Sequel: Loonar

Hand Me Downs.

Hogsmeade.

“I don’t like it.” I shook my head, my face barely illuminated in the thin underground tunnel.

“It’s such a good song.”

“You sung it pretty much everyday of the summer, now... don’t get me wrong. I liked it at first but... well...” he pulled a face and I glared.

“Are you saying I can’t sing?” He took a moment to reply, rubbing his chin with his long fingers as if deep in thought,

“Let’s just say... don’t give up the day job kiddo.” his hand reached over and rubbed the top of my head.

My hand made contact with his quickly, leaving my fingers prickling, “At least I don’t make a fool of myself at every welcome dinner like you and Fred.” he just grinned, shuffling slightly so I was just in front of him as the passage narrowed even more, my back just inches from his chest.

“Me and Fred do not make fools of ourselves. We are perfect in every way.” This time it was my turn to snort, as I struggled to tilt my head and look up at him.

“Now I know Molly isn’t feeding you that bullshit!” I squealed as his nails dug into either side of my waist, my arm flinging sideways from the contact and scraping against the hard stone, causing me to wince.

“Oww, George!” I complained childishly as we reached the end of the passage, the stairs to Honeydukes finally in sight. I stopped twisting my arm awkwardly until he could see the tiny scratches, “Look what you made me do. You abusive man, you.” He rolled his eyes, eager to continue on-wards and get his stuff from Zonko’s.

“Man up.”

“Fuck off,” my voice was whiny, sounding horrible even to my own ears. “Make it better.”

“You are so annoying.” I pouted, and he finally stood stool, pulling a face at me that reminded me instantly of his mother scolding me.

“You want me to kiss it better?” I nodded, our eyes holding contact as he bent down and instead of kissing my elbow kissing my forehead lightly. He pulled back and I placed my arm back down by my side silently.

That was weird.

My forehead felt slightly hot, George looked awkward as he stood back to his full height of 6’2, moving his eyes to the staircase, “We should probably go up... we don’t wanna get back too late and miss dinner.”

“Of course food is on your mind,” I mumbled slightly, brushing my hair from where it had fallen across my face, my knuckles brushing lightly over the warm patch his lips had touched.

My stomach suddenly let out a loud growl and the awkwardness shattered, for him at least.

“And you say I’m always hungry,” he joked, waiting for me at the bottom of the narrow stepladder, offering me a hand as I went first.

“I’m a growing girl.” I argued, my voice normal.

My stomach rumbled again, but it was the butterflies entangled in there which worried me.

___


“Why are we in here again?”

“Because Neville asked me to get him some special fertiliser for that bloody plant.” I answered, fingers running along the piles of sack on the shelf, he groaned slightly but let it slip.

After all, he had spent a good forty minutes in Zonko’s talking to the woman who ran it now, chatting about crap and even flirting.
The butterflies in my stomach had dropped dead, writhing as they were buried in the stomach acid.

“Is there anywhere else we need to go?” He asked lightly, shooting a glance at the skinny man behind the counter, covered himself in soil and looking like one of his parents had been a plant themselves.

I popped my lips, “I told Ryan if we had the time I would get some more alcohol from the Hogs Head.”

“You have a problem,” He said, no conviction behind his words, I shrugged, teasing him.

“A lot of people are saying that lately.”

“Maybe people have a point,” I looked up at him, his tone suddenly more serious. My eye brows curved.

“I don’t drink that much. We just do it for fun.”

“There are other ways to have fun,” I frowned, narrowing my eyes slightly at him, “What?” he asked, hands raised upwards, palms facing me, “Don’t get all mad,” he turned, pretending to look at the sacks, “I just don’t get it, it’s not like you get anything from it. You guys just get stupid and sleep.” I pursed my lips slightly but let it drop.

The latter of what he said was a very valuable reason.

“This is it anyway.” I said, voice too light, tone too cheery.

He knew he struck a nerve.
Why did he get to tell me what I could or couldn't do?

“I’ll just pay for it and we can go back.” He nodded, taking the brown paper bag from around my wrist as I scrambled in my backpack for my purse. I turned after I had paid the man, who seemed in a permanent daze.

“I think he may be sniffing some of the chemicals.” I said lowly as we left, the bell on the door jingling into the cold air, George chuckled weakly, ignoring my offers to take my full bag back.

“Nah.. it fine, I just don’t get why you need to much hair stuff.” I smiled up at him, putting the drink conversation behind me.

A heavy feeling in my stomach told me he was right.

“Cause my hair is shit,” I said, pulling my hat a little lower down at the back, the tangle of curls catching in my collar, “And I used up all of Ginny’s curling deluxe serum over the holidays so I owe her.”

He just shook his head at me, “Your hair is fine.”

“You can’t see it, my hats hiding it.” He mimicked me in a high voice, reaching over and pulling it off, the cold rushing to my head, “Hey!” I exclaimed, trying to flatten it.

“It looks lovely,” he said over dramatically, tossing me my hat back, “You worry too much about how you look... You’re such a girl.”

“Nice observation Sherlock,” I said sarcastically, but shoving my hat away in my pocket, “I just want to look pretty.”

“What's Sherlock? Either way you always look pretty. You know that.” He didn’t even look at me, stating it like it was a fact.

The butterflies were revived and my chest felt slightly tight.

“Thank-you.” I half whispered, my eyes suddenly finding Hogsmeade more beautiful and distracting than ever. I turned, meeting his eyes quickly and darting mine away, fidgeting with the sleeves of my coat.

“We ready to go back?” he nodded, and we started back to Honey dukes, walking closely side by side, his hand again encasing mine as we disappeared into the backroom of Honey dukes, my feet landing heavily on the dusty floor back in the passage. I glanced at my watch, the hands telling me it was half past five, half an hour to get back before the evening feast.

“How long we got?” George asked, landing beside me.

“Half an hour, better hurry because you know Filch does his pre-dinner skulk.”

“Mmm, he’s searching people now as well... apparently they’ve started searching Owls.” I shook my head,

“It’s fucking Umbridge... and oh God, I have detention with her later. “ George had the grace to look guilty and we spent the whole walk back deciding from which disgusting mythical creatures she had spawned.

We eventually decided it was surely a mix of Empousa and Medusa....that and a touch of the common toad.
___


My hand was red raw, words carved into the thin skin below my knuckles, I shall not be insolent.

I had worn a long sleeved jumper purposely and slid the end over my hand as I reached the Common Room, Harry sending me a pitiful look instantly.

But I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself... I was livid.

“You alright?” Dale asked, shooting me a concerned look as I sat down, I nodded, forcing a smile on my face,

“I need a drink.” I said shortly, feeling slightly guilty as I thought back to George. He didn’t want me too. He knew exactly why I did it.

I didn’t handle stress well. I didn’t handle that at least twice a week I would see her in St.Mungo’s. That I would relive her pulling the knife across the weak skin of her throat, her voice box protruding as the blood gushed, splattering onto me and soaking into bed sheets.

As she suddenly turned into Bellatrix. I winced, shaking myself slightly to rid the images from behind my eyelids, Dale still studying me.

“Okay,” he said simply, standing, “Come on.” he offered me a hand and I accepted, his eyes darkening as he saw the cuts, “I think you’re in need of a talk as well.” I nodded mutely, suddenly feeling weary.

In the last twenty four hours I had felt pretty much every emotion, the fear of the dream, the quiet sobbing into my pillow case at five in the morning.

It was pathetic how it still bothered me.

And then stress at how I didn’t understand that Transfiguration lesson, being scolded by McGonagall which didn’t usually happen a lot but was something that made me feel like absolute shit.

Everything with George.
Umbridge.

And then came the relaxation of the alcohol, the burn of my throat, the way it calmed me, made me laugh, made us laugh.

The burn of lust as Dale’s lips met mine, as our bodies became entwined, as I panted into his mouth, my neck stinging from the way his teeth grazed the sensitive skin.

Guilt.
♠ ♠ ♠
Apologies for the long wait!

I spent a week at a BBC training academy with Uni ( which was awesome) and I've had a shitload of work to do....

But I hope this makes up for a it... a lot happens ahaa...

Comments please :)

Next Update within the week! ( hopefully)