asimplechord (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asimplechord) wrote2006-09-07 07:47 am
asimplechord) wrote2006-09-07 07:47 am
Fic: Parental advice (PG-13)
Title: Parental advice
Author: irisgirl12000
Prompt set: 50.4
Prompt: talk
Word count: 1331
Characters: Arthur, Fred, George
Warning: incest implied, angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money being made. Don't ask, don't tell, don't sue.
Notes: Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bar_bar_ella and lilyeyes for their editorial efforts. Any remaining mistakes are the product of my own grammar issues and odd imagination. This falls into the same universe as the other drabbles and tidbits written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100quills, and the grid that contains the prompts and links to other responses is here. *sigh* I meant to write this plus the three related pieces and post them all at once. But the three additional parts suddenly changed to five, and I'm just not patient enough to wait. Just in case you're wondering, the rest of the arc will respond to the confusion, quitting, artificial, hatred, and escape prompts. In that order. If I can manage them. Chronologically speaking, they start before this bit and extend well after it.
Arthur Weasley was a family man. He wasn't the smartest wizard, or the most talented; he came from a pureblood family with little but its name remaining from its original power and glory. In his less jovial moments – more and more common these last few weeks since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return – he could admit that his job and his pocketbook were not what he had hoped for as a youth. But whatever else was happening in his life, for good or ill, Arthur Weasley was a family man.
His steady, sure care had kept his growing family safe and happy through the First War, despite the deaths of other more magically powerful wizards and witches; this included the tragic massacre of Molly's brothers, who had been less than approving of Arthur and his style of support. With Molly's help and guidance, he had raised (or nearly done so) six well-adjusted children. Never mind Percy.
He wanted his children to be happy, and he wanted what was best for them. It hurt him when the two desires did not coincide, rare though that occurrence was.
His oldest son had given him few worries. Bright, responsible, cheerful, Bill had a wild streak, Arthur knew, but he channeled it into his work as a curse-breaker. Although he missed his son every day, he had always known that Bill's success in Egypt would someday bring him home on a more permanent basis.
Charlie, on the other hand, had always been a daredevil and risk-taker; before seeing Harry Potter as Gryffindor Seeker, Charlie had been the most inventive, reckless flyer Arthur had ever known. As a child he'd brought home all manner of animals, hurt or healthy, safe or dangerous, so Arthur had been quite pleased when Charlie found a job as a dragon-handler. Difficult and tiring it might be, but it fulfilled Charlie's needs.
His middle son… well, Percy had always been different. There was not much to be done, Arthur supposed. It pained him; it hurt Molly, though she would not speak of it aloud. But the boy seemed happiest away from the family, making his way in the Ministry. Arthur didn't necessarily approve of Percy's methods or his loyalties, but sometimes children had to learn from their own mistakes.
The two youngest children had the most straightforward desires of all, Arthur thought. Ron wanted to stand out, to be an Auror, to have Hermione admire him (although Arthur wasn't sure he realized that just yet). He might be imperiled by his annual adventures with Harry, but Ron had benefited from them as well. Ginny's happiness stemmed directly from Harry as well, it sometimes seemed. Arthur was not sure what he could do, if anything, to change or aid that. He worried that her interest in the Boy Who Lived bordered on obsession, and that Harry did not return that fascination. But who knew what would happen as the years passed? Arthur was simply happy that Ginny had survived her first year at Hogwarts and recovered from it, emotionally and physically.
And that left the pair currently occupying the majority of Arthur's thoughts: Fred and George. The twins had caused relatively few worries for him and Molly. Oh, they got up to mischief that had Molly's temper in an uproar, sometimes with his surreptitious help, but rarely had they done serious harm. But for the toffee incident with Harry's Muggle relatives, their pranks were not malicious. Fred and George were so insular, so complete as a pair, that Arthur had never worried about them fitting in at school or finding friends. In fact, the only concern he might have had was that the pair was so self-involved that they didn't allow other people into their relationship. Over the last year, though, that had changed, first with their socializing at the Quidditch World Cup, and then the Yule Ball, to which Fred had actually escorted his classmate, Angelina. A lovely girl, from the little he'd seen of her at King's Cross and Diagon Alley. Arthur and Molly had been thrilled, although they had worried a bit that George had seemed content to attend without a date.
But the boys seemed to have regressed into their old dependence when they arrived home from Hogwarts this year. They'd always been physically affectionate with each other, so Arthur couldn't say why the casual bumping of shoulders, tugging of hair, and jostling of hips struck him as different now. Perhaps it was simply that the return of these gestures, complete with sidelong glances and smirks, coincided with the appearance of Galleons with no visible source? Arthur was almost afraid to ask. He had allowed himself to think that it was their obsession with their "wheezes" that was making them behave so… twinnishly, for want of a better word.
For all of his suspicions, though, Arthur had not been even remotely prepared for what he found when he Apparated back to The Burrow from work this afternoon: Fred and George standing in the back garden, entwined in what appeared to his wide, bugging eyes to be a passionate kiss. He stood at the gate, stunned. Just as he drew breath to speak, George lifted his head; the look on his face stilled any words Arthur might have chosen, it was so tender, so protective.
He had turned away, moving silently until he was outside the stone wall, and then made a conspicuous amount of noise to telegraph his arrival. When he reentered the garden, George was tugging a gnome from its hole, and Fred had picked up the basket of mint leaves Molly had requested. The three gathered the other household items they needed and continued on their way to Grimmauld Place, and Arthur tried to behave as if he had seen nothing out of the ordinary.
How, as a good parent, could he allow this to continue? What could he possibly say to make them understand what sort of disapproval that behavior might earn them?
That evening, after supper, he sat them down in the library and warded the door for privacy. Fred was smirking at whatever George had just whispered in his ear, and George was leaning slightly into Fred's side, his eyes glowing with humor. Arthur braced himself for the speech he had to make, which would surely erase both happy expressions.
He could see that they were amused by his opening words, thinking that he was going to repeat the Little Wizards Talk he'd given them at age thirteen. Instead, he spoke about inappropriate behavior and affectionate gestures that strangers might misinterpret, about finding the person they wanted to spend their life with, and confusion about sexual orientation. The longer he spoke, with extended pauses between words and hastily rephrased sentences, the more shuttered their eyes became. By the time he had stuttered to a halt, Fred's face was blank, and George was staring sightlessly at the bookshelf over his shoulder.
Finally, George shifted his eyes to meet his father's, who was appalled at the hard, mutinous expression in them.
"We're not doing anything wrong! It's not hurting anyone for us to—"
"I don't want you to say anything more. The details are not my business; you're legally adults now. I am simply warning you that most of the world wouldn't understand or approve of what you're doing. Or what I suspect you're doing," Arthur counseled. He took a bolstering breath, fortifying himself for the next blow. "I can't even imagine what your mother would say if she knew. As it is, I have to ask you to behave appropriately at home and at headquarters, particularly around the other children."
George looked as if he were about to protest again, but Fred moved restlessly next to him, and he remained silent.
When the twins realized nothing more was forthcoming, they nodded at him wordlessly and stood to leave.
Arthur didn't miss the fact that their hands were twined together, squeezing so tightly that the knuckles were white.
Author: irisgirl12000
Prompt set: 50.4
Prompt: talk
Word count: 1331
Characters: Arthur, Fred, George
Warning: incest implied, angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money being made. Don't ask, don't tell, don't sue.
Notes: Many thanks to
bar_bar_ella and lilyeyes for their editorial efforts. Any remaining mistakes are the product of my own grammar issues and odd imagination. This falls into the same universe as the other drabbles and tidbits written for 100quills, and the grid that contains the prompts and links to other responses is here. *sigh* I meant to write this plus the three related pieces and post them all at once. But the three additional parts suddenly changed to five, and I'm just not patient enough to wait. Just in case you're wondering, the rest of the arc will respond to the confusion, quitting, artificial, hatred, and escape prompts. In that order. If I can manage them. Chronologically speaking, they start before this bit and extend well after it.Arthur Weasley was a family man. He wasn't the smartest wizard, or the most talented; he came from a pureblood family with little but its name remaining from its original power and glory. In his less jovial moments – more and more common these last few weeks since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return – he could admit that his job and his pocketbook were not what he had hoped for as a youth. But whatever else was happening in his life, for good or ill, Arthur Weasley was a family man.
His steady, sure care had kept his growing family safe and happy through the First War, despite the deaths of other more magically powerful wizards and witches; this included the tragic massacre of Molly's brothers, who had been less than approving of Arthur and his style of support. With Molly's help and guidance, he had raised (or nearly done so) six well-adjusted children. Never mind Percy.
He wanted his children to be happy, and he wanted what was best for them. It hurt him when the two desires did not coincide, rare though that occurrence was.
His oldest son had given him few worries. Bright, responsible, cheerful, Bill had a wild streak, Arthur knew, but he channeled it into his work as a curse-breaker. Although he missed his son every day, he had always known that Bill's success in Egypt would someday bring him home on a more permanent basis.
Charlie, on the other hand, had always been a daredevil and risk-taker; before seeing Harry Potter as Gryffindor Seeker, Charlie had been the most inventive, reckless flyer Arthur had ever known. As a child he'd brought home all manner of animals, hurt or healthy, safe or dangerous, so Arthur had been quite pleased when Charlie found a job as a dragon-handler. Difficult and tiring it might be, but it fulfilled Charlie's needs.
His middle son… well, Percy had always been different. There was not much to be done, Arthur supposed. It pained him; it hurt Molly, though she would not speak of it aloud. But the boy seemed happiest away from the family, making his way in the Ministry. Arthur didn't necessarily approve of Percy's methods or his loyalties, but sometimes children had to learn from their own mistakes.
The two youngest children had the most straightforward desires of all, Arthur thought. Ron wanted to stand out, to be an Auror, to have Hermione admire him (although Arthur wasn't sure he realized that just yet). He might be imperiled by his annual adventures with Harry, but Ron had benefited from them as well. Ginny's happiness stemmed directly from Harry as well, it sometimes seemed. Arthur was not sure what he could do, if anything, to change or aid that. He worried that her interest in the Boy Who Lived bordered on obsession, and that Harry did not return that fascination. But who knew what would happen as the years passed? Arthur was simply happy that Ginny had survived her first year at Hogwarts and recovered from it, emotionally and physically.
And that left the pair currently occupying the majority of Arthur's thoughts: Fred and George. The twins had caused relatively few worries for him and Molly. Oh, they got up to mischief that had Molly's temper in an uproar, sometimes with his surreptitious help, but rarely had they done serious harm. But for the toffee incident with Harry's Muggle relatives, their pranks were not malicious. Fred and George were so insular, so complete as a pair, that Arthur had never worried about them fitting in at school or finding friends. In fact, the only concern he might have had was that the pair was so self-involved that they didn't allow other people into their relationship. Over the last year, though, that had changed, first with their socializing at the Quidditch World Cup, and then the Yule Ball, to which Fred had actually escorted his classmate, Angelina. A lovely girl, from the little he'd seen of her at King's Cross and Diagon Alley. Arthur and Molly had been thrilled, although they had worried a bit that George had seemed content to attend without a date.
But the boys seemed to have regressed into their old dependence when they arrived home from Hogwarts this year. They'd always been physically affectionate with each other, so Arthur couldn't say why the casual bumping of shoulders, tugging of hair, and jostling of hips struck him as different now. Perhaps it was simply that the return of these gestures, complete with sidelong glances and smirks, coincided with the appearance of Galleons with no visible source? Arthur was almost afraid to ask. He had allowed himself to think that it was their obsession with their "wheezes" that was making them behave so… twinnishly, for want of a better word.
For all of his suspicions, though, Arthur had not been even remotely prepared for what he found when he Apparated back to The Burrow from work this afternoon: Fred and George standing in the back garden, entwined in what appeared to his wide, bugging eyes to be a passionate kiss. He stood at the gate, stunned. Just as he drew breath to speak, George lifted his head; the look on his face stilled any words Arthur might have chosen, it was so tender, so protective.
He had turned away, moving silently until he was outside the stone wall, and then made a conspicuous amount of noise to telegraph his arrival. When he reentered the garden, George was tugging a gnome from its hole, and Fred had picked up the basket of mint leaves Molly had requested. The three gathered the other household items they needed and continued on their way to Grimmauld Place, and Arthur tried to behave as if he had seen nothing out of the ordinary.
How, as a good parent, could he allow this to continue? What could he possibly say to make them understand what sort of disapproval that behavior might earn them?
That evening, after supper, he sat them down in the library and warded the door for privacy. Fred was smirking at whatever George had just whispered in his ear, and George was leaning slightly into Fred's side, his eyes glowing with humor. Arthur braced himself for the speech he had to make, which would surely erase both happy expressions.
He could see that they were amused by his opening words, thinking that he was going to repeat the Little Wizards Talk he'd given them at age thirteen. Instead, he spoke about inappropriate behavior and affectionate gestures that strangers might misinterpret, about finding the person they wanted to spend their life with, and confusion about sexual orientation. The longer he spoke, with extended pauses between words and hastily rephrased sentences, the more shuttered their eyes became. By the time he had stuttered to a halt, Fred's face was blank, and George was staring sightlessly at the bookshelf over his shoulder.
Finally, George shifted his eyes to meet his father's, who was appalled at the hard, mutinous expression in them.
"We're not doing anything wrong! It's not hurting anyone for us to—"
"I don't want you to say anything more. The details are not my business; you're legally adults now. I am simply warning you that most of the world wouldn't understand or approve of what you're doing. Or what I suspect you're doing," Arthur counseled. He took a bolstering breath, fortifying himself for the next blow. "I can't even imagine what your mother would say if she knew. As it is, I have to ask you to behave appropriately at home and at headquarters, particularly around the other children."
George looked as if he were about to protest again, but Fred moved restlessly next to him, and he remained silent.
When the twins realized nothing more was forthcoming, they nodded at him wordlessly and stood to leave.
Arthur didn't miss the fact that their hands were twined together, squeezing so tightly that the knuckles were white.