Authors Note: I probably owe some sort of explanation for this fics existence. I was sitting at my desk having something of a case of writers block, when I remembered something my teacher told me, opened up a book, and used the first sentence I saw to frame the work. This was ill-planned, and written in one sitting, so don't expect my best work. It was simply something I did to see what I would come up with. I also know that it has a very odd pair. The pairing was not something I'd originally planned, but once again, I just started writing and this is where I ended up. Please enjoy and review.
Warnings: Slash, drinking, spoilers, death, and a reformed (and thus OOC) Draco Malfoy, non-cannon pairing, certain things that could be taken as twincest, and language.
"Sod off." George Weasley finished another pitcher of firewhiskey.
"I know how it feels." Draco Malfoy sank into the chair next to him. He snapped his finger, and the witch behind the counter brought him a drink without him even having to order. "I think a lot of people have hit the bottle pretty hard after the last battle."
"Who did you loose?" George asked, waving at the bartender to brink him another firewhiskey.
Draco lifted his drink. It was a slight blue color, and nothing George had ever had before. Draco handed the girl thirteen galleons for it, and George knew why.
"An old friend." Draco said mournfully, "I mean, yeah, he nearly killed us all, but... I don't know... that whole war just got so confusing at the end, didn't it? It changed people." He sipped the drink politely.
"It killed people." George took another big swig. "You can't get much more changed than that."
"And then there are other's like Potter and my father who've just gone on like nothing ever happened!"
George nodded, closing his red eyes for a moment and trying to think through the haze of alcohol, "Didn't your father go to prison?"
"For about a month." Draco nodded, "My mother pulled some strings and he got off on bail." Draco sipped his drink again. George wondered if this was a thing of manors, or if that was one of those drinks that it was a really bad idea to take a true swig of. "I hear you lost a twin."
George nodded, "And you an aunt?"
"At your mother's hands." Draco said coldly. Another sip, which the blond seemed to truly revel in, followed this comment. "But she was a bitch anyway. She moved in as a fugitive and treated my parents like crap. The only useful thing she ever did was teach me Occlemency."
George was quiet. "It must be nice to care so little."
"There are other things that hurt." Draco's eyes, which were just starting to get the glazed over look, met George's blood-shot pissed ones.
"I... I didn't take his death very well." George admitted. "I held onto the body and cried for what felt like years... and then I woke up the next morning at my parents house... in my old bed... and I'd expected to be able to look up on the top bunk and see him there, sleeping..." It took another large drink for him to work up the strength to go on. "But he wasn't there... And I couldn't talk to anyone about it, because my mother and Percy and Ginny would cry, or my father and Bill and Charley would have some stupid spill about how he would want us to go on and be strong... and Harry and Ron wouldn't even talk about. Harry blamed himself, and Ron and Hermione have been so careful about not upsetting our perfect little golden boy..." Another swig of firewhiskey followed, "Now, don't get me wrong. I love the guy... but other people have feelings... I mean, he's been through a lot, sure... but what about me?"
Draco nodded, "Well, you can talk to me."
George sighed, "Draco... if you could trade places with anyone that died, would you?"
Draco smiled sadly, "Anyone. I didn't deserve to make it out of that battle alive."
George was quiet. "I would've traded with Fred. I mean, it very well could have been me! It just wasn't... should've been, probably..."
"You loved him that much?"
George nodded, tossing his drink aside in hopes of maintaining what little sobriety he had left. "Of course I did. Draco, he wasn't just my brother... he was my best friend and..."
Draco patted the other man on the back.
"Do you have anyone you love that much?"
Draco thought for a moment. "I don't know... maybe my parents."
"No 'special someone' though?"
Draco shook his head, "Honestly, no."
"That's too bad. Everyone should have someone they're in love with."
Their lips met, rather unexpectedly for both parties, and Draco's drink fell to the floor.
George Weasley woke up with the feeling that a hippogriff was stepping repeatedly on his head.
He moaned softly, wishing the sunlight that harshly shot through the half-open blinds would just go fuck itself. He sat up slowly, wondering if his mother would have any headache-cures around.
Egyptian Cotton sheets that definitely did not belong to him slipped smoothly down to his hips.
His eyes focused, and he could see a emerald decorated bedroom, larger than the living room and kitchen at the burrow combined. It was like some of the bigger bedrooms at Grimwald Place.
He blinked and leaned back, trying to figure out how the hell he got here.
But when he adjusted his hands to support his weight, it wasn't bedsheets that he felt beneath his fingers.
Flesh. A smooth, slightly muscled chest was beneath his fingers.
He turned. The blond haired teen blinked at him.
"How'd you get here?" There was no anger in his voice, just confusion.
"Hell if I know." George slipped out of the bed, only to find his pants absent from their post. His underwear and t-shirt, thankfully, where still in place.
Draco climbed out immediately after. Bare-chested, but aside from that dressed.
"We didn't...?" Draco wondered breathlessly.
"I don't think so. It wouldn't make any sense that we'd put our clothes back on afterwards."
Draco nodded, laying his hand over his heart and sighing. He opened his gray eyes slowly, and as George watched the look of fear vanish, he was reminded of that night on the train when the dementors came.
"You're not going to yell at me? Call me a blood traitor? Kick me out?" George asked slowly. He'd expected the Malfoy heir to have a fit.
Draco shook his head and began digging through his drawers. "I'm trying not to."
George couldn't help but ask, "Why?"
Draco was quiet for a minute, "The war is over. Mother says that we've lost and it's time we start trying to get along."
"Was that an offer for a truce?"
Draco pulled out a pair of pants, and threw it at George. "You can see yourself out if you like. There's not much worth sticking around for."
George smirked, despite his splitting head ache, "Answer the question."
Draco opened up another drawer and continued to ignore the redhead.
"People died in that war, Draco. On both sides." With muscles made from years of playing as on of Gryffindor's best beaters ever, he forced the blond to face him, "And for what?"
Draco looked down. "Alright. Let's call a truce." He held out his hand.
George took it, his eyes unable to stray away from the Dark Mark that was still visible on Draco's left arm.
"That hasn't gone away yet?"
Draco shook his head sorrowfully, "Father says it takes months."
George let the other boy return to the drawers, and pulled on the top that Draco had thrown at him. He headed slowly for the blond's bedroom door.
"Just to make it clear," Draco called after him, "I do not need your sympathy."
George smirked, "What makes you think you had it?"
"Your memory comes back slowly." The blond turned, shirt draped over his arm. He thrust what George could recognize as a hang-over cure into his hand. "I quote: 'That's too bad. Everyone should have someone they're in love with.'... I don't need such a person."
"The war's been over for all of a month. Wait until you're a little more settled, then see if you still feel that way." He chugged the potion while Draco did the same with another one.
"Sure..." George began to head out of the room again, but then a thought hit him, "Have you ever felt that way about someone?"
"No." Draco snapped.
George turned and walked over to him, "You've never had anyone you cared about enough to do let kiss you? Touch you? Love you?" His love for crossed his mind. The love between the twins had felt so deep it had transcended everything else, physical and metaphorical, romantic and brotherly. How could a boy like Draco never have felt those things and still manage to will himself to get out of bed every morning.
Draco felt flushed, by both the redheads words and his proximity. "No... I... I mean, I've kissed, but... but as for those other things..."
"Would you like someone to?"
Draco laughed nervously, "You have got to still be drunk."
"Nope." George began to caress the pale flesh at his disposal. "Just think of it as an interesting sub-category of Gryffindor chivalry."
Draco didn't pull away from him, but he didn't respond either. He liked the way the hand felt, going across his chest and his muscles. Feeling him deeply. Reaching out to him in a way that no one had since his father's first arrest.
George backed Draco gently against a wall, and kissed him as passionately as he could. He wasn't still drunk. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he could tell by Draco's reactions it was the right thing to do. They both needed this, in their twisted ways. Draco needed to feel like he had a connection to somebody, and George needed to assure himself he could be brave enough to love someone again.
He pulled away, "George... this is a bad idea. With my family, and the war... It's really dangerous..."
"Most good things are." He bit the blond's neck.
"George, you're indulging."
The redhead laughed, "If I walk away now, what do either of us stand to gain?"
George grabbed the teen's mouth, "And if I stay?"
Draco kissed him.
There was no gentle or sensual removing of their clothes. The material seemed to just dissolve around them. Their sweat-soaked bodies were pressed together, and they their lips where everywhere on the other one they could get at. George's tongue flicked over the athletic flesh, and for the first time in weeks, he wasn't thinking about Fred. No, now it was Draco was the center of his world, and he never wanted that to change.
And to prove his good intentions, he decided not to rob the Slytherin of his anal virginity. Rather, he slid down on the snakes body, and traced a line of soft kisses up the quivering thigh, enjoying the quick gasps for air that rewarded him.
He took the bulging manhood into his mouth, and sucked shamelessly. Draco groaned and arched into his mouth, clearly not used to such forms of pleasure.
'The Holier-Than-Thou brat was probably raised to think masturbation was wrong. He's perfectly virgin.' George now added his hands into giving the blond pleasure. He didn't need to worry about his own hard manhood, for the moans coming from above him were already taking perfect care of that.
Draco orgasmed quickly, as was expected of a virgin, and George finished himself off in the next minute.
They lay on the soft sheets, breathing deeply and looking into each other eyes.
"What does this mean? We don't love each other." Draco asked nervously.
"We don't... but Draco, my mum says that the aftermath of a war can be just as bad as the fighting. We both need some help getting through this. If we choose to take it in this way, who out there has any right to call us wrong? I don't love you, but as long as you are here and ripe for loving, I promise I'll try."
Draco nodded, "That makes sense, I guess... Fine. I'll try too."
George waved his wand, and the same blue stuff Draco had been drinking last night levitated up from the kitchens.
Draco smiled. "Big drinker?"