Unbreakable
Title: Unbreakable
Author: bizarity
Written for: Everyone's favourite twins, Fred and George Weasley
Pairing/Characters: Fred, George, Ron, Arthur
Rating: PG
Warnings: Un-betad. I wanted to get it up today.
Summary: A snippet from Weasley family history.
This ficlet is dedicated to the Wealsey Twins (Fred and George). Happy Birthday Boys!!
“Fred,” a voice was breaking through the clouds and suddenly Fred Weasley was flat on his back and being shaken. It took him almost a minute to figure out what was going on.
“You woke me up.” He tried to sound upset, annoyed, but the glint in George’s eye suggested something good was about to happen.
“Sorry. I just read the best thing. Ever.” Trust George to be inspired by a book, was Fred’s first though. He waited patiently for George to calm down enough to tell him. “There’s this… thing. It’s called the unbreakable vow. I just read about it. One person swears he’ll do a thing and he has to do it. He can’t ever get out of it. That’s what unbreakable means.” Fred’s eyes were blazing with interest now.
“Who?” He didn’t look to George for an answer. His mind was already calculating possibilities. Charlie and Bill were both obviously too old to fall for it. Percy might, but he read a lot and he’d probably come across it before. Ron, he reminded himself, was a gift of a brother. Not only was he two years younger than them but despite living with them for five years he was still as gullible as ever. Fred didn’t even need to say it but George was nodding along with him.
“What, though?” Was George’s next contribution to the conversation. This was trickier, it required invention rather than selection. All the same, it was by far the most fun part of the job. Images whirled through Fred’s mind, refusing to stay still and let him examine them. Judging by George’s face he was drawing a complete blank. Sometimes, only sometimes, Fred got bored with always having to come up with the best part of the prank.
Fred watched George, wondering if he as capable of coming up with anything on his own. His expression didn’t change, he continued to look just slightly baffled. Eventually, Fred gave up his watching and remembered to think. A few minutes later he felt George’s concentration snap and knew he was being watched. The increased pressure caused the images to whirl faster and faster until, finally, “Love poetry!”
What?” George, though confused, was grinning. Anything involving love poetry was bound to be good.
“We make him vow,” Fred was enjoying spinning out his idea, “to write a love poem. Every year. On valentine’s day.” He announced each element with all the mischievous aplomb he could muster. The last, though, was the best. It had to be. “And read it out to the family.” George collapsed in hysterics.
It took George nearly a minute to fully recover, which is a long time when you’re laughing so hard it hurts. When he did he added “bad love poetry. Signed ‘Ronniekins’” and Fred remembered why they were a perfect team. George always added the tiny, wonderful, details that he himself could not invent.
“Lazy Ronniekins,” Fred announced, as George broke into further hysterics beside him. “Still in bed at this hour? Won’t do, baby brother. Just won’t do.” As he spoke he moved to the side of Ron’s bed. George moved to the window and pulled back the bright orange curtains, sunlight escaping immediately onto Ron’s face.
“Go away. Mummy said I could stay in bed. I’m ill!” Fred, not listening properly, drew back the bed clothes and watched Ron turn onto his side, flesh raising into bumps. He and George, experts at this by now, hustled Ron out of bed and into his Weasley jumper.
“I don’t want to go into the garden, I don’t. I’ll call mummy and she’ll stop you. Let me go back to bed!” Ron was red in the face with his wailing but Fred and George continued to haul him down the stairs and out into the kitchen where the noise attracted a small mustering of gnomes. Before much more screaming had occurred George leaned over the gnomes to whisper in Fred’s ear. Fred’s shoulders drooped but he nodded and sent George off with a wave of his hand.
“Brother mine,” started Fred, “we’re not trying to hurt you. Everyone knows that summer and orange juice are the best cure in the world for any illness.”
“Well I don’t have any jui-,” Ron was starting to say when George appeared from the kitchen door carrying a huge pitcher of orange juice. A few glasses of this seemed to calm Ron down and Fred knelt on the grass next to him.
“Now, Ron, brother, George and I have been doing some research.” George, nodding, joined them on the ground where they were still surrounded by gnomes. “You know that girl that Bill brought home a few weeks ago?” Ron nodded, Bill was their 15 year old brother and had, as Fred said, recently brought home a girl. “Well, she was his girlfriend. George and I asked her.” Ron nodded, he’d overheard the conversation. “You aren’t interested in girls just yet, baby brother, but one day you will be. Then, you’ll thank us for doing this research.”
“What girls really like,” interrupted George who had finally caught on, “is poetry. They love poetry. But if you only start writing it when you get interested, you won’t be any good. They don’t love bad poetry.”
“So, we’re going to help you practice.” Fred took over again, trying to keep Ron’s interest. “The only way you can get better is if you write some poetry and then read it out. Then people can say what’s wrong with it and how to make it better. Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?” Ron was frowning but nodded tentatively.
“The best day to write poetry is on Valentine’s day. You know when that is, don’t you?”
“Feb-ru-ary fourteenth,” nodded their young brother, pleased to know something.
“Exactly. So, every Valentine’s day we want you to promise to write a poem and then read it out to the whole family. Some years you may not want to, you might start thinking it’s stupid, but it isn’t. You will promise, won’t you?” Fred had worked himself up to his most convincing at this point and Ron eagerly nodded.
“Excellent.” Fred and George grinned at one another as they replied in unison.
“What in the name of Merlin’s beard is going on in here?” Fred flinched and dropped Ron’s sweaty, grubby hand.
“Nothing, Dad. Nothing.” George had stood up and was shaking. Ron was still sitting on the ground staring up at his enraged father.
“They’re helping me, daddy. Fred and George are helping me.” He sounded so proud and content, honoured that his two brothers wanted to help him. Their father managed to shop shouting as he asked Ron to go upstairs. Fred closed his eyes as he watched his brother disappear around the corner, knowing that what was coming would not be pleasant. Still, Fred and George would always say that the hiding had been well worth it. George insisted it had even improved the experience, without it the memory wouldn’t have lasted so long and wouldn’t have been able to send them both into laughing fits until nearly twenty years later.
Author: bizarity
Written for: Everyone's favourite twins, Fred and George Weasley
Pairing/Characters: Fred, George, Ron, Arthur
Rating: PG
Warnings: Un-betad. I wanted to get it up today.
Summary: A snippet from Weasley family history.
This ficlet is dedicated to the Wealsey Twins (Fred and George). Happy Birthday Boys!!
“Fred,” a voice was breaking through the clouds and suddenly Fred Weasley was flat on his back and being shaken. It took him almost a minute to figure out what was going on.
“You woke me up.” He tried to sound upset, annoyed, but the glint in George’s eye suggested something good was about to happen.
“Sorry. I just read the best thing. Ever.” Trust George to be inspired by a book, was Fred’s first though. He waited patiently for George to calm down enough to tell him. “There’s this… thing. It’s called the unbreakable vow. I just read about it. One person swears he’ll do a thing and he has to do it. He can’t ever get out of it. That’s what unbreakable means.” Fred’s eyes were blazing with interest now.
“Who?” He didn’t look to George for an answer. His mind was already calculating possibilities. Charlie and Bill were both obviously too old to fall for it. Percy might, but he read a lot and he’d probably come across it before. Ron, he reminded himself, was a gift of a brother. Not only was he two years younger than them but despite living with them for five years he was still as gullible as ever. Fred didn’t even need to say it but George was nodding along with him.
“What, though?” Was George’s next contribution to the conversation. This was trickier, it required invention rather than selection. All the same, it was by far the most fun part of the job. Images whirled through Fred’s mind, refusing to stay still and let him examine them. Judging by George’s face he was drawing a complete blank. Sometimes, only sometimes, Fred got bored with always having to come up with the best part of the prank.
Fred watched George, wondering if he as capable of coming up with anything on his own. His expression didn’t change, he continued to look just slightly baffled. Eventually, Fred gave up his watching and remembered to think. A few minutes later he felt George’s concentration snap and knew he was being watched. The increased pressure caused the images to whirl faster and faster until, finally, “Love poetry!”
What?” George, though confused, was grinning. Anything involving love poetry was bound to be good.
“We make him vow,” Fred was enjoying spinning out his idea, “to write a love poem. Every year. On valentine’s day.” He announced each element with all the mischievous aplomb he could muster. The last, though, was the best. It had to be. “And read it out to the family.” George collapsed in hysterics.
It took George nearly a minute to fully recover, which is a long time when you’re laughing so hard it hurts. When he did he added “bad love poetry. Signed ‘Ronniekins’” and Fred remembered why they were a perfect team. George always added the tiny, wonderful, details that he himself could not invent.
“Lazy Ronniekins,” Fred announced, as George broke into further hysterics beside him. “Still in bed at this hour? Won’t do, baby brother. Just won’t do.” As he spoke he moved to the side of Ron’s bed. George moved to the window and pulled back the bright orange curtains, sunlight escaping immediately onto Ron’s face.
“Go away. Mummy said I could stay in bed. I’m ill!” Fred, not listening properly, drew back the bed clothes and watched Ron turn onto his side, flesh raising into bumps. He and George, experts at this by now, hustled Ron out of bed and into his Weasley jumper.
“I don’t want to go into the garden, I don’t. I’ll call mummy and she’ll stop you. Let me go back to bed!” Ron was red in the face with his wailing but Fred and George continued to haul him down the stairs and out into the kitchen where the noise attracted a small mustering of gnomes. Before much more screaming had occurred George leaned over the gnomes to whisper in Fred’s ear. Fred’s shoulders drooped but he nodded and sent George off with a wave of his hand.
“Brother mine,” started Fred, “we’re not trying to hurt you. Everyone knows that summer and orange juice are the best cure in the world for any illness.”
“Well I don’t have any jui-,” Ron was starting to say when George appeared from the kitchen door carrying a huge pitcher of orange juice. A few glasses of this seemed to calm Ron down and Fred knelt on the grass next to him.
“Now, Ron, brother, George and I have been doing some research.” George, nodding, joined them on the ground where they were still surrounded by gnomes. “You know that girl that Bill brought home a few weeks ago?” Ron nodded, Bill was their 15 year old brother and had, as Fred said, recently brought home a girl. “Well, she was his girlfriend. George and I asked her.” Ron nodded, he’d overheard the conversation. “You aren’t interested in girls just yet, baby brother, but one day you will be. Then, you’ll thank us for doing this research.”
“What girls really like,” interrupted George who had finally caught on, “is poetry. They love poetry. But if you only start writing it when you get interested, you won’t be any good. They don’t love bad poetry.”
“So, we’re going to help you practice.” Fred took over again, trying to keep Ron’s interest. “The only way you can get better is if you write some poetry and then read it out. Then people can say what’s wrong with it and how to make it better. Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?” Ron was frowning but nodded tentatively.
“The best day to write poetry is on Valentine’s day. You know when that is, don’t you?”
“Feb-ru-ary fourteenth,” nodded their young brother, pleased to know something.
“Exactly. So, every Valentine’s day we want you to promise to write a poem and then read it out to the whole family. Some years you may not want to, you might start thinking it’s stupid, but it isn’t. You will promise, won’t you?” Fred had worked himself up to his most convincing at this point and Ron eagerly nodded.
“Excellent.” Fred and George grinned at one another as they replied in unison.
“What in the name of Merlin’s beard is going on in here?” Fred flinched and dropped Ron’s sweaty, grubby hand.
“Nothing, Dad. Nothing.” George had stood up and was shaking. Ron was still sitting on the ground staring up at his enraged father.
“They’re helping me, daddy. Fred and George are helping me.” He sounded so proud and content, honoured that his two brothers wanted to help him. Their father managed to shop shouting as he asked Ron to go upstairs. Fred closed his eyes as he watched his brother disappear around the corner, knowing that what was coming would not be pleasant. Still, Fred and George would always say that the hiding had been well worth it. George insisted it had even improved the experience, without it the memory wouldn’t have lasted so long and wouldn’t have been able to send them both into laughing fits until nearly twenty years later.