FORTY-FIVE
I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND THAT I PUT DOWN IN WORDS, HOW WONDERFUL LIFE
IS WHILE YOU'RE IN THE WORLD
ELTON JOHN
THE GROUP settled into cohesion like ducks into water, and by that evening, had reverted to the jovial life they'd coexisted in only months prior. Although George had never heard of it, Alessia had insisted they indulge in a game of muggle Scrabble, most obviously because she possessed the ability to absolutely thrash him each and every round. Fred and Aspen watched distractedly from the couch, swimming in each other's embrace and nursing generous glasses of ageing Firewhisky.
"That doesn't count!" Alessia screeched, looking scandalised as George pumped a fist in the air triumphantly. "This is a muggle game! Quaffle isn't in the dictionary, idiot!"
"Well I've an unfair disadvantage, then," George retorted, leaning over to write down his forty-four points — it had crossed a double word tile. "How am I meant to know your boring muggle words?"
Aspen and Fred chuckled from the couch, grateful not to be suffering under Alessia's competitive wrath. From where her head lay on his chest, she could feel the steady rise and fall of his laughter convulsing through his body, and she shook with him, moving as one.
"S'nice having you all back with me," Aspen murmured against Fred's neck, warming the freckled skin there with her breath. "I've missed you guys. And Verity. Even all the annoying little kids at the shop."
Fred's lips pulled up into the ghost of a smile, but she could sense his distraction. Perhaps he fretted after the store, but she was certain there was more to it than that. Tugging at his sleeve, Aspen furrowed her brows together, asking silent questions she desired the answer to desperately.
"We've not seen Verity much lately," Fred informed quietly, his voice dropping a decibel or two to avoid contracting George's attention from across the room. It seemed he'd succeeded, for the younger twin was still staring intently at his tile holder, searching determinedly for the words that would grant him a victory.
"Is she alright?" Aspen sat up, her hand resting against Fred's chest instead of her head now — since they had been reunited, they had maintained a solid point of contact, as if letting go of one another would tear them apart indefinitely again.
"I suppose," Fred said, shrugging indifferently. "She and George had a little chat the other night. Kept me up for ages, the cheeky sods."
He earned a smack on the arm for that, although he didn't even flinch, as if he'd known it was coming all along.
"What's wrong with them? Are they broken up?" Aspen felt a terrible tug on her heartstrings at even the notion — George and Verity, in her eyes, were a perfect couple, light and fruitful in their companionship.
"George told her we'd have to shut the shop, disappear for a little bit. Well, she wasn't exactly pleased at the prospect of being left in the dark," Fred whispered, so softly she could barely feel the waft of breath against her cheek. George remained oblivious, too invested in obtaining the bottom right 'triple word' tile.
"And?" Aspen urged, eyes raking over her boyfriend as if one keen look would be enough to drag a definitive answer out of him. "What's the verdict?"
"Can't say for sure. He didn't want to talk about it," Fred said, and shot a pointed look towards George.
Now, inspecting him more diligently, Aspen could see the cracks in the younger twin's joyful disposition. Even as he taunted his opponent shamelessly, teeth bared in a boundless grin, the downturn in the corners of his eyes gave him away. There was an unnatural quiver to his quick-fire wit, and he sagged with a fatigue that was different to the rest of them, not initiated by war or sentient loss. George Weasley was suffering in silence, and refusing to bring the rest of them down with him.
"I think they're together still, for now at least. I bloody hope so anyway," Fred said lowly, drawing Aspen away from her inaudible interrogation.
"He loves her. She loves him," Aspen said simply, trying to hide the frown that was tugging on the corners of her lips. "That should be enough. That should keep them going. Shouldn't it?"
Fred squeezed her tighter, the palm of his hand digging into the meat of her bicep for a fleeting moment. She could feel the press of his lips against the crown of her head, and while it would normally send butterflies feral inside of her stomach at the splendid domesticity of it all, she was met only by a hollow pit of disappointment there instead.
"Sometimes that's just not enough, I suppose."
She knew he was right, but it struck her to imagine a world where the life she knew like an old friend was upended, and as the result of a seemingly endless war no less. Their world had changed so immensely in the past few months, and each big change was a blunt stab to the gut, a reminder of the uncertainty that would continue to plague them until the war was won. A rift in their friend group — which she had considered indestructible — was a flashing warning sign in the forefront of her mind, and she felt a wave of nausea roll through her abdomen.
"We can't have this," Fred spoke again, although louder now, as he could read on her face that she was searching unsuccessfully for a solution, an unavoidable reason for them to stay together forever. "Are you two nearly done? We should be celebrating properly, not being bloody boring bastards like this. Alessia can drink now!"
Alessia's face seemed to light up from over the Scrabble board, which was admittedly looking full to the brim with the little cream tiles, and thus, meant the round was nearing its completion. Aspen, however, leapt forward to punch her boyfriend's arm playfully, much to his dismay.
"Don't you encourage my sister to drink, Fred Weasley," she scolded, and watched gleefully as he rubbed his bicep like a scolded child.
"One or two couldn't hurt," George piped up, and scrambled to his feet, more than pleased to be torn away from the board game. He disappeared into the kitchen, from which he had retrieved a bottle Aspen had not seen before. "Brought this from the flat."
With a wave of Fred's wand, the Scrabble board had swept itself away and back into its box, and in its place, four glass tumblers landed neatly on the table with a thud! George twisted the lid off, listening to the satisfying crack of its seal breaking, and began pouring double shots of the single malt whisky into each glass. As they were passed around, Aspen turned her attention to the turntable in the corner, sifting through a multitude of ancient records before settling on Rubber Soul.
"That's better," Fred said with a smile, inviting Aspen back into his arms as they stood collectively around the table, hoisting their glasses together to clink delicately in unison. "Feels almost normal now, right?"
Drive My Car crackled through the speakers as they sipped graciously in agreement. The hollowness was still there inside of Aspen, but she had wondered for a while now if this would become a permanent feature of her body, and this seemed to confirm it. If this was what normality was now, vacancy was simply a feeling she would have to become accustomed to.
Long after midnight, the foursome trickled off to bed, tipsy, tired out and tickled pink after their successful reunion that evening. Fred and Aspen giggled all the while as they struggled to fit into her childhood bed, which even after some half-cut configuring, could only really be defined as a small double. Shedding their clothes like inebriated teenagers, they shuffled under the covers together, wrapping each other in long anticipated embraces that left them skin-to-skin and burning with desire.
The whisky had left Aspen feeling hotter than usual, and a familiar curl of arousal settled at the pit of her stomach, urging her to twist a leg over Fred's midriff suggestively. She could feel the twitch of his excitement against her all too keenly, but he didn't seem to mind, and instead, let the tips of his fingers brush down the bare skin of her thigh, sending shivers up her spine.
"Have you missed me?" Fred asked smoothly, a smirk on his lips as he dipped his head to let his forehead rest against hers.
"You know I have, you wanker," she grumbled, and then straightened up to twirl into his lap, straddling Fred's legs expertly. She fit into place there like the final piece of a jigsaw, so satisfyingly perfect. "Have you missed me?"
"More than words can say," he murmured, his hands cradling her hips daintily, as if she were fragile work of art, one sharp jolt away from breaking between his palms.
"Then show me," she retorted quietly, her lips pressed against his so that the words melted into his skin, suffocating him with amatory intention.
There were no more words after that, perhaps aside from the hastily cast silencing charm that spilled from Fred's mouth within seconds of her proposal. Instead, there were limbs and lips and love shared so freely Aspen immediately forgot how much she'd missed him. That moment alone was enough to solidify a simple truth: she would never willingly go another night without Fred by her side as long as she lived.
♡♡♡
APRIL FEELS as long as time. Although life was considerably brighter with her favourite people in tow, there was little excitement in being trapped entirely in the confines of one home, and Aspen thinks that given another month, they'd all promptly go insane. Fred and George wile away most of their time creating new little inventions and blueprints, counting down the days until they can return to the ever-evolving world of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Aspen had become more maternal than ever before, coddling her little sister and ensuring that everyone is constantly fed to the extreme, practically fit to burst in fact. Alessia, as always, spent her days glued to the fireplace, chatting animatedly until her jaw hurt and Ginny Weasley had fallen asleep on the other end.
By the middle of the month, the twins had developed an Owl-Order business which they were operating from the kitchen table. They no longer ate dinners there, or gathered around the room at breakfast, as the space was constantly filled with messily scrawled order forms and expertly hand-printed receipts — George generally wrote, for Fred's handwriting was almost illegible, and therefore highly unprofessional.
It was for this reason especially that the household were crowded around in the living room, waiting impatiently for their dinner, which was eaten from plates upon their laps without access to the dining table. Aspen was cooped up in the kitchen, stirring mounds of generously salted butter into her potful of mashed potatoes. The oven's heat had left drips of condensation across the window panes, upon the other side of which a terrible storm was brewing. Rain pounded against the glass miserably, and they'd found the only way to block out the torrential attack was playing music at an astounding volume.
Alessia had chosen Joni Mitchell, but had lost out to the coercive powers of the twins, who replaced her vinyl with Elton John every time she attempted to defy them. Aspen, who could only hear the occasional muffled shrieks of their argument, giggled each time the melodic guitar of Mitchell's Little Green was intercepted by eclectic Elton numbers. By the time dinner was ready, and Aspen was swiping sweat from her forehead from the heat of the kitchen's humidity, they'd still not made it through a whole A-Side, proof that Alessia was a determined force to reckon with as always.
"Can I get some help with these plates, please?" Aspen called, hoping to be heard over the cacophony of family antics and pelting rainwater.
George stumbled through, grinning ear-to-ear after an hour or so of playing wind-up merchant with the household's youngest. Meanwhile, Fred seemed to be relenting next door, after a particularly long stretch of Joni vocals.
"Smells great, Andrews," George said, ruffling Aspen's hair instinctively on entry, much to her immense odium.
Together, they served up the food, scraping the insides of pots until there were hardly a morsel left inside and their plates were piled high like deliciously enticing molehills. They carried them through two at a time, wrists aching under the weight, and Fred and Alessia leapt up to help, eyes wide as saucers with greed. Once they'd all settled, curling up on couches and armchairs, they fell into the monotonous daily tiff over what to watch on the television — their options were always reruns, but it did not make the conflict any less fierce.
"You can't be serious! You think Hair is better than James Bo—"
A crash at the front door shocked them into a palpable silence. Aspen, startled mid-chew, could feel the metallic tang of fresh blood flooding her mouth as she clamped down onto her tongue, fear simmering in her gut. She felt remarkably left out as the three Gryffindors leapt to their feet, abandoning half-finished plates to clutch fiercely at their wands until their knuckles turned white.
"Who's there?" Fred called, hoping to be heard over the rain.
"Remus John Lupin," came the urgent reply, which thrilled Aspen with simultaneously contradicting sparks of visceral terror and delight. "I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and was provided this address by the Weasley family Secret Keeper in case of emergency."
"Let him in," Aspen urged immediately, more than convinced and now only worried that poor Remus was stranded outside in the howling storm that seemed strong enough to topple the house, never mind a human being.
George ran forward and hauled the door open, stepping back as Remus stumbled over his own feet over the threshold. His hair was greyer than Aspen remembered, and his travelling cloak was heavy and clogged with rainwater, which dripped dismally onto the wooden floorboards. He looked around the room, eyes landing on each of them before fixing onto Aspen, who was grateful to see the very hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"We've had a boy!" he called, as if the words were begging to burst out of him, practically explosive. "Ted. After Dora's father, you know?"
Aspen felt her breath catch in the back of her throat, and time slowed around her. She could hear the room cheering, but a lack of oxygen intake had made her dizzy and words failed her. Ted. How perfect. She had never known euphoria quite like this, and overcome with the emotion, soared across the room and threw herself into Remus' arms. He barely maintained his balance on impact, but steadied himself against the doorframe and patted Aspen's back gingerly — they were not exactly close, but this was a time to celebrate irregardless, and he certainly didn't seem to mind.
"Wow, congratulations, mate!" Fred and George exclaimed, and Alessia seemed equally pleased, the corners of her lips stretching upwards until her cheeks ached at the news.
"A boy, yes," Remus repeated, hazy and stupid with glee as he addressed them over Aspen's shoulder — she was yet to let go, and it appeared she might even refuse to.
"Long night's ahead of you, eh?" George quipped, but even this reminder was not enough to phase the new father, who nodded with an enchanted twinkle in his eyes.
"Aspen," he started again, wrenching himself free from her iron-tight grip and holding her steady by her forearms. "We've already asked Harry, too, but... will you be his godmother? Dora wanted to ask you herself, but of course she's still recovering with her mother. Will you—?"
"Oh Merlin, of course!" she squealed before she could help herself, and then in reckless abandon, threw herself around him again, so overwhelmed that tears were encroaching, threatening to slip over the kohl-lined brims of her eyes. "Oh Remus, is she well?"
"She's recovering just fine," Remus confirmed, and she felt the jolt of laughter ricochet through him. This was, without a doubt, the happiest he had seemed in years.
"Aspen, love, leave the poor man alone," Fred teased, tugging his girlfriend free from their old professor and in place, nudged a glass of whisky into his palm. "A toast?"
The five gathered round, a perfect circle poised around the age-stained coffee table, and raised their tumblers into the air. Aspen could hardly feel the glass against her fingertips, which were numb and shaking from the adrenaline rush. There was not a inkling of sadness in the small home as they drank.
"To Teddy Remus Lupin," Remus spoke, eyes wet with joy, "a great wizard in the making!"
Their glasses clinked melodically, and the group let the honey sweet liquid trickle down their throats, burning so pleasantly it almost warranted a second glass.
"Is he like you or Tonks?" Alessia chimed in curiously, her cheeks pink from the alcohol.
"We're not sure, honestly. He seems to change so much we can't agree," Remus informed her, eyes alight with the love only a new father could possess. "Not a lot of hair, but that's to be expected, of course. Black when he was born, ginger the next hour, who knows what it'll be by the time I'm back."
"Just like his Mummy," Aspen said softly, thinking back to the late nights she'd spent with the Tonks' scouring through grainy baby photos of a bumbling, ever-transforming Nymphadora. "Andy used to say Dora's started changing from the moment she came into the world. Ted adored that about her."
Remus regarded her fondly, nodding so swiftly that his greying hairs swept into his eyes and he began to look rather comically like a bobblehead figurine. He knocked back the rest of his drink, barely wincing at the strength of it as he placed the empty glass onto the table, where he narrowly missed the coaster they'd set out months prior to avoid further staining.
A particularly fierce gust of wind howled outside and sailed through the chimney, invading the room's warmth with a temporary chill. This seemed to be a reminder of his whereabouts, as Remus hauled himself out his exhilarated daze and stuffed his hands into his pockets, searching for his wand.
"I ought to get back—"
"Another drink, first?" Fred offered, holding up the half-empty bottle like some sort of trophy.
"No, no, I really should get back to Teddy," he insisted, heading towards the front door like a man on a mission. "I'll try my best to bring back photos, or perhaps, if it's safe, we can visit."
Tightening his cloak around him, Remus granted them each a final hug, more affectionate than ever before given the occasion. Then, still beaming, he shuffled through the door, striding out over the hillside and back into the sheer darkness of night.
"Fucking hell," Fred said after a long pause, "Godmother, Pen! That makes you sound even older than usual!"
"Oh, shut it you!" she retorted, slapping his arm with an open palm.
But even his childish remarks couldn't faze her now. She felt lighter, as if she were floating upwards in complete control, and suddenly, breathing was easier than ever. There was no weight on her chest to crush against her lungs until they were a pulverised mess of organ and tissue. No. That constant smog of impenetrable horror had been pierced by the intoxicating promise of new life, an innocence even war would struggle to besmirch. The hollow pit in her stomach was gone. For the first time in a long time, Aspen Andrews knew what real hope felt like.
an update of jlh?? practically unheard of!
sorry it's been forever, but you know me, big procrastinator and life keeps me busy! only four more til the end though guys, strap in! thanks for sticking by xx