In The Aftermath
Title: In The Aftermath
Author: scarysnapey
Rating: R
Word Count: 467
Characters: Angelina/George, implied Angelina/Fred
A/N: I've always found it awkward that Angelina married George. I managed to find a bit of angst in there somewhere.
“Fred!” she screams. “Fred! We did it, Fred!”
And George turns, blank-faced, toward the sound. It’s Angelina Johnson, and before George can say a word, she’s on him, arms wrapped around his neck, screaming with joy in his ear. It’s as if they’ve won another Quidditch match.
But they haven’t, and Angelina has never had trouble telling them apart.
She pulls away in a fraction of a second, face pale with horror. “Where is he?” she hisses. “Where is he, George?”
And George cannot speak, because all that he can feel is nothing, and her screams are too loud.
Angelina. His mind registers dumbly, ten seconds later than it should have. Fred dated Angelina.
She is crying now, strong as stone Angelina Johnson is crying. And for the first time in however many hours, George feels something.
So without really thinking, because this is what it takes to feel again, George punches Angelina Johnson in the jaw. “Fuck you,” he spits, and he drags Fred’s body somewhere else.
He sees her in the winter, some five years later, purchasing a coffee in some Muggle cafe. When he pushes open the door, the bell dingles. She’s on her way out.
“Hey,” George says. And he’s about to apologize, but she looks up at him, and she does a double-take, retching all over his shiny new shoes.
He wants to punch her again.
So he fucks her.
And it turns out that this is what he need in order to feel again.
He feels it in his cock, yes, while he’s dragging it across the dark skin of her stomach and sinking it deep inside her without a word.
But where he really feels it is his soul, while she’s screaming. Merlin, she’s screaming, and George cannot breathe under all the memories.
They get married, two weeks later, and everyone agrees that it’s what Fred would have wanted, though the entire thing is sickeningly abrupt.
George is empty at the rehearsal dinner, and empty at the wedding. And he has never felt so empty as he does when he carries her into their hotel room.
But then she’s naked, and it all goes up in flames. His heart, his mind, his soul; they are all on fire. And they fuck because they have to, because it’s the only thing that holds them together.
He sighs as he pushes into her, more forceful than he needs to be, as angry as he’s ever been. And she screams.
“Fred!” she screams. “Fred!” Just like the first time George truly noticed her.
And he’s glad they’re married to each other, and not to others, because her sick desire to have Fred back and his disgusting pretense that he can be Fred when he’s with her should ruin no one’s lives but theirs.
Author: scarysnapey
Rating: R
Word Count: 467
Characters: Angelina/George, implied Angelina/Fred
A/N: I've always found it awkward that Angelina married George. I managed to find a bit of angst in there somewhere.
“Fred!” she screams. “Fred! We did it, Fred!”
And George turns, blank-faced, toward the sound. It’s Angelina Johnson, and before George can say a word, she’s on him, arms wrapped around his neck, screaming with joy in his ear. It’s as if they’ve won another Quidditch match.
But they haven’t, and Angelina has never had trouble telling them apart.
She pulls away in a fraction of a second, face pale with horror. “Where is he?” she hisses. “Where is he, George?”
And George cannot speak, because all that he can feel is nothing, and her screams are too loud.
Angelina. His mind registers dumbly, ten seconds later than it should have. Fred dated Angelina.
She is crying now, strong as stone Angelina Johnson is crying. And for the first time in however many hours, George feels something.
So without really thinking, because this is what it takes to feel again, George punches Angelina Johnson in the jaw. “Fuck you,” he spits, and he drags Fred’s body somewhere else.
He sees her in the winter, some five years later, purchasing a coffee in some Muggle cafe. When he pushes open the door, the bell dingles. She’s on her way out.
“Hey,” George says. And he’s about to apologize, but she looks up at him, and she does a double-take, retching all over his shiny new shoes.
He wants to punch her again.
So he fucks her.
And it turns out that this is what he need in order to feel again.
He feels it in his cock, yes, while he’s dragging it across the dark skin of her stomach and sinking it deep inside her without a word.
But where he really feels it is his soul, while she’s screaming. Merlin, she’s screaming, and George cannot breathe under all the memories.
They get married, two weeks later, and everyone agrees that it’s what Fred would have wanted, though the entire thing is sickeningly abrupt.
George is empty at the rehearsal dinner, and empty at the wedding. And he has never felt so empty as he does when he carries her into their hotel room.
But then she’s naked, and it all goes up in flames. His heart, his mind, his soul; they are all on fire. And they fuck because they have to, because it’s the only thing that holds them together.
He sighs as he pushes into her, more forceful than he needs to be, as angry as he’s ever been. And she screams.
“Fred!” she screams. “Fred!” Just like the first time George truly noticed her.
And he’s glad they’re married to each other, and not to others, because her sick desire to have Fred back and his disgusting pretense that he can be Fred when he’s with her should ruin no one’s lives but theirs.