"Transmission" Running up that Hill
Title: Transmission
Chapter: 3 Running up that Hill
Author: EruditeFics
Rating: REALLY NC-17.
Word Count: around 4000
Warnings: You may not like George, but I hope you at least understand him.
Notes: "He didn’t deserve that shop. He didn’t deserve that woman. He felt like half a person. Everything that was good about him would be buried on Wednesday."
AN: I'm warning you all right now, some of you will not like this chapter. But it is my sincerest hope that you understand the point I'm trying to convey. Sometimes, all we need is to be someone else, and the desperation to do that becomes all consuming.
Chapter 3: Running up that Hill
“Well, your genius brother has done it, George!” said Fred, gently smoothing out a piece of parchment on his writing desk. They were both working late in the small office behind their shop.
“Percy did not do it! It doesn’t fit with his five-year plan. He has no time for pussy,” George answered; knowing full well Percy was not what Fred was talking about.
“Har har. No. I mean I’ve finally made a logo! It’s a shame Thomas had to go into hiding, but I think this will suffice,” Fred said, looking very pleased with himself.
It was a simple purple ‘W’ flanked with wings of sparkling whizbangs, but it was perfect. It said all it needed to say: “We are brothers, and we are awesome.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you, dear brother, you’ve got a gift,” George said, impressed by how professional and decorative the logo was.
“Now Georgie, don’t be jealous of my talents. We always knew I was better at everything.”
“Tell that to Penelope Clearwater. I gave it to that little bookworm better than she’s ever had it, and that,” George said, thumbing Fred on the nose, “is a direct quote!”
“You didn’t!” Fred leapt up, looking shocked.
“You know how kinky Penny is…though I doubt Percy does. She said she wanted to see if everything about us is the same. Guess not,” George said, grinning. Fred just sat there looking shocked.
“Oh, you nasty little wanker,” Fred whispered.
“It’s okay little Freddie. Just go back to your pretty pictures.”
Fred wrestled George to the ground and they rolled around in their office until they finally stopped laughing, then, they of course got back to work, counting down the day’s profits.
“But seriously, it’s amazing,” George said, marveling at the artistry of the logo again. Fred had obviously spent a lot of time and poured a big part of himself into that drawing. George folded a copy neatly into his jacket pocket.
“The memorial service for our dear friend and hero Fred Weasley will take place in two days, Wednesday, at 2 pm, in the Prewett family cemetery, just outside of London. The family welcomes all who…”
George woke up suddenly, as Lee’s voice rang out from the wireless, snapping him back to reality. Fred was dead. His funeral was in two days. George threw the wireless against his bedroom wall at the Burrow, shattering it to pieces.
It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, It's you and me.
As soon as the wireless hit the wall, George’s door burst open and Percy stood there, wand drawn. His hair was a mess and he was unshaven, still in his housecoat. It was as if he had been standing right outside George’s door all night. Percy looked around, panicked for a second, until he spotted the damaged wireless. He cast a quick ‘reparo’ and then looked awkwardly back at George.
George was angry. Was he on suicide watch? What was the Humungous Bighead doing outside his door? It filled him with rage to think so many would forever pity him. George could feel a tinge of self doubt, trying to fight it’s way to the surface. He needed to suppress it. He rose from his bed, still in his clothes from the battle, and slipped on his black leather boots. They were his favorite shoes, despite that they were hand-me-downs from Bill. He threw on his dragon hide jacket and ran past Percy down the stairs.
He ran through the living room and out the door off of the kitchen, ignoring the sweet smells of breakfast and the shouts of various members of his family. He could still hear Percy calling after him as he crossed the field of long grass and made it to the road. He was now outside of the wards. He took one look at Percy and Disapparated.
And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
Say, If I only could, oh...
George found himself directly in front of the shop, and he peered intently through the window. His heart started racing as he saw Verity and Angelina fielding the roaring post-war crowd. He didn’t deserve that shop. He didn’t deserve that woman. He felt like half a person. Everything that was good about him would be buried on Wednesday.
George ran again, this time to Gringotts. He was acting on impulse alone at this point. He went to a goblin, not even taking the time to admire the gaping hole in the ceiling, and requested a withdrawal of 1000 Galleons from his vault. He then asked for Muggle money, and was handed a total of 2425.43 pounds.
George made his way through the crowds of Diagon Alley who were still celebrating the defeat of the Dark Lord. He moved through the Leaky Cauldron, pointedly avoiding a dark haired girl who was shouting madly about the Daily Prophet. He finally found his way to the Muggle street in front of the pub, resolved to hide in the Muggle world. He couldn’t bear magic without Fred. He wanted to be someone else, someone without magic, without a shop, without a dead twin.
George wandered along the cobbled streets, past Percy’s flat, and into the various small garden parks that dotted this particular residential neighborhood. He liked being invisible, in a world where no one recognized him; no one knew what had transpired. There were no shops, no girlfriend, no bloody radio shows, and no death marring these busy streets.
At the window of a small storefront, George stopped dead in his tracks. He thought he had seen an ink drawing of the Dark Mark, but it turned out to be a simple skull next to a lit cigarette in a Muggle tattoo shop. George was struck by an idea and dug frantically through his pockets. He found Fred’s drawing from a few months before. A Muggle tattoo didn’t move or sparkle, it just displayed a piece of art…the perfect way to keep Fred close.
George walked in and a bell signaled his arrival. A man nearly the size of Hagrid with tattoos garnishing his bald scalp appeared behind the cash register.
“ ‘Elp you?”
“Yes. I need this on my shoulder blade,” George said. His voice ached as the first words he’d spoke in almost 24 hours traveled out of his mouth. He slid Fred’s drawing across the counter. The man barely glanced at it before going through the beaded curtain to the back.
George stood stock still, waiting. Normally, he would be endlessly entertained in a place like this. But today, he couldn’t bear entertainment. The man came back and grumbled, “Thandie can do it,” while gesturing for George to follow him.
A petite woman with shocking white hair was standing in a small room with drawings on display all over the walls. She wore a black tee shirt that hugged muted curves and small, perky breasts. She looked much more tame than he had expected based upon the gentleman who had greeted him. She had a few tattoos on her arms, and a diamond stud in her nose. Other than that, Thandie looked like most girls he had gone to school with.
“Hey there! I’m Thandie. I’ll be doing you today…I mean…ummm,” she said, laughing nervously.
“George.”
“Yes. Well, George, take off your shirt and have a seat. I’ll draw an outline to see how you like it.” George removed his shirt and jacket and sat down. He felt the cool ink begin to take shape against his skin. Very soon, she was finished, and turned him in the stool so he could gaze at Fred’s drawing in the mirror.
“It looks perfect,” he said. “Go on.”
“Is this your first tattoo?” she asked, eyeing him appraisingly. George thought he saw something like appreciation on her face. He just nodded. “It will hurt,” she warned. George nodded again. “I just want to do the outline today, and when that heals, we can fill it. The process would be too painful otherwise.”
“I don’t care. Do it all now,” he said, meeting her blue eyes for the first time. She looked frightened for a second, but went about setting the ink up.
“It’s your body,” she said, dipping a needle in black ink and rubbing something cold across his back.
The pulsating of the needles felt like solace, and he let the stinging and scratching pain waft through each part of him. He didn’t even know how much time had elapsed when she finally ceased. Thandie hadn’t said a word and seemed to be apprehensive with each new abrasion. She just stopped, rambled off instructions, and bandaged him up. She walked in front of him and handed him a card that repeated the instructions. Then, she stooped down to face him.
“What has made you look so lost? Who hurt you?” she whispered, shaking her head.
“You will never know,” he answered, his face nearly touching hers.
Before he knew what he was doing, George grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard. More surprising was her response. She kissed him back, letting her tongue invade his mouth. He pulled her down forcefully, so that she could straddle his lap and he could press his cock harder against her. The fierceness of his sudden desire to be someone else had translated to a want for this stranger, a want for escape.
Something in the back of George’s mind reminded him of Angie, but he avoided it. The girl didn’t know him, didn’t know his pain, and couldn’t pity him. He could truly be someone else, shagging a nameless and faceless Muggle was exactly what this new invisible George would do.
He ripped off her shirt and yanked her jeans down around her ankles. Her perky, tiny breasts were unencumbered by a bra, so George took a nipple into his mouth and bit lightly. She responded by wrapping her bare legs around him, somehow managing to kick her jeans off. He groaned and kissed her again, forcing his tongue over hers.
He licked two fingers and reached down for her cunt. She let out a cry as his fingers entered her and he could feel how wet she was for a stranger. He was disgusted at what he was doing, but disgust was better than wallowing in guilt and grief.
He pressed her tiny body against the wooden paneled wall and ground his erection against her. She gripped his shoulders and he plunged into her. She was hot and wet, but she wasn’t soft and sensual like Angie. She was just a girl, and he fucked her hard like she didn’t matter. After he heard her scream and felt her clench around him, he came with a growl, his hands flat against the wall.
He dressed without looking at her, left without a word, and paid at the front as quickly as he could. He set out down the street again, trying to find another way to avoid being George.
You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware, I'm tearing you asunder.
Ooh, There is thunder in our hearts.
As the sun set over the high buildings of London, George was desperate to be anyone but himself again. He pulled his hood over his head to cover his hair, and ducked into the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, thinking maybe he would be Charlie for a while. He took an open stool at the bar and a curvy woman with blonde hair and a round face came up to him. He attempted to ignore a frantic shouting woman on the other side of him, demanding to read the paper. She probably lost someone in the war too, and went barmy.
“Where’s Tom?” he asked abruptly.
“Didn’a make it. I’m in the process of buying the pub. I’m Mary Abbot. What’ll it be?”
“Ogden’s. 3 shots to start,” he mumbled. He paid her and downed them in quick succession, dizziness invading him.
“Take it easy, love,” said Mary, concerned.
“Keep ‘em coming,” he grunted back.
After the warmth settled into his belly, George started to feel disconnected, and his sadness threatened to take him over in the wake of this new instability. He heard a miserable sob, and thought it was him losing control for a moment. However, he looked to his right and saw Katie sitting there, her hair lopsided and her eyes puffy.
“Oh god,” he whispered, a feeling of dread flooding him.
“Not now. Not now. I can’t. I can’t…” she cried, gasping for air and trying to look away. She was unable to do so, so she ran out of the pub and into the alley. On impulse, George ran after her. He grabbed her and pulled her closer to him suddenly desperate for anything that would bring him closer to Fred.
“No! He’s not gone! He can’t be!” she screamed, her small fists pounding against his chest. George stroked her hair and rubbed her back gently.
He knew what was coming. He knew he was about to enter dangerous territory. But at this low point in his world, he didn’t care. He wanted to be anyone but himself to avoid the pain of the loss of Fred. Being Fred would be the best way to do that.
She must have been thinking the same thing, because she was suddenly kissing him, and when he felt her warm tongue on his lips, he kissed her back. He immediately cupped his hands to her breasts, remembering how much Fred had talked of them, and she moaned in delight.
Thinking quickly, he Apparated to Fred’s room in their flat. She looked around with watery eyes for a second before launching at him and ripping his clothes off. He responded, pulling her clothes off one piece at a time, and latching his mouth to one of her nipples. He cast a quick Anti-pregnancy Charm and she threaded her fingers in his hair. He missed the smooth dark skin of Angelina, but he wasn’t George tonight, and all Fred would want was Katie.
He pushed her back on the brown suede covers of Fred’s bed and threw her legs over his shoulders. He spread her open, desperate to taste what Fred so often enjoyed. She cried out for Fred as George’s tongue danced along her delicate folds. He gently sucked her clit as he put two fingers inside of her. He felt her whole body clench around him as she whimpered; defeated, desperate, and sated.
She rose up and pushed George back on the bed, kissing every inch of his face. He could feel the love she had for Fred in every movement of her body, and he reveled in the vacation from loneliness and grief.
“Just one last time,” she whispered. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
George nodded numbly and kissed her as she straddled his naked hips. He ran his hands lovingly along her bare skin, just as Fred would probably have done. When she lowered herself onto his hard cock, tears in her eyes, he whispered her name with love and adoration. When they came together, she screamed for Fred, and he confessed his undying love for her.
After the dance was done, she hastily put on her clothes and Apparated away. George fell asleep surrounded by reminders of Fred.
Is there so much hate for the ones who love?
Tell me we both matter don't we?
You,
It's you and me,
It's you and me who won't be unhappy.
George woke the next morning with a searing headache and a heart full of regret. What he had done to Katie made him disgusted with himself. He felt like a weak little boy for handling his pain so poorly. What would his family think? What would Angie think? Bile gurgled in George’s stomach as he fought back tears of shame. He did locking charms on his flat and exited Diagon Alley through The Leaky Cauldron for a morning cup of strong tea and time to clear his head. After his actions of the previous night, he resolved to make it up to Fred by being a man.
George walked into the small Muggle café, crowded with a morning rush of people. He walked up to the counter, ignoring men in suits that looked far less absurd than when his father dressed as a Muggle, and women chattering away. He quickly ordered some strong tea, with loads of sugar, and searched the room for an open table. He found a single spot next to a watery-eyed Muggle girl with short brown hair.
As he walked over to his chosen table, a very rude man in a very big hurry bumped into George, casing him to spill his tea all over the worn wooden floor.
“Oi!” he managed to yell, but the man just rushed out the door.
“You can have some of mine,” piped up the girl with the short brown hair and the teary eyes. She held up a full, steaming pot of tea. George gratefully accepted her offer, enjoying her curious smile, despite the red bloodshot state of her large dark eyes. George felt disarmed by her pretty face and attempted at a smile as she poured him some tea.
“Bloody Muggles,” George said, before he even realized what he was doing.
There was a loud crash as the strange woman dropped her teapot.
“Sorry!” she shrieked, frantically grabbing napkins, attempting to mop up the tea and glass. Droplets of blood were dying the white paper in her excitement. George stood frozen, shocked at her reaction, until a café worker came over with a mop and shoved her to the side.
She began sobbing again, staring at her cut hands. Under George’s new resolution to act like a man, he offered her his handkerchief. She looked at it and gasped through her chocked sobs.
“I swear I’m going mad,” she whispered, her wide eyes looking up at him. “I thought you said Muggle a minute ago, and this hanky looks just like someone’s I used to know.”
The blood seemed to drain from George’s face. This was the woman he saw yelling about the Prophet in The Leaky Cauldron.
“Are you a witch?” George asked cautiously. The worst that could happen was that she was a Muggle that thought him to be mental. Her pale face got even paler.
“Are you a Weasley?” she asked, looking at his head. George looked away in shock, but nodded.
“Oh my god! Where’s Percy? Where is he? He never came back! Just please, please tell me he’s okay,” she cried, grabbing his jacket in desperation.
It hit George like a ton of Skiving Snackboxes. He could hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes; this woman was in love with Percy. It was as if the moment George had gotten over his obsession with avoidance, fate planted him in the way of the perfect excuse to rush home, despite his behavior. This was Percy’s lover, and he needed her. George was ready to deliver.
“I’ll do you one better, love. I’ll take you to him.”
Her eyes lit up immediately, and her shoulders relaxed in relief. George took the chance to look her up and down. She was shorter than Angie, but just as curvy, with wide hips over a generous swell of breasts. She had the body of a zaftig beauty from a renaissance painting with a face of a sharp-eyed young professor. Percy had pretty good taste. George looked up at the clouds and imagined the ways he and Fred would have taken the mickey out of Perce when they next saw him. This sad and desperate woman was a gift, a way for George to move on.
George took her arm, led her behind the café, and told her to hold her breath.
They Apparated to just outside of the Burrow wards, and after a few panicked breaths and assurances from George that she was okay, they walked silently down the winding dirt road. The sun beat down warmly on the back of George’s neck, and the Burrow glittered like an inviting and soothing pool of water. They walked quickly through the front door and up the stairs.
“Oh, Percy! I have a present for you,” George called in a mock singing tone.
Percy came ambling out and pushed George against the wall, slamming the sore tattoo on his shoulder against the hard wood. The pain was immense, but he bit his lip at Percy’s anger.
“Where the fuck have you been. I was…I can’t…” he said, tears forming in his eyes. George had almost forgotten the way he had left. It broke his heart to see the hurt in Percy’s eyes, but as George pointed over Percy’s shoulder, he hoped all would be forgiven.
“Look what I picked up from the café.”
Percy turned around abruptly, and gasped loudly. He crossed the hall in one step and scooped the young woman into his arms.
“Oh, Audrey! I’m so sorry I didn’t come back. I’m so sorry,” he whispered the last bit over and over, kissing her tear-filled face. Forgetting George, Percy dragged her into his childhood bedroom, and George managed a grin at the sight.
A shadow crept up the stairs and George followed the sound of clicking heels as they walked toward him. Long dark legs led up to crossed arms under a full chest. Then, George’s gaze traveled up to large brown eyes. He felt relief, shame, joy, and grief upon finally setting his weary eyes on Angelina.
If only I could,
Be running up that hill...
lyrics by Kate Bush and later Placebo. Inspiration taken from Placebo's version.
Chapter: 3 Running up that Hill
Author: EruditeFics
Rating: REALLY NC-17.
Word Count: around 4000
Warnings: You may not like George, but I hope you at least understand him.
Notes: "He didn’t deserve that shop. He didn’t deserve that woman. He felt like half a person. Everything that was good about him would be buried on Wednesday."
AN: I'm warning you all right now, some of you will not like this chapter. But it is my sincerest hope that you understand the point I'm trying to convey. Sometimes, all we need is to be someone else, and the desperation to do that becomes all consuming.
Chapter 3: Running up that Hill
“Well, your genius brother has done it, George!” said Fred, gently smoothing out a piece of parchment on his writing desk. They were both working late in the small office behind their shop.
“Percy did not do it! It doesn’t fit with his five-year plan. He has no time for pussy,” George answered; knowing full well Percy was not what Fred was talking about.
“Har har. No. I mean I’ve finally made a logo! It’s a shame Thomas had to go into hiding, but I think this will suffice,” Fred said, looking very pleased with himself.
It was a simple purple ‘W’ flanked with wings of sparkling whizbangs, but it was perfect. It said all it needed to say: “We are brothers, and we are awesome.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you, dear brother, you’ve got a gift,” George said, impressed by how professional and decorative the logo was.
“Now Georgie, don’t be jealous of my talents. We always knew I was better at everything.”
“Tell that to Penelope Clearwater. I gave it to that little bookworm better than she’s ever had it, and that,” George said, thumbing Fred on the nose, “is a direct quote!”
“You didn’t!” Fred leapt up, looking shocked.
“You know how kinky Penny is…though I doubt Percy does. She said she wanted to see if everything about us is the same. Guess not,” George said, grinning. Fred just sat there looking shocked.
“Oh, you nasty little wanker,” Fred whispered.
“It’s okay little Freddie. Just go back to your pretty pictures.”
Fred wrestled George to the ground and they rolled around in their office until they finally stopped laughing, then, they of course got back to work, counting down the day’s profits.
“But seriously, it’s amazing,” George said, marveling at the artistry of the logo again. Fred had obviously spent a lot of time and poured a big part of himself into that drawing. George folded a copy neatly into his jacket pocket.
“The memorial service for our dear friend and hero Fred Weasley will take place in two days, Wednesday, at 2 pm, in the Prewett family cemetery, just outside of London. The family welcomes all who…”
George woke up suddenly, as Lee’s voice rang out from the wireless, snapping him back to reality. Fred was dead. His funeral was in two days. George threw the wireless against his bedroom wall at the Burrow, shattering it to pieces.
It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, It's you and me.
As soon as the wireless hit the wall, George’s door burst open and Percy stood there, wand drawn. His hair was a mess and he was unshaven, still in his housecoat. It was as if he had been standing right outside George’s door all night. Percy looked around, panicked for a second, until he spotted the damaged wireless. He cast a quick ‘reparo’ and then looked awkwardly back at George.
George was angry. Was he on suicide watch? What was the Humungous Bighead doing outside his door? It filled him with rage to think so many would forever pity him. George could feel a tinge of self doubt, trying to fight it’s way to the surface. He needed to suppress it. He rose from his bed, still in his clothes from the battle, and slipped on his black leather boots. They were his favorite shoes, despite that they were hand-me-downs from Bill. He threw on his dragon hide jacket and ran past Percy down the stairs.
He ran through the living room and out the door off of the kitchen, ignoring the sweet smells of breakfast and the shouts of various members of his family. He could still hear Percy calling after him as he crossed the field of long grass and made it to the road. He was now outside of the wards. He took one look at Percy and Disapparated.
And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
Say, If I only could, oh...
George found himself directly in front of the shop, and he peered intently through the window. His heart started racing as he saw Verity and Angelina fielding the roaring post-war crowd. He didn’t deserve that shop. He didn’t deserve that woman. He felt like half a person. Everything that was good about him would be buried on Wednesday.
George ran again, this time to Gringotts. He was acting on impulse alone at this point. He went to a goblin, not even taking the time to admire the gaping hole in the ceiling, and requested a withdrawal of 1000 Galleons from his vault. He then asked for Muggle money, and was handed a total of 2425.43 pounds.
George made his way through the crowds of Diagon Alley who were still celebrating the defeat of the Dark Lord. He moved through the Leaky Cauldron, pointedly avoiding a dark haired girl who was shouting madly about the Daily Prophet. He finally found his way to the Muggle street in front of the pub, resolved to hide in the Muggle world. He couldn’t bear magic without Fred. He wanted to be someone else, someone without magic, without a shop, without a dead twin.
George wandered along the cobbled streets, past Percy’s flat, and into the various small garden parks that dotted this particular residential neighborhood. He liked being invisible, in a world where no one recognized him; no one knew what had transpired. There were no shops, no girlfriend, no bloody radio shows, and no death marring these busy streets.
At the window of a small storefront, George stopped dead in his tracks. He thought he had seen an ink drawing of the Dark Mark, but it turned out to be a simple skull next to a lit cigarette in a Muggle tattoo shop. George was struck by an idea and dug frantically through his pockets. He found Fred’s drawing from a few months before. A Muggle tattoo didn’t move or sparkle, it just displayed a piece of art…the perfect way to keep Fred close.
George walked in and a bell signaled his arrival. A man nearly the size of Hagrid with tattoos garnishing his bald scalp appeared behind the cash register.
“ ‘Elp you?”
“Yes. I need this on my shoulder blade,” George said. His voice ached as the first words he’d spoke in almost 24 hours traveled out of his mouth. He slid Fred’s drawing across the counter. The man barely glanced at it before going through the beaded curtain to the back.
George stood stock still, waiting. Normally, he would be endlessly entertained in a place like this. But today, he couldn’t bear entertainment. The man came back and grumbled, “Thandie can do it,” while gesturing for George to follow him.
A petite woman with shocking white hair was standing in a small room with drawings on display all over the walls. She wore a black tee shirt that hugged muted curves and small, perky breasts. She looked much more tame than he had expected based upon the gentleman who had greeted him. She had a few tattoos on her arms, and a diamond stud in her nose. Other than that, Thandie looked like most girls he had gone to school with.
“Hey there! I’m Thandie. I’ll be doing you today…I mean…ummm,” she said, laughing nervously.
“George.”
“Yes. Well, George, take off your shirt and have a seat. I’ll draw an outline to see how you like it.” George removed his shirt and jacket and sat down. He felt the cool ink begin to take shape against his skin. Very soon, she was finished, and turned him in the stool so he could gaze at Fred’s drawing in the mirror.
“It looks perfect,” he said. “Go on.”
“Is this your first tattoo?” she asked, eyeing him appraisingly. George thought he saw something like appreciation on her face. He just nodded. “It will hurt,” she warned. George nodded again. “I just want to do the outline today, and when that heals, we can fill it. The process would be too painful otherwise.”
“I don’t care. Do it all now,” he said, meeting her blue eyes for the first time. She looked frightened for a second, but went about setting the ink up.
“It’s your body,” she said, dipping a needle in black ink and rubbing something cold across his back.
The pulsating of the needles felt like solace, and he let the stinging and scratching pain waft through each part of him. He didn’t even know how much time had elapsed when she finally ceased. Thandie hadn’t said a word and seemed to be apprehensive with each new abrasion. She just stopped, rambled off instructions, and bandaged him up. She walked in front of him and handed him a card that repeated the instructions. Then, she stooped down to face him.
“What has made you look so lost? Who hurt you?” she whispered, shaking her head.
“You will never know,” he answered, his face nearly touching hers.
Before he knew what he was doing, George grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard. More surprising was her response. She kissed him back, letting her tongue invade his mouth. He pulled her down forcefully, so that she could straddle his lap and he could press his cock harder against her. The fierceness of his sudden desire to be someone else had translated to a want for this stranger, a want for escape.
Something in the back of George’s mind reminded him of Angie, but he avoided it. The girl didn’t know him, didn’t know his pain, and couldn’t pity him. He could truly be someone else, shagging a nameless and faceless Muggle was exactly what this new invisible George would do.
He ripped off her shirt and yanked her jeans down around her ankles. Her perky, tiny breasts were unencumbered by a bra, so George took a nipple into his mouth and bit lightly. She responded by wrapping her bare legs around him, somehow managing to kick her jeans off. He groaned and kissed her again, forcing his tongue over hers.
He licked two fingers and reached down for her cunt. She let out a cry as his fingers entered her and he could feel how wet she was for a stranger. He was disgusted at what he was doing, but disgust was better than wallowing in guilt and grief.
He pressed her tiny body against the wooden paneled wall and ground his erection against her. She gripped his shoulders and he plunged into her. She was hot and wet, but she wasn’t soft and sensual like Angie. She was just a girl, and he fucked her hard like she didn’t matter. After he heard her scream and felt her clench around him, he came with a growl, his hands flat against the wall.
He dressed without looking at her, left without a word, and paid at the front as quickly as he could. He set out down the street again, trying to find another way to avoid being George.
You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware, I'm tearing you asunder.
Ooh, There is thunder in our hearts.
As the sun set over the high buildings of London, George was desperate to be anyone but himself again. He pulled his hood over his head to cover his hair, and ducked into the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, thinking maybe he would be Charlie for a while. He took an open stool at the bar and a curvy woman with blonde hair and a round face came up to him. He attempted to ignore a frantic shouting woman on the other side of him, demanding to read the paper. She probably lost someone in the war too, and went barmy.
“Where’s Tom?” he asked abruptly.
“Didn’a make it. I’m in the process of buying the pub. I’m Mary Abbot. What’ll it be?”
“Ogden’s. 3 shots to start,” he mumbled. He paid her and downed them in quick succession, dizziness invading him.
“Take it easy, love,” said Mary, concerned.
“Keep ‘em coming,” he grunted back.
After the warmth settled into his belly, George started to feel disconnected, and his sadness threatened to take him over in the wake of this new instability. He heard a miserable sob, and thought it was him losing control for a moment. However, he looked to his right and saw Katie sitting there, her hair lopsided and her eyes puffy.
“Oh god,” he whispered, a feeling of dread flooding him.
“Not now. Not now. I can’t. I can’t…” she cried, gasping for air and trying to look away. She was unable to do so, so she ran out of the pub and into the alley. On impulse, George ran after her. He grabbed her and pulled her closer to him suddenly desperate for anything that would bring him closer to Fred.
“No! He’s not gone! He can’t be!” she screamed, her small fists pounding against his chest. George stroked her hair and rubbed her back gently.
He knew what was coming. He knew he was about to enter dangerous territory. But at this low point in his world, he didn’t care. He wanted to be anyone but himself to avoid the pain of the loss of Fred. Being Fred would be the best way to do that.
She must have been thinking the same thing, because she was suddenly kissing him, and when he felt her warm tongue on his lips, he kissed her back. He immediately cupped his hands to her breasts, remembering how much Fred had talked of them, and she moaned in delight.
Thinking quickly, he Apparated to Fred’s room in their flat. She looked around with watery eyes for a second before launching at him and ripping his clothes off. He responded, pulling her clothes off one piece at a time, and latching his mouth to one of her nipples. He cast a quick Anti-pregnancy Charm and she threaded her fingers in his hair. He missed the smooth dark skin of Angelina, but he wasn’t George tonight, and all Fred would want was Katie.
He pushed her back on the brown suede covers of Fred’s bed and threw her legs over his shoulders. He spread her open, desperate to taste what Fred so often enjoyed. She cried out for Fred as George’s tongue danced along her delicate folds. He gently sucked her clit as he put two fingers inside of her. He felt her whole body clench around him as she whimpered; defeated, desperate, and sated.
She rose up and pushed George back on the bed, kissing every inch of his face. He could feel the love she had for Fred in every movement of her body, and he reveled in the vacation from loneliness and grief.
“Just one last time,” she whispered. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
George nodded numbly and kissed her as she straddled his naked hips. He ran his hands lovingly along her bare skin, just as Fred would probably have done. When she lowered herself onto his hard cock, tears in her eyes, he whispered her name with love and adoration. When they came together, she screamed for Fred, and he confessed his undying love for her.
After the dance was done, she hastily put on her clothes and Apparated away. George fell asleep surrounded by reminders of Fred.
Is there so much hate for the ones who love?
Tell me we both matter don't we?
You,
It's you and me,
It's you and me who won't be unhappy.
George woke the next morning with a searing headache and a heart full of regret. What he had done to Katie made him disgusted with himself. He felt like a weak little boy for handling his pain so poorly. What would his family think? What would Angie think? Bile gurgled in George’s stomach as he fought back tears of shame. He did locking charms on his flat and exited Diagon Alley through The Leaky Cauldron for a morning cup of strong tea and time to clear his head. After his actions of the previous night, he resolved to make it up to Fred by being a man.
George walked into the small Muggle café, crowded with a morning rush of people. He walked up to the counter, ignoring men in suits that looked far less absurd than when his father dressed as a Muggle, and women chattering away. He quickly ordered some strong tea, with loads of sugar, and searched the room for an open table. He found a single spot next to a watery-eyed Muggle girl with short brown hair.
As he walked over to his chosen table, a very rude man in a very big hurry bumped into George, casing him to spill his tea all over the worn wooden floor.
“Oi!” he managed to yell, but the man just rushed out the door.
“You can have some of mine,” piped up the girl with the short brown hair and the teary eyes. She held up a full, steaming pot of tea. George gratefully accepted her offer, enjoying her curious smile, despite the red bloodshot state of her large dark eyes. George felt disarmed by her pretty face and attempted at a smile as she poured him some tea.
“Bloody Muggles,” George said, before he even realized what he was doing.
There was a loud crash as the strange woman dropped her teapot.
“Sorry!” she shrieked, frantically grabbing napkins, attempting to mop up the tea and glass. Droplets of blood were dying the white paper in her excitement. George stood frozen, shocked at her reaction, until a café worker came over with a mop and shoved her to the side.
She began sobbing again, staring at her cut hands. Under George’s new resolution to act like a man, he offered her his handkerchief. She looked at it and gasped through her chocked sobs.
“I swear I’m going mad,” she whispered, her wide eyes looking up at him. “I thought you said Muggle a minute ago, and this hanky looks just like someone’s I used to know.”
The blood seemed to drain from George’s face. This was the woman he saw yelling about the Prophet in The Leaky Cauldron.
“Are you a witch?” George asked cautiously. The worst that could happen was that she was a Muggle that thought him to be mental. Her pale face got even paler.
“Are you a Weasley?” she asked, looking at his head. George looked away in shock, but nodded.
“Oh my god! Where’s Percy? Where is he? He never came back! Just please, please tell me he’s okay,” she cried, grabbing his jacket in desperation.
It hit George like a ton of Skiving Snackboxes. He could hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes; this woman was in love with Percy. It was as if the moment George had gotten over his obsession with avoidance, fate planted him in the way of the perfect excuse to rush home, despite his behavior. This was Percy’s lover, and he needed her. George was ready to deliver.
“I’ll do you one better, love. I’ll take you to him.”
Her eyes lit up immediately, and her shoulders relaxed in relief. George took the chance to look her up and down. She was shorter than Angie, but just as curvy, with wide hips over a generous swell of breasts. She had the body of a zaftig beauty from a renaissance painting with a face of a sharp-eyed young professor. Percy had pretty good taste. George looked up at the clouds and imagined the ways he and Fred would have taken the mickey out of Perce when they next saw him. This sad and desperate woman was a gift, a way for George to move on.
George took her arm, led her behind the café, and told her to hold her breath.
They Apparated to just outside of the Burrow wards, and after a few panicked breaths and assurances from George that she was okay, they walked silently down the winding dirt road. The sun beat down warmly on the back of George’s neck, and the Burrow glittered like an inviting and soothing pool of water. They walked quickly through the front door and up the stairs.
“Oh, Percy! I have a present for you,” George called in a mock singing tone.
Percy came ambling out and pushed George against the wall, slamming the sore tattoo on his shoulder against the hard wood. The pain was immense, but he bit his lip at Percy’s anger.
“Where the fuck have you been. I was…I can’t…” he said, tears forming in his eyes. George had almost forgotten the way he had left. It broke his heart to see the hurt in Percy’s eyes, but as George pointed over Percy’s shoulder, he hoped all would be forgiven.
“Look what I picked up from the café.”
Percy turned around abruptly, and gasped loudly. He crossed the hall in one step and scooped the young woman into his arms.
“Oh, Audrey! I’m so sorry I didn’t come back. I’m so sorry,” he whispered the last bit over and over, kissing her tear-filled face. Forgetting George, Percy dragged her into his childhood bedroom, and George managed a grin at the sight.
A shadow crept up the stairs and George followed the sound of clicking heels as they walked toward him. Long dark legs led up to crossed arms under a full chest. Then, George’s gaze traveled up to large brown eyes. He felt relief, shame, joy, and grief upon finally setting his weary eyes on Angelina.
If only I could,
Be running up that hill...
lyrics by Kate Bush and later Placebo. Inspiration taken from Placebo's version.