FICLET: Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) (George/Luna)
Title: Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting)
Character Pairing: George/Luna for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: childish behavior
Rating: R (mainly for George's foul mouth)
Word Count: 1,521 (sorry!!)
Summary: George is lost and drifting, spiralling downward after pushing Luna away. Will a family dinner change things for the better....or worse?
Author's Note: Okay, so I'm really nervous about this one for a lot of reasons. The biggest one though is that George is really, rather unpleasant in this one and I just hope it doesn't turn the readers off...I promise that this is the bottom, the turning point. Things will inch back towards a happier place after this. He had to get this far down before he could begin to come back. Oh, and I also promise that Luna and George will actually be in the next one at the same time!! This is 7/13 and takes place roughly three weeks after "Summer is Past..." so it's set during the first week of December, 1998.
Link to Prompt Table: Click Here!!
George slumped back into the Burrow’s sofa, the worn cushions cradling his body comfortably in their tattered warmth. He stretched his legs out towards the fire, feeling his left ankle crack as it had done more often than not since he’d been injured last May. Wincing slightly at the familiar tingle of pain that always accompanied the cracking, he was caught off-guard when the Floo flared to life and Percy tumbled out.
“Erm…” his brother began, before lapsing into silence and standing stiffly in front of the fireplace like an awkward alabaster statue. His robes were uncharacteristically rumpled and his glasses askew. A smudge of soot decorating his normally pristine button-down shirt completed the picture. “…I just…Mum asked me to…”
Thinking of the owled dinner invitation he himself had received at the shop, realization bloomed in George’s mind a split-second before irritation took its place.
Bloody Mum…
He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face before pushing them back through his hair, linking them loosely behind his head. He looked tiredly at Percy, who was standing stock-still in the same spot he’d originally landed.
“How’d Mum sucker you in?”
“Pardon?”
“Let me guess. She asked you to come over and help her get an early start on fetching the ‘hard-to-reach’ boxes of fairy lights from the attic, right?”
He sat forward again, leaning toward Percy and speaking faster, bitterness quickly creeping into his tone. “Or maybe she just promised you food…which of course comes with the chance to pry into every corner of your oh-so-interesting life.”
Percy stared at him, eyes steadily widening behind his glasses. George felt his fury mounting, and though some small part of him knew it was irrational the larger part didn’t care. Standing and stepping closer to his brother, George continued his tirade. He was on a roll and nothing would stop him until he made Percy feel as gutted as he himself felt every minute of every bloody day now.
“Ohhh, no…I know what it was…she hinted that she’d like to hear more about this mystery girl you’ve been spending all your time with.”
“What do you…how do you know about Audr-”
“I can’t believe you’ve found another girl foolish enough to waste her time on you,” George spat out, not letting Percy finish and ruthlessly suppressing the little voice in the back of his mind that said he was only lonely himself. “Perfect Percy’s prissy pricktease, eh? Tell me, what is your little head girl really li-”
The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back on the hearthrug, the right side of his jaw throbbing in time with his pulse, and looking up at a livid Percy who stood over him, fists clenched. George let his head fall back against the carpet with a dull thud, perversely feeling both better and worse for having been hit.
The sound of running feet, followed by a shocked and reprimanding cry of “Boys!” announced the arrival of their mother; all at once the air seemed to go out of them both. Yet again Molly Weasley had put her children in their places with a single word.
As he pushed himself up from the floor, he glimpsed Percy’s rigid stance out of the corner of his eye. But despite the defiance in his posture, Percy looked about as defeated and worn out as George felt. All of George’s earlier venom left him, and he realized he’d just cocked up yet again. George chanced a glance at their mum, wondering just how much she’d heard…uh oh.
Molly fixed each of them with a hard look and, stepping aside, gestured into the brightly lit kitchen. “Dinner is ready, and your father will be home any minute. Come and sit. Now.”
Percy was the first to move. George fell in line behind him, reaching up gingerly to feel the spot where Percy’d hit him. He moved into the kitchen, noting that there were only four places set at the table which confirmed his earlier suspicions as to the true purpose of this evening. His parents - or Mum at least - apparently were trying to help him and Percy patch things up. He groaned under his breath, immediately regretting it as it sent vibrations up his rapidly swelling jaw, and settled in at the table for what was sure to be a very long and unpleasant family dinner.
~*~
Roughly an hour and a half later, George strode through the Burrow’s back door and out into the dark winter evening. He moved quickly, letting the door slam behind him and walking into the shadows at the far edge of the sprawling back lawn. He hadn’t paused to pick up his cloak, and hunched his shoulders deeper into his jumper as he came to a stop underneath his favorite maple tree. Leaning against its trunk, he stared unseeingly at the night sky, barely taking note of the crisp outline of the rising full moon.
Dinner had been every bit as awful as George had anticipated. His mum had scolded both of them severely until their father had gotten home, and then he and Percy had sat in near total silence while their parents tried to entice them into awkward conversation. By the time his mum had brought dessert to the table, George couldn’t stand anymore and had gotten up and walked out with a curt “excuse me.” He knew he should go back, but the thought of another tongue lashing from his mother, or worse - her tears - kept him where he was. Maybe if he waited long enough, Percy would leave first and then he could go back and try and fix things with his parents before heading back to his flat.
Not bloody likely…and that’s pretty damn cowardly too…
George snorted at his inner voice’s scolding, then stiffened as footsteps crunched in the fallen leaves behind him. He was prepared for his mother to try to convince him to come back in, so when his father’s voice floated out of the darkness he startled a bit.
“Thought you could use this,” Arthur said gently, holding George’s cloak out to him.
“Thanks,” George took the cloak, wrapping himself in it and settling back against the tree. Arthur walked a few steps beyond him and stopped, staring out into the night in much the same manner that George had only a few minutes before, as if he weren’t really seeing what was in front of him. Stillness reigned at first, but after a few long moments Arthur spoke.
“How long is this going to go on, George?”
I don’t know, Dad, how long is Fred going to be dead? George bit back his instinctively caustic reply. He might’ve had no hesitations about provoking Percy, but even he knew he couldn’t say that to his father. The trouble was he didn’t know what he could say. He stayed silent, staring down at the ground as Arthur turned and walked back to him.
“Look, George,” his father began, “your mother and I…we probably have the best chance of understanding you right now, and even we can’t know exactly how you’re feeling. But we…we have each other to lean on and you’re cutting yourself off from everyone. If Fred were-”
“Don’t,” George’s head snapped up and he stared at his father. “Please don’t give me the ‘what Fred would have wanted’ speech. We don’t know, do we? And we won’t. And please don’t tell me I should make nice with Percy just so we can bond over our pain….let Percy lean on his new girlfriend if he needs that kind of thing. I’m supposed to do this myself. I need to.”
No you don’t.
George squashed the traitorous voice in his head - the one that sounded serene and dreamy, and that reminded him of all he’d ruined.
He stepped away from the tree, heading back to the house. If this was what his father had to say, George didn’t want to hear it.
“Don’t be daft, George.”
George’s head whipped around so fast his neck cracked. He hadn’t been expecting that…and certainly not from his father. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Arthur stepped closer. “You’ve decided that you deserve to be punished for his being gone. You’ve stopped your life because his ended. And that’s not…that’s not grieving George. That’s freezing up. We grieve because we must move on when they aren’t able to. Because our hearts want to stay with them, and we can’t.”
George stared numbly at his father, his throat feeling thick. His lungs felt as they always did the split second before Apparition. He had to move, to get away. Stumbling back towards the house, he pushed roughly through the kitchen door. He could hear his father calling his name, but he didn’t stop. He saw his mum’s startled face, as she stood with the tea kettle in hand, about to pour a cup for an equally shocked looking Percy, but he couldn’t stop.
He kept on walking.
Out the front door, down the front path, out of the yard, and onward into the night.
He never once looked back.
Character Pairing: George/Luna for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: childish behavior
Rating: R (mainly for George's foul mouth)
Word Count: 1,521 (sorry!!)
Summary: George is lost and drifting, spiralling downward after pushing Luna away. Will a family dinner change things for the better....or worse?
Author's Note: Okay, so I'm really nervous about this one for a lot of reasons. The biggest one though is that George is really, rather unpleasant in this one and I just hope it doesn't turn the readers off...I promise that this is the bottom, the turning point. Things will inch back towards a happier place after this. He had to get this far down before he could begin to come back. Oh, and I also promise that Luna and George will actually be in the next one at the same time!! This is 7/13 and takes place roughly three weeks after "Summer is Past..." so it's set during the first week of December, 1998.
Link to Prompt Table: Click Here!!
George slumped back into the Burrow’s sofa, the worn cushions cradling his body comfortably in their tattered warmth. He stretched his legs out towards the fire, feeling his left ankle crack as it had done more often than not since he’d been injured last May. Wincing slightly at the familiar tingle of pain that always accompanied the cracking, he was caught off-guard when the Floo flared to life and Percy tumbled out.
“Erm…” his brother began, before lapsing into silence and standing stiffly in front of the fireplace like an awkward alabaster statue. His robes were uncharacteristically rumpled and his glasses askew. A smudge of soot decorating his normally pristine button-down shirt completed the picture. “…I just…Mum asked me to…”
Thinking of the owled dinner invitation he himself had received at the shop, realization bloomed in George’s mind a split-second before irritation took its place.
Bloody Mum…
He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face before pushing them back through his hair, linking them loosely behind his head. He looked tiredly at Percy, who was standing stock-still in the same spot he’d originally landed.
“How’d Mum sucker you in?”
“Pardon?”
“Let me guess. She asked you to come over and help her get an early start on fetching the ‘hard-to-reach’ boxes of fairy lights from the attic, right?”
He sat forward again, leaning toward Percy and speaking faster, bitterness quickly creeping into his tone. “Or maybe she just promised you food…which of course comes with the chance to pry into every corner of your oh-so-interesting life.”
Percy stared at him, eyes steadily widening behind his glasses. George felt his fury mounting, and though some small part of him knew it was irrational the larger part didn’t care. Standing and stepping closer to his brother, George continued his tirade. He was on a roll and nothing would stop him until he made Percy feel as gutted as he himself felt every minute of every bloody day now.
“Ohhh, no…I know what it was…she hinted that she’d like to hear more about this mystery girl you’ve been spending all your time with.”
“What do you…how do you know about Audr-”
“I can’t believe you’ve found another girl foolish enough to waste her time on you,” George spat out, not letting Percy finish and ruthlessly suppressing the little voice in the back of his mind that said he was only lonely himself. “Perfect Percy’s prissy pricktease, eh? Tell me, what is your little head girl really li-”
The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back on the hearthrug, the right side of his jaw throbbing in time with his pulse, and looking up at a livid Percy who stood over him, fists clenched. George let his head fall back against the carpet with a dull thud, perversely feeling both better and worse for having been hit.
The sound of running feet, followed by a shocked and reprimanding cry of “Boys!” announced the arrival of their mother; all at once the air seemed to go out of them both. Yet again Molly Weasley had put her children in their places with a single word.
As he pushed himself up from the floor, he glimpsed Percy’s rigid stance out of the corner of his eye. But despite the defiance in his posture, Percy looked about as defeated and worn out as George felt. All of George’s earlier venom left him, and he realized he’d just cocked up yet again. George chanced a glance at their mum, wondering just how much she’d heard…uh oh.
Molly fixed each of them with a hard look and, stepping aside, gestured into the brightly lit kitchen. “Dinner is ready, and your father will be home any minute. Come and sit. Now.”
Percy was the first to move. George fell in line behind him, reaching up gingerly to feel the spot where Percy’d hit him. He moved into the kitchen, noting that there were only four places set at the table which confirmed his earlier suspicions as to the true purpose of this evening. His parents - or Mum at least - apparently were trying to help him and Percy patch things up. He groaned under his breath, immediately regretting it as it sent vibrations up his rapidly swelling jaw, and settled in at the table for what was sure to be a very long and unpleasant family dinner.
~*~
Roughly an hour and a half later, George strode through the Burrow’s back door and out into the dark winter evening. He moved quickly, letting the door slam behind him and walking into the shadows at the far edge of the sprawling back lawn. He hadn’t paused to pick up his cloak, and hunched his shoulders deeper into his jumper as he came to a stop underneath his favorite maple tree. Leaning against its trunk, he stared unseeingly at the night sky, barely taking note of the crisp outline of the rising full moon.
Dinner had been every bit as awful as George had anticipated. His mum had scolded both of them severely until their father had gotten home, and then he and Percy had sat in near total silence while their parents tried to entice them into awkward conversation. By the time his mum had brought dessert to the table, George couldn’t stand anymore and had gotten up and walked out with a curt “excuse me.” He knew he should go back, but the thought of another tongue lashing from his mother, or worse - her tears - kept him where he was. Maybe if he waited long enough, Percy would leave first and then he could go back and try and fix things with his parents before heading back to his flat.
Not bloody likely…and that’s pretty damn cowardly too…
George snorted at his inner voice’s scolding, then stiffened as footsteps crunched in the fallen leaves behind him. He was prepared for his mother to try to convince him to come back in, so when his father’s voice floated out of the darkness he startled a bit.
“Thought you could use this,” Arthur said gently, holding George’s cloak out to him.
“Thanks,” George took the cloak, wrapping himself in it and settling back against the tree. Arthur walked a few steps beyond him and stopped, staring out into the night in much the same manner that George had only a few minutes before, as if he weren’t really seeing what was in front of him. Stillness reigned at first, but after a few long moments Arthur spoke.
“How long is this going to go on, George?”
I don’t know, Dad, how long is Fred going to be dead? George bit back his instinctively caustic reply. He might’ve had no hesitations about provoking Percy, but even he knew he couldn’t say that to his father. The trouble was he didn’t know what he could say. He stayed silent, staring down at the ground as Arthur turned and walked back to him.
“Look, George,” his father began, “your mother and I…we probably have the best chance of understanding you right now, and even we can’t know exactly how you’re feeling. But we…we have each other to lean on and you’re cutting yourself off from everyone. If Fred were-”
“Don’t,” George’s head snapped up and he stared at his father. “Please don’t give me the ‘what Fred would have wanted’ speech. We don’t know, do we? And we won’t. And please don’t tell me I should make nice with Percy just so we can bond over our pain….let Percy lean on his new girlfriend if he needs that kind of thing. I’m supposed to do this myself. I need to.”
No you don’t.
George squashed the traitorous voice in his head - the one that sounded serene and dreamy, and that reminded him of all he’d ruined.
He stepped away from the tree, heading back to the house. If this was what his father had to say, George didn’t want to hear it.
“Don’t be daft, George.”
George’s head whipped around so fast his neck cracked. He hadn’t been expecting that…and certainly not from his father. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Arthur stepped closer. “You’ve decided that you deserve to be punished for his being gone. You’ve stopped your life because his ended. And that’s not…that’s not grieving George. That’s freezing up. We grieve because we must move on when they aren’t able to. Because our hearts want to stay with them, and we can’t.”
George stared numbly at his father, his throat feeling thick. His lungs felt as they always did the split second before Apparition. He had to move, to get away. Stumbling back towards the house, he pushed roughly through the kitchen door. He could hear his father calling his name, but he didn’t stop. He saw his mum’s startled face, as she stood with the tea kettle in hand, about to pour a cup for an equally shocked looking Percy, but he couldn’t stop.
He kept on walking.
Out the front door, down the front path, out of the yard, and onward into the night.
He never once looked back.