to stay…"
"How romantic," George muttered dryly. He got up slowly to go back to the Headless Hat.
"You and Katie can always give it another try," Fred said after him, "she really fancied you."
"I fancied her too – but it fizzled out and it's for the best."
"Is it?"
"It is. I also think she's dating some Hufflepuff now."
"You can always win her back, Georgie…"
"I'm quite all right, thanks."
*
Fred and Angelina were shagging again – and he knew that because he had the misfortune to interrupt them. In their shared dormitory, no less.
"Bloody hell, Fred!" He snapped, covering his eyes as neither of them was wearing many clothes – though fortunately, they were also not in the middle of the act either, "go find a sodding broom cupboard!"
And he slammed the door and went back to the common room, cursing his daft twin and his lack of boundaries.
The common room was rather empty – no one he particularly knew or liked besides Granger.
These days she and the twins were getting on fine – because they stopped testing their products on first-years – or at least they stopped doing it to her face.
She was frowning, trying to balance a gigantic tome of a book in her lap, while her hands folded a pile of clothes distractedly.
"Need a hand with that?" He stopped himself from laughing.
"Oh," her frown eased up some, "hi, George. No, I've got this."
"Do you?"
"Fine – er – did your mother ever teach you a decent spell for folding clothes?"
"She did – or rather, I taught myself one so I could save her the trouble and save my ears from her shouting."
She smiled at that, and he sat down slowly on an armchair next to her clothes. "It's Complica for a single article, and Omnia Complica for the lot of them."
"Right – I had found that one too, but it won't fold properly, that's my problem with it. It just organises itself into a messy pile."
"Show me your wand movement." She did, and he leaned forward to correct her, grabbing her wrist. "Not sharp enough between the lines, you're aiming for half a square."
"Oh," she seemed surprised as he moved her wrist to show her the movement, "I didn't realise. It just said the incantation in the book."
"Really? Lousy book."
He aimed his wand at her pile and drew a clear half a square, silently casting the charm. Hermione's clothes started to fold themselves neatly.
He was surprised to see an impressed look on her face when he gazed back at her.
"What?" He chuckled.
"Nothing. Er – thanks. And also, didn't realise you were so good at silent magic."
"Oh – that. You'll learn next year."
"I know," she rubbed her neck, "but, er, I read that not everyone grasps it."
"Some don't. You absolutely would, though."
"You think so?"
"I know so," he laughed, and she smiled down at her book and flipped a page as her clothes continued to fold themselves. "Say, why do you even need to do your own laundry anyway?" He leaned back in his armchair.
"Oh – because there's no way I'm letting the house-elves do it."
"Right," he stopped himself from rolling his eyes.
Not that he cared that much that she was so passionate about it – it was sweet in a naïve sort of way, and very misguided. She needed to spend more time in the Hogwarts kitchens – those elves would be heartbroken to be released from duty.
"You know," he decided to say something anyway, "I'm not saying some nasty, rotten wizards like nasty, rotten Malfoy don't exist – and they genuinely shouldn't have an elf – but I assure you, Dumbledore and the rest of the staff are very kind to Hogwarts' elves."
"They're resigned to it, George," she said with a huff, "they don't know anything else. They've been born into a life of servitude. If you were in their shoes, wouldn't you accept it too?"
"No," he said before he could think it through. "But I am me and they are them. It's also how they're bred, it's in their nature to be accommodating, and certainly not in my nature to be accommodating."
She raised an eyebrow, irritated. "Oh – I don't know – you fold clothes rather well. Very accommodating of you. And you're proving my point. Just like you don't want that kind of life as someone who was raised to be free, they'd probably not want it had they been raised to freedom."
With a smirk he cancelled the folding spell.
She rolled her eyes, leaned forward and cast it herself, now with the proper hand movement. "Omnia Complica!"
"I'm not accommodating, Granger," he laughed.
"Right – you're a menace, aren't you? Cancelling the spell you cast to help me. How utterly evil of you. Proper death eater."
He would have answered something equally as biting if Fred hadn't come down the stairs just then, whistling.
"Ugh," George grumbled, trying to avoid his twin's gaze. For two reasons. One hidden one, and one he didn't mind sharing with Hermione as she watched him with an amused smile.
"Why are you avoiding Fred?"
"I'll give you two hints, brightest witch of our age," he said, and she swatted his shoulder, "the first is that I couldn't enter my dormitory, and the second is that Fred only ever whistles after a shag."
Hermione's smile dropped. "Ew."
"Ew is right."
George didn't like thinking of any member of his family as a sexual being – it was best, in his head, to keep the things separate – family and sex, that was. But Fred, being his twin, and the tactless, boundaryless prat that he was, didn't separate them nearly enough for George's liking.
Fred, unfortunately, noticed them and joined them, smiling merrily. "If it's not my favourite swot and my favourite twin."
George mock-saluted him. Hermione was a bit red as she met his eyes, and for a moment George wondered if she – well – was it embarrassment at the prospect of sex or because she… fancied Fred a bit?
But then again, she probably fancied Ron as everyone said she had (Merlin knew why, no offence to his little brother, but he wouldn't in her shoes). It was probably because Fred had just finished having sex – and it truly was a bit nauseating to think about.
"What's this?" Fred waved at her clothes, being folded.
"My laundry," she raised her chin, probably ready to argue.
George did wonder for a moment why she seemed more belligerent than she did with him, five minutes earlier.
"Merlin, Granger, no – because of the bloody house elves?" Fred said impatiently.
Oh. That was probably why she seemed so defensive. Fred was clearly more irritated than he was by it.
"Yes, Fred, precisely because of them, and honestly, how is it that I am the only one to care about the plight of defenceless creatures, locked into eternal servitude?"
Fred was about to answer when he took an exaggerated sniff. His anger vanished, and George knew he was, well, screwed.
"Coconut and pineapple," Fred said.
"That's my washing powder!" She crossed her arms.
"It is, isn't it?" Fred grinned at George, and George felt his ears warming up.
Merlin. He should have kept his bloody mouth shut.
"What?" Hermione immediately caught on that something was going on.
George jumped to his feet. "Right. Well, Granger – always a pleasure. Fred – Lee is expecting us."
"Oh, is he?" Fred laughed.
He grabbed his twin's arm and pulled it forcefully before he blurted it out like the wanker he could sometimes be. He felt Hermione's suspicious gaze on their backs as they walked away.
"Out with it!" Fred demanded as they sat down by the lake – after George dragged him as far from the common room as he could go.
"Ugh – it's nothing, Fred, just bloody drop it –"
"I will not! Your love potion smelling like bloody Hermione Granger is not nothing –"
"That's why I didn't tell you," George snapped, meeting his gaze, "I knew you'd be a wanker about it."
Perhaps his tone was harsh. Fred's smile dropped.
They were quiet for a minute or two. He felt Fred's gaze on his face as he looked down at his lap. "Look, I'm sorry – I was just surprised, is all. I had no idea. You didn't say anything."
"Why would I?"
"Because – because it clearly means something that you smell Granger in your love potion, George!"
"Does it?" George raised an eyebrow, "you as the Potioneer between us, should know that calling it a 'love' potion is a bit exaggerated. Especially the smells part. It's things we're attracted to, not things we 'love'."
"Right – well – I still think it's relevant to mention that."
George shrugged. It went against his policy of wanting to keep his family and his sex life separated. Not that there was currently much sex life to speak of. But he knew Fred didn't share his wish for privacy, opting instead to tell George everything.
George genuinely understood the sentiment – could appreciate it, even, but the truth of the matter was that he didn't like talking about those things. Better to act than to talk anyway.
"So you fancy her?" Fred asked him curiously, leaning back against the large oak tree's bark.
He shrugged.
"I suppose she's pretty enough," Fred shrugged too, "when she's not yelling at us about testing our products, I mean."
George snorted. "Last I checked, yelling doesn't make anyone look less pretty. Or whatever noise Angelina was making should have made her wildly off-putting to you –"
"Oi!"
"Then don't shag her in our shared dormitory, you prat!" George laughed. Fred threw handfuls of grass at him.
"Why?" Fred asked then, "do you want me and Angie to clear out of the dormitory so you can shag Granger there?"
"Clever."
"Oh, I'm just getting started," Fred grinned then, "I can come up with ten better jokes – and I shall tell Ronnikins all of them until he picks his favourite."
George's ears felt all warm again. "Look – it's not like that, okay? I don't fancy her like that, no reason to – I mean – it's just a little attraction. Since Katie, I haven't really bothered looking for someone else, and I did always find her pretty, and – and –"
"And the way she scolds us just gets your willy all excited?"
George rolled his eyes, but felt his lips twitching up. "If you must know – it's not a turn off. She clearly seems to be a rather… passionate girl."
"Merlin, Georgie, I'm seeing you in a whole new light," Fred laughed as if George was this scary, fascinating creature he was tasked to write a report on for Care of Magical Creatures.
George wanted to stop talking about this thing altogether. "Right. So, to conclude – wouldn't kick her out of my bed –"
"Far from it, it sounds like –"
"– But I'm also deeply uninterested in the drama with Ronnie," and then he gave his twin a serious look. "So drop it, Freddie. Yeah?"
Fred stared back at him, as if trying to decipher him. So George tried to signal how serious he was about it.
Fred sighed then. "Fine – whatever, you do your own thing, I suppose."
"Thanks," George gave him a small smile, hoping the whole thing was behind them.
"Though – if that's how you really feel – that she is very attractive and that her anger is attractive too – well – you might just be fonder of her than Ron is."
His stomach twisted uncomfortably. "I don't… I don't…" he sighed, "look, I don't think about it like this. In fact, I don't think about it at all. I just started to find her fit last year –"
"The Yule Ball?" Fred grinned, "I'll give her that, she scrubs up well – I didn't dare guess she was hiding legs like that under her school-robes –"
"Anyway," George smirked, "I don't sit in my bed and daydream. I'm having a dry spell, and she's around often, and that's all there is to it."
"You may not daydream about her, but you probably nightdream about her, don't you?"
George wanted to be more indifferent than he was to this insinuation.
"Honestly, Georgie, did you see these two fight? Did you hear Ron complain about her? Even if you don't sit about daydreaming about her, you two seemed to have a very pleasant conversation when I interrupted you –"
"Hardly," George snorted.
"And – and, look, I don't really get it, I admit," he met his eyes, "but – well – everything is kind of rubbish right now, right? We don't have Quidditch. Your swot of a crush makes testing difficult. Umbridge – well – she exists, that's enough of a reason. Well – Angelina just made it very much worth it to stick around," he grinned, "all that pent-up anger about us getting kicked out of the team – well, if it's passion you're after, the angry ones have it in buckets…"
"You're not actually suggesting I try to shag Granger?" George looked at him incredulously.
"I'm just saying – you may be better for her than Ronnikins is! Did you ever imagine him to be a doting boyfriend and an attentive lover?"
"That's exactly the difference between us, dickhead, I don't imagine any of my brothers as lovers!"
Fred laughed uproariously. "You too, with the anger, you're so testy – you can use it too, it's very relieving, you know, it helped me. A nice, satisfying shag –"
"I still need to be able to look Angelina in the eyes, Fred, Merlin –"
"I was in a terrible mood as you well know and now I'm fine - great, really. Well – how about a snog then? A quick, harmless snog –"
"Freddie," George got up and then gave him a hand, "not a word."
"But George – it's genuinely not a big deal!"
"Still," he stressed. Fred sighed, accepted his hand and jumped to his feet, and they changed the subject to the Headless Hats.