A Bit Unhealthy

"Why not move in with George, then?" asks Oliver's girlfriend Morag one day at lunch.

Angelina has just finished complaining about her next door neighbour, who is mostly deaf and all stupid, and who played Bansheepipes loudly until two in the morning last night, then banged on her wall when Freddie woke up at three.

"What?" Angelina asks blearily. George only just took Freddie away about an hour ago and Angelina's been trying to decide whether to go on with her day, or ask Morag if she can nap at her flat. Lee and Oliver are gaping at Morag, who seems unfazed.

"It's not as though Lee's using the extra room," Morag says reasonably. "Why not put the space to use?"

"Are you serious?" asks Oliver in disbelief.

"What? Lee's hardly ever home," Morag points out. "And Angelina hates her place. I don't see the problem."

"It's not a good idea, considering our history," says Angelina stiffly, remembering the kiss she and George shared two days ago, and feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy for Morag, who obviously has no idea how stupid she sounds right now.

"Why, because he's your ex?"

Angelina blinks, not sure she's ever thought of George that way before, but nods.

"You know, I've never understood why you two broke up. What was wrong with going out with him?"

"We weren't really going out," Angelina says brusquely. "I was pretending he was Fred and he was only with me because he... wasn't thinking straight." And damn her, Morag may not have been in the same house as them at Hogwarts but she's been with Oliver for a year and she knows all of this.

"Would it necessarily be the same now?"

"Morag," says Oliver warningly.

"I don't think it's the same situation at all," Morag says to Angelina, ignoring Oliver. "You're not depressed any more. You're not pregnant, you don't have your bitch of a mother messing with your mind, he's got a grip on his life; you're both very different from how you were."

"And they have a baby together," says Oliver impatiently. "It's not as if they can just try things out and if it doesn't work, oh well, no hard feelings."

"They have a baby, yeah," says Morag. "Which means they're going to be dealing with one another forever anyway. Why not deal with one another sensibly? Instead of this 'I want him but I shouldn't' rubbish?"

Angelina's mouth falls open and her sympathy for Morag makes an abrupt exit from the room. "Where the hell do you get that from--"

"Morag," says Oliver forcefully. "Shut it."

Morag glares at Oliver. "Excuse me?"

"He said shut it," snaps Lee. "You don't have a clue what the fuck you're talking about."

Morag switches her glare to Lee. "Where do you get off--"

"I was there, all right?" says Lee grimly. "Them together was not a good idea. Maybe if Ange and Fred hadn't happened first, maybe. Or maybe if they'd got together years after Fred died. But with their history? Not a chance. Now shut it."

ooo000ooo

A couple weeks later, Lee still can't quite believe Morag's thick-headedness. Classic Ravenclaw: book smart, less common sense than the average Puffskein. He told George what she had said, in case she decided to ignore Oliver and share her wisdom with George as well. He probably should've left it at that, though, rather than musing out loud, "Who knows, maybe your best bet would be to end up with a girl who didn't even know you before the war."

George had almost physically recoiled from the very thought. "With somebody who didn't even know Fred?" He'd shuddered. "Couldn't. Too weird."

He's probably right. Fred was such a huge part of George, and still is, even now. Unfortunately his selection of girls is rather limited; popular as the twins were, there's not an endless supply of available attractive witches out there who also knew Fred. Not that George really has that much time to date anyone, what with the shop and the baby. Still. Some other girl might drive out thoughts of Angelina.

At least he's not going to act on those thoughts again. He and Angelina are almost friends again, and apparently they've come to an understanding about the whole mess they got themselves into. And not a moment too soon, because it made Lee want to slap both of them silly at the same time as he wished he could take even part of their pain away.

It's far past bedtime as he wearily plods up to the flat. He's trying to remember whose week it is to have the baby but he doesn't even know what day it is. He's really got to do something about this. He's done his time, he's proven himself, and he has bloody well earned the right to be treated better than this at work.

He carefully enters the flat and finds George sleeping on the sofa, with Freddie, also asleep, on his chest. Lee smiles at them, quietly taking off his cloak. He looks up, startled, as Angelina comes out of his bedroom, yawning.

"Lee?" she says, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Past one," he says. "Did you fall asleep nursing again?"

"Mm, no," she says, and rubs her eyes. "Freddie wouldn't settle, and I was done in from work, and George said he'd take him for a bit..." She glances at the sofa. "Oh good. I was hoping they'd both fall asleep."

"Wait, won't the baby fall if--"

"George always casts a spell on Freddie so he can't roll off." She fumbles in her pocket and takes out her wand, waving it at them.

"What's that?" asks Lee.

"Cushioning spell on the sofa. So George won't wake up with a crick in his back."

Lee grins at her. "You know, if you'd just put your talents to evil, you could go so far."

Angelina smiles, still gazing at George and Freddie sleeping peacefully. Lee looks a little closer and suppresses a snort. Freddie's wearing a tiny version of the magenta Wheezes robes.

Angelina grins. "Hermione made those. Remember she used to make all that horrible stuff for the elves?" Lee nods. "She's abandoned that but says she still likes making little things. Doesn't he look adorable?"

Lee's not much of a baby person, but he has to admit she's right. "The colour suits him a hell of a lot better than his dad."

"Oh God I know. How they came up with pink, with their hair--"

"Excuse me, magenta," Lee interrupts.

"Pink. And orange. Painful eye bleed."

Lee laughs softly. "Pretty much, yeah."

Angelina's gazing at George with such affection that Lee suddenly feels like he's witnessing something he shouldn't. Luckily, Freddie stirs and Angelina steps closer to the sofa and gently takes him from George's arms. George's eyelids flicker and he makes a soft sound of protest, and she rests her hand on his shoulder for a moment. He gives her a sleepy smile and turns onto his side. "You've got him?"

"Yeah, I've got him," she whispers. "I'll put him in his crib and go home." She carefully takes the baby to his crib, then picks up her satchel and cloak.

"D'you need a walk home?" George mumbles.

"No, that's all right. Go back to sleep," she says, and he nods, sinking back into sleep almost instantly. She smiles and gently brushes George's hair off his face, then rests her hand on his cheek.

She looks up, suddenly remembering Lee. She bites her lip and puts on her cloak, and leaves.

Morag's right about one thing, thinks Lee as he gazes at George: in their situation, Angelina and George will have to deal with one another for a long, long time, and it would be nice if they could deal with any attraction 'sensibly.' It's a crying shame Angelina treated him so bloody badly, and ruined all her chances with him.

Lee actually feels sorry for her.

ooo000ooo

Because George's life is both blessed and cursed, in early summer he gets to be both a beneficiary and one of the victims of a minor environmental disaster in the post-Voldemort wizarding world.

For months Ron and Harry have complained about one of the major headaches for Aurors - and Auror trainees - right now: Dementor fighting. Despite calls to have them reinstituted as Azkaban guards, Minister Shacklebolt has managed to convince the public that Dementors really are far too dangerous and must be culled and then either fully controlled, or totally exterminated.

Since they bred indiscriminately during the War, and are now actively hunted, Dementors have switched to non-human prey: gnomes. Mum had commented that she'd never had such a gnome-free season as the previous year. That's changed now: giddy with the downturn in Dementor numbers and going through a reactive breeding frenzy of their own, they're taking over every magical green space around, and devastating gardens everywhere. Even the Lovegoods are getting sick of them.

George, who had predicted the coming disaster, makes out wonderfully, in a way. Wheezes briskly brews up Gnome No More, a gnome contraceptive spray, and sells it to the Ministry at a bargain rate. Unfortunately the spray is highly revolting. Angelina's building, with its lovely and extensive Herbology greenhouse on the roof, is declared unliveable for the duration of the gnome crisis. Angelina searches for another flat and eventually finds one two floors up from Diagon's owlery - smaller, darker, with a faint scent of owl droppings - but once again, there's a twelve day gap.

"You can use my flat again," says George. "I'll stay at The Burrow."

"Aren't your parents in Majorca while it's being de-gnomed?" asks Angelina.

"Only because they haven't taken a real holiday since Egypt," says George. "It can't be that bad."

George stays at The Burrow one day before the stench and enthusiastic gnome-orgy din defeats him, and then comes back to the flat. And to Angelina.

He and Angelina have repaired their friendship - again - and it's going well. They alternate care for Freddie, they go to Healer's appointments together; they even talk about Fred. The last thing he needs is to complicate that. Again.

So he moves back, but spends a great deal of time out of the flat. He takes the baby to the park, around Diagon, all sorts of places. The baby's very popular; strangers come up and talk to him and admire his tiny little WWW robes, which George must admit really look far better with his colouring than they do combined with George and Ron's red hair and freckles. The baby makes George very popular with the Diagon Alley shopgirls.

Which should be a good thing, but somehow he can't bring himself to care. Instead he spends a lot of time thinking about Angelina, and trying not to think about Angelina. Berating himself for that moment of weakness a few weeks ago, when he'd said something he didn't mean to say and made her cry and immediately wanted to hold her close and make it better, and it felt like the most natural - though insane - thing in the world to kiss her. He tries hard not to recall the sweetness and very wrong rightness of that kiss, the longing in her eyes, the words she said afterwards. He's not highly successful.

So George does the only sensible thing. He goes to Knockturn and buys a potion. It's not an anti-love potion, nor is it like Wheezes' Wand-Wilt, exactly, but it does guarantee to kill off any romantic feelings or obsessions or whatever this is that he's got going for Angelina. Because he can't let himself go down that road yet again.

She lives in his flat for ten days. They're mostly all right for ten days. And then on the tenth day (two days before she's supposed to leave - so close!) she's rooting through his bathroom for potions for the baby - he's teething, again, what joy - and finds the vial from Knockturn.

"George, what's this?" she asks, coming out of the bathroom holding the vial between finger and thumb with distaste.

George swears under his breath. "What does it look like?" he says curtly. "It's a potion."

"From Knockturn Alley."

"I noticed that," says George.

"It's for you," she says.

"I noticed that too."

"Please tell me you're not actually taking a potion from Knockturn."

"Why not?" says George. "I use them all the time."

"What?!"

"Merlin, not personally, I'm not an idiot! I use them to help develop new products, after I take out dangerous and illegal ingredients."

He'd hoped to derail her, but she can't be derailed. "This isn't for testing, George! This is for personal use! What were you thinking?!"

"None of your business, actually," he says, reaching for the vial.

She moves back, looking at the ingredients list on the side. "And this has... fuck, this has some pretty powerful ingredients. Stag hair? Powdered lion claws? We use those on horses and bulls. What the hell are you taking?" Her eyes widen. "Oh my God tell me you're not taking one of those 'enhancing' potions - what kind of moron are you?!"

He can't help bursting out laughing, which doesn't seem to amuse her at all. "I am not taking any enhancing thing! Who the hell would I be enhancing anything with?"

"These ingredients either enhance or put you out of commission, you idiot!"

"I happen to know that!"

"So why the fuck are you--"

"Why the fuck do you think?" George snaps. "You're living here for almost two weeks. I don't want anything to happen. Can you understand that? I don't want - I want you to get the fuck out of my flat, or at least the fuck out of my head!" He's trying to keep his voice steady but now it's shaking despite himself and he curses her for being able to do this to him. "But since I can't seem to make you do either one, I'm taking a potion so I won't do anything stupid about it!"

Angelina's stunned. "You--"

"I don't want to feel... what I feel for you, all right? Is that clear enough for you?!"

Angelina gapes at him for a minute. Then she looks angry. "Well I don't want to feel what I feel for you either!" she snaps back. "But you don't see me taking bloody dangerous potions to--" and then a wail from the bedroom cuts through their shouting.

George leans against the side of the couch, rubbing his forehead, as Angelina hurries to the bedroom.

He's wired wrong, he thinks as she deals with the baby. That's what the problem is. He knows enough about Muggle electronics to understand that when wires are connected wrong, the wrong electrical spells go to the wrong places and you can end up with some fascinating events called 'short circuits'. Things behaving the way they shouldn't. And that's how George feels: short-circuited. He shouldn't want her, but he does. And he wouldn't, if it weren't for fucking Dead Fred, damn him to hell.

To be fair, it's possible that that may be untrue. If Fred hadn't been there before him, George might have noticed that Angelina was a very attractive girl, might have even gone for her. Instead he trained himself years ago to not think of her that way because she was Fred's girl, and that was that. And with Fred gone...

Then again, it does make a certain amount of sense. Fred liked her. And he's a lot like Fred. Why wouldn't he like her?

And she liked Fred. And, again, he's a lot like Fred. Why wouldn't she like him?

Bugger.

Angelina comes back and leans against the side of the door, gazing at him. "You're being an idiot," she finally says, but the anger in her voice is gone. Now she's looking at him with longing in her eyes and he's devoutly thankful for the potion that makes wanting to respond to her theoretical only. "And I'm sorry," she says, and now he also feels like shit because she sounds like she's on the verge of crying. Again. "I understand. Wish I didn't. Wish I hadn't fucked things up with you." She swallows hard. "You know how I feel about you, but it doesn't make a difference any more, I suppose. I'll... I'll go stay at Morag's. Until my flat's ready for me." She comes closer and puts a hand on his arm and gives him a small squeeze, and then goes out the door.

Maybe she really does want him, after all. He can't really... his brain is going all sorts of places, and he really can't - and then the baby cries out again and George wearily goes back to the bedroom and picks him up. He doesn't seem upset; merely filled with a baby's supreme disregard for any pesky little issues people around him might need space to deal with. George sighs and holds him close.

The baby pats his cheek and coos quizzically. "It's all right," George tells him. "Mummy and Daddy aren't really fighting. I don't think. They just... have issues." He closes his eyes and breathes in the baby's scent of milk and sleep, and pats his back. "Some day you'll understand just how fucked up their relationship really is."

ooo000ooo

Ron's feeling pretty good for the first time in ages. There's no more gnome assignments at the MLE; George has flat-out refused to let him do more than two shifts a week at Wheezes; the NEWTs results finally came in and Hermione's voice is once again audible to humans instead of only to bats. His niece and nephew are both doing very well - Victoire's smiling and Freddie's learning to crawl - and Teddy Lupin's learning to walk and spends about half his time with his hair pitch-black and a tiny scar on his forehead, though the location of the scar moves. Ginny and Harry are doing well, Percy's got himself a new girlfriend and his expression tends to drift into a goofy smile at random moments, Mum and Dad are back from Majorca tanned and healthy and finally looking like there's some peace in their lives, and all - well, almost all - is right with the world. Even the weather is fairly decent for late summer, not too hot or dry.

And when he starts to feel guilty about being happy, he reminds himself that Fred would probably be relieved to see them all finally getting on with their lives.

Ron's doing so well, in fact, that he's even developing Wheezes products in his spare time. He's invented Walk Like an Egyptian Wands and Duckfeet Danishes, which were highly successful, and Gnome Gummies, which weren't, and he's currently working on a Notice-me-not charm that he's learned from the Aurors, who use it for surveillance or protection of Aurors in the field. He's trying to figure out how to make it useful for people hoping to not be assigned tasks at work meetings, or maybe for party-goers hiding right before a surprise party, but useless to criminals. Fred and George never really got over the fact that their Peruvian Darkness powder was used in the first attack on Hogwarts, so Ron's holding off telling George about it until he's got that part sorted. So when George and Angelina come down the stairs, chatting about Freddie's new developmental milestone, and pass right by him and into the shop, he doesn't make his presence known right away.

"I swear, it wasn't random," George is insisting, his voice pitched low so as not to disturb the baby sleeping on his shoulder. "I heard him."

"He's a bit young to be saying anything, George," says Angelina, chuckling, "and the first word is usually Dada or Mama, not 'pussy'."

"It was, honestly! I'd be so proud of him, except it's not a word anyone uses around him - 'cept maybe Lee - and there were no cats around, and he was pointing at a family portrait at the time so I have to conclude that he meant to say either Pissy or Percy."

Angelina's laughing as they go into the lab. "Won't Percy be thrilled."

Ron hesitates, then decides to go to the lab a few minutes later to test the integrity of the charm. They've left the lab door open a bit, and he slowly pushes it open. They glance right at him but don't see him, and Ron smiles. He stays where he is, as the charm will wear off in a few moments.

They both gaze down fondly at the small sleeping child in George's arms.

"You know, for a serious kid, he is pretty funny," says George. "I'm trying to figure out how to make a copy of Pensieve memories. Charlie's got to see the crawling thing, it's hysterical."

"You haven't laughed at him, have you?"

Ron suppresses a chuckle. Freddie's really having a hard time with crawling, but it's hilarious to watch. He always puts his head down, churns his little legs as fast as they'll go, then raises his head - only to find he's actually farther away from his target than before, because he's been propelling himself backward the whole time. His little temper tantrums over it are pretty funny too, though nobody laughs to his face right in the middle of one.

George caresses Freddie's hair and smiles at him, and Ron glances at Angelina. She's gazing not at Freddie but at George, and the look on her face... Ron is suddenly reminded of Hermione explaining the bewildering jumble of emotions Cho Chang felt for Harry in fifth year. At the time he'd thought she was mental and that nobody could contain so many completely contradictory feelings. Apparently he learned a thing or two from her, because he was able to figure out how Angelina and George were feeling about each other pretty accurately back when they were sleeping together - desire and guilt and confusion and resentment and love and almost-hatred and shame all rolled together - and he's getting a pretty good read on how Angelina's feeling towards George right now. It's somewhat similar, but muted, and regretful. Like she wants something from him, won't do anything about it, and wishes she could.

Then George looks up and they share a smile and it's good to see them both so much freer of all the negative stuff they were pressed down with before. And for one brief, insane moment, Ron wonders, would they really be so wrong together?

He quietly slips away, and goes back to stocking shelves and waiting for the charm to wear off. The shop is mostly empty, though Ron's not really that worried about the customers being startled by objects floating about and now-you-see-him, now-you-don't shop assistants; this is Wheezes, after all.

Half an hour later another customer almost walks through him - again - and Ron realizes the charm really isn't coming off. Bloody Wheezes; you can never really be sure whether or how spells and charms and potions will react with each other in here. Not unless you're George. He tries to Finite it a few times, then gives up and heads towards George.

Bugger, George is going to tease him about his inability to get anyone to notice him, but what the hell. At least it's not as bad as the time he accidentally mixed Concert Candies and Guaranteed Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher, and somehow ended up with his freckles bursting into the Weird Sisters' "So I Married a Troll" and sort of jittering in rhythm all over his skin. George had nearly pissed himself laughing, though he did try to make Ron feel better later by telling him Fred had once accidentally mixed two spells and wound up with all his freckles arranged into a perfect grid pattern for about a week.

Ron peeks through the door. George is one-handedly stacking products on the lower shelves, Freddie still asleep in the crook of his arm, Angelina leaning against the work table beside him.

"...and I don't know," Angelina's saying. "He's already got a grandmother. He's got a huge family. It's not like he's lacking anything."

"She was trying to protect you," George says. "I'm not saying you should move in with her again, but she was doing what she thought was best for you. Maybe go see her, and if she apologizes, see where it goes."

Angelina looks uncertain. "But what if... what if she's still angry, or--"

"You can stand up to her, you know," George says, straightening up and putting a hand on her shoulder. "You may want to try to remind yourself that you've done a lot more difficult things. Having the baby. Moving out of your mum's. Coming back to us." He smiles at her. "You've even got two sparkling Ministry-issue pins that show you're a bloody hero." Angelina rolls her eyes.

Ron hesitates at the door. This looks rather private; he should probably come back later.

"You can do it. You're one of the strongest people I know," George tells Angelina, and she smiles back at him and covers his hand with her own, and then her smile falters and she drops her hand.

The atmosphere is suddenly charged.

George hesitates, then slowly brings his hand to Angelina's cheek and she looks up at him, her eyes wide. They gaze at each other questioningly. Ron realizes he's not breathing, his thoughts a jumble of oh Merlin oh bollocks oh George for fuck's sake don't do this again...

George tucks one of Angelina's stray braids behind her ear, and then cups her cheek again. She leans into his touch, a soft sigh escaping her.

No, George, no, Ron's thinking, dread filling him, because George is doing better, they're all doing better, they're going on with their lives and it hurt so much to see George in pain and lost and helpless when he and Angelina were carrying on their screwed up relationship while she was pregnant, and--

"I'm not, you know," Angelina says softly, and she looks up at George, her eyes full of regret. "Strong, I mean. If I were, I wouldn't have left you and Freddie in the first place. I wouldn't have ended up in a mental hospital being watched so I wouldn't hurt myself."

George shakes his head. "Everyone has a breaking point," he says gently.

"You don't."

"You think so?" George gives a small chuckle. "Lee and Perfect Percy the Prefect and my baby brother all had to practically hold my hand full time, for months. If they hadn't been here, all the time... I don't know what I would've done."

"They were just - I mean, Lee needed a place to stay anyway, and--"

"You really think Lee couldn't find a flat of his own? You think Percy likes doing the accounts for a joke shop? And Ron loved spending every spare minute he got off Auror Training working here, for over a year? They only did it because they knew I'd fall apart without them."

Angelina gazes at him uncertainly, biting her lip.

"They're the only reason I didn't do anything really stupid after Fred died." George smiles wryly. "Well, that and I was fucking terrified that if I did myself in Fred would spend the rest of our afterlife not speaking to me." Angelina chuckles and leans her face into his hand again and Ron's heart gives a sharp stab. He'd suspected George's thoughts had gone down that path a few times, especially after the Wee Ones accident and some of the things George had said while de-aged, but it's chilling to hear him refer to suicidal thoughts so casually. Ron can only imagine what it would've been like if they'd had to bury George so soon after burying Fred. Suddenly all of the late nights and early mornings and weekends at Wheezes feel like the best and smartest thing Ron has ever done in his life.

George takes a deep breath and Ron's heart gives another thud as George's gaze drops down to Angelina's lips.

Bloody hell George, no, thinks Ron, and wishes he could get the hell out of here. He shouldn't have heard any of that, he needs to get away, but bloody hell, he's just got a Notice-me-not charm and not true invisibility, so if he makes any noise George and Angelina might notice him - and then, far too late, he realizes that what he should really be doing is finding some way to distract them so that this tender caring moment doesn't turn into--

George bends down a bit and Angelina tilts her face up, both clearly so nervous Ron can practically see them trembling, and Angelina sighs as their lips touch and she reaches up and runs a shaking hand through George's hair, drawing a bit closer.

They break their kiss and they're both breathing unsteadily, still holding each other, the baby still peacefully asleep in George's arms, and the room is far too small; Ron can't believe he just stood there like a bump on a log and did nothing to prevent this, but in the midst of his shock and dismay he can't help thinking that it all looks almost... right.

Angelina runs her fingers through George's hair again, caresses the side of his face, and clears her throat. "George..." she begins nervously.

"Yeah?"

"I don't... I don't want this if you're going to feel guilty, all right?"

George shakes his head, looking somehow uncertain and determined at the same time. "I'm not going to." He pulls her closer, and they kiss again, and the baby makes a small sound between them. George pulls back and searches her eyes and she smiles at him and cups his cheek again, and they both give a small chuckle when Freddie squirms and blinks his eyes open, looking up and smiling to see both of his parents right next to him.

Ron swallows hard and very, very quietly backs out, now that their attention is focused on Freddie. He doesn't know what he's feeling. Obviously, what just happened is very wrong and a very bad idea. And after all the family's gone through with George this year, Ron knows he should be feeling angry at him, and at Angelina - and at himself for not having somehow stopped it. He knows everything he should be feeling, but can't for the life of him decide what he actually feels.

Which may be fairly close to how George and Angelina are feeling right about now.

ooo000ooo

George doesn't feel all that guilty, and it's weird. He's not sure what's going on, but somehow the last few days since that kiss in the lab have felt... well, weird, obviously, and he's not sure what's changed between them and he's not sure that whatever it is, is a positive change... and if any of their friends or family knew what was going on between the two of them they'd quite likely try to have them both committed, but... but somehow it feels right anyway.

It's really not terribly responsible, playing with fire again. But it doesn't feel like playing with fire, not this time. It feels so natural to touch her, want to be close to her, find comfort in her presence. Like when he's with her, he's not half a person so much any more. Which probably isn't right or healthy, but doesn't feel wrong or sick, exactly.

They've not gone terribly far - for one thing, the baby's always on hand to stop proceedings, and how anybody ever manages to make more than one of these little creatures is a mystery to George - but everything they've done so far feels incredibly good.

And then one night the baby's fast asleep, pretty much guaranteed - as far as any baby can be - to sleep for another few hours, Lee is once again not due back till very late, and suddenly their restraint feels artificial and silly. Gentle kisses on the couch have turned into something a lot harder to control. She's pressing against him and he's panting and the couch is too small and he's far too hot and eager to feel her - and it's really not a good idea to listen to his hormones, they've done nothing but get him in trouble, but her breasts are pressing against his chest and her lips are drawing a trail of fire down his neck and everything's tingling and it's been so bloody long since he's got off with anything but his own hand and fantasies...

He pulls away from her, catching his breath.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Come to my room," he says impulsively. They gaze at each other for a moment and then she stands and holds out her hand, glancing at Freddie nervously.

"He's all right, Mum," George chuckles. "I've cast a monitoring spell. We'll hear him."

They go into his bedroom and close the door and he comes back to her mouth, pulling her close, fingers running through her braids as their lips caress each other, and he draws in his breath as she slips a hand down his back and pulls him close and he's so fucking hard, and she's pressing against him and sending sparks flying through him. He doesn't break their kiss as he unbuttons her blouse, tugging it off her shoulders, and moans as she runs a hand down and cups him through his trousers.

"Hang on," he says breathlessly, stilling her hand, and she smirks. "I'm saying that for your benefit, you know," he says and she chuckles.

"Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. He laughs and kisses her again, and she undoes his belt buckle. He closes his eyes as the pressure eases somewhat and opens them to see her drawing her blouse off. He kisses the side of her neck, behind her ear, cupping her breast and reaching behind to undo her bra.

"Mm, careful," she says, a bit shyly.

"Tender?" he asks.

"A bit, yeah, but... just, erm, not too sure about milk and all that."

He laughs. "I won't complain." He pauses. "Would it be weird to admit it's actually a bit of a turn-on?"

She sniggers. "Considering some of what you've invented in your lab, George, no, I don't think that's weird."

He laughs again. "Ah but those are for laughs," he says, and cups her breast again, nuzzling the side of her neck and gently pushing her back. They fall onto his bed and she pulls him on top of her. "Nobody claims to be turned on by sweets that make their prick turn blue and start to sing funeral dirges," he says breathlessly, and he can't help thrusting against her, the heavy feeling in his groin barely eased by the action.

"Maybe they're just not telling you," Angelina says, and slips her hand into his pants, silencing him rather effectively. He bites his lip, brow furrowing, breath coming in short gasps, and undoes her zip, slipping a hand inside. She moans and closes her eyes and he caresses her, and she's already so wet and his heart is racing and his entire body yearns to take her, be inside her, thrust and thrust and--

"Please," she says breathlessly, and he pauses to help her peel off the rest of their clothing until they're finally naked and pressing against each other. He grabs his wand and starts to hastily cast a contraception spell - then stops, catches his breath, and casts it again, concentrating this time. He sniggers as Angelina reaches for her wand to do the same.

"Better safe than sorry," she murmurs, pulling him down onto her and taking his lips again. He covers her with his body and she parts her thighs and he's nestled against her and oh, fuck, he'd forgotten just how amazing this feels. She pulls back and they gaze at each other as he starts to guide himself inside her and then it's too much, and he clenches his eyes closed and rests his forehead against hers and holds her close, sliding home. They rest together a moment with him fully sheathed inside her. It feels somehow closer than he's ever been to her. She runs one hand through his hair, the other caressing his back, and then who knows what it is that she does but she squeezes him, somehow, and he gasps, thrusting almost involuntarily. She moans and moves again, and he wants so much to draw this out but he's caught in her rhythm and thrusting into her, crying out at the pleasure flooding through him, he couldn't stop this now for all the Galleons in the wizarding world, she's gasping and digging her nails into his arm and urging him on, and then he can't hold back any longer and comes with a groan as she keens, tightening around him, and it just goes on and on and leaves him breathless and spent and his entire body tingling with nothing but feeling good.

They hold each other, panting for breath, her hands slowly roaming over him. He should probably move off of her, but he's reluctant to leave her and when he starts to withdraw she tightens her arms around him again and effectively stops him, keeping him inside her as long as she can, her hands slowly roaming over his back and neck and hair, his own hands caressing her breasts, her face.

He eventually gets off of her and lies on his side next to her. She clears her throat. "D'you mind," she says nervously. "D'you mind if I stay the night?"

George thinks about that for a while. "No. I don't mind."

"D'you want me to?" she asks.

He smiles at her. "Yeah."

She makes a contented sound and gently pushes him onto his back and starts to settle herself against him, then lifts her head off his shoulder. "Oh. What about Lee?" she asks.

"He'll... I dunno, he'll be fine," says George, yawning.

"Really?"

"Well no, he'll probably have a lot to say," says George, closing his eyes. "I don't care."

She chuckles and settles back down again, slowly caressing his chest, and he lets himself drift a bit, soothed by her soft touches. Eventually he realizes what she's doing, looks down, and chuckles.

"What?" she asks, her voice sleepy.

"You're playing connect-the-dots with my freckles," he says.

She stops, then laughs and resumes her touches. "Didn't even realize I was doing it. Freckle fetish." She suddenly draws her breath in sharply and her eyes fill with tears.

He hesitates for a moment. "What is it?" he asks.

She clears her throat and shakes her head, blinking rapidly.

"What is it?" he asks again.

She glances at him and seems to change her mind. "This won't come out anywhere close to how I mean it," she warns.

"Try anyway."

"I wish... I wish I'd had more than two nights with Fred," she says.

George pulls her closer. "Yeah. Bet he does too, wherever he is."

She nods, and clears her throat again, resuming the aimless wandering of her fingers over his chest from one freckle to another.

"You made him happy, though," says George. "The last week, after you visited."

"Really?"

George smiles, his throat aching a bit. "Godric, he was so completely in love with you," he says, a bit embarrassed that he has to blink away sudden excess moisture from his eyes too. He gently traces the smooth line of her jaw. "I didn't even have the heart to tease him, he was already embarrassed enough."

Angelina smiles. "You? Not have the heart to tease?"

He shakes his head. "Glad I didn't."

"Yeah?"

"Well, no, I wish I had, because I would have if he'd gone on that way much longer. And he would have, if he'd survived the battle. But considering what happened, I'm glad I didn't."

She closes her eyes and so does he, and as he drifts off, her scent filling his senses and her arms around him, he realizes that for only the second time in his life he's going to sleep with another person. Another adult, that is - sharing a crib with Fred, and falling asleep with the baby, don't really count. The first time he ever did this was also with Angelina, but he decides that doesn't really count either, as they were both drunk and it ended with her waking him up the next morning crying.

Somehow he's fairly sure that won't happen tomorrow morning.