[Tea is good. Tea is easy, safe from thoughts he doesn't want to linger on, so Fred coughs a little to clear his throat and gets to his feet, venturing to the kitchen. It's simple and mundane, finding the kettle and filling it with water, which makes it perfect for a distraction. Once it's set and boiling, Fred leans against the counter and folds his arms across his chest, eyes beginning to wander again.
Ginny said it hadn't been "home" for nearly a year, but it was still almost immaculate, which leads him to believe she's been keeping it clean just for the sake of it. He sniggers at the thought. Mum should only be so lucky to get this sort of upkeep in the Burrow. And maybe that's part of what makes it different. Rather than being home, where he wants to be but never will be, they have this cabin, and it's theirs. Something to make their own, and he'll just have to make the most of it.
Without George, or Ron, or Mum and Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy. Bloody Hell, they'd just started to be a whole family again. Just the luck of the draw, apparently, and Fred shakes his head with a heavy sigh just before Ginny comes back down the hallway - sounding in much the same state he is. Stuck in a proper flap, conflicted between relief, misery and just all about confusion. He grins a bit.]
No need to apologise, that'd ruin the excitement of it all.
[Playful and excitable, Ginny. The way he always is, as though looking at the world through Omnioculars at that World Cup match years ago. It's but a game full of players - win or lose, the playing's the important part. The uncertainty, the thrill of it all, the fun. Fred's playing, he's always playing, and death doesn't change that. He still aims to win.]
he's there for you when he shouldn't be but he stays all the same;
Ginny said it hadn't been "home" for nearly a year, but it was still almost immaculate, which leads him to believe she's been keeping it clean just for the sake of it. He sniggers at the thought. Mum should only be so lucky to get this sort of upkeep in the Burrow. And maybe that's part of what makes it different. Rather than being home, where he wants to be but never will be, they have this cabin, and it's theirs. Something to make their own, and he'll just have to make the most of it.
Without George, or Ron, or Mum and Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy. Bloody Hell, they'd just started to be a whole family again. Just the luck of the draw, apparently, and Fred shakes his head with a heavy sigh just before Ginny comes back down the hallway - sounding in much the same state he is. Stuck in a proper flap, conflicted between relief, misery and just all about confusion. He grins a bit.]
No need to apologise, that'd ruin the excitement of it all.
[Playful and excitable, Ginny. The way he always is, as though looking at the world through Omnioculars at that World Cup match years ago. It's but a game full of players - win or lose, the playing's the important part. The uncertainty, the thrill of it all, the fun. Fred's playing, he's always playing, and death doesn't change that. He still aims to win.]
Reckon those'll do just fine, little sister.