New fic, You're as Sane as I Am, George/Luna, R
Written for Kinky Kristmas at daily_deviant
For: ceria
Title:You're As Sane As I Am
Characters/Pairings: George/Luna (with Fred. Sort of)
Rating: R
Kinks/Themes Included: Blindfolds (Prompt: Invisible)
Other Warnings: Voyeurism, if you squint. Sort of a strange take on the afterlife, inspired by the movie Always
Word Count: 3513
Summary/Description: George has been waiting nearly two years for his brother's ghost to make an appearance. It took someone like Luna Lovegood to show him that he never really left.
Author's Notes: Wow. This got way heavier than I planned. I hope it is what you had in mind, dear recipient. Big thanks to my beta, who is all things wonderful and knows who she is.
George Weasley had given up on girls ages ago. No, not for the alternative; he'd given up on the whole concept, more than anything. And under the circumstances, anyone else might have, too. George had always gotten on well with girls, even long before he wanted to do naughty things to them. Quite frankly, he'd never understood why some blokes found it difficult to talk to girls--all you had to do was make them laugh, and they were putty in your hands. But then again, not enough people knew what a powerful thing laughter was, did they?
But George knew more than anyone what a powerful thing the absence of laughter was, too. And that, unfortunately, was when the problem started. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of making people laugh, it was just that there was something about him now that gave people, and girls in particular, the urge to take care of him. And not in the good way, with things like blow jobs or money or free drinks or things he actually wanted. No, they wanted to pull him aside and talk to him, to look at him with eyes filled with sympathy, hoping against hope that somehow they would get him to open up and tell them how miserable and lonely he was. Well, bollocks to that. George thought. His (alleged) misery and loneliness were nobody's business but his own. Or maybe his and Fred's ghost, who still hadn't bothered to turn up, the git.
He didn't want to spend hours going over what his feelings had been upon looking at his twin's corpse. Who wanted to relive something like that? No, it was laughter George wanted, and distraction, or even just intelligent conversation. Not to be felt sorry for would be really nice, too. And damn it, it might have been nice to get laid by someone who wasn't hoping he'd burst into tears at the end.
For all those reasons (and for a few more), he was through with girls. And since boys weren't an option (with one or two exceptions), he had a lot of time on his hands. Time he chose to spend working on the shop, working in the shop, thinking about the shop, inventing for the shop, and dreaming about the shop. (Well, he'd dreamed about an Alicia/George/Katie sandwich, too, but he was only human.) The point was, he worked. And ate when necessary and drank a bit more than he should and spent a lot of time walking around in places where no one could possibly know him. Oh and he slept, sometimes two or three hours per night. He hung around with Lee, talking about Lee's new job and George's store and Lee's new girlfriend and pretty much anything they liked except the subject-that-must-not-be-named. It wasn't the best life, but George had gotten used to it. He was happy, or at least he was surviving, and that was more than he ought to have hoped for, all things considered.
But all of that was before Luna. Yeah, Luna Lovegood, believe it or not. He hardly knew her, though he vaguely remembered her as that odd bird from the DA whom he'd impulsively (and drunkenly) asked to dance at his brother's wedding. Quite frankly, he was surprised she was still walking, let alone speaking to him.
But speak to him she did, and on a near daily basis, once she started working at the pet shop across the street. What was it about her that made the difference? For one thing, she never once looked at him with pity in her eyes. Of course, that was not all that surprising when one took into consideration that she never seemed to look at one with anything in her eyes, misty as they were.
Something about her warm smile and unfocused eyes was comforting to George, and he began to look forward to their daily encounters much more than seemed logical. In fact, he looked forward to them so much, that he found himself wishing to prolong the experience, and her complete inability to hide her delight at his gestures of friendship filled him with profound pleasure. What would it take to break through that misty barrier? What would it take to get her to focus on him?
Even better than waving at her through their mutual windows were the times that she wandered into his shop on purpose. (She had a tendency to wander into places by accident, but that was another story altogether.) Looking at his products through her eyes filled him with pride and joy, and talking to her about some of his hopes and better ideas was ever so much better than talking to the mirror and waiting for Ghost!Fred to finally show up and tell him he'd done all right.
For that reason (and many more) he found himself seeking out more opportunities to talk to her. Things like lunch at the Solstice Cafe and drinks (and eventually dinner) at the Leaky. Not dates, definitely not dates, because he didn't do that thing. It was more like hanging out with a friend, though unlike his similar excursions with Lee, they explored subjects like Gulping Plimpies and Nargles (his aura was bright orange with grey edges and Nargle-free, apparently, and thank goodness for that. He had quite enough to be going on with a stubbornly silent, apparently invisible ghost hanging around, didn't he?) Half the time he had no idea what the devil she was talking about, but it didn't matter. Because she wasn't analysing his every word for signs of repressed grief, she just talked to him. As if he was normal or something. Well, perhaps not normal, but no more insane than she was, and as far as George was concerned, her level of insanity was just about bloody perfect. Not to mention the fact that that fabulously unbalanced mind of hers managed to find the answer to his most perplexing problems in the lab with hardly a moment's consideration, which was something he discovered quite by accident when complaining about work over drinks one night.
It wasn't until Angelina made a passing remark about his dating Luna Lovegood that it occurred to him that he was doing just that, and really, it wasn't such a bad thing, was it? Well, apart from the fact that he was apparently dating without any of the usual benefits to dating one person on a regular basis, but that was easily remedied.
Or was it? Sure, she was pretty, and now that he took a closer look at her, she did have a rather nice bottom and smallish-but-still-quite-appealing tits. Still, there was something almost girlishly innocent about her, and his conscience seemed to feel that attempting to seduce her might result in corrupting her. Or something like that. Perhaps it would be best left as a friendship, and Merlin knew he needed more of those.
So, he reluctantly exercised restraint (for probably the fifth time in his life) and left her alone. The only trouble was that now that the idea had taken hold, he couldn't stop thinking about her in that way.
He found himself gazing sappishly into those misty eyes to the point that sometimes he quite forgot himself and that he was supposed to be paying attention to what she was saying. In fact, once he even caught himself in the mirror bearing a frightening resemblance to his baby brother when Hermione was around. Somehow, he couldn't stop himself. He dreamed not only about grabbing hold of her hips as he fucked her from behind, but doing stupid stuff like walking around together, traveling, eating breakfast.
He was turning into a bloody girl.
It was Luna herself who turned everything on its ear. Which shouldn't have surprised him, come to think about it, but surprise him it did.
See, the funny thing about Luna was that if he ever found himself discussing something that made him uncomfortable, all he had to do was change the subject and she was off and running on a new train of thought. Not that conversation with her didn't get uncomfortable--she was always coming up with observations that cut right to the bare facts, whether he wanted to hear it or not. But she never pressed the point, she just dropped it like a dungbomb and moved on.
And so it was with the subject-that-must not-be-named. She'd mentioned him matter-of-factly before, but she'd never got around to 'How George feels about losing his better half,' not even close. But one day, George asked her advice on the best way to extend the effect of their best love potion. Before long, he found that he'd invited her down to the basement lab, a place that no one but he and Fred had ever been allowed to enter.
And the odd thing was, it didn't occur to him until she'd taken over the cauldron--until he looked over to find her with her hair sticking to her forehead in the steam, her sleeves rolled up and a look of studied concentration on her face even as she looked over and smiled at him--that he hadn't really had a lab partner since Fred. And at that moment, he was torn between the desire to physically throw her from the room and the desire to bury himself in her arms and weep.
"He doesn't mind, you know," she said, blinking solemnly at him as she apparently read his mind.
"He...How would you know?" he asked, finding himself irritated at her apparent presumption.
"Can't you feel him?" she asked and sort of looked around the ceiling.
"Of course I can feel him," George snapped. "He just never says anything."
"Not in words, no," Luna said. "That's not the way it works."
"I don't know about that--it worked pretty well for Nick, didn't it?"
"But Sir Nicholas was a ghost."
"And?"
"And Fred isn't."
"Of course he is. Didn't I say I could feel him? Didn't you say you could feel him?"
"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean he's a ghost,"
"Bullshit!" George snapped. "He wouldn't have gone on without me."
"Don't you think if he was a ghost, you'd have seen him before now?"
"Well.." And that was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? Fred certainly ought to have made an appearance before now. It had been over two years, after all. "I swear, sometimes I feel as though he's just left the room, or if I turn around just a little bit faster, I'll see him over my shoulder."
"Well, yes," Luna said as if that explained everything.
George waited in vain for her to continue. "And?"
"He's in you, George. Not a physical presence, but in your heart, in your mind. Looking out for you, comforting you when you're feeling low, encouraging your creativity, guiding you toward good things. Like he always did. I'd have thought you, of all people, would understand."
"Why?"
"Well, most other people would think it was their own voice. But you'd know the difference, wouldn't you? He'd been in your head often enough before."
It was bizarre and probably utter crap, but it made a strange sort of sense. He'd been so worried he wouldn't be able create again without Fred, and yet, it had been far easier than he imagined. Which had felt like sort of a betrayal at the beginning, but if this was true, it certainly explained it. And the times when was at his lowest point, feeling like his still-beating heart had been ripped out of his chest and had suddenly been overcome with warmth and peace, and for a while, at least, he'd felt whole again. Or the sly voice in his ear that had urged him to keep talking to Luna Lovegood, of all people. It was just crazy enough an idea to have Fred's name all over it.
"What makes you so sure?" he asked.
"I know how to listen," she said, and he couldn't deny that. But then again, wasn't she, in effect, saying that she heard voices in her head and did what they told her to? And wasn't she encouraging him to do the same? He frowned, thinking about it. He'd been holding onto the hope that Fred would be able to come back and talk to him for so long that he wasn't quite ready to give it up.
"I want you to try something," she said, pulling at the silken scarf around her neck. He watched it slide over her skin with something akin to jealousy over an inantimate object. When she held it up to his eyes, he bent low almost without thinking, enjoying the sensation of her fingers and the silk moving over his face and back toward his hair. The touch of her fingertips was barely perceptible as she made a snug knot at the back of his neck. Once finished, she slid her hand down his arm, taking him by the hand.. "Follow me," she said, leading him several steps over. He felt the warmth of the fire below the cauldron as he drew closer, and he could detect the rich floral scent that disguised the more potent ingredients of the love potion.
"What's next?" she said, putting his wand in his hand. George inhaled, trying to see the formula scribbled on parchment in his head. Was it nettles first and then lacewing flies, or was it the other way around? Think, think, think...
He thought about working furiously in the basement with Fred, preparing for their grand opening, but that thought only depressed him. Come on, Georgie, you're supposed to be the detail man. Do I have to tell you how to do everything?
Oh, sod off, he thought, and reached automatically for the Nettle jar, using the heat of the cauldron to guide him as he threw in a pinch and then used his wand to stir three times clockwise and four counter.
He found the tub of lacewing flies pressed into his hand and he counted out one, two, three, inhaling as the potion bubbled and boiled and began to exude a slightly medicinal smell. He could hear Luna's rustling skirts moving next to him, and heard her humming under her breath as she brushed past him. He heard the crunch of leaves being pressed in her palm, and a slight 'pop' as she threw something into the cauldron. "What did you put in there?" he asked.
"Fred knows," she said, and George thought for a moment. Not vanilla, which was the next listed ingredient (to disguise the taste), that was certain.
"Shrivelfig?" he asked.
"Very good," she said, and then she put the bottle of vanilla in his palm, squeezing his hand in the process. George bit his lip, concentrating hard as he poured in a splash, and for a moment, it almost did feel like Fred was guiding his hand.
"And now, we wait," she said, blowing out the flame and setting off every nerve in George's body as the puff of her breath moved the hairs on his arm.
"Can you hear him yet?" she asked.
"Dunno," George said. "Maybe?"
"Give it time," she said, taking him by the hand once more and leading him to a chair.
"I think I can do without this." George reached up for the scarf, but Luna stopped him with her hand.
"Sit, George," she said, and like a bloody Krup, he obeyed.
"What does Fred want you to do now?"
Kiss you, George thought, but he shook his head. "Nothing."
He could have sworn he heard her laugh under her breath as he heard the silk of her robes rustling somewhere on his left side. He felt the barest brush against his cheek, and he turned toward the sensation, causing her to stroke his cheek more deliberately.
"You're not a very good listener," she said, and he could almost hear the smile in her voice.
"That's what Mum used to say," he replied.
"That's all right--I am," she said, and as she said it, he could hear her voice coming closer and closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. Why he should have been surprised when her lips brushed over his own, he didn't know.
Still, he wasn't too thrilled with the idea of his brother directing his love life, and he resisted the urge he felt to pull her closer and kiss her more deeply. Not that he had any choice in the matter, for she moved closer on her own, running her tongue over the seam of his lips and encouraging his mouth to open. He kept his hands glued to his thighs, though he was itching to touch her.
Coward. He could almost hear the word in his head. Go away, Fred, he thought, and then immediately felt terrible for having had such a thought. And then that thought fled his brain when he felt Luna move to straddle his lap.
At that point, reaching up to touch her was an impulse he was unable to resist, and as his hand made contact with silken hair and silken robes and warm flesh beneath both, he couldn't help but groan at the sensation. It really had been too long since he touched another person. He hadn't remembered it feeling quite this good.
"There, now, that's better," she said, cupping his face with her hands just before covering his mouth and touching her tongue to his. George groaned and tightened his hold on her, letting his palms slide down her spine before finally resting on her bottom. Luna sighed into his mouth. Seduce her? Had he really been worried about seducing her? He was putty in her hands, apparently.
He found his fingers digging into her arse, and she shivered against him, moving her hips forward and rubbing up against his crotch with rather disarming accuracy. "Gods," he said. "Do I need to thank Fred for this?"
"Perhaps," she said and reached down to cover his cock with her hand. "I'd have waited forever if I left it up to you."
George heard achingly familiar laughter in his head, but it was very nearly drowned out by the roaring in his ears. He reached up to fumble blindly for Luna's breast, moaning in pleasure as his fingers made contact with soft silk and even softer flesh underneath. He suspected the little mewling sound she made in response was pretty much the hottest thing he'd ever heard.
Wicked, he heard in the back of his mind, and he was too much in agreement to order his brother out of his head again.
"Go away, Fred," she said against his lips as she began working at the buttons of George's trousers. Had George been paying attention, he might have felt his brother 's voice fading, but he pretty much lost the ability to think of anything once her fingers began moving over his cock.
By instinct, the hand that wasn't desperately reaching under her neckline began desperately bunching up her skirts, knowing that once he reached bare skin, the chances of his cock finding a warm, wet place in which to get lost increased dramatically.
But warm and wet hadn't even begun to describe the way she felt once his fingers reached under her skirt and beneath her knickers. Hot and slick and tempting as hell and utterly fucking amazing. She was nibbling at his chin, then, and her clever fingers were stroking up and down his cock, and her hips were rocking back and forth over his thighs, sending him into a frenzy.
She grasped his cock tightly and lifted her body over him, sinking down on him in a long, slow movement. He bucked up into her as her body tightened around her, his fingers digging into her arse, steadying her. "Gods, Luna," he said, overwhelmed by sensation. "Where have you been all my life?"
"Does it matter?" she asked. "I'm here now."
She began to move, cupping his face, her fingers digging into his cheekbones and sending his blindfold off-kilter. He could see her, just on the edge of his vision, pale and glowing in the dim light of the basement. Her thighs were contracting around him, and her cunt was drawing him up and into her, squeezing him until he thought he would die from pleasure.
She slid her arms around him, pulling him to her breast, and he sobbed as he lost himself inside her.
"George," she cried against his ear, contracting around him. He yanked the scarf over his eyes, blinking against the bright light and blindly pressing his lips to her cheek.
"He'll be back, you know," she said.
"Great," he said. "Brilliant. But I think we can manage one or two quick shags before he does."
And perhaps he could hear his brother laughing at him off in the distance. But really, how could he complain, when he'd been doing such a good job of looking after him?
For: ceria
Title:You're As Sane As I Am
Characters/Pairings: George/Luna (with Fred. Sort of)
Rating: R
Kinks/Themes Included: Blindfolds (Prompt: Invisible)
Other Warnings: Voyeurism, if you squint. Sort of a strange take on the afterlife, inspired by the movie Always
Word Count: 3513
Summary/Description: George has been waiting nearly two years for his brother's ghost to make an appearance. It took someone like Luna Lovegood to show him that he never really left.
Author's Notes: Wow. This got way heavier than I planned. I hope it is what you had in mind, dear recipient. Big thanks to my beta, who is all things wonderful and knows who she is.
George Weasley had given up on girls ages ago. No, not for the alternative; he'd given up on the whole concept, more than anything. And under the circumstances, anyone else might have, too. George had always gotten on well with girls, even long before he wanted to do naughty things to them. Quite frankly, he'd never understood why some blokes found it difficult to talk to girls--all you had to do was make them laugh, and they were putty in your hands. But then again, not enough people knew what a powerful thing laughter was, did they?
But George knew more than anyone what a powerful thing the absence of laughter was, too. And that, unfortunately, was when the problem started. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of making people laugh, it was just that there was something about him now that gave people, and girls in particular, the urge to take care of him. And not in the good way, with things like blow jobs or money or free drinks or things he actually wanted. No, they wanted to pull him aside and talk to him, to look at him with eyes filled with sympathy, hoping against hope that somehow they would get him to open up and tell them how miserable and lonely he was. Well, bollocks to that. George thought. His (alleged) misery and loneliness were nobody's business but his own. Or maybe his and Fred's ghost, who still hadn't bothered to turn up, the git.
He didn't want to spend hours going over what his feelings had been upon looking at his twin's corpse. Who wanted to relive something like that? No, it was laughter George wanted, and distraction, or even just intelligent conversation. Not to be felt sorry for would be really nice, too. And damn it, it might have been nice to get laid by someone who wasn't hoping he'd burst into tears at the end.
For all those reasons (and for a few more), he was through with girls. And since boys weren't an option (with one or two exceptions), he had a lot of time on his hands. Time he chose to spend working on the shop, working in the shop, thinking about the shop, inventing for the shop, and dreaming about the shop. (Well, he'd dreamed about an Alicia/George/Katie sandwich, too, but he was only human.) The point was, he worked. And ate when necessary and drank a bit more than he should and spent a lot of time walking around in places where no one could possibly know him. Oh and he slept, sometimes two or three hours per night. He hung around with Lee, talking about Lee's new job and George's store and Lee's new girlfriend and pretty much anything they liked except the subject-that-must-not-be-named. It wasn't the best life, but George had gotten used to it. He was happy, or at least he was surviving, and that was more than he ought to have hoped for, all things considered.
But all of that was before Luna. Yeah, Luna Lovegood, believe it or not. He hardly knew her, though he vaguely remembered her as that odd bird from the DA whom he'd impulsively (and drunkenly) asked to dance at his brother's wedding. Quite frankly, he was surprised she was still walking, let alone speaking to him.
But speak to him she did, and on a near daily basis, once she started working at the pet shop across the street. What was it about her that made the difference? For one thing, she never once looked at him with pity in her eyes. Of course, that was not all that surprising when one took into consideration that she never seemed to look at one with anything in her eyes, misty as they were.
Something about her warm smile and unfocused eyes was comforting to George, and he began to look forward to their daily encounters much more than seemed logical. In fact, he looked forward to them so much, that he found himself wishing to prolong the experience, and her complete inability to hide her delight at his gestures of friendship filled him with profound pleasure. What would it take to break through that misty barrier? What would it take to get her to focus on him?
Even better than waving at her through their mutual windows were the times that she wandered into his shop on purpose. (She had a tendency to wander into places by accident, but that was another story altogether.) Looking at his products through her eyes filled him with pride and joy, and talking to her about some of his hopes and better ideas was ever so much better than talking to the mirror and waiting for Ghost!Fred to finally show up and tell him he'd done all right.
For that reason (and many more) he found himself seeking out more opportunities to talk to her. Things like lunch at the Solstice Cafe and drinks (and eventually dinner) at the Leaky. Not dates, definitely not dates, because he didn't do that thing. It was more like hanging out with a friend, though unlike his similar excursions with Lee, they explored subjects like Gulping Plimpies and Nargles (his aura was bright orange with grey edges and Nargle-free, apparently, and thank goodness for that. He had quite enough to be going on with a stubbornly silent, apparently invisible ghost hanging around, didn't he?) Half the time he had no idea what the devil she was talking about, but it didn't matter. Because she wasn't analysing his every word for signs of repressed grief, she just talked to him. As if he was normal or something. Well, perhaps not normal, but no more insane than she was, and as far as George was concerned, her level of insanity was just about bloody perfect. Not to mention the fact that that fabulously unbalanced mind of hers managed to find the answer to his most perplexing problems in the lab with hardly a moment's consideration, which was something he discovered quite by accident when complaining about work over drinks one night.
It wasn't until Angelina made a passing remark about his dating Luna Lovegood that it occurred to him that he was doing just that, and really, it wasn't such a bad thing, was it? Well, apart from the fact that he was apparently dating without any of the usual benefits to dating one person on a regular basis, but that was easily remedied.
Or was it? Sure, she was pretty, and now that he took a closer look at her, she did have a rather nice bottom and smallish-but-still-quite-appealing tits. Still, there was something almost girlishly innocent about her, and his conscience seemed to feel that attempting to seduce her might result in corrupting her. Or something like that. Perhaps it would be best left as a friendship, and Merlin knew he needed more of those.
So, he reluctantly exercised restraint (for probably the fifth time in his life) and left her alone. The only trouble was that now that the idea had taken hold, he couldn't stop thinking about her in that way.
He found himself gazing sappishly into those misty eyes to the point that sometimes he quite forgot himself and that he was supposed to be paying attention to what she was saying. In fact, once he even caught himself in the mirror bearing a frightening resemblance to his baby brother when Hermione was around. Somehow, he couldn't stop himself. He dreamed not only about grabbing hold of her hips as he fucked her from behind, but doing stupid stuff like walking around together, traveling, eating breakfast.
He was turning into a bloody girl.
It was Luna herself who turned everything on its ear. Which shouldn't have surprised him, come to think about it, but surprise him it did.
See, the funny thing about Luna was that if he ever found himself discussing something that made him uncomfortable, all he had to do was change the subject and she was off and running on a new train of thought. Not that conversation with her didn't get uncomfortable--she was always coming up with observations that cut right to the bare facts, whether he wanted to hear it or not. But she never pressed the point, she just dropped it like a dungbomb and moved on.
And so it was with the subject-that-must not-be-named. She'd mentioned him matter-of-factly before, but she'd never got around to 'How George feels about losing his better half,' not even close. But one day, George asked her advice on the best way to extend the effect of their best love potion. Before long, he found that he'd invited her down to the basement lab, a place that no one but he and Fred had ever been allowed to enter.
And the odd thing was, it didn't occur to him until she'd taken over the cauldron--until he looked over to find her with her hair sticking to her forehead in the steam, her sleeves rolled up and a look of studied concentration on her face even as she looked over and smiled at him--that he hadn't really had a lab partner since Fred. And at that moment, he was torn between the desire to physically throw her from the room and the desire to bury himself in her arms and weep.
"He doesn't mind, you know," she said, blinking solemnly at him as she apparently read his mind.
"He...How would you know?" he asked, finding himself irritated at her apparent presumption.
"Can't you feel him?" she asked and sort of looked around the ceiling.
"Of course I can feel him," George snapped. "He just never says anything."
"Not in words, no," Luna said. "That's not the way it works."
"I don't know about that--it worked pretty well for Nick, didn't it?"
"But Sir Nicholas was a ghost."
"And?"
"And Fred isn't."
"Of course he is. Didn't I say I could feel him? Didn't you say you could feel him?"
"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean he's a ghost,"
"Bullshit!" George snapped. "He wouldn't have gone on without me."
"Don't you think if he was a ghost, you'd have seen him before now?"
"Well.." And that was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? Fred certainly ought to have made an appearance before now. It had been over two years, after all. "I swear, sometimes I feel as though he's just left the room, or if I turn around just a little bit faster, I'll see him over my shoulder."
"Well, yes," Luna said as if that explained everything.
George waited in vain for her to continue. "And?"
"He's in you, George. Not a physical presence, but in your heart, in your mind. Looking out for you, comforting you when you're feeling low, encouraging your creativity, guiding you toward good things. Like he always did. I'd have thought you, of all people, would understand."
"Why?"
"Well, most other people would think it was their own voice. But you'd know the difference, wouldn't you? He'd been in your head often enough before."
It was bizarre and probably utter crap, but it made a strange sort of sense. He'd been so worried he wouldn't be able create again without Fred, and yet, it had been far easier than he imagined. Which had felt like sort of a betrayal at the beginning, but if this was true, it certainly explained it. And the times when was at his lowest point, feeling like his still-beating heart had been ripped out of his chest and had suddenly been overcome with warmth and peace, and for a while, at least, he'd felt whole again. Or the sly voice in his ear that had urged him to keep talking to Luna Lovegood, of all people. It was just crazy enough an idea to have Fred's name all over it.
"What makes you so sure?" he asked.
"I know how to listen," she said, and he couldn't deny that. But then again, wasn't she, in effect, saying that she heard voices in her head and did what they told her to? And wasn't she encouraging him to do the same? He frowned, thinking about it. He'd been holding onto the hope that Fred would be able to come back and talk to him for so long that he wasn't quite ready to give it up.
"I want you to try something," she said, pulling at the silken scarf around her neck. He watched it slide over her skin with something akin to jealousy over an inantimate object. When she held it up to his eyes, he bent low almost without thinking, enjoying the sensation of her fingers and the silk moving over his face and back toward his hair. The touch of her fingertips was barely perceptible as she made a snug knot at the back of his neck. Once finished, she slid her hand down his arm, taking him by the hand.. "Follow me," she said, leading him several steps over. He felt the warmth of the fire below the cauldron as he drew closer, and he could detect the rich floral scent that disguised the more potent ingredients of the love potion.
"What's next?" she said, putting his wand in his hand. George inhaled, trying to see the formula scribbled on parchment in his head. Was it nettles first and then lacewing flies, or was it the other way around? Think, think, think...
He thought about working furiously in the basement with Fred, preparing for their grand opening, but that thought only depressed him. Come on, Georgie, you're supposed to be the detail man. Do I have to tell you how to do everything?
Oh, sod off, he thought, and reached automatically for the Nettle jar, using the heat of the cauldron to guide him as he threw in a pinch and then used his wand to stir three times clockwise and four counter.
He found the tub of lacewing flies pressed into his hand and he counted out one, two, three, inhaling as the potion bubbled and boiled and began to exude a slightly medicinal smell. He could hear Luna's rustling skirts moving next to him, and heard her humming under her breath as she brushed past him. He heard the crunch of leaves being pressed in her palm, and a slight 'pop' as she threw something into the cauldron. "What did you put in there?" he asked.
"Fred knows," she said, and George thought for a moment. Not vanilla, which was the next listed ingredient (to disguise the taste), that was certain.
"Shrivelfig?" he asked.
"Very good," she said, and then she put the bottle of vanilla in his palm, squeezing his hand in the process. George bit his lip, concentrating hard as he poured in a splash, and for a moment, it almost did feel like Fred was guiding his hand.
"And now, we wait," she said, blowing out the flame and setting off every nerve in George's body as the puff of her breath moved the hairs on his arm.
"Can you hear him yet?" she asked.
"Dunno," George said. "Maybe?"
"Give it time," she said, taking him by the hand once more and leading him to a chair.
"I think I can do without this." George reached up for the scarf, but Luna stopped him with her hand.
"Sit, George," she said, and like a bloody Krup, he obeyed.
"What does Fred want you to do now?"
Kiss you, George thought, but he shook his head. "Nothing."
He could have sworn he heard her laugh under her breath as he heard the silk of her robes rustling somewhere on his left side. He felt the barest brush against his cheek, and he turned toward the sensation, causing her to stroke his cheek more deliberately.
"You're not a very good listener," she said, and he could almost hear the smile in her voice.
"That's what Mum used to say," he replied.
"That's all right--I am," she said, and as she said it, he could hear her voice coming closer and closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. Why he should have been surprised when her lips brushed over his own, he didn't know.
Still, he wasn't too thrilled with the idea of his brother directing his love life, and he resisted the urge he felt to pull her closer and kiss her more deeply. Not that he had any choice in the matter, for she moved closer on her own, running her tongue over the seam of his lips and encouraging his mouth to open. He kept his hands glued to his thighs, though he was itching to touch her.
Coward. He could almost hear the word in his head. Go away, Fred, he thought, and then immediately felt terrible for having had such a thought. And then that thought fled his brain when he felt Luna move to straddle his lap.
At that point, reaching up to touch her was an impulse he was unable to resist, and as his hand made contact with silken hair and silken robes and warm flesh beneath both, he couldn't help but groan at the sensation. It really had been too long since he touched another person. He hadn't remembered it feeling quite this good.
"There, now, that's better," she said, cupping his face with her hands just before covering his mouth and touching her tongue to his. George groaned and tightened his hold on her, letting his palms slide down her spine before finally resting on her bottom. Luna sighed into his mouth. Seduce her? Had he really been worried about seducing her? He was putty in her hands, apparently.
He found his fingers digging into her arse, and she shivered against him, moving her hips forward and rubbing up against his crotch with rather disarming accuracy. "Gods," he said. "Do I need to thank Fred for this?"
"Perhaps," she said and reached down to cover his cock with her hand. "I'd have waited forever if I left it up to you."
George heard achingly familiar laughter in his head, but it was very nearly drowned out by the roaring in his ears. He reached up to fumble blindly for Luna's breast, moaning in pleasure as his fingers made contact with soft silk and even softer flesh underneath. He suspected the little mewling sound she made in response was pretty much the hottest thing he'd ever heard.
Wicked, he heard in the back of his mind, and he was too much in agreement to order his brother out of his head again.
"Go away, Fred," she said against his lips as she began working at the buttons of George's trousers. Had George been paying attention, he might have felt his brother 's voice fading, but he pretty much lost the ability to think of anything once her fingers began moving over his cock.
By instinct, the hand that wasn't desperately reaching under her neckline began desperately bunching up her skirts, knowing that once he reached bare skin, the chances of his cock finding a warm, wet place in which to get lost increased dramatically.
But warm and wet hadn't even begun to describe the way she felt once his fingers reached under her skirt and beneath her knickers. Hot and slick and tempting as hell and utterly fucking amazing. She was nibbling at his chin, then, and her clever fingers were stroking up and down his cock, and her hips were rocking back and forth over his thighs, sending him into a frenzy.
She grasped his cock tightly and lifted her body over him, sinking down on him in a long, slow movement. He bucked up into her as her body tightened around her, his fingers digging into her arse, steadying her. "Gods, Luna," he said, overwhelmed by sensation. "Where have you been all my life?"
"Does it matter?" she asked. "I'm here now."
She began to move, cupping his face, her fingers digging into his cheekbones and sending his blindfold off-kilter. He could see her, just on the edge of his vision, pale and glowing in the dim light of the basement. Her thighs were contracting around him, and her cunt was drawing him up and into her, squeezing him until he thought he would die from pleasure.
She slid her arms around him, pulling him to her breast, and he sobbed as he lost himself inside her.
"George," she cried against his ear, contracting around him. He yanked the scarf over his eyes, blinking against the bright light and blindly pressing his lips to her cheek.
"He'll be back, you know," she said.
"Great," he said. "Brilliant. But I think we can manage one or two quick shags before he does."
And perhaps he could hear his brother laughing at him off in the distance. But really, how could he complain, when he'd been doing such a good job of looking after him?