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hardparadeJust a couple of fics from fests that I'm archiving. :)
Title: meant for each other
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Fred/George
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Incest.
Summary/Prompt: Angelina realizes that Fred and George are meant to be lovers before either of them does.
A/N: For the Twinspiration April Fool's Day Twin-Stuff Fest. Originally posted here.
Everybody knew the twins were close. It was the kind of thing that was impossible not to know. The kind of thing you noticed only a few minutes after meeting them. But the things I noticed - well, I always thought you'd have to know them a pretty long time, not to mention pretty well, to start wondering the way I did. Of course, the twins had other friends, ones they'd known as long as me, some longer - hell, they had family members who'd known them their whole lives, and who was I to argue with that, even if I could tell them apart by the backs of their heads, the sounds of their voices, the way a collar was turned up or down or the way shoelaces were laced?
But I was sure that nobody else saw them in quite the same way. I guess they got attention from other girls - they were attractive guys, why wouldn't they? - but nobody gave them the same sort of attention I did. I'm not even entirely sure how it started. I suppose it started with a crush. The smallest of all crushes, though, at least in the beginning. It was a crush that was so subtle and quiet that it crept into my mind and took up residence there for weeks without me paying it the slightest bit of attention. And then one day just before Quidditch practice, Katie elbowed me in the ribs and hissed, "Oi, are you staring at Fred Weasley?” and that was when it hit me. I opened my mouth to protest but I had nothing to say. I had been staring. In truth, I suppose I'd been staring at both of the twins, but I couldn't work all of this out so quickly - Fred was the one Katie had mentioned, and when I realised she was right, I drew the only conclusion I thought possible.
It was only a few days later when Alicia asked me the question that, I suppose, started the whole thing off. We were in the common room, sitting on one of the sofas, and out of the blue she had suddenly asked, "If you fancy Fred, d'you fancy George as well?" Katie had laughed and said, "They're twins, Al, but they're different people!" Alicia just shrugged and replied, "Yeah, but they look the same!". I hadn't spoken, because my brain had just answered Alicia's question very suddenly, and it had surprised me so much I couldn't even speak. "I think she does," Katie said, tilting her head to one side and looking at me.
It's important for you to understand that before this, I hadn't had much interest in boys at all. Choosing Quidditch over dates and make-up, I guess I'd always been considered kind of a 'tomboy', but it wasn't something I ever called myself. I found certain boys good-looking, of course, but it never seemed to go much further than that. And maybe this was the reason that the Fred-and-George crush very nearly took over my life. It was nothing I'd ever felt before. I thought about them all the time, found myself watching them whenever they were nearby. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep - I suppose that part was all very typical. When I think about it now, this period must have only been a few weeks long, though at the time it felt like years.
It must have been because of the amount of time I spent watching them that I noticed the things I did, otherwise the whole school would have picked up on it - though whether they'd take it the way I did, I couldn't say. I simply saw it as brotherly affection at first, and even when that was all it was to me, I still found it a little bit intriguing. And then I realised just how much they actually touched each other. It was a simple observation, but I started to become obsessed with it, grabbing hold of it and taking it with me wherever I went, desperate to see a hand grab a shoulder, an arm slip ‘round a waist. On two occasions I saw them hug, in celebration, and I couldn't help staring at the way their bodies fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Once I was almost certain they were holding hands, but the way their robes fluttered in the breeze and their sleeves seemed to merge together, I couldn't be sure.
I began to watch other pairs of male best friends, intently, trying to see if they acted the same way, and found they didn't. I mentioned this observation to Katie and Alicia, pretending I was comparing it to how often female best friends had physical contact. Alicia had laughed, and Katie shook her head and said "Ange, it's because they don't want to look gay."
She was right, of course. And I think deep down I knew that was the reason even before I'd asked, but I needed some sort of confirmation. Once I had it, though, I had to start thinking about what exactly it meant. Male friends A and B, and male friends C and D, are worried about touching each other in case others think they are gay. Male friends E and F touch each other openly and do not appear to worry about it. What does this mean? Of course the answer I kept coming up with was 'Because male friends E and F are brothers', but for some reason it just didn't seem to be enough.
I guess there was some sort of a mental block there, because for the next week or so I got no further. My thoughts seemed to be trying to reassure me - of course Fred and George don't have to worry that people will think they're gay, because they're brothers - quite obviously so - and nobody would think that they were a couple.
* * *
But then one evening in the Gryffindor common room, I was struck by a very strange thought, one that confused me even more than everything that had been happening in my head so far. I stopped seeing Fred and George as brothers just for that evening, and instead saw them as a couple. It just sort of happened, in my mind, but then it wouldn't go away. I realised that they would be an incredibly perfect couple, and once I'd realised that, it was too late to go back. Of course there was a tiny part of my brain that protested - but, you do remember they're brothers? - but I firmly ignored it, at least for the time being.
I had to mention this to somebody, so that night I tried my best to sound as casual as possible, and brought the subject up with Alicia. I guess I said something like, "Aren't Fred and George really good together?" and because she knew I fancied the twins, she immediately started teasing me. Once I got her to shut up - thanks to a few well-aimed cushions - I attempted to explain myself better. "Don't you think they're almost like a couple? No, shut up, let me explain! I mean, they're always finishing each other's sentences, and you almost never see them apart, and they're just so close."
"Angelina, they're close because they're twins, not because they're - " she sniggered, "Boyfriends. I mean, that's incest."
"I know," I said right away, even though her referring to it as 'incest' had inexplicably caused a wave of anger to surge through me. I sighed, looking down at my hands, fidgeting in front of me on the bed. "Obviously. But, just try and imagine. I mean imagine they weren't twins, weren't even brothers, but they still acted that way?"
The second I said it I knew it was all wrong. It wasn't how it was in my head, anyway, I'd had to change all of this around to get it to the point where Alicia would be able to understand. But by voicing some of it, I'd managed to work out which bits were right and which bits were wrong. When I said 'imagine they weren't twins', it took something away from what I was saying somehow. It was the fact that they were twins that made them such a perfect couple, but my brain couldn't get any further just yet - it just kept making me feel guilty for thinking such a thing, guilty and confused, wondering how the fact that two people were related could possibly make a relationship better, however hypothetical the situation was.
Alicia had just frowned. "I guess I sort of see what you mean," she'd said, "They do act like a couple sometimes. But not properly. I mean it's not like they're going around kissing in public - good thing, too - but I can see your point, with the finishing of the sentences and the touching and everything. And I think if two people who weren’t related acted that way, they would probably make a good couple. But I think with Fred and George – well, I think that's just the way twins are."
I guess I just nodded and went to bed. I still had so many of my thoughts to work out. I knew that technically, such a relationship would be incest, but I couldn't see it in the same way. Incest was a word used to describe a creepy father raping his helpless daughter, not...not this. Fred and George seemed perfect together, so perfect that I couldn't even imagine them apart.
I used to think of myself with each of them separately, right at the start, because it never occurred to me to think of it any other way. But each time I did this - a daydream in a boring class, or letting my hands wander and my mind run wild late at night - something seemed to be missing. I began thinking of them together - me sandwiched between the two of them, identical bodies on either side of my own - and it excited me so much I thought I must be sick. But after this recent revelation, I began to feel like an intruder in my own fantasies. Sometimes in my mind the twins would be pushing me away. I had dreams where I would lean in to kiss Fred, and he would turn away in favour of his brother's lips instead.
I was beginning to think I was going insane, but the more I watched them, the more convinced I became. I couldn't find any solid proof, of course, but I felt almost certain that the twins were lovers.
* * *
The next day, I decided that if I saw one more clue - a significant touch, something they said to each other, anything - that it was true. If nothing happened all day, it wasn't true, and I was crazy. I felt nervous about my plan, but I was just so sure that I wasn't imagining things that by lunch that day, I was feeling confident that one of the twins would slip up and do something to convince me.
And that was when Fred Weasley asked me to go to the Yule Ball with him.
* * *
Of course, I didn't keep my promise. Fred inviting me to the Ball with him just made things even more intriguing. Did this mean I was insane? Did it mean I'd imagined everything? Possibly. Did it mean Fred and George were going through some sort of rough patch, maybe George had done something to hurt Fred and as revenge he was asking me out? Did people - their family, maybe! - find out about their relationship, and now they had to try to cover it all up by going out with girls? My mind was a complete mess of questions, and I'd barely even thought about the actual Ball. Everywhere, girls were fussing with hair potions, charming the heels on their shoes not to break off, practicing their dancing - and there I was, not even thinking of being with my date, but thinking of my date being with his brother.
The Ball surprised me, though. I had been worrying the night before, worrying that perhaps all of this was just in my mind, and I was risking what could be a good relationship with Fred just because I was obsessing about some incestuous fantasy. But the Ball went just as I had expected - or rather, just as I had hoped. At the beginning of the evening, Fred was cheerful and jokey - his usual self - and though I watched, I didn't catch him looking over at George (who was sitting on his own gazing into space when he wasn't half-heartedly dancing with various girls who had, like him, come alone) until well into the night.
As time went on, though, he just started to seem a little...off. When I asked him if he was okay, he only linked his arm back round my waist, beaming, and said, "Why wouldn't I be? I'm with you!". But there was a sadness in his eyes, something I kept trying to catch but it just kept on slipping away, and I couldn't get to the bottom of it. I realised then that Fred and George were not lovers. But there was definitely something wrong with the way things were. I don't think Fred had any idea that I could tell something was wrong, but I could, and I desperately wanted to do something about it, I just couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was, and there was nowhere to go from there.
When we tired of dancing and socialising, I asked him if he'd like to go sit on the steps outside. My heart fluttered in my chest when I saw that his eyes immediately flickered over to where George had been sitting, but when he saw his brother was no longer there (I had seen him leave, he had gone up to bed a few minutes before), he nodded and led me outside.
Sitting in the cold air on the stone steps, everything seemed much more real. Things were clearer, sharper somehow, than in the bustling, busy hall with its lights and decorations.
"Are you okay?" I asked Fred for the sixteenth time that night.
He sighed. He grinned, then the grin faded and he sighed again. I touched his arm, wanting to squeeze his answer - the truth - out of him.
"It's just weird, I guess," he mumbled, so quietly I had to lean in to hear him.
"What's weird?" I asked softly.
He sat up straight suddenly, and laughed, but it was a hollow laugh and it wasn't fooling me for a second. I knew he was laughing to cover something up, even if it was just his embarrassment at being honest with me.
"Nothing," he said. "Nothing's that weird. It's not a big deal. I guess it's just a little odd not being with George. I mean, we've done everything together practically our whole lives. I kept asking him if he was going to ask anyone to the Ball, but he never did, and it was funny, 'cos I thought we'd go out like, the four of us - you, me, him, his date - and have a good time. But it's just me with the date. Which is weird."
I frowned. I felt his pain, and that was when I learnt what it was. Fred and George were not lovers, but they needed to be. They just hadn't realised it yet. I could see that the confusion was killing him, I could see the way he was trying to work out this new feeling, figure out what it meant. I could see that it was hurting him to block out the idea from his mind. I knew all of this from watching him - and George - for so long, going through a similar thought-journey myself.
"Don't get me wrong," he said suddenly. "The date isn't weird. The date's been wonderful, actually, you know, in fact-"
He paused, then grinned and lowered his voice. I was hoping desperately that he would say what I wanted him to say, but it wasn't for the reasons he would have assumed if he knew.
"In fact," he said again, touching my arm. "I would be honoured if you would accompany me upstairs. Would you like to do that?"
I laughed. "Are you asking me to go up to your room with you, Fred Weasley?" I asked, feigning shock.
"I am if your answer's yes!"
I tried to hold back a smile, but it crept across my mouth anyway, and I sighed. "Yes,"
"Yes?" he asked.
"Yes," I repeated. "Quickly. Before I change my mind."
* * *
Sometimes I look back on that night and wonder if I made a huge mistake, but these thoughts only come back after a bad break-up, or when I've been stood up on a date, and I regret because it makes me feel worse, which in turn makes me feel better. But the truth is, what I did that night was the best thing I ever did in my life.
Fred crept into the room with me behind him, and peered around. I saw his face fall when he saw the one bed with the curtains pulled shut around it, but then he turned back to me and said, "Ah, that's George's bed, but he's asleep and no one else is up here, it'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" I asked, searching his face.
"It's fine," he repeated. I stared at George's bed, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. This had been what I was hoping for, wishing for, but it suddenly felt all too real again, and I wasn't sure if I could go through with it.
Fred took my hand and led me to his bed, where we sat cross-legged and facing each other, awkward, for a few seconds. In all my fantasies, I had never imagined things would be awkward. Especially because I was with one of the twins. But now I knew why, and instead of feeling upset or angry, I felt sorry, sorry for Fred and for George, who, I was sure, was not asleep.
I smiled at Fred, and did the only thing I could do - I kissed him. It felt horribly wrong, for so many reasons. I wanted to be kissing him, but only if he had no twin, no twin in the bed next to his, wide awake. I didn't want to be kissing him when I knew that deep down he wanted to be kissing somebody else, even if he hadn't realised it yet. I didn't want to be kissing him when someone else wanted it much more than me.
He was the one who broke off the kiss, though, which surprised me.
"Are you okay?" I asked. Seventeen.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and grinned again, that cover-up grin he was using again so he didn't appear too vulnerable. He didn't know I knew him so well I could see through it all. "It's just a little weird, with my brother in the next bed.”
I nodded. I shut my eyes. I took a deep breath and opened them again. I unbuckled my shoes and placed them next to me on the bed, ignoring Fred's puzzled expression. I slid slowly and quietly off the bed, and padded across the floor towards George. I turned back once and saw that Fred had slid along after me, and was sitting on the side of his bed, now, his legs over the edge. He was watching me, and his expression showed something I had never seen in him so clearly before - fear.
I pulled open the curtain and found George sitting up, shirtless and confused in bed, his eyes wide, which was exactly what I had expected. He hadn't expected any of this, clearly, and he jumped a little, then grinned sheepishly. I climbed onto the bed and shuffled along so that I was next to him. Both twins looked at me, but neither asked what I was doing.
"George," I said softly, and I took his face in my hands, and pressed my lips against his. It felt even more wrong than kissing Fred, because Fred was sitting right there near us, watching us. But I knew I was helping him, helping both of them. I hoped that as Fred watched me kissing his brother he felt something, felt something that he recognised as jealousy, and I wondered if he would know which of us he was jealous of. With my eyes closed, I reached out and gestured to Fred to come and sit with us. I heard him slip off his bed and climb onto his brother's.
I kept gesturing, kept kissing George, and for a worryingly long time nothing happened. But then I felt his lips join ours. My heart seemed to want to rise and sink at the same time. I felt George freeze. I felt his heart pounding. I felt his hesitation, his desire to move away. But I also felt his desire to keep kissing, to keep moving his lips, and just as I had hoped, he followed that desire.
A kiss with three people involved is messy and complicated, especially when two of the people are pretending to each other they really don't want to be involved at all. But I slowly, so slowly detached myself, my lips slowing, stopping, then leaving, my hands running along their backs until I was touching air. I sat back for a long moment, watching the two of them, and I was embarrassed to find I had tears in my eyes. They had not slowed down, not moved away from each other, as I left. Fred brought a shaky hand up to his brother's freckled chest, and George kissed him desperately, frantically, as though his life depended on it, Fred pushing right back towards him with the exact same intensity.
They were kissing as though it was what they had been searching for, for as long as they could remember. I had been right. I got off the bed, paused long enough to see that they had not even stopped to look at me when I moved, drew the curtains, crossed the room, grabbed my shoes, and left, shutting the door behind me. I knew I had shut that door forever, but in that moment I felt fine about it. I knew I had done them the biggest favour in the world, and I knew that this was how things were meant to be, and if I had stayed there, had done something with Fred, I would have been putting a barrier between the two of them that they might never break down, I would have been shutting off their suspicions and their wonderings forever.
A part of me wished, of course, that I had stayed between the two of them, but I knew that I would have only been in the way - an intruder, the way I was in my fantasies. I knew that they only wanted each other, and I couldn't have brought myself to interrupt that. They thanked me, the next day, in their blushing, goofy, grinning way, and they asked me not to tell a soul. I laughed at them, and said that it wasn't a problem, that they never would have gotten anywhere without me anyway, and I'd just had to do something. Fred took me aside afterwards and apologized nearly as many times as I'd asked him if he was okay the night before, and he began to explain the way he'd been feeling, the way he'd always known there was something missing in his friendship with his brother, the way it felt when he finally realised what it was...
I cut him off because he didn't need to tell me. I knew about it all already, and I'd known from the beginning. Fred and George were meant for each other, and that was just the way things were supposed to be.
Title: scuttlebutt
Author: likecharity
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Warnings: None.
Summary/prompt: I always think its good when something Muggle worthy turns out to be magical afterall. I would like to read something using scuttlebut - meaning rumor and is often mispronounced scuttlebug - as being a real bug that infests Hogwarts. Rumors fly and shagging ensues!
A/N: Written for the 2007 Harry/Ron FQF. So many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miss_bowtruckle for the beta! :) Originally posted here.
Rumours are, of course, common in schools. Rumours are common everywhere, but particularly in schools, what with the nosy teenagers and the rampant gossip and all. Harry knew this. To him, rumours were fine. Rumours were normal. He'd heard his fair share of those about him, and he'd learned to live with it.
The rumours he usually heard, though, at least stemmed from some sort of truth. A story of something real, that got mixed up through so many ears and mouths that it turned into something quite different. But still something people can understand - at least enough to believe it.
Not the rumours he'd been hearing lately.
It started with the one about Ginny. He thought so, anyway - once he noticed how ridiculous they were, it was hard to tell when they got that way, or if they'd always been like that, or what. But the one about Ginny was the one that caught his attention.
He started listening when he heard her name, because he was used to making himself do that, and it'd become a habit. He spent a very long time trying to convince himself that the Weasley he wanted was Ginny, and that he was the most heterosexual male in all of the United Kingdom (if not the world). He had only recently admitted to himself that it was, in fact, Ron that he wanted, and he was, in fact, extremely, fantastically, ridiculously gay.
Not that that meant he was planning on telling anybody else anytime soon.
Anyway, when he heard the first rumour, he was on his way to Charms, and he noticed a couple of boys in the year below him talking just at the side of the corridor. He heard Ginny's name, started listening casually, and it didn't take long for him to have to listen a little harder.
"You know Ginny Weasley?" one boy had said - a perfectly ordinary thing to ask - and the other boy had nodded.
"I heard," the first boy continued, in the sort of way people talk when they know something others don't, "that she's in love with..."
"In love with who?" asked the other boy urgently, tugging on his friend's sleeve.
Harry became a little more interested. He knew how stressed out Ron got about Ginny having boyfriends, and hoped that maybe if she had another to add to her list, he might have an opportunity to offer Ron some comfort later. Although it would be a pretty serious problem, one that Ron would blow out of proportion - as usual - and agonise about for days, he didn't want Ron to be worried if he didn't have to be. It was probably his duty as the best friend to find out what these boys were talking about.
The first boy lowered his voice as Harry approached further. "You-Know-Who."
Assuming this was some sort of code between the two, and the second boy did in fact, 'know who', and therefore none of this was his problem - or indeed, business - Harry sighed and continued on past the boys.
"You mean...Vol-"
Harry stopped walking suddenly. The first boy had hissed at the second boy to shut up, and then started nodding frantically. To Harry's astonishment, the second boy did not laugh or ask his friend if he'd lost his mind. His eyes just widened in amazement. The first boy started whispering, and Harry immediately dropped to the floor and pretended to tie his shoe.
"...fantasy about him as a sixteen year old," Harry heard the first boy continue.
"Wow. That's pretty scary," said the second boy. "It's weird, too, people are talking about her a lot. You know what I heard?"
"What?"
"I heard she's going to become emo."
Harry glanced back behind him. The first boy had his mouth open in shock.
"What's that?" he asked, and Harry was glad, because he had no idea either.
"I don't know," said the second boy, shaking his head and frowning. "But it sure sounds dangerous. Maybe it's like a Dark Creature or something,"
That was where it started. The day only seemed to get stranger from then on, too. All Harry had to do was turn the corner and head down the next corridor before he heard the next rumour.
"Professor Snape?" a short, brown-haired girl was whispering incredulously.
"It's true. I swear," another girl - this one with blonde hair in pigtails - assured her. "Apparently it's not everybody - obviously, or we would have known. I think it's just the ones he really likes - you know, like Draco Malfoy - and the ones he hates."
"Why the ones he hates?" asked a boy nearby.
"Some sort of punishment thing, I guess," the blonde girl replied.
"I bet you anything, then, that Harry Potter's getting the worst of it," the boy said gravely, and all three nodded sadly.
Harry has stopped a few metres away from the group in disbelief. What were they talking about? And why has his name been mentioned?
"It must be illegal," the brunette girl was whispering, now. "But wow...I guess I always wondered why he gave so many detentions..."
Harry stomped towards them. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.
The three students exchanged knowing looks.
"It's okay, Harry," said the boy, patting Harry on the back. "We know."
Harry was at a loss. "Know what, exactly?"
"About what happens between..." the girl with the brown hair began quietly, then paused. She took a deep breath, and her eyes seemed to be full of sorrow and sympathy. "Between you and Professor Snape."
Harry was dumbfounded. "Me and-?"
"It's okay, Harry," the boy said again, "We know. You don't have to try and hide it. We feel awfully sorry for you, as well, if it were me I'd report him."
"But you don't understand," Harry said feebly. "I don't know what you mean. There isn't anything happening between me and Snape. What sort of-"
The three students were shaking their heads at him, sighing sadly.
"It's all right, mate. You don't have to try and cover it up," the boy said softly. "From what we've heard, it's not just you - it's Draco Malfoy, too."
Harry had nothing left to say. In shock - and vague hints of anger - he turned abruptly away from the group and stormed off down the corridor to Charms. Behind him, he heard one of the girls mutter, "Poor boy. I guess I'd be the same way if Professor Snape was using that to punish me."
* * *
"You," spat Ron fiercely as he burst into the common room. His hair was sticking up in various directions and his cheeks were pinker than usual.
Harry looked up from his Potions homework. "Me?"
"Don’t you act like you don’t know what’s going on," Ron snapped.
"But Ron, I’m pretty sure I actually don’t know what’s-"
"Yeah, sure. What’s that?" Ron grabbed at Harry’s parchment, read the title, and threw it back down. "Oh, Potions homework, of course. Wouldn’t want to upset Professor Snape now, would we? Might end up with a detention."
Harry frowned, glad that nobody else was in the common room this late. "Ron, I think I know what this is about, but-"
"I can’t believe you’d let him do that to you," Ron ranted on, completely ignoring Harry’s protests. "I mean, it’s obviously illegal. If Filch isn’t allowed to hang kids from shackles on the wall, why should Snape be allowed to? Never mind what else you apparently let him do. I can’t believe you never told me. I can’t believe you never reported him, Harry, what’s wrong with you?"
Harry stared wide-eyed at him. "Ron, all of that’s a lie."
"Harry!" Ron cried, throwing himself down into an armchair. "You don’t need to lie to me! I know you’ve done it for quite a while now, about this and who knows what else, but now I just want the whole truth about the situation. And a decent reason why I was kept in the dark about it for so long!"
Harry blinked. "I swear, it’s not true. Why are you believing what some random second-years are telling you, anyway? They’re clearly off their collective rocker."
An expression of confusion crept onto Ron’s face and settled down among the anger, sadness and worry. "What second-years? I heard this from Neville."
Harry was speechless.
"I just don’t understand why you kept it so quiet. It’s almost like you enjoyed it or something. Which would explain why you got so many detentions from him, sure, but it’s still pretty sick, and-"
Harry lay back on the sofa. He had no idea what else he could say.
* * *
The next morning at breakfast, Ron wasn’t talking to Harry.
This was the only way in which people were not talking, however, because every table seemed to be absolutely full of constant chattering.
"Ron," Seamus was muttering, leaning in close to Ron, who was buttering his toast sulkily. "Ron, I’m sorry mate, but I heard that your brothers – er, Fred and George, I mean – I heard that, well, I don’t mean to-"
"Spit it out, Seamus," Ron snapped bitterly, biting into his toast.
"I heard that they’re shagging."
Ron spat out a mouthful of toast. "What?!"
Harry sat next to them, watching optimistically. He had the feeling that maybe Ron would realise how wrong he had been now that he had heard a ridiculous rumour connected to himself.
"But that’s sick. That’s disgusting. How can they-" Ron began furiously, and Harry dropped his head right down onto the table in despair.
"Where’s Hermione?" he groaned. "Where’s Hermione when you need her?"
"You know what I heard about Hermione?" said Neville eagerly, and Harry began to slowly bang his forehead against the tabletop.
"What? What?" everyone was asking Neville, hungry for more gossip, more to spread.
"Apparently, she’s actually Blaise Zabini’s sister, and she’s part of this huge pureblood family, but it’s all kept really secret," Neville told them, and everyone gasped.
Harry sat back up again. "Neville. Neville, Blaise Zabini is black."
But nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention.
"That’s incredible! I wonder why she never said anything!" Seamus was saying excitedly.
"I can’t believe she never told me!" Ron cried, outraged.
Harry’s head sank back down to the table again and made itself at home among the toast crumbs and pumpkin juice stains.
* * *
Everywhere Harry went during that day, everyone was talking about Hermione and Blaise. And Hermione was so busy that Harry didn’t even get a chance to talk to her about it. He was beginning to believe there had to be a magical reason for all of this, and he knew that if there was, Hermione would know about it.
Just when he was thinking things couldn’t get worse, Draco Malfoy burst out of a classroom at him as he was walking down the corridor.
Before he had a chance to do anything, Draco had him pinned against the wall.
"Would you stop telling people we’re fucking, Potter?" he spat, their faces barely an inch away from each other.
"W-what?!" Harry spluttered in shock.
"Don’t even bother, Potter, the rumour’s all over the school," Draco sneered. "And it’s not as I’m going to believe you had nothing to do with it, it’s clear that it would make your pathetic little life if I fucked you."
Harry opened his mouth to protest – though he had the feeling it wouldn’t do any good whatsoever – but Draco clamped his hand over it.
"I’m not here to argue with you," he snapped. "But I know who’s been spreading these rumours, and you and your inbred Weasley friend had better make sure that by the end of today, the record’s been set straight. Very, very straight."
And with that he left the room, leaving Harry slumped against the wall and promising himself he would never think that things couldn’t get worse ever again.
* * *
Harry was prepared this time, when Ron flung open the door to the dormitory and threw himself down onto his bed facing Harry.
"You and Malfoy?" he shouted.
Harry ignored the whispers of, "Oh! I heard that too!" that went around their other dorm-mates.
"Look, Ron, I don’t know what Malfoy’s talking about – nothing’s ever gone on between me and him, you know we hate each other!" Harry attempted to explain, but he knew it was useless.
"Ah, well, we all thought you hated Snape, too, and look how that turned out," Ron snapped.
"Yes, with you tied to the dungeon wall and his mouth around your-" Neville piped up helpfully.
"Yes, Neville, thank you. That’s how," Ron interrupted, furiously pulling on his pajamas. "And now Malfoy? Harry, I can’t believe you’d let Malfoy touch you with a ten-foot pole, never mind let him fuck you. And why did you never tell me? I’m your best friend, and you never told me any of that, or any of the stuff with Snape. And Hermione never told me about her secret brother, either. This is just-"
"It’s ridiculous! That’s what it is!" Harry yelled back. "Do you honestly believe any of that? It’s complete crap, Ron! None of it is true!"
Over on the other side of the room, Dean was looking puzzled. "But...isn’t Blaise Zabini black?" he asked. "I’m not sure if I’m thinking of the right guy, but if he’s black…then surely he can’t be Hermione’s brother..."
Harry turned to look at Dean. "EXACTLY!" he cried. "Exactly! Thank you, Dean. See, Ron, none of this is true!"
"You know what I heard about Hermione?" Seamus spoke up suddenly.
"Seamus, this isn’t really the time-" Harry began hopelessly.
"I heard she’s shagging Ginny Weasley," Seamus finished.
"Now that’s one rumour I wouldn’t mind being true!" laughed Neville.
Harry looked nervously at Ron, but Ron just glared at them all, then yanked the curtains around his bed tightly shut, and nobody heard anything else from him all night.
Harry looked sadly at the closed curtains.
"C’mon Harry, it’s okay," Dean whispered across the room to him, grinning. "You can’t blame him. His sister’s a lesbian and in love with the Dark Lord, his brothers are shagging each other, and his best friend is apparently fucking all the people he hates, and nobody told him about it."
Harry blinked. "Dean, none of it’s-"
"I know, Harry, mate," Dean interrupted, winking. "They’re all completely mental. I’d recommend you have a word with Hermione when you can – I imagine she’ll have some idea of what’s going on."
* * *
Harry hated it when Ron was angry with him. He hated it when anyone was angry with him, really, but it hurt so much more when it was Ron. He had always imagined that they would be friends forever, no matter how soppy it sounded.
He dreamt that they would become great Aurors together, and on one incredible night they’d finally get rid of Voldemort once and for all (with Hermione’s help of course). And when all the celebrations had died down, Ron would collapse on his bed – probably very drunk – and confess that he had loved Harry ever since they’d first met. And then, of course, they’d have extremely hot sex, and it wouldn’t matter that Harry had never done it before, because Ron wouldn’t have done either, and anyway, in fantasies, nothing is ever awkward.
But the way things were going, Harry was losing sight of that fantasy very quickly. It didn’t help that as time went on, more and more rumours were turning up and ruining people’s lives. Ron wasn’t only not talking to Harry, but he wasn’t talking to Fred and George either (then again, not many people were – only Lee Jordan was willing to be seen with them), and he hadn’t spoken to Hermione ever since he heard the rumour about her secret family.
The next breakfast, things only got worse. People at the Gryffindor table were whispering as Harry walked down to meet Hermione, and he had the distinct feeling they were whispering about him.
As he passed Alicia, things became clear.
"I can’t believe he’d do that to Ron," she was saying to Katie. "I mean, after everything else, now he’s having sex with Ron’s brother?"
"Which one is it?" Katie asked. "I mean, you said Bill, earlier, but someone else said it was Charlie – you know, the dragon-tamer one?"
Harry slumped down into his seat next to Hermione, and opened his mouth to ask her if she’d noticed anything strange going on lately.
But Hermione was already deep in discussion with Lavender and Parvati.
"That’s completely impossible," she was saying crossly. "I don’t care what kind of new potions they’ve come up with, there is nothing that can create a womb in a man’s body,"
"But Hermione," Lavender protested. "Padma told us, and she said she heard it from Christina Eccleby’s brother, and he’s a doctor."
"And wouldn’t it just be lovely?" Parvati added. "Gay couples could have real babies! It would be so adorable."
Hermione shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "There is no way," she said levelly, "that it is possible. Men cannot carry babies. It is completely, utterly-"
"Hermione?" Harry said suddenly. "Hermione, can we go and talk somewhere, please?"
Lavender and Parvati exchanged a dark look when Harry spoke, and Lavender leaned in to whisper something in Parvati’s ear. Harry thought he heard ‘Ron’s brother’ but he didn’t catch anything else.
"Of course, Harry, anything to excuse myself from this nonsense," Hermione said sweetly, standing up and pushing her chair under the table.
Harry and Hermione left the Great Hall, ignoring all of the whispering that went on as they passed people by.
"You know all of these rumours that have been going around lately?" Harry asked her when they were outside the Hall, praying she was as sensible as he always thought, or at least enough not to believe a word of them.
"Of course," she said, sighing. "Harry, I’d have to be deaf not to."
"I know, but listen, they’re insane. Why is everybody believing them? I mean, even the most ridiculous things – like you being related to Blaise Zabini – it’s not even remotely plausible, and yet, people believe it in an instant."
Hermione frowned. "Well," she said. "I do have one idea. But it’s quite unlikely. Can we find somewhere quieter to talk?"
There were still lots of people milling about outside the entrance of the Hall. Harry nodded, and they set off down some randomly-chosen corridors until they found one that seemed deserted.
"You see," Hermione began quietly. "There’s only really one thing in the
wizarding world that can spread rumours and make people believe them. I mean, there are some spells that spread rumours, and there are some potions that make people believe whatever they’re told – Gullibicitus, I’m sure you’ve heard of it – but this is so widespread that I find it hard to believe it’s simply a combination of the two."
Harry didn’t reply. "Hermione," he whispered. "I can hear voices round the corner. I don’t think we’re alone."
They crept closer to the wall, then peered around the corner. Standing a little way away from them was Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood.
"Oh, it’s just them, that’s okay," Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief.
"There’s a spell for that?" Percy was saying in disbelief. "But that would have made our – our, er, sessions together – so much easier."
Oliver was grinning. He stepped a little closer to Percy, placing a hand on his chest. "Easier, maybe. But nowhere near as much fun."
He leaned in even closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I have to say, preparing you is something I very much enjoy."
Percy was blushing deeper than Harry had ever seen any of the Weasleys blush before. He whispered something back that Harry couldn’t hear, and Oliver’s hand slid down Percy’s chest and disappeared under his robes.
"Erm, Harry," Hermione hissed in Harry’s ear suddenly. "Would you like to go to the library?"
* * *
"Scuttlebutt?" Harry said doubtfully. "Hermione, that’s not a real thing, though. It just means gossip."
"Harry, of course it’s a real thing," Hermione replied, sighing. "There was an infestation of them here about twenty years ago, but now they think they’ve all died out. Honestly, are you really never going to read Hogwarts: A History?"
Harry frowned. "No, Hermione," he said. "No, I’m really not. What do you mean by an infestation?"
"Well, they’re insects, of course," she said. "I’m not entirely sure what they look like. Black and inconspicuous, I believe. Hang on, I think I’m getting close."
She had been flipping through a huge book she’d found in a section of the library Harry hadn’t even know existed, but now she was slowing down.
"Here," she said, jabbing her finger at a page.
Harry read.
The Scuttlebutt, said the book, is a small insect that spreads harmful gossip. Once a person is touched by the insect, a rumour is planted in their brain, and they immediately tell the first person they see. Rumours are picked at random from a selection of topics and people. These depend on where the Scuttlebutt has found its home. Once a person is touched by a Scuttlebutt, they believe every rumour they hear from that moment on. Scuttlebutts are often believed not to be particularly dangerous, but gossip can be extremely harmful, especially in large quantities in a place where there are many people to be infected.
"That sounds like exactly what we’re dealing with," Hermione said proudly. "I thought it would be. There’s probably only one in the school now, because they didn’t even believe there were any left at all."
Harry looked at her uncertainly.
"Now look, there’s a spell to get rid of the insect. That looks quite easy. Apparently once the insect is gone, people don’t exactly forget the rumours they heard, but they don’t believe them anymore. The only problem is that it takes twelve hours for the spell to take effect."
"What?" asked Harry suspiciously. "How the hell are we supposed to find one little black bug in this entire school?"
"Easy," shrugged Hermione. "Where did we last hear a rumour that somebody believed?"
Harry frowned, remembering the slightly disturbing conversation between Percy and Oliver that they had overheard. "Back…where Percy and Oliver...were...erm," he tried feebly.
Hermione nodded quickly and stood up. "Let’s go!"
* * *
To Harry’s surprise, when they got back to the place they had been earlier on, they saw a little black bug crawling across the wall.
"Don’t let it touch you!" Hermione shrieked when Harry peered at it.
"Hermione," he said doubtfully. "This just looks like a beetle,"
Hermione shook her head. "Does it?" she asked. "Or does it look like something that is trying just a little too hard to ‘just look like a beetle’?"
Harry blinked at her. "I don’t know," he said. "But it’s black and shiny."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right, so when Oliver said...when Oliver, erm, was talking to Percy, the Scuttlebutt must have crawled onto Percy to make him believe it."
She took her wand out of her pocket, and a piece of paper onto which she had copied the spell. Pointing her wand at the bug on the wall, she moved it in a complicated pattern and shouted, "Vectus-bestia abeo!"
Nothing happened. Harry looked at her. "What’s supposed to happen?" he asked. "Does the beetle – the Scuttlebutt, sorry – does it hang around for another twelve hours and then disappear?"
"I don’t know," Hermione admitted, looking at her watch. "It’s eleven o’ clock now, though, if that helps."
* * *
"So is it Charlie Weasley you’re shagging, Harry, or is it Bill?" asked Seamus that evening when they were in the common room.
"He’s shagging one of Ron’s brothers?" Lee Jordan asked, wandering over.
"Yeah," Seamus confirmed happily. Then he added with a shudder, "Not Fred and George obviously, they’re shagging each other,"
Lee frowned, did nothing at all for a few moments, and then walked away.
"What’s with you?" Seamus yelled across the room.
"I think maybe he’s shagging the twins, you know," Neville said quietly. "I overheard somebody saying that today."
"Wow," Seamus said in amazement. "Wow. Everybody’s gay around here."
Just then, Ron came into the room and sat down on the far end of the sofa Harry was sitting on. Harry put his head in his hands, dreading what was to come.
"So is Harry shagging Bill, Ron?" Seamus asked immediately. "Or is it Charlie?"
Ron turned very, very slowly. Harry lifted his head equally slowly. Ron glared at him.
"Snape and Malfoy not enough for you?" he snarled. "Have to fuck one of my brothers, as well? You know Bill’s got a girlfriend, don’t you? Not very fair on her."
"Ron," said Harry weakly. "Ron, I’m not shagging your brother – I’m not shagging Charlie or Bill. I’ve only met them, what, twice?"
Ron ignored him. "I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. I’m supposed to be your best friend," he went on. "And you go around fucking everybody you know, and don’t even say a word to me."
He grabbed the book on the top of Hermione’s pile on the table, and buried his nose in it. Harry decided he probably didn’t realise that it was Hogwarts: A History.
Seamus, Dean and Neville exchanged worried looks, and slowly shuffled off to bed.
"What’s wrong with him?" Harry hissed to Hermione.
"Being eaten alive by his own jealousy, I expect." Hermione replied casually.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What did you say?"
"I’m going to bed," she said, picking up her books. "Good night, Harry."
"Night, Hermione."
"Good night, Ron."
Ron said nothing. The minute Hermione was out of the room, Ron threw down his book and spun around to look at Harry.
"Why did you do it?" he demanded. "Why? And why didn’t you tell me? That’s all I’m asking for, Harry, I just want an explanation. I mean, with Snape, it seems like he forced you, so that’s not your fault – although I have to say I’m a little worried you didn’t tell Dumbledore or someone – but Malfoy, Bill, Charlie, Oliver, Sirius, Professor Lupin, Crabbe and Goyle, Colin and Dennis Creevey..."
Harry’s eyes widened and he let Ron’s list continue. Apparently there were quite a few rumours he’d missed out on.
"I mean," Ron said suddenly. "I never even knew you were gay. You never told me you were gay."
Harry swallowed. "Ron, I’m gay."
"Well, obviously!" Ron spat. "I think maybe I’ve worked that out by now."
"No, I mean, really, I’m gay. I haven’t had sex with any of those people – I haven’t had sex with anyone actually – but I am gay."
Ron shook his head. "I’d be a lot happier about all of this if you could just admit to it."
"But it’s not true," Harry said, exasperated. "Ron, there’s this thing called a Scuttlebutt, Hermione and I looked it up in the library. It’s infested the school. It makes people start rumours, and if it touches you, you start believing all the rumours you hear."
Ron just looked at him. "I just don’t understand why you’d even want to be with any of those people."
Harry was getting desperate now. There was only one thing left to do. He had his doubts that it would even work, considering Ron had pretty much ignored everything that had come out of his mouth lately, but it was worth a try.
"Ron," he said. "Ron, I don’t want to be with any of those people. I want to be with you."
Ron stared at him. "You-" he stammered. "You. What?"
"I don’t want to be with any of them. I haven’t been with any of them," Harry carried on. His heart seemed to be making itself at home somewhere in his throat, and it wasn’t comfortable. "And the reason is…I want to be with you."
"But-" Ron began. He stopped again. He suddenly looked very puzzled. "But that doesn’t work. I mean, that’s…that’s really strange."
Harry’s heart sank. "I’m sorry...I just...I can’t help it," he muttered. "I’ve liked you for a really long time. I mean, I tried not to! I just-"
"No, no," Ron stopped him, waving his hands around. "I mean, it’s strange, because this whole time...I think maybe the reason I was so angry, about people saying you’d been shagging the whole school...I think maybe I was jealous."
Harry stared. He had not been expecting this. "Jealous? You mean-"
"I think so," Ron said slowly, and then gulped. "I don’t think I was angry because of who the people were. I think maybe I was just angry because the people weren’t me."
"But I thought that you..."
"I know, and I thought that you..."
"But I didn’t."
"Harry?"
"Yes, Ron?"
Ron went very pink. "Do you think you could come over here, please?"
"I think I could, Ron, if you promise you’ll kiss me when I get there."
"I promise I will."
And he did. Harry wasn’t really sure what had just happened. Ron was leaning in very close and pressing his lips against his, and the clock was chiming eleven, and just before Harry closed his eyes he spotted a tiny puff of smoke appear on the top left corner of the sofa.
"Harry?" asked Ron nervously when he pulled away, a little breathless, from the kiss.
"Yes?"
"I suddenly don’t think you did have sex with any of those people," Ron told him, looking extremely confused.
"Good," said Harry. "I didn’t. I’m a virgin."
Ron looked around. "Me too," he said. "And this room is very empty."
Harry blinked at him. "You don’t really mean...?"
"I do, actually," Ron said, blushing again. "If...if that’s all right."
Harry’s only response was to pull Ron down onto the sofa with him, and he had the feeling that was the answer Ron had been looking for.
* * *
Harry didn’t know why, but Hermione seemed particularly happy about something the next morning at breakfast. When he asked her, she just told him that it was because the Scuttlebutt was gone, but he had the feeling it was something more. Her smile only got bigger when Ron came into the Hall, walking rather funny and trying to disguise it.
"Have a good night last night?" she asked him. "Get a lot of work done?"
"Oh yeah," Ron said, slipping into a seat next to Harry. "Yes. Er, lots got done, didn’t it, Harry?"
"Mm-hm," Harry agreed through a mouthful of toast. "One thing in particular, actually."
Hermione was beaming at them, and Harry briefly wondered if there could have been any connection. He felt Ron’s hand slide into his under the table and decided he didn’t really care.
"Guess what, guys?" someone was saying somewhere further down the table. "I heard that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are shagging."
Title: meant for each other
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Fred/George
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Incest.
Summary/Prompt: Angelina realizes that Fred and George are meant to be lovers before either of them does.
A/N: For the Twinspiration April Fool's Day Twin-Stuff Fest. Originally posted here.
Everybody knew the twins were close. It was the kind of thing that was impossible not to know. The kind of thing you noticed only a few minutes after meeting them. But the things I noticed - well, I always thought you'd have to know them a pretty long time, not to mention pretty well, to start wondering the way I did. Of course, the twins had other friends, ones they'd known as long as me, some longer - hell, they had family members who'd known them their whole lives, and who was I to argue with that, even if I could tell them apart by the backs of their heads, the sounds of their voices, the way a collar was turned up or down or the way shoelaces were laced?
But I was sure that nobody else saw them in quite the same way. I guess they got attention from other girls - they were attractive guys, why wouldn't they? - but nobody gave them the same sort of attention I did. I'm not even entirely sure how it started. I suppose it started with a crush. The smallest of all crushes, though, at least in the beginning. It was a crush that was so subtle and quiet that it crept into my mind and took up residence there for weeks without me paying it the slightest bit of attention. And then one day just before Quidditch practice, Katie elbowed me in the ribs and hissed, "Oi, are you staring at Fred Weasley?” and that was when it hit me. I opened my mouth to protest but I had nothing to say. I had been staring. In truth, I suppose I'd been staring at both of the twins, but I couldn't work all of this out so quickly - Fred was the one Katie had mentioned, and when I realised she was right, I drew the only conclusion I thought possible.
It was only a few days later when Alicia asked me the question that, I suppose, started the whole thing off. We were in the common room, sitting on one of the sofas, and out of the blue she had suddenly asked, "If you fancy Fred, d'you fancy George as well?" Katie had laughed and said, "They're twins, Al, but they're different people!" Alicia just shrugged and replied, "Yeah, but they look the same!". I hadn't spoken, because my brain had just answered Alicia's question very suddenly, and it had surprised me so much I couldn't even speak. "I think she does," Katie said, tilting her head to one side and looking at me.
It's important for you to understand that before this, I hadn't had much interest in boys at all. Choosing Quidditch over dates and make-up, I guess I'd always been considered kind of a 'tomboy', but it wasn't something I ever called myself. I found certain boys good-looking, of course, but it never seemed to go much further than that. And maybe this was the reason that the Fred-and-George crush very nearly took over my life. It was nothing I'd ever felt before. I thought about them all the time, found myself watching them whenever they were nearby. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep - I suppose that part was all very typical. When I think about it now, this period must have only been a few weeks long, though at the time it felt like years.
It must have been because of the amount of time I spent watching them that I noticed the things I did, otherwise the whole school would have picked up on it - though whether they'd take it the way I did, I couldn't say. I simply saw it as brotherly affection at first, and even when that was all it was to me, I still found it a little bit intriguing. And then I realised just how much they actually touched each other. It was a simple observation, but I started to become obsessed with it, grabbing hold of it and taking it with me wherever I went, desperate to see a hand grab a shoulder, an arm slip ‘round a waist. On two occasions I saw them hug, in celebration, and I couldn't help staring at the way their bodies fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Once I was almost certain they were holding hands, but the way their robes fluttered in the breeze and their sleeves seemed to merge together, I couldn't be sure.
I began to watch other pairs of male best friends, intently, trying to see if they acted the same way, and found they didn't. I mentioned this observation to Katie and Alicia, pretending I was comparing it to how often female best friends had physical contact. Alicia had laughed, and Katie shook her head and said "Ange, it's because they don't want to look gay."
She was right, of course. And I think deep down I knew that was the reason even before I'd asked, but I needed some sort of confirmation. Once I had it, though, I had to start thinking about what exactly it meant. Male friends A and B, and male friends C and D, are worried about touching each other in case others think they are gay. Male friends E and F touch each other openly and do not appear to worry about it. What does this mean? Of course the answer I kept coming up with was 'Because male friends E and F are brothers', but for some reason it just didn't seem to be enough.
I guess there was some sort of a mental block there, because for the next week or so I got no further. My thoughts seemed to be trying to reassure me - of course Fred and George don't have to worry that people will think they're gay, because they're brothers - quite obviously so - and nobody would think that they were a couple.
* * *
But then one evening in the Gryffindor common room, I was struck by a very strange thought, one that confused me even more than everything that had been happening in my head so far. I stopped seeing Fred and George as brothers just for that evening, and instead saw them as a couple. It just sort of happened, in my mind, but then it wouldn't go away. I realised that they would be an incredibly perfect couple, and once I'd realised that, it was too late to go back. Of course there was a tiny part of my brain that protested - but, you do remember they're brothers? - but I firmly ignored it, at least for the time being.
I had to mention this to somebody, so that night I tried my best to sound as casual as possible, and brought the subject up with Alicia. I guess I said something like, "Aren't Fred and George really good together?" and because she knew I fancied the twins, she immediately started teasing me. Once I got her to shut up - thanks to a few well-aimed cushions - I attempted to explain myself better. "Don't you think they're almost like a couple? No, shut up, let me explain! I mean, they're always finishing each other's sentences, and you almost never see them apart, and they're just so close."
"Angelina, they're close because they're twins, not because they're - " she sniggered, "Boyfriends. I mean, that's incest."
"I know," I said right away, even though her referring to it as 'incest' had inexplicably caused a wave of anger to surge through me. I sighed, looking down at my hands, fidgeting in front of me on the bed. "Obviously. But, just try and imagine. I mean imagine they weren't twins, weren't even brothers, but they still acted that way?"
The second I said it I knew it was all wrong. It wasn't how it was in my head, anyway, I'd had to change all of this around to get it to the point where Alicia would be able to understand. But by voicing some of it, I'd managed to work out which bits were right and which bits were wrong. When I said 'imagine they weren't twins', it took something away from what I was saying somehow. It was the fact that they were twins that made them such a perfect couple, but my brain couldn't get any further just yet - it just kept making me feel guilty for thinking such a thing, guilty and confused, wondering how the fact that two people were related could possibly make a relationship better, however hypothetical the situation was.
Alicia had just frowned. "I guess I sort of see what you mean," she'd said, "They do act like a couple sometimes. But not properly. I mean it's not like they're going around kissing in public - good thing, too - but I can see your point, with the finishing of the sentences and the touching and everything. And I think if two people who weren’t related acted that way, they would probably make a good couple. But I think with Fred and George – well, I think that's just the way twins are."
I guess I just nodded and went to bed. I still had so many of my thoughts to work out. I knew that technically, such a relationship would be incest, but I couldn't see it in the same way. Incest was a word used to describe a creepy father raping his helpless daughter, not...not this. Fred and George seemed perfect together, so perfect that I couldn't even imagine them apart.
I used to think of myself with each of them separately, right at the start, because it never occurred to me to think of it any other way. But each time I did this - a daydream in a boring class, or letting my hands wander and my mind run wild late at night - something seemed to be missing. I began thinking of them together - me sandwiched between the two of them, identical bodies on either side of my own - and it excited me so much I thought I must be sick. But after this recent revelation, I began to feel like an intruder in my own fantasies. Sometimes in my mind the twins would be pushing me away. I had dreams where I would lean in to kiss Fred, and he would turn away in favour of his brother's lips instead.
I was beginning to think I was going insane, but the more I watched them, the more convinced I became. I couldn't find any solid proof, of course, but I felt almost certain that the twins were lovers.
* * *
The next day, I decided that if I saw one more clue - a significant touch, something they said to each other, anything - that it was true. If nothing happened all day, it wasn't true, and I was crazy. I felt nervous about my plan, but I was just so sure that I wasn't imagining things that by lunch that day, I was feeling confident that one of the twins would slip up and do something to convince me.
And that was when Fred Weasley asked me to go to the Yule Ball with him.
* * *
Of course, I didn't keep my promise. Fred inviting me to the Ball with him just made things even more intriguing. Did this mean I was insane? Did it mean I'd imagined everything? Possibly. Did it mean Fred and George were going through some sort of rough patch, maybe George had done something to hurt Fred and as revenge he was asking me out? Did people - their family, maybe! - find out about their relationship, and now they had to try to cover it all up by going out with girls? My mind was a complete mess of questions, and I'd barely even thought about the actual Ball. Everywhere, girls were fussing with hair potions, charming the heels on their shoes not to break off, practicing their dancing - and there I was, not even thinking of being with my date, but thinking of my date being with his brother.
The Ball surprised me, though. I had been worrying the night before, worrying that perhaps all of this was just in my mind, and I was risking what could be a good relationship with Fred just because I was obsessing about some incestuous fantasy. But the Ball went just as I had expected - or rather, just as I had hoped. At the beginning of the evening, Fred was cheerful and jokey - his usual self - and though I watched, I didn't catch him looking over at George (who was sitting on his own gazing into space when he wasn't half-heartedly dancing with various girls who had, like him, come alone) until well into the night.
As time went on, though, he just started to seem a little...off. When I asked him if he was okay, he only linked his arm back round my waist, beaming, and said, "Why wouldn't I be? I'm with you!". But there was a sadness in his eyes, something I kept trying to catch but it just kept on slipping away, and I couldn't get to the bottom of it. I realised then that Fred and George were not lovers. But there was definitely something wrong with the way things were. I don't think Fred had any idea that I could tell something was wrong, but I could, and I desperately wanted to do something about it, I just couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was, and there was nowhere to go from there.
When we tired of dancing and socialising, I asked him if he'd like to go sit on the steps outside. My heart fluttered in my chest when I saw that his eyes immediately flickered over to where George had been sitting, but when he saw his brother was no longer there (I had seen him leave, he had gone up to bed a few minutes before), he nodded and led me outside.
Sitting in the cold air on the stone steps, everything seemed much more real. Things were clearer, sharper somehow, than in the bustling, busy hall with its lights and decorations.
"Are you okay?" I asked Fred for the sixteenth time that night.
He sighed. He grinned, then the grin faded and he sighed again. I touched his arm, wanting to squeeze his answer - the truth - out of him.
"It's just weird, I guess," he mumbled, so quietly I had to lean in to hear him.
"What's weird?" I asked softly.
He sat up straight suddenly, and laughed, but it was a hollow laugh and it wasn't fooling me for a second. I knew he was laughing to cover something up, even if it was just his embarrassment at being honest with me.
"Nothing," he said. "Nothing's that weird. It's not a big deal. I guess it's just a little odd not being with George. I mean, we've done everything together practically our whole lives. I kept asking him if he was going to ask anyone to the Ball, but he never did, and it was funny, 'cos I thought we'd go out like, the four of us - you, me, him, his date - and have a good time. But it's just me with the date. Which is weird."
I frowned. I felt his pain, and that was when I learnt what it was. Fred and George were not lovers, but they needed to be. They just hadn't realised it yet. I could see that the confusion was killing him, I could see the way he was trying to work out this new feeling, figure out what it meant. I could see that it was hurting him to block out the idea from his mind. I knew all of this from watching him - and George - for so long, going through a similar thought-journey myself.
"Don't get me wrong," he said suddenly. "The date isn't weird. The date's been wonderful, actually, you know, in fact-"
He paused, then grinned and lowered his voice. I was hoping desperately that he would say what I wanted him to say, but it wasn't for the reasons he would have assumed if he knew.
"In fact," he said again, touching my arm. "I would be honoured if you would accompany me upstairs. Would you like to do that?"
I laughed. "Are you asking me to go up to your room with you, Fred Weasley?" I asked, feigning shock.
"I am if your answer's yes!"
I tried to hold back a smile, but it crept across my mouth anyway, and I sighed. "Yes,"
"Yes?" he asked.
"Yes," I repeated. "Quickly. Before I change my mind."
* * *
Sometimes I look back on that night and wonder if I made a huge mistake, but these thoughts only come back after a bad break-up, or when I've been stood up on a date, and I regret because it makes me feel worse, which in turn makes me feel better. But the truth is, what I did that night was the best thing I ever did in my life.
Fred crept into the room with me behind him, and peered around. I saw his face fall when he saw the one bed with the curtains pulled shut around it, but then he turned back to me and said, "Ah, that's George's bed, but he's asleep and no one else is up here, it'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" I asked, searching his face.
"It's fine," he repeated. I stared at George's bed, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. This had been what I was hoping for, wishing for, but it suddenly felt all too real again, and I wasn't sure if I could go through with it.
Fred took my hand and led me to his bed, where we sat cross-legged and facing each other, awkward, for a few seconds. In all my fantasies, I had never imagined things would be awkward. Especially because I was with one of the twins. But now I knew why, and instead of feeling upset or angry, I felt sorry, sorry for Fred and for George, who, I was sure, was not asleep.
I smiled at Fred, and did the only thing I could do - I kissed him. It felt horribly wrong, for so many reasons. I wanted to be kissing him, but only if he had no twin, no twin in the bed next to his, wide awake. I didn't want to be kissing him when I knew that deep down he wanted to be kissing somebody else, even if he hadn't realised it yet. I didn't want to be kissing him when someone else wanted it much more than me.
He was the one who broke off the kiss, though, which surprised me.
"Are you okay?" I asked. Seventeen.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and grinned again, that cover-up grin he was using again so he didn't appear too vulnerable. He didn't know I knew him so well I could see through it all. "It's just a little weird, with my brother in the next bed.”
I nodded. I shut my eyes. I took a deep breath and opened them again. I unbuckled my shoes and placed them next to me on the bed, ignoring Fred's puzzled expression. I slid slowly and quietly off the bed, and padded across the floor towards George. I turned back once and saw that Fred had slid along after me, and was sitting on the side of his bed, now, his legs over the edge. He was watching me, and his expression showed something I had never seen in him so clearly before - fear.
I pulled open the curtain and found George sitting up, shirtless and confused in bed, his eyes wide, which was exactly what I had expected. He hadn't expected any of this, clearly, and he jumped a little, then grinned sheepishly. I climbed onto the bed and shuffled along so that I was next to him. Both twins looked at me, but neither asked what I was doing.
"George," I said softly, and I took his face in my hands, and pressed my lips against his. It felt even more wrong than kissing Fred, because Fred was sitting right there near us, watching us. But I knew I was helping him, helping both of them. I hoped that as Fred watched me kissing his brother he felt something, felt something that he recognised as jealousy, and I wondered if he would know which of us he was jealous of. With my eyes closed, I reached out and gestured to Fred to come and sit with us. I heard him slip off his bed and climb onto his brother's.
I kept gesturing, kept kissing George, and for a worryingly long time nothing happened. But then I felt his lips join ours. My heart seemed to want to rise and sink at the same time. I felt George freeze. I felt his heart pounding. I felt his hesitation, his desire to move away. But I also felt his desire to keep kissing, to keep moving his lips, and just as I had hoped, he followed that desire.
A kiss with three people involved is messy and complicated, especially when two of the people are pretending to each other they really don't want to be involved at all. But I slowly, so slowly detached myself, my lips slowing, stopping, then leaving, my hands running along their backs until I was touching air. I sat back for a long moment, watching the two of them, and I was embarrassed to find I had tears in my eyes. They had not slowed down, not moved away from each other, as I left. Fred brought a shaky hand up to his brother's freckled chest, and George kissed him desperately, frantically, as though his life depended on it, Fred pushing right back towards him with the exact same intensity.
They were kissing as though it was what they had been searching for, for as long as they could remember. I had been right. I got off the bed, paused long enough to see that they had not even stopped to look at me when I moved, drew the curtains, crossed the room, grabbed my shoes, and left, shutting the door behind me. I knew I had shut that door forever, but in that moment I felt fine about it. I knew I had done them the biggest favour in the world, and I knew that this was how things were meant to be, and if I had stayed there, had done something with Fred, I would have been putting a barrier between the two of them that they might never break down, I would have been shutting off their suspicions and their wonderings forever.
A part of me wished, of course, that I had stayed between the two of them, but I knew that I would have only been in the way - an intruder, the way I was in my fantasies. I knew that they only wanted each other, and I couldn't have brought myself to interrupt that. They thanked me, the next day, in their blushing, goofy, grinning way, and they asked me not to tell a soul. I laughed at them, and said that it wasn't a problem, that they never would have gotten anywhere without me anyway, and I'd just had to do something. Fred took me aside afterwards and apologized nearly as many times as I'd asked him if he was okay the night before, and he began to explain the way he'd been feeling, the way he'd always known there was something missing in his friendship with his brother, the way it felt when he finally realised what it was...
I cut him off because he didn't need to tell me. I knew about it all already, and I'd known from the beginning. Fred and George were meant for each other, and that was just the way things were supposed to be.
Title: scuttlebutt
Author: likecharity
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Warnings: None.
Summary/prompt: I always think its good when something Muggle worthy turns out to be magical afterall. I would like to read something using scuttlebut - meaning rumor and is often mispronounced scuttlebug - as being a real bug that infests Hogwarts. Rumors fly and shagging ensues!
A/N: Written for the 2007 Harry/Ron FQF. So many thanks to
miss_bowtruckle for the beta! :) Originally posted here.Rumours are, of course, common in schools. Rumours are common everywhere, but particularly in schools, what with the nosy teenagers and the rampant gossip and all. Harry knew this. To him, rumours were fine. Rumours were normal. He'd heard his fair share of those about him, and he'd learned to live with it.
The rumours he usually heard, though, at least stemmed from some sort of truth. A story of something real, that got mixed up through so many ears and mouths that it turned into something quite different. But still something people can understand - at least enough to believe it.
Not the rumours he'd been hearing lately.
It started with the one about Ginny. He thought so, anyway - once he noticed how ridiculous they were, it was hard to tell when they got that way, or if they'd always been like that, or what. But the one about Ginny was the one that caught his attention.
He started listening when he heard her name, because he was used to making himself do that, and it'd become a habit. He spent a very long time trying to convince himself that the Weasley he wanted was Ginny, and that he was the most heterosexual male in all of the United Kingdom (if not the world). He had only recently admitted to himself that it was, in fact, Ron that he wanted, and he was, in fact, extremely, fantastically, ridiculously gay.
Not that that meant he was planning on telling anybody else anytime soon.
Anyway, when he heard the first rumour, he was on his way to Charms, and he noticed a couple of boys in the year below him talking just at the side of the corridor. He heard Ginny's name, started listening casually, and it didn't take long for him to have to listen a little harder.
"You know Ginny Weasley?" one boy had said - a perfectly ordinary thing to ask - and the other boy had nodded.
"I heard," the first boy continued, in the sort of way people talk when they know something others don't, "that she's in love with..."
"In love with who?" asked the other boy urgently, tugging on his friend's sleeve.
Harry became a little more interested. He knew how stressed out Ron got about Ginny having boyfriends, and hoped that maybe if she had another to add to her list, he might have an opportunity to offer Ron some comfort later. Although it would be a pretty serious problem, one that Ron would blow out of proportion - as usual - and agonise about for days, he didn't want Ron to be worried if he didn't have to be. It was probably his duty as the best friend to find out what these boys were talking about.
The first boy lowered his voice as Harry approached further. "You-Know-Who."
Assuming this was some sort of code between the two, and the second boy did in fact, 'know who', and therefore none of this was his problem - or indeed, business - Harry sighed and continued on past the boys.
"You mean...Vol-"
Harry stopped walking suddenly. The first boy had hissed at the second boy to shut up, and then started nodding frantically. To Harry's astonishment, the second boy did not laugh or ask his friend if he'd lost his mind. His eyes just widened in amazement. The first boy started whispering, and Harry immediately dropped to the floor and pretended to tie his shoe.
"...fantasy about him as a sixteen year old," Harry heard the first boy continue.
"Wow. That's pretty scary," said the second boy. "It's weird, too, people are talking about her a lot. You know what I heard?"
"What?"
"I heard she's going to become emo."
Harry glanced back behind him. The first boy had his mouth open in shock.
"What's that?" he asked, and Harry was glad, because he had no idea either.
"I don't know," said the second boy, shaking his head and frowning. "But it sure sounds dangerous. Maybe it's like a Dark Creature or something,"
That was where it started. The day only seemed to get stranger from then on, too. All Harry had to do was turn the corner and head down the next corridor before he heard the next rumour.
"Professor Snape?" a short, brown-haired girl was whispering incredulously.
"It's true. I swear," another girl - this one with blonde hair in pigtails - assured her. "Apparently it's not everybody - obviously, or we would have known. I think it's just the ones he really likes - you know, like Draco Malfoy - and the ones he hates."
"Why the ones he hates?" asked a boy nearby.
"Some sort of punishment thing, I guess," the blonde girl replied.
"I bet you anything, then, that Harry Potter's getting the worst of it," the boy said gravely, and all three nodded sadly.
Harry has stopped a few metres away from the group in disbelief. What were they talking about? And why has his name been mentioned?
"It must be illegal," the brunette girl was whispering, now. "But wow...I guess I always wondered why he gave so many detentions..."
Harry stomped towards them. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.
The three students exchanged knowing looks.
"It's okay, Harry," said the boy, patting Harry on the back. "We know."
Harry was at a loss. "Know what, exactly?"
"About what happens between..." the girl with the brown hair began quietly, then paused. She took a deep breath, and her eyes seemed to be full of sorrow and sympathy. "Between you and Professor Snape."
Harry was dumbfounded. "Me and-?"
"It's okay, Harry," the boy said again, "We know. You don't have to try and hide it. We feel awfully sorry for you, as well, if it were me I'd report him."
"But you don't understand," Harry said feebly. "I don't know what you mean. There isn't anything happening between me and Snape. What sort of-"
The three students were shaking their heads at him, sighing sadly.
"It's all right, mate. You don't have to try and cover it up," the boy said softly. "From what we've heard, it's not just you - it's Draco Malfoy, too."
Harry had nothing left to say. In shock - and vague hints of anger - he turned abruptly away from the group and stormed off down the corridor to Charms. Behind him, he heard one of the girls mutter, "Poor boy. I guess I'd be the same way if Professor Snape was using that to punish me."
* * *
"You," spat Ron fiercely as he burst into the common room. His hair was sticking up in various directions and his cheeks were pinker than usual.
Harry looked up from his Potions homework. "Me?"
"Don’t you act like you don’t know what’s going on," Ron snapped.
"But Ron, I’m pretty sure I actually don’t know what’s-"
"Yeah, sure. What’s that?" Ron grabbed at Harry’s parchment, read the title, and threw it back down. "Oh, Potions homework, of course. Wouldn’t want to upset Professor Snape now, would we? Might end up with a detention."
Harry frowned, glad that nobody else was in the common room this late. "Ron, I think I know what this is about, but-"
"I can’t believe you’d let him do that to you," Ron ranted on, completely ignoring Harry’s protests. "I mean, it’s obviously illegal. If Filch isn’t allowed to hang kids from shackles on the wall, why should Snape be allowed to? Never mind what else you apparently let him do. I can’t believe you never told me. I can’t believe you never reported him, Harry, what’s wrong with you?"
Harry stared wide-eyed at him. "Ron, all of that’s a lie."
"Harry!" Ron cried, throwing himself down into an armchair. "You don’t need to lie to me! I know you’ve done it for quite a while now, about this and who knows what else, but now I just want the whole truth about the situation. And a decent reason why I was kept in the dark about it for so long!"
Harry blinked. "I swear, it’s not true. Why are you believing what some random second-years are telling you, anyway? They’re clearly off their collective rocker."
An expression of confusion crept onto Ron’s face and settled down among the anger, sadness and worry. "What second-years? I heard this from Neville."
Harry was speechless.
"I just don’t understand why you kept it so quiet. It’s almost like you enjoyed it or something. Which would explain why you got so many detentions from him, sure, but it’s still pretty sick, and-"
Harry lay back on the sofa. He had no idea what else he could say.
* * *
The next morning at breakfast, Ron wasn’t talking to Harry.
This was the only way in which people were not talking, however, because every table seemed to be absolutely full of constant chattering.
"Ron," Seamus was muttering, leaning in close to Ron, who was buttering his toast sulkily. "Ron, I’m sorry mate, but I heard that your brothers – er, Fred and George, I mean – I heard that, well, I don’t mean to-"
"Spit it out, Seamus," Ron snapped bitterly, biting into his toast.
"I heard that they’re shagging."
Ron spat out a mouthful of toast. "What?!"
Harry sat next to them, watching optimistically. He had the feeling that maybe Ron would realise how wrong he had been now that he had heard a ridiculous rumour connected to himself.
"But that’s sick. That’s disgusting. How can they-" Ron began furiously, and Harry dropped his head right down onto the table in despair.
"Where’s Hermione?" he groaned. "Where’s Hermione when you need her?"
"You know what I heard about Hermione?" said Neville eagerly, and Harry began to slowly bang his forehead against the tabletop.
"What? What?" everyone was asking Neville, hungry for more gossip, more to spread.
"Apparently, she’s actually Blaise Zabini’s sister, and she’s part of this huge pureblood family, but it’s all kept really secret," Neville told them, and everyone gasped.
Harry sat back up again. "Neville. Neville, Blaise Zabini is black."
But nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention.
"That’s incredible! I wonder why she never said anything!" Seamus was saying excitedly.
"I can’t believe she never told me!" Ron cried, outraged.
Harry’s head sank back down to the table again and made itself at home among the toast crumbs and pumpkin juice stains.
* * *
Everywhere Harry went during that day, everyone was talking about Hermione and Blaise. And Hermione was so busy that Harry didn’t even get a chance to talk to her about it. He was beginning to believe there had to be a magical reason for all of this, and he knew that if there was, Hermione would know about it.
Just when he was thinking things couldn’t get worse, Draco Malfoy burst out of a classroom at him as he was walking down the corridor.
Before he had a chance to do anything, Draco had him pinned against the wall.
"Would you stop telling people we’re fucking, Potter?" he spat, their faces barely an inch away from each other.
"W-what?!" Harry spluttered in shock.
"Don’t even bother, Potter, the rumour’s all over the school," Draco sneered. "And it’s not as I’m going to believe you had nothing to do with it, it’s clear that it would make your pathetic little life if I fucked you."
Harry opened his mouth to protest – though he had the feeling it wouldn’t do any good whatsoever – but Draco clamped his hand over it.
"I’m not here to argue with you," he snapped. "But I know who’s been spreading these rumours, and you and your inbred Weasley friend had better make sure that by the end of today, the record’s been set straight. Very, very straight."
And with that he left the room, leaving Harry slumped against the wall and promising himself he would never think that things couldn’t get worse ever again.
* * *
Harry was prepared this time, when Ron flung open the door to the dormitory and threw himself down onto his bed facing Harry.
"You and Malfoy?" he shouted.
Harry ignored the whispers of, "Oh! I heard that too!" that went around their other dorm-mates.
"Look, Ron, I don’t know what Malfoy’s talking about – nothing’s ever gone on between me and him, you know we hate each other!" Harry attempted to explain, but he knew it was useless.
"Ah, well, we all thought you hated Snape, too, and look how that turned out," Ron snapped.
"Yes, with you tied to the dungeon wall and his mouth around your-" Neville piped up helpfully.
"Yes, Neville, thank you. That’s how," Ron interrupted, furiously pulling on his pajamas. "And now Malfoy? Harry, I can’t believe you’d let Malfoy touch you with a ten-foot pole, never mind let him fuck you. And why did you never tell me? I’m your best friend, and you never told me any of that, or any of the stuff with Snape. And Hermione never told me about her secret brother, either. This is just-"
"It’s ridiculous! That’s what it is!" Harry yelled back. "Do you honestly believe any of that? It’s complete crap, Ron! None of it is true!"
Over on the other side of the room, Dean was looking puzzled. "But...isn’t Blaise Zabini black?" he asked. "I’m not sure if I’m thinking of the right guy, but if he’s black…then surely he can’t be Hermione’s brother..."
Harry turned to look at Dean. "EXACTLY!" he cried. "Exactly! Thank you, Dean. See, Ron, none of this is true!"
"You know what I heard about Hermione?" Seamus spoke up suddenly.
"Seamus, this isn’t really the time-" Harry began hopelessly.
"I heard she’s shagging Ginny Weasley," Seamus finished.
"Now that’s one rumour I wouldn’t mind being true!" laughed Neville.
Harry looked nervously at Ron, but Ron just glared at them all, then yanked the curtains around his bed tightly shut, and nobody heard anything else from him all night.
Harry looked sadly at the closed curtains.
"C’mon Harry, it’s okay," Dean whispered across the room to him, grinning. "You can’t blame him. His sister’s a lesbian and in love with the Dark Lord, his brothers are shagging each other, and his best friend is apparently fucking all the people he hates, and nobody told him about it."
Harry blinked. "Dean, none of it’s-"
"I know, Harry, mate," Dean interrupted, winking. "They’re all completely mental. I’d recommend you have a word with Hermione when you can – I imagine she’ll have some idea of what’s going on."
* * *
Harry hated it when Ron was angry with him. He hated it when anyone was angry with him, really, but it hurt so much more when it was Ron. He had always imagined that they would be friends forever, no matter how soppy it sounded.
He dreamt that they would become great Aurors together, and on one incredible night they’d finally get rid of Voldemort once and for all (with Hermione’s help of course). And when all the celebrations had died down, Ron would collapse on his bed – probably very drunk – and confess that he had loved Harry ever since they’d first met. And then, of course, they’d have extremely hot sex, and it wouldn’t matter that Harry had never done it before, because Ron wouldn’t have done either, and anyway, in fantasies, nothing is ever awkward.
But the way things were going, Harry was losing sight of that fantasy very quickly. It didn’t help that as time went on, more and more rumours were turning up and ruining people’s lives. Ron wasn’t only not talking to Harry, but he wasn’t talking to Fred and George either (then again, not many people were – only Lee Jordan was willing to be seen with them), and he hadn’t spoken to Hermione ever since he heard the rumour about her secret family.
The next breakfast, things only got worse. People at the Gryffindor table were whispering as Harry walked down to meet Hermione, and he had the distinct feeling they were whispering about him.
As he passed Alicia, things became clear.
"I can’t believe he’d do that to Ron," she was saying to Katie. "I mean, after everything else, now he’s having sex with Ron’s brother?"
"Which one is it?" Katie asked. "I mean, you said Bill, earlier, but someone else said it was Charlie – you know, the dragon-tamer one?"
Harry slumped down into his seat next to Hermione, and opened his mouth to ask her if she’d noticed anything strange going on lately.
But Hermione was already deep in discussion with Lavender and Parvati.
"That’s completely impossible," she was saying crossly. "I don’t care what kind of new potions they’ve come up with, there is nothing that can create a womb in a man’s body,"
"But Hermione," Lavender protested. "Padma told us, and she said she heard it from Christina Eccleby’s brother, and he’s a doctor."
"And wouldn’t it just be lovely?" Parvati added. "Gay couples could have real babies! It would be so adorable."
Hermione shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "There is no way," she said levelly, "that it is possible. Men cannot carry babies. It is completely, utterly-"
"Hermione?" Harry said suddenly. "Hermione, can we go and talk somewhere, please?"
Lavender and Parvati exchanged a dark look when Harry spoke, and Lavender leaned in to whisper something in Parvati’s ear. Harry thought he heard ‘Ron’s brother’ but he didn’t catch anything else.
"Of course, Harry, anything to excuse myself from this nonsense," Hermione said sweetly, standing up and pushing her chair under the table.
Harry and Hermione left the Great Hall, ignoring all of the whispering that went on as they passed people by.
"You know all of these rumours that have been going around lately?" Harry asked her when they were outside the Hall, praying she was as sensible as he always thought, or at least enough not to believe a word of them.
"Of course," she said, sighing. "Harry, I’d have to be deaf not to."
"I know, but listen, they’re insane. Why is everybody believing them? I mean, even the most ridiculous things – like you being related to Blaise Zabini – it’s not even remotely plausible, and yet, people believe it in an instant."
Hermione frowned. "Well," she said. "I do have one idea. But it’s quite unlikely. Can we find somewhere quieter to talk?"
There were still lots of people milling about outside the entrance of the Hall. Harry nodded, and they set off down some randomly-chosen corridors until they found one that seemed deserted.
"You see," Hermione began quietly. "There’s only really one thing in the
wizarding world that can spread rumours and make people believe them. I mean, there are some spells that spread rumours, and there are some potions that make people believe whatever they’re told – Gullibicitus, I’m sure you’ve heard of it – but this is so widespread that I find it hard to believe it’s simply a combination of the two."
Harry didn’t reply. "Hermione," he whispered. "I can hear voices round the corner. I don’t think we’re alone."
They crept closer to the wall, then peered around the corner. Standing a little way away from them was Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood.
"Oh, it’s just them, that’s okay," Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief.
"There’s a spell for that?" Percy was saying in disbelief. "But that would have made our – our, er, sessions together – so much easier."
Oliver was grinning. He stepped a little closer to Percy, placing a hand on his chest. "Easier, maybe. But nowhere near as much fun."
He leaned in even closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I have to say, preparing you is something I very much enjoy."
Percy was blushing deeper than Harry had ever seen any of the Weasleys blush before. He whispered something back that Harry couldn’t hear, and Oliver’s hand slid down Percy’s chest and disappeared under his robes.
"Erm, Harry," Hermione hissed in Harry’s ear suddenly. "Would you like to go to the library?"
* * *
"Scuttlebutt?" Harry said doubtfully. "Hermione, that’s not a real thing, though. It just means gossip."
"Harry, of course it’s a real thing," Hermione replied, sighing. "There was an infestation of them here about twenty years ago, but now they think they’ve all died out. Honestly, are you really never going to read Hogwarts: A History?"
Harry frowned. "No, Hermione," he said. "No, I’m really not. What do you mean by an infestation?"
"Well, they’re insects, of course," she said. "I’m not entirely sure what they look like. Black and inconspicuous, I believe. Hang on, I think I’m getting close."
She had been flipping through a huge book she’d found in a section of the library Harry hadn’t even know existed, but now she was slowing down.
"Here," she said, jabbing her finger at a page.
Harry read.
The Scuttlebutt, said the book, is a small insect that spreads harmful gossip. Once a person is touched by the insect, a rumour is planted in their brain, and they immediately tell the first person they see. Rumours are picked at random from a selection of topics and people. These depend on where the Scuttlebutt has found its home. Once a person is touched by a Scuttlebutt, they believe every rumour they hear from that moment on. Scuttlebutts are often believed not to be particularly dangerous, but gossip can be extremely harmful, especially in large quantities in a place where there are many people to be infected.
"That sounds like exactly what we’re dealing with," Hermione said proudly. "I thought it would be. There’s probably only one in the school now, because they didn’t even believe there were any left at all."
Harry looked at her uncertainly.
"Now look, there’s a spell to get rid of the insect. That looks quite easy. Apparently once the insect is gone, people don’t exactly forget the rumours they heard, but they don’t believe them anymore. The only problem is that it takes twelve hours for the spell to take effect."
"What?" asked Harry suspiciously. "How the hell are we supposed to find one little black bug in this entire school?"
"Easy," shrugged Hermione. "Where did we last hear a rumour that somebody believed?"
Harry frowned, remembering the slightly disturbing conversation between Percy and Oliver that they had overheard. "Back…where Percy and Oliver...were...erm," he tried feebly.
Hermione nodded quickly and stood up. "Let’s go!"
* * *
To Harry’s surprise, when they got back to the place they had been earlier on, they saw a little black bug crawling across the wall.
"Don’t let it touch you!" Hermione shrieked when Harry peered at it.
"Hermione," he said doubtfully. "This just looks like a beetle,"
Hermione shook her head. "Does it?" she asked. "Or does it look like something that is trying just a little too hard to ‘just look like a beetle’?"
Harry blinked at her. "I don’t know," he said. "But it’s black and shiny."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right, so when Oliver said...when Oliver, erm, was talking to Percy, the Scuttlebutt must have crawled onto Percy to make him believe it."
She took her wand out of her pocket, and a piece of paper onto which she had copied the spell. Pointing her wand at the bug on the wall, she moved it in a complicated pattern and shouted, "Vectus-bestia abeo!"
Nothing happened. Harry looked at her. "What’s supposed to happen?" he asked. "Does the beetle – the Scuttlebutt, sorry – does it hang around for another twelve hours and then disappear?"
"I don’t know," Hermione admitted, looking at her watch. "It’s eleven o’ clock now, though, if that helps."
* * *
"So is it Charlie Weasley you’re shagging, Harry, or is it Bill?" asked Seamus that evening when they were in the common room.
"He’s shagging one of Ron’s brothers?" Lee Jordan asked, wandering over.
"Yeah," Seamus confirmed happily. Then he added with a shudder, "Not Fred and George obviously, they’re shagging each other,"
Lee frowned, did nothing at all for a few moments, and then walked away.
"What’s with you?" Seamus yelled across the room.
"I think maybe he’s shagging the twins, you know," Neville said quietly. "I overheard somebody saying that today."
"Wow," Seamus said in amazement. "Wow. Everybody’s gay around here."
Just then, Ron came into the room and sat down on the far end of the sofa Harry was sitting on. Harry put his head in his hands, dreading what was to come.
"So is Harry shagging Bill, Ron?" Seamus asked immediately. "Or is it Charlie?"
Ron turned very, very slowly. Harry lifted his head equally slowly. Ron glared at him.
"Snape and Malfoy not enough for you?" he snarled. "Have to fuck one of my brothers, as well? You know Bill’s got a girlfriend, don’t you? Not very fair on her."
"Ron," said Harry weakly. "Ron, I’m not shagging your brother – I’m not shagging Charlie or Bill. I’ve only met them, what, twice?"
Ron ignored him. "I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. I’m supposed to be your best friend," he went on. "And you go around fucking everybody you know, and don’t even say a word to me."
He grabbed the book on the top of Hermione’s pile on the table, and buried his nose in it. Harry decided he probably didn’t realise that it was Hogwarts: A History.
Seamus, Dean and Neville exchanged worried looks, and slowly shuffled off to bed.
"What’s wrong with him?" Harry hissed to Hermione.
"Being eaten alive by his own jealousy, I expect." Hermione replied casually.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What did you say?"
"I’m going to bed," she said, picking up her books. "Good night, Harry."
"Night, Hermione."
"Good night, Ron."
Ron said nothing. The minute Hermione was out of the room, Ron threw down his book and spun around to look at Harry.
"Why did you do it?" he demanded. "Why? And why didn’t you tell me? That’s all I’m asking for, Harry, I just want an explanation. I mean, with Snape, it seems like he forced you, so that’s not your fault – although I have to say I’m a little worried you didn’t tell Dumbledore or someone – but Malfoy, Bill, Charlie, Oliver, Sirius, Professor Lupin, Crabbe and Goyle, Colin and Dennis Creevey..."
Harry’s eyes widened and he let Ron’s list continue. Apparently there were quite a few rumours he’d missed out on.
"I mean," Ron said suddenly. "I never even knew you were gay. You never told me you were gay."
Harry swallowed. "Ron, I’m gay."
"Well, obviously!" Ron spat. "I think maybe I’ve worked that out by now."
"No, I mean, really, I’m gay. I haven’t had sex with any of those people – I haven’t had sex with anyone actually – but I am gay."
Ron shook his head. "I’d be a lot happier about all of this if you could just admit to it."
"But it’s not true," Harry said, exasperated. "Ron, there’s this thing called a Scuttlebutt, Hermione and I looked it up in the library. It’s infested the school. It makes people start rumours, and if it touches you, you start believing all the rumours you hear."
Ron just looked at him. "I just don’t understand why you’d even want to be with any of those people."
Harry was getting desperate now. There was only one thing left to do. He had his doubts that it would even work, considering Ron had pretty much ignored everything that had come out of his mouth lately, but it was worth a try.
"Ron," he said. "Ron, I don’t want to be with any of those people. I want to be with you."
Ron stared at him. "You-" he stammered. "You. What?"
"I don’t want to be with any of them. I haven’t been with any of them," Harry carried on. His heart seemed to be making itself at home somewhere in his throat, and it wasn’t comfortable. "And the reason is…I want to be with you."
"But-" Ron began. He stopped again. He suddenly looked very puzzled. "But that doesn’t work. I mean, that’s…that’s really strange."
Harry’s heart sank. "I’m sorry...I just...I can’t help it," he muttered. "I’ve liked you for a really long time. I mean, I tried not to! I just-"
"No, no," Ron stopped him, waving his hands around. "I mean, it’s strange, because this whole time...I think maybe the reason I was so angry, about people saying you’d been shagging the whole school...I think maybe I was jealous."
Harry stared. He had not been expecting this. "Jealous? You mean-"
"I think so," Ron said slowly, and then gulped. "I don’t think I was angry because of who the people were. I think maybe I was just angry because the people weren’t me."
"But I thought that you..."
"I know, and I thought that you..."
"But I didn’t."
"Harry?"
"Yes, Ron?"
Ron went very pink. "Do you think you could come over here, please?"
"I think I could, Ron, if you promise you’ll kiss me when I get there."
"I promise I will."
And he did. Harry wasn’t really sure what had just happened. Ron was leaning in very close and pressing his lips against his, and the clock was chiming eleven, and just before Harry closed his eyes he spotted a tiny puff of smoke appear on the top left corner of the sofa.
"Harry?" asked Ron nervously when he pulled away, a little breathless, from the kiss.
"Yes?"
"I suddenly don’t think you did have sex with any of those people," Ron told him, looking extremely confused.
"Good," said Harry. "I didn’t. I’m a virgin."
Ron looked around. "Me too," he said. "And this room is very empty."
Harry blinked at him. "You don’t really mean...?"
"I do, actually," Ron said, blushing again. "If...if that’s all right."
Harry’s only response was to pull Ron down onto the sofa with him, and he had the feeling that was the answer Ron had been looking for.
* * *
Harry didn’t know why, but Hermione seemed particularly happy about something the next morning at breakfast. When he asked her, she just told him that it was because the Scuttlebutt was gone, but he had the feeling it was something more. Her smile only got bigger when Ron came into the Hall, walking rather funny and trying to disguise it.
"Have a good night last night?" she asked him. "Get a lot of work done?"
"Oh yeah," Ron said, slipping into a seat next to Harry. "Yes. Er, lots got done, didn’t it, Harry?"
"Mm-hm," Harry agreed through a mouthful of toast. "One thing in particular, actually."
Hermione was beaming at them, and Harry briefly wondered if there could have been any connection. He felt Ron’s hand slide into his under the table and decided he didn’t really care.
"Guess what, guys?" someone was saying somewhere further down the table. "I heard that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are shagging."
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Date: 2007-06-03 04:29 am (UTC)The moment I started laughing and couldn't stop.
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Date: 2007-06-04 02:03 pm (UTC)Very funny.
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Date: 2007-06-12 05:06 am (UTC)Absolutely hilarious
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Date: 2008-08-08 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 02:23 am (UTC)Just FYI, I would have commented where I read it, but the community restricts commenting to members, and your other post is locked.