I wrote a new prologue for Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives. Does that count as an update? ^^; Well have some Fred & George shenanigans anyway.
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"Well isn't this a riot. Blimey, if I wasn't dead already, I'd die of boredom."
"Mum made me swear not to put any firecrackers in your coffin," said George.
"Travesty." Fred shook his head, solemnly. "What about the dungbombs?"
"Of course. I'm not an animal."
"Excellent." He stiffened as he caught sight of the plump hourglass figure of a familiar witch heading their way. "Oi, heads up. Mrs Crannock, 12 o'clock."
"Oh bloody he- hi Mrs Crannock."
"Oh George!" the elderly witch sniffed wetly, enveloping him in a smothering hug before he could duck away. "Just seeing your face, your poor dear face- just like Fred- oh you soul, you sweet, sweet boy."
George patted her back awkwardly. "There, there Mrs Crannock."
Fred's silvery transparent face floated beside him looking gleeful. "Never knew she was so fond of me. Remember that time we used one of her bras as a parachute for her pet chihuahua?"
"Such sweet innocent boys!"
"I still have a scar on my bum where she hexed me," Fred added musingly, scratching his rear.
Biting his lip to keep from laughing, George hissed, "You promised you wouldn't do this."
"Oh come on. You can't blame a dead guy for giving up the chance to roast his own funeral."
"Oh my poor boy, you're trembling!" Mrs Crannock wailed.
"Err, yes. Just.. Hard keeping it together, you know?"
She laid a hand on his cheek and gave him a long, serious look. "Real men cry, George my boy. Real men cry."
"Yes, George," Fred placed an icy cold hand on twin's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't hold back. Let it out, let it aaall out."
When the old witch was out of earshot, George rounded on him.
"Stop laughing through my funeral!"
A wicked glint lit Fred's eyes. "Keep it together, Forge old boy, you've still gotta get through the eulogy."
"And don't be afraid to make it a real weepy. If you get stuck, I'll be riiiight over there in the front row, cheering you on."
George gave him a stony smile. "Why there's Angelina. Doesn't she look positively ravishing. Who knows, maybe we'll bond over shared grief, get a little closer, see where the night takes--oh bloody hell!" he squawked as Fred's ghostly hand plunged out of his chest to flip him the finger.
"Unless you want me to haunt all of your dates from now on, you'll keep your wand in your trousers when it concerns my ex, Georgiekins."
Suddenly the room fell quiet. George felt his brother stiffen as the rest of the Weasley family plodded in, Ginny with her red rimmed eyes clutching onto Harry, whose haunted face was deathly pale, mirroring Ron's vacant gaze on his other side. Finally, their parents came in. Molly barely seemed able to put one foot in front of the other. The sight of her hit them like a gut punch, the fierce tiger of a woman they'd loved as much as they feared her sharp tongue, reduced to shambling wreck in their father's trembling arms.
Suddenly their jokes didn't feel so funny. Fred looked at his brother's stricken face beside him. The hand that held his notes was shaking. Fred reached out and gave it a quick icy squeeze. George looked at him, the horror in his eyes briefly visible.
Fred gave him a shaky smile. "On with the show, mate."
The muscles in George's face relaxed a little, returning the smile with a nod. Show was right. From now on, it seemed as if his life would be one grand performance. Not for the first time George wondered if the ghostly apparition of his twin was a fragment of his imagination, a manifestation of his inability to conceive of a world without his brother and best friend joined at the hip. He looked at the notes in his hand and took a deep breath.
He stepped to the podium overlooking the grieving faces of their loved ones, and began.
"Dearly beloved... Did I ever tell you about the time Fred transfigured Ron's Teddy bear into a spider?"
"Oi, that was you, you complete git!" Fred hissed.
A grin split George's face from ear to ear. He took another breath and continued. On with the show.