wl_mods (wl_mods) wrote in wizard_love, @ 2011-02-06 00:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | *fic, 2011, george, luna |
Special delivery for downjune
Title: Sigh No More
Author:
Recipient's LJ name: downjune
Pairing: George Weasley/Luna Lovegood
Rating: NC-17
Summary A therapy assignment leads to much more than George had ever expected.
Word Count: 5,200
Warnings/Content: Um, sex? Nothing kinky.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I wouldn't be a poor graduate student.
Author's notes: Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta, S. You're the best little tyrant beta a girl could ask for, and I have some serious love for you. To downjune, I sorta played fast and loose with your prompt, but I hope you enjoy!
A faint buzzing sound echoed around the room, a byproduct of the old fan that was spinning round and round on the ceiling. Its steady rhythm was comforting, in an odd sort of way. It was like no matter what was said in the room, whatever sins and secrets were revealed, the fan would keep on turning. It never wavered, never faltered in its automated task.
"George."
Not for the first time, he noticed the slight imperfections in the white ceiling tiles. Some of the holes were larger than others, and they formed a pattern across the rectangular sheets of thin plaster. The first time he'd seen them, he'd thought that it looked like a snitch with its wings outstretched. Today, the marks looked more like Wigtown Wanderer's logo.
"George."
George started and glanced back to his left toward the large oak desk. It was almost too big and seemed to dwarf the petite woman sitting behind it. Said woman was looking at him over her glasses, her green eyes infinitely patient as she waited for him to say something.
"Sorry, what was that last?" he asked, blinking in confusion. Had she asked him a question?
Dr. Ostorff gave a small chuckle and scribbled something down on her notepad. "I asked how your sister-in-law was, Fleur. You mentioned she was going to have a baby soon?"
"Oh. Right. She's doing well, I think. Bill's the one about to drive us all mental, 'bout started to build a stone wall in the back garden. You know, so the baby can't crawl out to the beach or anything. Fleur nearly hit him over the head with a bottle of absinthe." He wasn't sure what had set her off more; the fact that Bill was hovering incessantly, destined to be one of thoseparents, or the fact that, in her condition, she couldn't drink the absinthe.
"So, he's taking it all in stride then."
George snorted softly. "If you say so."
"And what do you think Fred would say about that?"
Immediately, it was as if the room temperature plummeted by ten degrees. George's mouth was set in a hard line, and his focus went back to the ceiling tiles. "I don't want to talk about him."
The doctor sighed and pushed her glasses back up her nose, settling them into place. "George," she said softly, sympathetically, "you're going to have to talk about him soon."
"I don't want to talk about him," he repeated, his tone firm.
"I know you're still hurting, but we've discussed your father, your mother, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny. We've even talked about Lee, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia. You're going to have to talk about Fred soon, you know."
"Not now." His words were clipped and decisive.
Dr. Ostorff was smart enough to let the subject go, though George had a feeling that would not be the last time the woman mentioned his twin. He didn't want to be here, lying on his back and spilling his soul out to some strange Muggle-- Percy had recommended her; his brother had heard of this doctor-- a psychiatrist-- through some of his Ministry contacts.
"Maybe it'll help if he talks to someone who doesn't know us," he'd heard Percy tell their Mum after Sunday tea. "But we've got to do something."
And so here he was, two months and eight sessions later, and he was still no closer to telling this woman about his other half than he had been when he'd started. All he said was that he'd died in an accident; a car crash the week after he'd sat for his A-levels.
"When was the last time you went on a date?"
His head snapped to the left, eyebrows arched in surprise. "What?"
"I said, when was the last time you went on a date?"
George blinked. "I don't know. A while ago?"
"Can you be more specific?" Again, that pen was out and scratching across her notepad-- Merlin, but George would pay good money to see what the bloody hell she was writing. "Have you dated at all since the accident?"
"Define 'date.'" He wasn't sure if he could define what he and Angelina had shared as 'dating.' It was more fucking than anything else, really. They were both emotional wrecks, and it had seemed natural to try and cope with the loneliness together. But the entire time, it had just felt wrong.
"Well, traditionally a date is when a man asks a woman to go do something. Societal norms dictate that the activity usually ranges from things like going to the cinema to having dinner together, though not everyone enjoys such things."
If George didn't know any better, he'd have sworn she was being sarcastic. That might have been his imagination at work, though. Everything about the good doctor screamed professionalism, from her perfectly-arranged chignon to the tips of her patent leather shoes.
"Then no, I haven't been on a date recently," he replied, looking back up at the ceiling. Maybe that wasn't the Wanderers logo... now that he was staring, it looked more like Tutshill's.
"Have you taken a lover, then?" she asked frankly, peering at him through those cats eye glasses of hers.
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
"George, we're both adults, and sex isn't meant to be embarrassing," she replied patiently. "What I'm trying to ask is, is there anyone who you've opened yourself to, either emotionally or physically?"
He thought about lying. He really didn't want to talk about Angelina; she was-- had been-- Fred's girl, and he could only imagine how fucked up it all sounded. Sleeping with his dead twin's girlfriend. Now that was an psychological gold mine for Dr. Ostorff to delve into.
In the end, he came clean. "One. But it's over now."
"And what happened to end the liaison?"
"She was Fred's girl." Angelina had wanted the illusion for the night, and he'd wanted someone to hold him. In the end, they'd both been disappointed. He wasn't his twin, and he never would be.
That obviously hadn't been what she'd expected to hear, though she did a good job masking her surprise by jotting a few notes down. A pen sounded different from a quill, he noticed. It didn't scratch the same, familiar way. It was quieter, though, and didn't interfere with the constant hum of the ceiling fan.
After a long pause, Dr. Ostorff said, "George, I have an assignment for you."
He snorted. "No one said you got homework in therapy."
"Yes, well, consider this an out-of-session session. I want you to go on a date."
George shifted on the leather sofa, craning his neck to look at her with confusion. "Come again?"
"I'm going to postpone our next session until the twentieth, so that's two weeks from today. In the meantime, I want you to ask a woman-- or a man, if you're so inclined-- out on a date. It doesn't have to be anything extraordinarily romantic, but I think that an hour or two with someone who isn't a member of your family would be good."
"How in the bloody hell is going on a date supposed to help me get over all this?"
The doctor simply smiled at him. "You'll see. And I'll see you in two weeks."