Downpour | PG13 | Grey's Anatomy/Harry Potter
Title: Downpour
Prompt: George O’Malley works on Harry Potter while Harry is in Seattle at a Quidditch tournament and sustains a broomstick injury. Both of them are quite similar-they are unsure of themselves but both heroes. Sparks fly, and a little magic ensues.
Challenge: 100 Fic Challenge (#27)
Fandom: George/Harry, Grey’s Anatomy/Harry Potter
Requested by: iwishiwashahn
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 823
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I was a little worried about this request…I hope I managed to do it justice. Poor George really got screwed during his last season of Grey’s, so this sort of reflects that. Let me know what you think!
-
George felt a knot loosen in his chest when the sky finally opened and expelled a steady stream of cool summer rain. The humidity had been stifling for days, the rain-bloated clouds teasing the residents of Seattle with rain that simply would not fall. Leaning against the open window pane, George could feel everything become slightly less suffocating with the onset of the downpour. He could breathe again.
He watched the rain for several minutes, falling in sheets over the drowsy neighborhood. He enjoyed the dizzying streaks of each droplet against the window. One fat drop rolled down the glass, collecting its brothers along the way until it was thrice its size.
George knew he could not ignore what lay behind him and finally turned to study the man tousled in beige bed sheets. His black hair was rumpled against his pillow, his muscular biceps curling around the second pillow that had previously been beneath George’s head. He’d managed to extract himself without waking Harry, a small mercy for which he was grateful. George wondered if he’d be the one curled into Harry’s chest had he not gotten up and was momentarily jealous of the down-encased pillow. The moment was fleeting; he needed these few quiet moments before the morning-after awkwardness began.
There was no point in becoming attached; there never was. He’d never felt so connected to another human being, not Izzie or Callie or Meredith. Harry had been entirely unlike everyone he’d ever met, and not simply for the magic embedded within his very fingertips. That seemed reason enough to keep his distance; people as special as Harry Potter did not happen to George, at least not on a long-term basis.
George stalked closer to the bed, his eyes skimming the hairy bandaged thigh that peeked out from beneath the sheet. His injury hadn’t been too serious and George had deftly stitched him up, though he didn’t understand why his services had been necessary at all. It would have been the work of a moment for one of the wizard healers to repair the cut, but George somehow suspected that Harry needed a break from his world. George sensed his desperation to blend into a crowd-perhaps that’s what had drawn him to Harry in the first place. The similarities were boundless. He thought that perhaps, for even a little while, they could be invisible together.
He seated himself on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping man beside him. He watched the steady rise and fall of Harry’s chest and peered at the faint scar on his forehead. George wanted to keep him this way: peaceful, unaffected by the darkness that crept along the edges of George’s life. A fear settled over him then. Perhaps it was better this way; Harry would wake, they would exchange pleasantries about an enjoyable evening, and Harry would return to his world and leave George to his own. If Harry stayed any longer, he would no doubt become caught under the dark cloud that had not ceased following George for months. The same cloud pushed away everyone that mattered to him. He knew that if he allowed it, Harry could very easily begin to matter to him. He would never allow it, not when George’s good intentions and misguided nature would inevitably push him away.
Harry began to stir and George held his breath, watching as the man rolled over onto his back and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Green orbs blinked curiously, confusedly.
George’s shoulders drooped significantly. “Forget me already?” George asked, his voice wounded.
Harry laughed and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. “Of course not,” he replied, perching the frames upon his handsome face. “Without these, you looked a little like a blurry, oversized house elf.”
“Gee…thanks,” George said dryly.
Harry rolled his eyes and nudged George with his knee. “I don’t mean any offense.” He laughed, his eyes sweeping slowly over George’s body. “I’m rather useless without my glasses. I much prefer seeing you in focus.”
George felt his face flush. This was it-it would be awkward now, and then he would leave. His chest tightened and he decided not to prolong the inevitable. “I guess you have to leave soon?”
Harry sat up and ruffled George’s equally disheveled brown hair. “Not right away. I can stay for breakfast if you like.”
Behind them, George could hear the rain beginning to let up. He nodded dumbly, feeling as though someone had somehow switched the game plan without letting him in on it. He watched in awe as Harry conjured a meal fit for a king and wondered if, perhaps, Harry would be the one who was different-if he’d be the one to stick around.
As Harry speared a forkful of pancake and held it out for George, the doctor had a sneaking suspicion that the sun had broken through the clouds.
---
Prompt: George O’Malley works on Harry Potter while Harry is in Seattle at a Quidditch tournament and sustains a broomstick injury. Both of them are quite similar-they are unsure of themselves but both heroes. Sparks fly, and a little magic ensues.
Challenge: 100 Fic Challenge (#27)
Fandom: George/Harry, Grey’s Anatomy/Harry Potter
Requested by: iwishiwashahn
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 823
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I was a little worried about this request…I hope I managed to do it justice. Poor George really got screwed during his last season of Grey’s, so this sort of reflects that. Let me know what you think!
-
George felt a knot loosen in his chest when the sky finally opened and expelled a steady stream of cool summer rain. The humidity had been stifling for days, the rain-bloated clouds teasing the residents of Seattle with rain that simply would not fall. Leaning against the open window pane, George could feel everything become slightly less suffocating with the onset of the downpour. He could breathe again.
He watched the rain for several minutes, falling in sheets over the drowsy neighborhood. He enjoyed the dizzying streaks of each droplet against the window. One fat drop rolled down the glass, collecting its brothers along the way until it was thrice its size.
George knew he could not ignore what lay behind him and finally turned to study the man tousled in beige bed sheets. His black hair was rumpled against his pillow, his muscular biceps curling around the second pillow that had previously been beneath George’s head. He’d managed to extract himself without waking Harry, a small mercy for which he was grateful. George wondered if he’d be the one curled into Harry’s chest had he not gotten up and was momentarily jealous of the down-encased pillow. The moment was fleeting; he needed these few quiet moments before the morning-after awkwardness began.
There was no point in becoming attached; there never was. He’d never felt so connected to another human being, not Izzie or Callie or Meredith. Harry had been entirely unlike everyone he’d ever met, and not simply for the magic embedded within his very fingertips. That seemed reason enough to keep his distance; people as special as Harry Potter did not happen to George, at least not on a long-term basis.
George stalked closer to the bed, his eyes skimming the hairy bandaged thigh that peeked out from beneath the sheet. His injury hadn’t been too serious and George had deftly stitched him up, though he didn’t understand why his services had been necessary at all. It would have been the work of a moment for one of the wizard healers to repair the cut, but George somehow suspected that Harry needed a break from his world. George sensed his desperation to blend into a crowd-perhaps that’s what had drawn him to Harry in the first place. The similarities were boundless. He thought that perhaps, for even a little while, they could be invisible together.
He seated himself on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping man beside him. He watched the steady rise and fall of Harry’s chest and peered at the faint scar on his forehead. George wanted to keep him this way: peaceful, unaffected by the darkness that crept along the edges of George’s life. A fear settled over him then. Perhaps it was better this way; Harry would wake, they would exchange pleasantries about an enjoyable evening, and Harry would return to his world and leave George to his own. If Harry stayed any longer, he would no doubt become caught under the dark cloud that had not ceased following George for months. The same cloud pushed away everyone that mattered to him. He knew that if he allowed it, Harry could very easily begin to matter to him. He would never allow it, not when George’s good intentions and misguided nature would inevitably push him away.
Harry began to stir and George held his breath, watching as the man rolled over onto his back and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Green orbs blinked curiously, confusedly.
George’s shoulders drooped significantly. “Forget me already?” George asked, his voice wounded.
Harry laughed and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. “Of course not,” he replied, perching the frames upon his handsome face. “Without these, you looked a little like a blurry, oversized house elf.”
“Gee…thanks,” George said dryly.
Harry rolled his eyes and nudged George with his knee. “I don’t mean any offense.” He laughed, his eyes sweeping slowly over George’s body. “I’m rather useless without my glasses. I much prefer seeing you in focus.”
George felt his face flush. This was it-it would be awkward now, and then he would leave. His chest tightened and he decided not to prolong the inevitable. “I guess you have to leave soon?”
Harry sat up and ruffled George’s equally disheveled brown hair. “Not right away. I can stay for breakfast if you like.”
Behind them, George could hear the rain beginning to let up. He nodded dumbly, feeling as though someone had somehow switched the game plan without letting him in on it. He watched in awe as Harry conjured a meal fit for a king and wondered if, perhaps, Harry would be the one who was different-if he’d be the one to stick around.
As Harry speared a forkful of pancake and held it out for George, the doctor had a sneaking suspicion that the sun had broken through the clouds.
---