Chapter Text
I'm tired and thin
Haven't slept since the war
I'm a mess of wounded skin
like a wine sack that's been torn
In the sacred space
Behind the lids of my eyes
Mad-Eye darkly holds my gaze
And I can still see Fredrick's laughing face
It's not enough
To say that time
Can mend my wings
That one day I'll fly
From A Phoenix Lament
by the Ministry of Magic
That night, there was a mixture of mourning and rejoicing. That night, George gave his family the slip and went out, not knowing what else to do. That night, George had a young, blond man.
The man wore a sleeveless top and black leather pants. Whether he spotted George or George spotted him, the result was the same. The man pinned him up against the wall in the back room of a club. With warm breath upon George's lips, the man asked for a name. "Tim," George said, without hesitation.
"Tim," the blond man repeated. "Well, Tim, I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll feel me in your arse for a week." This pronouncement was followed by the strongest of kisses and a firm groping at George's crotch.
George shuddered and closed his eyes. "Just what I had in mind."
Strong hands took hold of him, shoving his pants down to George's knees, where they then slipped down to the ankles. Those same strong hands turned George around and threw him against the wall. A firm erection pressed between George's arse cheeks and moved up and down. Then velvety head of an unsheathed cock played at George's hole. The man grunted. "Lemmie get--"
George shook his head. "Raw," he insisted. "Just... please..."
The man chuckled. "Sure, Tim. Whatever nngh you ergh say." He forced himself into George, who cried out in pain.
"Fuck, man!" The man pulled out, alarmed.
Shaking his head, cheek pressed against the wall, tears leaking from his eyes, George whispered. "So good. Don't stop. Please" George's hand slid down to his own cock and pumped his fist along the shaft in time to the strong, massive thrusts. The thrusts made him feel as though his body were breaking apart, piece by piece. He felt trapped and helpless, squeezed between a hot, strong body and an unmoving wall. It was beautiful. "So good," he cried.
"That's it, Tim. Ohhh, so tight." Warm breath stung the back of George's neck. The quick heartbeat throbbed against his back. The cock went in deeper and deeper, faster and faster.
George came in his hand, against the wall, sticky and messy and so overpowered with the orgasm that he ultimately missed the blond man's as well.
*
The next morning, George couldn't get out of bed. He couldn't sleep but he lay there straight through breakfast. He stayed in bed through lunch. It was Bill who invited himself in to try to talk to George. "Go away," George said, hugging the pillows to his face, hoping sheets and blankets and pillows could block out the world magically somehow.
"George," Bill whispered, sitting down on the edge of the twin bed. "You've got to get up eventually. It's not so bad. You'll see."
George lifted his head, looking at Bill with an incredulous expression. "Fred," was the only word that he could get out before his voice broke and his mouth and eyes and nose all felt one second away from crying.
Bill nodded. "I know. I know. I've never known such hurt. But in time, the hurt will go away."
George had never lost anyone like this either, but he knew deep down that time wasn't the solution. Just ignoring it and letting time pass by him wouldn't do a damn thing. If anything, it would make things worse. George sat up. "That's not enough," he said. "Fred..."
"He was my brother, too," Bill said softly.
Jumping up from his bed, George backed away. He wore only boxers, and the marks the wall had made on his skin were mixed with the marks he'd received in battle. "He wasn't just my brother," George said. How could they not understand this?