Drabble(actually short!fic) the third

[idea_of_sarcasm]

Managed one more before sleep:


Step in the Right Direction


"You got me kittens?" George looked at Katie incredulously.

The furbags in question were making themselves at home in the flat above Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. One was rolling around contentedly on the sofa – though at least he supposed it wasn't scratching up the fabric. The other had meandered off to Merlin knew where, but George was too distracted to even go look for it. He was too busy wondering what in the bloody hell had persuaded her to do it. He liked animals well enough, but they had no place in a tiny flat above a joke shop, certainly not his tiny little flat above a joke shop, and he didn't much feel like taking care of them.

He was barely taking care of himself.

When she looked at him knowingly, she seemed to imply that was the point.

And when she took that stubborn stance, arms crossed and legs spread, he knew she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"You need companionship," Katie said bluntly, "and considering I had to basically knock down the door to get in here, you're not willing to accept the human variety. And maybe – just maybe - they'll be enough to get you out of bed in the morning. A reason to clean the place, to care if your flat is going to hell, a reason to go buy some food. Even if you don't care if you waste away, you might care if you have a couple dead kittens lying around your flat. I'd take a bloody psychiatrist or healer coming by, but since I think you'd ward against them, the kittens won."

"That's an awful lot of pressure to put onto two little cats," he snorted.

Katie simply shook her head, "We're all at a loss George. Your family, and your friends. I'm not going to pretend there's not anything wrong anymore, and I'll try anything that might work." She took a step closer and placed a hand on his arm, and he felt the world close in around him as her lips moved, "I care too much to let you fade away."

It was hard not to lean into her, not to take the comfort she offered, because he knew she was more than willing to be the 'anything' that might work. He might be self-centered, but he could see that in her eyes every time she looked at him. She'd been the most steadfast in coming by, the most diligent in trying to bring up back to the land of the living, and he could see the hurt in her eyes every time he tried to push her away. It would have been so easy right then to tilt his head down, to capture her lips and fist his hand in her hair – to back her up against the wall and take everything that she offered.

But because he couldn't mean it right then the way she needed it to be meant, he didn't. He wasn't that much of a bastard. At least not yet.

So he shifted away, thinking longingly of the bottle of firewhiskey sitting in his cupboard. "Take them away Katie, I..."

"No," she said stubbornly, covering the flash of hurt that crossed her face. "They're yours, whether you like it or not."

She didn't give him much chance to fight it, grabbing her cloak and the carrier she'd brought them in and headed towards the door. George sighed, knowing if he was going to get rid of them, he was going to have to do it himself. "What's their names?" He asked, resigned, hoping they'd at least respond to something so he could herd them and force them onto Mum.

Katie only paused at the door momentarily before slamming it shut behind her. "They're yours George. Call them Sweets and Buttertarte if you like, or Yin and Yang."

Silence reigned once she'd left, broken only by the occasional mewling sound of the first kitten as it slid down from the couch and padded over to him, rubbing it's cheek against his leg. There was a mild temptation to kick at it, but he resisted with a sigh, bending down and giving it a quick stroke before thinking of both what cats ate, and the non-existent contents of his icebox. There was milk, but it was probably a good month past acceptable drinkage, his liquid diet these days usually consisting of something stronger. "I've got tuna," he told the ball of fluff on a spurt of inspiration, thinking of a few tins at the back of the cupboard.

Transfiguring a small enclosure to set the kitten in, he went in search of the second, worried the things were so tiny he's step on them if he wasn't careful. Between his room, the bathroom, the living room and the kitchen however, the second wasn't to be found, even after he checked a second time to be sure.

George hesitated outside the partially ajar door to Fred's room for a moment, before going in. He would have avoided it, save the images that came to mind of the tiny little creature with nails scratching up everything in there he'd tried to preserve.

It was dark and musty with the shades drawn, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He hadn't been in the room since his brother's death, nor had he allowed anybody else in for any purpose. It was exactly like his twin had left it, even the mess of sheets across the bed, and the half drunk glass of water on the table beside. The captain of the Canons on his poster winked and smirked like he usually did, and it still smelt like a pair of unwashed gym socks. George stood stock still, overcome for a moment, until a flash of movement caught his eye and he bent down to grab the kitten before it escaped again.

What he wanted to do was run back out to the kitchen and pretend he'd never been in the room, but instead he hesitated, pausing with the squirming creature in his arms that had forced him to enter this sanctum he'd been trying to avoid.

"I miss you," he said quietly. "Fuck Fred, I...I miss you."

He knew the room had no special connection, but in the moment he felt like it did.

It was small consolation, but somehow, it was enough to ease a little of the tightness that had settled around his heart.

"Come on," George told the ball of fluff, feeling ridiculous for talking to a bloody kitten, "let's go get your and your brother some fish, then I'll apparate to Mum's and see if she can spare some cream."




Requestor: silverius408 Prompt: Kittens

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