New George/Remus story. With a dash of Draco. "All Men Make Faults"

[thrihyrne]

This is the sequel to "Cartography of Fire," including a brief bridge to the third story (at the end) from Remus' POV. I'm already working on the third story. And making icons. ;)



"Hmngrhph."

Heavy breath in, heavy breath out, panting, panting…

"Phrmphgh. Hmhfrnghyesmorelikethatyesyessojustlikethat."

The intoxicating sound of skin slapping against skin; the feeling of sweaty hair against sweaty hair; tactile, musky lust in his every needed lungful of air… it made him want to fuck the other man from here to Thursday.

Even though it was Thursday. Already.

"Harder! Ohyestherethereohmerlinyoufirebrandarghhhhahhhh…"

The already inarticulate commentary was swallowed into George's shoulder in a particularly painful, but erotic, and understandable full-on bite.

"Remus!" George wailed, though he didn't stop pummeling his lover.

Words far beyond curse or blessing in any language spouted from Lupin's lips, uttered heatedly into a barrage of freckled skin. George rode him out, shuddering against him in silence. Lupin was the verbal one; his dirty talk could make George hard even in the least promising conditions. Chatty otherwise, George was almost silent in bed.

Almost.

"Sunshine," he gasped, thrusting a last time.

It was their joke. They had discovered their attraction to each other Christmas Day a year ago wandering through ancient standing stones. The only sun to be had was that which could be evoked by a wizard interested enough in arcana to be able to summon it from the rock, infused there centuries ago by ancient magic folk. Kilmartin. Stonehenge. Even some inexplicable walls in Tintern Abbey. Lovely, cold, isolated pillars; and since the pair didn't wish for company, the times of year when George and Lupin travelled usually found their quarry surrounded by mist or some other permutation of chilling rain. But no other people. And certainly no sun.

"You're incredible," Remus incanted against the abused tendons, sinking back into his bed and pulling George with him.

"Flattery always gets you buggered. D'you mind moving your bloody skinny knees a bit further down?" George asked, affectionately shaking the older man's legs so that they splayed a bit and he could collapse on his side. Lupin was taller and wiry, but George hadn't lost his strength gained by Quidditch and, more recently, attention to his own physique thanks to Lupin's directed affections toward him.

"Werewolf metabolism," Lupin said, shrugging as though in apology.

"You always say that, you furry beanpole," George replied, then leaned his head in to nip at one of Remus' still-hard nipples.

Lupin rumbled low in this throat, which made George grin through his teeth, still clenched on their prize. He ran his tongue over the hard nub for good measure, then lounged back against the bedcovering, cradling his head in a hand.

"You won't believe this," George began, giving Remus his most skeptical look.

"Dumbledore accepted your teaching proposal," Lupin finished.

George attempted a scowl, but it was terribly hard to retain when Remus was running a set of his long fingers through his dense thatch of red pubic hair.

"Oh, sod it. Why do I bother? For somebody who's had such a hard-luck life, you're terribly optimistic. Yes. Accepted for the upcoming spring term."

Lupin's talented hand moved up and over George's solid stomach, across his ribs and finally up to his lips, where they lingered for a brief moment, tapping a few times for emphasis.

"Traditional Hogwarts schooling made a most underwhelming impact on you and Fred. But your innate skill and intelligence were always there. It's only fair that you're now able to inflict some of that back to the next generation. As I've said before, the power of laughter is terribly undervalued in current magical studies."

George snaked out his tongue to lick the finger crossing his mouth. Lupin's golden eyes focused on his wet finger. He gave George a rather heated look, then reconciled his hand to settle further down George's body on his hip. His mouth freed, George said, "Can't wait to tell Fred. He really won't believe me." His left hand traced familiar patterns on Lupin's scar-laden skin. "George Weasley. Assistant Professor."

Remus shook his head. "Selkies save us."

"Pity Malfoy won't let me use his potions lab."

A snort made George turn his head toward his lover. "He may be young, but he's not daft."

"Oy!" George shifted away from Remus. "And just what exactly is that supposed to mean? You've even seen my lab at the joke shop."

"Exactly."

George shrugged Remus' head off of his bruised shoulder. "Pompous, over-scholarly know-it-all."

He didn't mean it, of course, though he would have loved to have access to some of the current Potions Professor's more delicate measuring devices.

"Hedonistic, shaggable, overly-sensitive-"

"I'll show you over sensitive," George warned, rolling Lupin over and pinning him, lowering himself to lick his way through Lupin's mouth.

He did.


*****


"You know that something must be horribly wrong in the universe for this to be happening."

Fred sat in one of the two chairs in the portrait, bouncing something against the frame, again and again. And again. And again.

"Yup," George agreed, cheerful. He adjusted his tie. "Same bloody forces that took you away. I don't understand a bollocky bit of it, Fred. How d'I look?"

He walked away from the mirror to face the painting, putting on his most serious and scholarly face.

Fred pocketed his projectile and stood to give his twin a once-over. He stood in silence for several long minutes, rather unlike him. "You won't fool a soul, I must say," he finally admitted. "'Cept maybe some innocent first-years. We're not meant for teaching, George. Why are you doing this, again? Please remind me."

George wilted. "Oh, bloody hell." He stomped off to the kitchen, found a dusty bottle of scotch and poured a healthy splash into a glass, then returned to his bedroom.

"Right." He tossed back a mouthful, winced, and put the glass on his chest of drawers. "Are you being honest, or are you just ruddy toying with me because you're dead and I'm not, and you're sick of being stuck with me and Bill and Perce and Charlie…"

"I'm not stuck with anybody, you disloyal, pretentious, poofter-"

"Oh! So we're back to that, are we?" George paced in front of the portrait, then glared over at his Green Knights' Quidditch team poster. All of the players had clustered in the corner closest to the dresser, listening avidly to the argument. "You lot! Go on- you need the practise." They resumed their more common flying patterns and George readdressed his attentions to his brother.

Fred was sulking. It didn't suit him. He slouched malevolently in a chair, rolling a coin over his left knuckles.

"Look, Fred," George began. "Things change. The shop means more to me than anybody, except you. You know that."

There was a disgruntled sound from the portrait.

"We made Wizarding Wheezes what it is. I'm only teaching in the afternoons, and only then to some poor defenseless third and fifth years. Zap is great with customers, and I trust him with everything."

Fred perked up a bit. "How're those shrinking socks selling?"

"They're brilliant!" George enthused. "One of your best ideas. Can barely keep them in stock."

"Maybe you need some new designs," Fred offered. "I could draw up a few…"

"Only if you're not busy," George said to the painting, but Fred was already up and wandering halfway out of the portrait, doodling on a piece of parchment, his tongue clenched between his teeth. The portrait-George, who had discreetly stayed out of the way for the duration of the row, now joined Fred and nodded in approval at whatever it was that Fred was putting on paper.

George shook his head, still amazed at Fred's ingenuity and his inability to stay angry at anything - or anyone - for very long.

"I'll let you know how my first day goes," he said, fastening his newly-issued Hogwarts professorial robe. "Assistant Professor Weasley," he muttered to himself.

Fred and portrait-George were still huddled over the parchment as he left the room.

"See you in a couple of days!" Fred shouted from the portrait.

George stopped in his tracks, turned around, and strode back, leaning in on the doorframe. "What?"

"Full moon is tonight, or had you forgotten?" Fred asked pointedly, the portrait-George looking almost as shocked as George felt.

"I… well… I…" George stammered.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Some boyfriend you are." He went back to his drawing.

*****

Amber liquid swirled around the glass as George circled the tumbler Lupin had foisted on him. Remus enjoyed having a post-dinner bourbon, and preferred that George have one too, even though he wasn't really fond of the stuff. It was one of many attributes that George had discovered in the months they had been together.

Except that now George couldn't say that. In fact, he couldn't really say anything. He had lost his voice for the fifth time in five weeks.

"You should go see Malfoy," Lupin said, starting to tackle a pile of scrolls.

"Malfoy?" George mouthed, a susurrant, barely audible sound coming from his lips. "Why not Pomfrey?"

"She's in Bath. Visiting her goddaughter."

George nodded, indicating that he'd heard. "It's nothing," he attempted. "It'll go away, always does."

"Yes, but you shouldn't still be going through this. You aren't even teaching a full load."

"Not used to speaking so much."

Lupin looked up from the parchment he had begun marking. "All the more reason to go get something from Malfoy."

George took in his lover's gaze and saw an unaccustomed tightness in his forehead.

"What is it?" he rasped, then took a drink as comprehension swung at him like a Bludger. "Oh. Bollocks. Sorry. Anniversary coming up."

Remus looked at him, his eyes shining in apologetic loss.

George sighed. "I'm no Sirius." And thank Merlin for that, he mused privately, recognising that Remus was about to be swept off into memories. Neither he nor Fred had been very fond of the moody man during their time at 12 Grimmauld Place. Since he and Remus had been - together? shagging each other senseless? - he had tried to figure out the appeal and had decided that Sirius Black must have been very different when he and Remus had been in school. He shrugged. "Just be off to the dungeons, then," he forced out through his exhausted larynx.

"He'll be a big help," Lupin offered.

Clasping to his injured pride like a faulty but beloved broom, George left Lupin's chamber. He took the secretive route that led him right outside of the Slytherin Common Room. He was a staff member and allowed to roam the castle as he pleased, but it would be rather suspicious for him to be there this late. He was not, after all, part of the faculty in residence. Included on George's list of things he preferred never to have to experience was sitting in front of Dumbledore with a cup of tea, explaining the reasons why he was spending several nights a month with another professor. And not just at the full moon.

He was in front of Draco's office. It was late; there were hundreds of reasons for him not to be there. He raised his hand to knock when he heard the unmistakable crisp sound of Malfoy's voice.

"Come in, Weasley."

The door opened.

"How did you know…" George started, before remembering that he had lost his voice and Draco probably couldn't hear him.

"Professor Snape put some clever premonition wards on the door, and I was rather unwilling to change them once I inherited these rooms," Draco replied. "I knew it was you in the corridor." He looked George up and down, then sniffed at him. "You've been with Lupin. I can tell." He backed away and focused his attentions to a secluded cabinet. "You smell of that swill he drinks. I'll find a decent merlot."

George shook his head, wondering just how much contraband alcohol was in Hogwarts, and why people kept forcing it on him. He had only recently appreciated the social isolation of the professors, all of them probably driven to drink by their charges. For a quick moment he thought of Filch, taken only a few days after he and Fred - well, he - had been rescued from the Death Eaters the summer after they left school. George had no soft spot in his heart for the caretaker, but he could guess what he had suffered, his mind plundered for information about all of the intricacies of Hogwarts, before he was abandoned to the front steps of his beloved keep, a raving, blinded lunatic. He had died shortly thereafter. Damn unlucky chap, George thought, remembering the grief he and Fred had put him through. He probably had his own distillery hidden somewhere in the castle.

Draco was back, a glass of wine proffered in his hand. "Please," he waved at a rather plush chair. "Have a seat."

They sat down across from each other.

"So what brings you here at this hour?" He looked at George with an invasive gaze. "It's a bit late for you to still be in Hogwarts, isn't it?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Was our resident werewolf in need of some cheering up?"

George scrambled for a decent-sounding story since he had just had three pointed questions in a row piled on him. He opted to answer only part of the trio of queries. "Lupin was helping me decide on an obscure Wizarding name for a new product," he croaked. Even to George the comment sounded flat and ridiculous. Since when had he lost his talent at telling lies? He coughed, then drank some of the wine. It was obviously very select and went down his abused throat like velvet. "He suggested I come see you since Madame Pomfrey is out."

"Lost your voice again, I hear," Draco said dryly. "Or don't. And lying doesn't suit you, Weasley. I know why you're here after hours. Your family must be shocked to have someone of your ilk in the family. Fred surely is turning in his grave."

"Don't you ever mention him like that again," George fumed, willing his voice to an audible level. He cleared his throat, managed a gravelly-sounding sentence. "And he knows."

Draco gazed heavy-lidded at him, taking a languid swallow of wine. "How? And not that I'll let anyone know; you've been astonishingly discreet. As the saying goes, it takes one to know one. It's a lonely life. For some of us."

George gaped.

"Weasley, Weasley," Draco said, shaking his head. "If there were any, you'd catch flies."

George had the presence of mind to shut his mouth as Draco gracefully stood up and placed his glass on a counter.

"My apologies about the earlier comment. Sometimes I'm a bastard without actually intending to be. Let me help you with your condition." He walked over to a glass-paned pantry and opened it, taking out a tall flask filled with an ochre-colored liquid. He paced over to his workbench and flicked his wrists as though he were fluffing a sheet on a bed, making his black robes race back to his elbows. George was unsurprised to see the muted Dark Mark on his arm.

"Dash of crushed mugwort should do the trick," George attempted.

Some of the bottled contents were mixed with a few hastily ground red seeds, then poured into a glass.

"Cheers," Draco said, handing the potion to George, letting their fingers touch as he did so.

George drank the bitter concoction, following it up with another swig of the far more pleasant wine. Much better.

"Thank you," he muttered, his voice returning. "Portrait."

"Come again?" the potions master said, running his fingers through his long pale hair as he again took a seat across from George.

"Portrait," George repeated. "Mum had them done for each of us after we graduated. Or, in Fred's and my case, when we left school. So I have ours in my flat."

Draco looked surprised. "Ah. But doesn't it become a bit… odd? You get older, you have experiences, he doesn't." Piercing grey eyes stared at George. "And what about you?"

George shifted a bit. "Well, yes, I'm there too, but not very often. I mean, not when I'm around." He snorted. "Yeah, it gets a bit weird. But we're all used to it by now."

"Isn't he a bit old?"

"Fred? We're the same age!" George was confused by the question.

"No, Weasley. Not Fred. Lupin."

Malfoy's legs were disturbingly close to his. Hadn't Draco once said something about an eye for beauty while looking at him? Bloody hell. This was sodding Malfoy. Pretentious. Arrogant. Intriguingly handsome. Where'd that thought come from? George was shocked. He must've put some kind of Dark Arts something in the wine.

"Well, yes, he's older," George began.

"And you're his assistant, so I've read," Draco went on, slinking backward to lounge in the tall-backed black leather chair across from him. "Mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Wizarding Association? That's rather an unlikely career change."

"My main job is still at the shop," George interrupted. "Always will be. This other stuff is temporary. But I do enjoy teaching."

"You're making quite the impression on your students," Draco said, twirling his glass in his hand. "I'm afraid that were they to find out about your…preferences, you would break the hearts of at least three Ravenclaws."

George looked at his wine. Was there any subtle way to tell what Draco had done to his drink?

"I should drop by sometime," Draco went on, brushing an invisible speck from his immaculate robe. "I don't believe I ever went to Zonko's, so I wouldn't be able to compare, but Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes does have a stellar reputation."

"Well, it's pretty bloody brilliant, if I do say so." George smiled. "It was last Christmas when Remus came by the shop that started…" he fidgeted. "Everything."

Draco let his gaze wander purposefully over George. "How is he?"

"Moody." George couldn't believe his own honesty. Malfoy, the sneaky bastard. He must have put veritaserum in the potion.

Draco looked interested.

"Can't say I blame him, of course. It was five years ago when Black died."

"Ah. So they were… involved."

"You could say that."

A thoughtful ‘hmmming' sound came from Draco.

"He casts a bit of a shadow, actually." Shut up, George, he threatened himself. Perhaps his feelings had been more hurt than he had acknowledged. Or the heady novelty of another good-looking man being interested in him was going straight to his… Wait a minute. That's not supposed to be happening. Loyalty, George, loyalty. Remus will snap out of whatever it is he's in.

"Well, I would never care to come between," Draco paused, "companions, but should you find that you are lacking for company, know that you are welcome to the dungeons anytime."

George finished his drink and drew himself out of the chair. "Thanks, Malfoy, for the wine and the potion." He put the glass on the counter, next to a piece of parchment covered in tidy handwriting. "Looks like quite a project, that," he said after glancing quickly at it.

"Yes," Draco replied, also getting up and coming to stand very close behind George. Somehow George hadn't noticed that he was shorter than the younger man. Or that Draco smelled - surely not - of broom polish.

"Doing some research into memory-retrieval potions. Rather complex," he continued, his voice near George's ear. "But I've always enjoyed a challenge."

The comment garnered an instant reaction in George's groin. Time to go. Now.

"Right!" George said a little too enthusiastically. "Guess I'll be leaving. Remus will think you've poisoned me or something." If he noticed how long I was gone. Pixie's piss. Shut up! He moved away, then turned and thrust out his hand. "Thanks again." He shook Draco's hand firmly.

Draco gave him a sly smile. "You have a lab in your shop, correct?"

George shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, but it's tiny, really. Almost had more of one in our room in school!" He let go of Draco's hand. "When I expand Wheezes I'll double the size, though."

Draco nodded, looking intently at him. "You had your own potions lab in your room?" He crossed his arms. "Professor Snape would have been very interested to know that."

"Snape would have been disappointed to know that we did and hadn't managed to destroy Gryffindor tower!" George laughed. "He hated us. We hated him. Things were simpler then."

"Simpler, perhaps," Draco replied, then weighed his words. "But complication also has its advantages. Good-night, Weasley. Don't let the werewolves bite."

***

Don't let the werewolves bite. Malfoy's parting words traipsed through George's head as he returned to Remus' room. Bit too late for that, he thought. He opened the door and was confronted with an almost lightless room. Remus was asleep on his bed, a lone candle hovering near one of the bookcases. George toed off his shoes with every intention of spending the night. After pulling off one sock and tossing it to the side, he tugged at his second sock, hopping frog-like, and lost his balance. He managed to catch himself on the desk, and found himself face to face with a resurrected photo of Lupin and Black, two young men, smiling and pointing at a flat. George looked at it for awhile, then accio'ed the candle near him so he could see to retrieve his jettisoned sock.

He couldn't apparate within school grounds, so after leaving a vague note of "much better, but didn't want to wake you," George made his silent way through Hogwarts, using a hidden causeway to get to the Quidditch changing rooms, then walked across the vast lawn and into the Forbidden Forest.


***


Fred accosted George as he entered the bedroom, his wand lumos-primed for illumination. He didn't want to run into anything else unexpected.

"But I thought you were-" he started.

"Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. It."

Fred looked concerned. "You're the one who's been telling me Lupin…"

"Fine!" George shouted. "You want me to talk? I'll talk! Remus misses Black. Heaps. Makes me jealous. Draco ruddy Malfoy, of all people, has figured out that I'm shagging Lupin. Who, as I said, is all caught up lamenting his lost youth and Sirius. Then Malfoy started making vague moves on me. Shockingly, I liked it. Then I almost bashed my head into Sunshine's shrine and I just didn't feel like staying. And I'm sick and tired of seeing dead people."

His twin stared at him from the portrait. "Well. Fuck me for not living." He stalked violently out of the frame.

Silence rang in the room, deafening him. George went into the kitchen after slamming down his wand on the chest of drawers. Bottle of scotch. Glass. Shite. Why bother with a glass? He drank from the bottle, hating the burn, then, disgusted with himself, put it on the counter. He stomped back into his bedroom, hoping beyond hope that Fred would be there.

The portrait was empty.

George undressed as though everything were fine, and got into bed. For the first time since Fred's funeral, tears made salty tracks down his cheeks as he quietly cried himself to sleep.

*****

He had seen Remus several times, and they'd shagged at least once or twice, but George still felt like an exile. Lupin was withdrawn, though not uncaring. George did notice that the picture he had almost head-butted was nowhere to be found the next time he was in Lupin's private quarters. It also didn't help that Fred had taken his time in returning, though George feigned nonchalance as was their way. It wasn't really Fred after all, was it? Their easy banter returned quickly, but George felt as though his whole being was bruised from the inside out.

He was working on a sketch in a sequestered area near Hogwarts when he heard a delicate noise behind him.

"Weasley," said the voice that reminded him of dark wine. "Didn't expect to find you here."

George turned around to look at Malfoy, dressed in his finest. Then again, he always was.

"Or I you."

They focused their gazes on the memorial slabs. The conclusion of the War was still new enough that most graves had flowers and were well-tended. Animated birds, plants, and, nauseatingly, things that looked like stuffed animals made their merry way around the grounds. George didn't visit very often. It made his skin crawl, even if his brother was in attendance. Brothers.

"Didn't realize you were left handed."

The quill stopped. "Yes, Malfoy. Not only am I a half-arsed professor and occasional sentimental sap, to top it all off, I use the wrong hand."

A soft chuckle as knees cracked, then Draco was squatting behind him, looking over his shoulder. "Your drawing's quite good," he murmured. "And I'm left handed too."

George decided he was sick of being there, and ready to be the focus of someone's attentions. Forcing away rogue feelings of being a traitor to Lupin, he leaned back just enough that his hair touched Draco's jaw. "Care to see the joke shop? Technically it's closed, but I happen to know the owner."

"Sounds intriguing."

They apparated. Separately.

***

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was indeed closed, as indicated by the sign which hung inside the door, flashing "You Must Be Joking." George pointed his wand at the door and uttered an unlocking spell, opened the door, and waved Draco through the entrance. He locked the door behind him.

They stood in the dim shop, shelves crammed from knee-height to ceiling. The more expensive items were further up, as Fred and George had figured out it made more sense to have lesser-priced items within the grasp of younger children, making them wince less as they heard various items shatter, or bounce around the floor.

Draco took his time looking around the room, wandering over to a bin of neck-strangling neckties and picking one up in his refined fingers. "I'll be a dragon's druid," he said admiringly. "I would have loved things like this." He looked over at George, who stared back, shocked.

"Didn't you ever play any pranks?"

Draco managed a regretful smile. "On who? My mother? The house-elves? Lucius? You met him."

"Point taken."

Draco continued his tour. "And you were working on some of these in school?"

"Yeah," George replied, turning his back to his guest in order to shift around some boxes of fireworks. "Wasn't exactly focused on school, back then. Makes it a bit funny to be teaching now."

The broom polish scent was very near to him. Bollocks, but Malfoy could walk quietly. George felt long fingers traverse his shoulders, then caress down his back like shower water at perfect pressure, so that he wanted to lean into it, into them. The fingers hesitated for a moment, then one arm reached around to pull George in, the hand moving with surety over his chest. There was a row of tiny buttons on Draco's robe; George would not have noticed except that they were now pressed into his back. And he didn't care for long because one skilled hand had snuck underneath his shirt, the other aggressively running over the front of George's trousers.

It was nothing like the half-mad groping he had known during the War, and somehow equally unfamiliar as Remus' enthusiastic plundering. As much as George was enjoying the attention, and Merlin knew he did, he was still suspicious. This was Malfoy, after all. He pulled away far enough to turn around, but before he could utter a word, mint-tasting lips were on his. Draco kissed him soundly, possessively. The strong hands now massaged George's arse, a warm and inquisitive tongue sought entrance to his mouth. George let it, instinctively putting his hands on Draco's shoulders. It was all so… different. He was acutely aware that their hips were pressed together, and the back of Draco's hands must be forced against a bunch of Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, and he was kissing Draco Malfoy. Why?

George drew back, breathing heavily. "Malfoy. Why me?"

Draco stilled his hands, though he kept them clenched on George's backside. Dilated pupils dominated in his grey eyes, and he licked his lips before answering. "You really don't know?"

George let his fingers play on Draco's shoulders. "No. I really don't."

Draco leaned in, breathing into the sensitive skin of George's ear. "You're attractive, Weasley. Comfortable company without being doltish, and though it may shock you to hear such a thing from me, you wearing your trademark leather trousers is definitely wank-worthy." He moved a hand up and ran it through George's hair which hung at his shoulders, having needed a trim for about two years. "To a discerning eye, you are very desirable. And you seem to be, well, that you would be quite a handful."

George's mind was spinning with the information that Malfoy had thought any of those things, and his body didn't care what the blonde man said as long as he kept rubbing his erection against him in a very deliberate way.

"Thinking of Lupin?" Draco asked, pulling his thumb from the back of George's neck and tracking it down to his collarbone.

"No," George admitted. "Should be, I suppose."

Draco nibbled on his earlobe. "He's been involved with other people. And I thought wolves mated for life, anyway."

George didn't know what to say to that. "Look, Malfoy," he began, trying to think with his brain and not his cock, which wanted him to quit speaking. Immediately. And get out of his pants, which were seeming more and more troublesome and rather a bother.

"Weasley." Draco's tongue traced a slick path to his lips. "George." He kissed him, his tongue as deft and refined as his speech. "I'm not asking to be the love of your life." The other hand snaked downward through the cleft of his trousers, enough to push up toward his balls. "You've indicated that Lupin has been neglecting you, and I am simply offering to remedy that."

Flawless logic, that is, George decided.

"Okay then," George said, running his hands down Malfoy's back. He had wide shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and - "hmmm," he sighed with his eyes closed, hands cupping Malfoy's unexpectedly round arsecheeks, pulling the taller man into him. Draco's hands slithered up George's torso. The sensations of Draco's arousal on his sent sparks through George, making his nipples harden.

George opened his eyes as he reached up to pull some of Draco's silky hair out of the way of his pale neck. He glanced toward the window as he did, and saw a pair of witches passing on the street. Malfoy was kissing down his neck, using his fingernails to grip George's sensitive nubs under his shirt.

"Malfoy?" George panted as one of Draco's hands again began wandering southward. "Think I should cast a concealment charm on the windows."

"Agreed," Draco mouthed into George's clavicle. "Last thing either of us need is to have our Most Eligible Bachelor status questioned."

George laughed, then gasped as Malfoy gave his cock a tight squeeze through his courderoys.

"Oy!"

Draco gazed purposefully at him, giving him a closed-lipped smile. "Take care of the windows. And then I'm going to put that impressive-feeling cock in my mouth, run my tongue all over it and suck you until you see stars."

George fumbled for his wand which he'd thrust indelicately up his sleeve arm. He managed the obscuro charm, though he could barely focus. How was it that his lovers, as few and as unanticipated as they were, knew immediately what to do to him? Was there some aura of "gay bloke- gets hard as a rock at dirty talk" that hung around him he couldn't see?

Then he didn't care, because Draco did as he promised.

Then there was more. George should not have been surprised that the potions professor had brought his own lubricant, but he was surprised at how good it felt. Warm, and tingly, and -

"Broom polish!" he gasped as Draco coated George's cock with it, fisting him as he thrust determinedly into George's spread cheeks.

"It's my own creation, but it has alder tree oil in it," Draco contradicted, breathing heavily into George's shoulder. "It's the distinctive smell in broom polish. I'm very fond of it."

George was holding onto the till counter for dear life, his prostate hit again and again by Draco's slick, slender cock, the other man's thumb rubbing his sensitive head. Merlinfuck! George's body was going to explode. How could Draco form complete sentences when he was making him feel like- ohohohohoh.

***

"Come by the dungeons anytime," Draco said before he Apparated from the shop. "Especially if you're in those leather trousers." He gave George a last mintkiss, then was gone. The smell of broom polish - or alder tree oil, whatever - still hung in the air.

"Hags hounds, but I need a drink," George muttered to himself. He'd just been very satisfyingly buggered by Draco Malfoy, in his own shop. Was he mad? No, he rationalized, just a bit resentful and needy. Reclothed and taking a last nosefull of scent, he left the shop, heading to the Leaky Cauldron.

It was busy, as always. He scanned the room, just in case he saw anyone he knew. "Jordan?!" he shouted. He hadn't seen his old best friend in several months, as the announcer was quite busy, it being Quidditch season.

"George!" His voice, unsurprisingly, carried across the room. "Get over here, you old dodger!"

George was grinning ear to ear by the time he got over to Lee, who was motioning toward a back table.

"How are you, mate?" George asked, pulling Lee to him in a full-body embrace, thumping him on the back.

"Excellent!" Lee replied, pushing back just a bit to look George in the face. "You're looking pretty brilliant too." He smiled, his teeth shining against his dark skin. "Been busy this afternoon?" he asked, giving George a provocative look. "You look a bit flushed."

George shook his head. He had never told Lee about his inclinations. He felt guilty on one hand, but he didn't really think that Lee would understand, even as far back as their friendship went. He glossed over the question.

"Bollocks, but it's been awhile!"

"Too long, George, too long." Lee sniffed around George's hair which he had pulled back in a band. "You been playing quidditch or something? Smell like polish."

George coughed. "No. Just working on a prototype."

Lee accepted the lie unquestionningly. They quickly settled into a conversation over a pint of butterbeer, George hearing about some of Lee's conquests and his continued disbelief that George was teaching part-time at Hogwarts.

"And the ladies, George?"

George fabricated an exasperated sigh. "McGonagall never did it for me in school, and still doesn't."

Lee shuddered.

"There's no-one on staff, really, that are even remotely appealing, and out of the women who come into Wheezes, they're either students- too young - or they're mums." He shrugged. "I figure I'll know when I'm missing out."

Lee snorted into his pint. "You'd think that you'd have figured out that you're missing out now, mate!" He put his hand out to tap it forcefully on George's hand. "Nice looking bloke like yourself? You need to get out more."

George nodded, then took a swig of butterbeer. "I know I do," he agreed.

"Owl me anytime. Honest," Lee said. "I can set you up. Got plenty of birds who'd love to meet you."

"Let me get through exams," George pleaded. "Then I swear on Merlin's beard I'll take you up on your offer."

"That's the spirit!"

From far within his conscience, George berated himself for lying to Lee. I'll tell him. Later, he promised.

*****

A week later, rather against his own better judgment, George found himself in Malfoy's office, wearing one of his pair of leather pants. Black. He hadn't really intended to see the other man again, but Lupin had been testy, almost snappish, when George had asked him about his weekend plans. He still felt a bit guilty, but he knew that Malfoy wouldn't, and in the moment, that was enough.

"Weasley." Malfoy looked very pleased, like a cat setting its eye on a flightless bird. His gaze raked over George's trousers. "How nice of you to stop by."

Silencing and locking spells were cast. Awhile later George found himself still in his leather, one of Draco's coated hands running up and down his erection which had been freed from his open pants, the other hand holding a moving silver snake.

"You're not putting that near that!" George exclaimed, pointing at the snake and then himself.

"Ever heard of a cock ring, Weasley?"

Merlin! How could Draco be so articulate while being so talented with his fingers? George squinted apprehensively at the sinuous movements of the charmed object. "Malfoy, I should level with you. You know what it was like during the War."

Draco nodded, choosing just that moment to run an oiled finger toward George's entrance.

"Hmngrhph," George choked. "Well, aside from that, which quite honestly I'd rather forget, and Remus, who's bloody fabulous, and, um, last week in the shop with you, which, well, was also bloody fabulous, I haven't been with anyone else."

Draco made a ‘tsk-tsk'ing noise, letting the snake curl around his fingers as he leaned over and breathed on the head of George's twitching cock. "Your life has been plain, George. Apparently it is my current task to teach you about the glories of variety."

The lesson went on for quite some time through the afternoon.

*****

The next full moon took a heavy toll on Lupin. George wasn't sure what was different with the wolfsbane, but Remus looked awful in the morning when George opened the warded door.

"You look like utter shite," George said, letting the older man lean into him.

"Thank you, I think," Remus answered with a wan smile.

George led him to his bed, preparing to tuck him in when Remus held his hand. "Do you mind staying with me, for a little while?"

"'Course not," George said. "But I am going to go to Malfoy and ask why he's messing around with your potion. You shouldn't be like this."

"I can do that," Remus said as he sank into the bed, pulling the sheets down, indicating that he wanted George to lie down next to him.

George untied and shed his shoes and pulled off his jumper. And his trousers. Even after his transformations when he was at his weakest, lying next to Remus was like being next to a furnace. He laid an arm across Remus' chest, his fingers tracing the familiar numbers under his collarbone.

"I want to apologise," Remus said, running a hand slowly through George's hair. "I've been caught up in the past, and trying to protect you from my own despair." He was quiet for a moment. "But you've seen your share of horrors, and you actually live with a constant reminder of what's been taken from you. I want you to know that you mean more to me than just extraordinary sex, and your inexplicable ability to work with me on the Solaris spell."

"I never thought that," George said, then decided he may as well be honest. He might not have been forthcoming with Lee, but he had become very fond of Remus, and he didn't want to fuck things up. "I have been jealous, though."

"Jealous?" Remus turned to look at him, and George almost immediately began to regret his comment. Remus seemed so tired, and troubled.

"It's nothing," George said, backing off.

"No. Tell me."

George planted a chaste kiss on the front of Remus' shoulder. "I know what you had with Black. I don't ever expect that, but he obviously meant so much to you, and even though he's gone, he's not, y'know?"

Remus looked at him for a long time, George feeling more and more ridiculous under his gaze.

Bloody hell, you've made an arse of yourself before, George thought. "Do werewolves mate for life? Not plain shagging, obviously, but, you know."

Remus smiled. "I wondered when you'd get wind of that legend. Legend it is. Only."

"Oh. Good." George snuggled into Remus' side, enjoying his scent. Malfoy included an infusion of the lupin plant in the wolfsbane potion which then could be smelled on Remus' skin, especially in the first day after he had taken it. Though he was tired, having woken up several times in the night as the wolf howled angrily in the next room, George's cock stiffened just a bit being so comfortable next to his lover.

Remus noticed, and made a contented sound. "George?" he asked.

"No, I'm tired. Really!" he protested as Remus let out a low chuckle. "Just glad to be next to you. There's time for that," he wriggled his slight arousal provocatively against Lupin's thigh, "later."

The two fell asleep within minutes.

*****

Several weeks later he finished up a diagram on the chalkboard, then traced the tangled elements of the one-word spell with his wand.

"So, you see, even though it takes only three syllables and a focused wand-flick to counteract a depression hex, there are dozens of ways to get it wrong. At least. And you don't want to get it wrong." He pointed at a cluster in the drawing, then turned back to his class. "The spell, one last time, with gusto!"

"Contrennui," they chorused.

"Right! Bravo! Nice to know that the French can get some things right."

George had been waiting all term to say his next phrase.

"Laughter can be, in fact, the best medicine."

The class responses had been quite varied. When he made the pronouncement to the third year Gryffindors, lightning cracked outside before it began pouring down rain, adding further drama to his sentence, yet it was still met with a wave of groans. Third year Slytherins: smothered silence, until one of the girls skeptically asked if he was really one of "the" Weasleys whose name was on the small placard outside of the swamp memorial. Third year Ravenclaws: unsure that he was finished, lots of quill scratching. Third year Huffelpuffs: a few suppressed chuckles until the whole class erupted.

After his last class was gone and the charmed eraser cleaned the board, George thought back to his own Sorting. Delving through the roar at the Gryffindor table, he had plopped down next to Fred. "Did you get choices, too?" he had asked.

"What? Are you barking? All Weasleys are Gryffindors!" Fred had said before grabbing George around the shoulder as Charlie and Percy had grinned down the table at them.

Apparently George's experience had been different from his brother's. The sorting hat had been leaning toward Hufflepuff, which had both scared George to death, since he wouldn't have shared a room with his brother for the first time in his life; but also felt liberating, since he wouldn't have shared a room with his brother for the first time in his life. After wavering for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few seconds, the hat had settled on Gryffindor. "Loyalty like yours is as infrequent as dropped Phoenix feathers," the voice echoed in George's head. "But the mischief outweighs all. GRYFFINDOR!"

He had been oddly reassured that he hadn't imagined it two years later when another set of identical twins appeared at Hogwarts and were divided into two different Houses. He hadn't cared to think of what the separation was like for them, though. He had learned much more about that later.

"Professor Weasley." The smooth voice carried through the doorway.

"Assistant Professor to you, Malfoy." George shook his head, smiling ruefully and pocketing his wand. "At least for the next few minutes. I think I've horrified all of my students. Dumbledore's note to sack me is well on its way, I'm sure."

"You can't be sacked. You're only part-time." He lounged meaningfully in the doorway. "May I speak to you? In private?" His voice belied things very non-professorial.

"Sure," George replied, though he his conscience was conflicted. His body was already trying to wrestle dominance over his brain, much less anything else.

Draco cast a silencing spell throughout the room. "Didn't know if you might be interested in a celebratory 'I survived my first term teaching' shag. Or…" His voice trailed off as he walked up to George, breathing hotly into his ear. "Something along those lines."

"I think I've got things right with Lupin," George said, though he couldn't resist putting his hand on Draco's chest, enjoying the baritone purring noise Draco made when he did so.

"One last time then. And then I'll stay out of your sexy leather trousers."

George tried very hard to say that he really wasn't interested, though the last time they had been together his fingers and toes and other parts of his anatomy had tingled for hours afterwards. Somehow he ended up murmuring, "Last time then. End of term," before pressing his lips into Draco's.

***

"Why does your office smell like broom polish?"

Lupin was helping George clean out his few shelves of texts and laughter-oriented artifacts that he had placed around the room. George couldn't even smell it, and he thought he had a sensitive nose. Malfoy had left several hours ago.

"Malfoy came by. Earlier today," George said, regret beginning to churn unpleasantly in his chest.

"I see," Remus said, then put down the box he had been packing. "George, may I ask you a question?"

George felt his heart sink. This was worse even than being confronted by his mother. Bollocks. I finally had something really great and I've managed to piss on it. You're a grade A wanker, George.

"Yes," he said, turning to face the other man. "Of course. Anytime."

The man's not bloody stupid. Just tell him and get it over with. Then you can go home and let Fred ream you over the coals too.

George walked over to Remus and sat down on a desk. He took a deep breath. "I didn't mean to mess things up. You were always thinking about Sirius, and Malfoy was persuasive, and we hadn't said that we couldn't, but I'm really sorry now. Fuck. I'm atrocious at this. I told him we wouldn't do it again because I thought I'd finally got things right with you."

Remus kept looking at him, his expression guarded.

"I'm a bastard," George moaned into his hands. "I'm really, really fond of you and you listen to all of my crackpot ideas without telling me they're for crap and I was just jealous and Malfoy-"

"I never asked you to be monogamous." Lupin's voice was measured, but a warm hand reached out to tilt George's chin so that he was looking at the golden eyes. "I had hoped you would want to be, but I know that I've been a bit difficult. Being with a werewolf is a challenge at the best of times, much less being with me in particular." He sighed and leaned back against the bookshelf, placing his hands behind him. "I'm not going to lie and say that I'm not jealous, nor am I surprised."

That came as a kick to the gut.

"Do you want to have rules, George?"

"No. Just want you."

"Hmmm."

George splayed his fingers against each other.

"I saw Lee Jordan a while back. Felt badly because he's still trying to set me up with girls. Should be honest with him, of all people."

"That's up to you." Remus leaned over to push some hair back over George's ear. "You're still new to this. All of this." With a fluid motion he waved his hand around the room. "I'm not going to make you feel worse than you apparently do." He got up and began putting more texts back into the box. "I also don't feel like punishing myself. Would you care to come over for dinner tonight?"

George smiled, grateful. "Course. As long as you save room for dessert."

Remus looked up. "Should I get something special?"

"No. I'll bring it." George ran his tongue inside his teeth as he thought about how he could put his recently-learned skills to his advantage.

***

Later, much later, after they had almost turned to prunes in Lupins' bathtub and Remus was three orgasms to George's two, they lay next to each other in front of the living room fire. It was early summer, but chill during the late hours. Remus swirled his brandy in a snifter.

"Where'd you find this?"

George took half a mouthful, let it sit for a moment, and leaned over to Lupin, who looked at him with a sated, smoky expression. Turning Remus so that his head was back comfortably against the couch, George kissed him open mouthed, letting the small amount of liquid traverse from his mouth to Remus'. Lupin swallowed, licked across George's tongue, then drew back.

"I have my sources," George said. "And I'm celebrating. First successful term as an instructor, and you're still willing to put up with me."

"All men make mistakes, George." Remus put his thumb in his mouth, then drew a wet, somewhat sticky line from the hollow of George's throat across his pectoral, circling a pink peak surrounded by freckles and burnished hair.

"Right. Shag some sense into me. Reckon I need it."

"Shameless," Remus growled into his ear.

"Yours."

*****

Author's Notes:



Title taken from Shakespeare's Sonnet XXXV, midway through:

All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are.

---

~ Interlude ~




"Wouldn't you agree, Remus? Nothing against you, of course," she says, hastily.

In contradiction to her personality, her fiery hair has faded, the grey noticeably beginning its inevitable annexation of red locks. Molly looks to me for support about this issue, obviously unaware of her son's nature. I place my cup of tea on its saucer, feeling more and more as though she knows me less and less. The time we all spent together at Sirius' family home was many years ago now. She's always seen me as an Order member, but not really as a man. This won't be pretty.

"Well, Molly, George has come into his own, and I think-"

"Yes, I am a success, and thank you for noticing." George interrupts. He is wearing the same resolutely determined expression I've seen when he stays up late, grading assignments. "But as for spending less time gallivanting with Remus, as you put it, and more time with girls my age, well, that's not going to happen."

He takes a swig of butterbeer, then turns to look directly at her. "I'm not interested in girls, mum. I mean, they're great, but not in a settle down kind of way. Not for me. I've settled down with Remus."

Her blue eyes widen as she stares at him, then purses her lips and turns her attentions to me. After a few moments, she jerks her gaze back to George. "If this is some kind of joke, George Xanadu Weasley, it is absolutely the worst that you have ever come up with."

My parents had died before really knowing about me. I wonder if my mother would have been as traumatised as Molly seems?

"Not a joke." He drums his freckled fingers on the table, those strong, skilled fingers that have caressed my body, inside and out.

She pales. "All these times you've visited - together - and you've never told me? You could have owled, even, you know. I am your mother."

"Exactly."

I open my mouth to say something, but Molly raises her hand. "Remus. Don't say anything. Yet." She shakes her head, myriad expressions on it, most of which I knew well at one time: shock, confusion, hurt, anger. "It was one thing for you to be involved like that with Black. I didn't understand it, but at least you two were the same age."

"Age has nothing to do with attraction," George interjects.

I wonder what images have leapt to her mind. She looks decidedly uncomfortable, even more so when George takes my hand. "I'm not doing this to hurt you, but I thought you should know. Even Fred came around after a while."

"Fred is dead."

"You know what I mean."

Molly sighs, then looks at me, then George, at our intertwined fingers. "This is a bit of a shock, you do realise," she says, resolving herself to something, though I'm not sure what. Even if she does accept it, doing so this quickly would not be like her. "I'll need to tell your father, George."

"I can do it," he insists, but she shakes her head forcefully. "You don't understand. If it's possible, he wants grandchildren even more than I do."

George laughs, a barking sound. "That's what's bothering you?" His expression is incredulous. "You've got Charlie, Percy, Ron and Ginny for that. And you've already got three as it is!"

"This is not funny," she fumes. "Each of you is unique. Even you and Fred."

"Well, I'd always failed in your eyes anyway."

"Never," she says, eyes flashing. "You disappointed me sometimes, but that was ages ago. Surely you don't still hold that against me, after all our family has been through."

Dour silence hangs in the air, tangy on my silenced tongue.

"No, mum, I don't," George acquiesces, letting go of my hand as he gets up from the table to go and stand behind her. He enfolds her in his arms and she grasps them to her. George closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of his mother's hair. "But if you love me, you need to accept this."

Molly's eyes shut. This is too personal. I shouldn't be here, but George had asked me to join him.

"I do love you, George," she whispers.

***

"Well! That wasn't too bad, now was it?" George has his arms clasped around my waist, back in his flat.

I roll my eyes. "If that wasn't bad, what is?"

"Ron will be horrified. Won't want to talk about it, but Hermione will make him, and she'll drag both of them over here in a matter of hours. Now that will be awkward."

He disengages himself and pads off to the kitchen. "Pint?" he offers from the other room. "And then a celebratory shag is in order. No more hiding about stuff."

He comes back with two ales, hands one to me and clinks the bottlenecks together. "Here's to us," he says. We both take deep swallows, then he pulls me by the hand to his bedroom.

"I never told my parents," I tell him, and he turns around, steps close to me, sniffs at my neck and closes his eyes, smiling.

"I know."

I look down slightly at his face, expressive eyes, and talented lips, which are forming some of my favourite words: "Want you. Now."

My body is already responding to him when a crashing sound comes from the fireplace behind me.

"Bloody hell!" George exclaims. "Um, Remus, there'll have to be a raincheck."

"Calm down, Ron!" Hermione's voice carries from the corner.

"Welcome to the family," George says and kisses me.

Comments

bril

[snottygrrl.livejournal.com]

fabulous girl! and i mean fabulous.....your descriptions

Dour silence hangs in the air, tangy on my silenced tongue.

George felt his heart sink. This was worse even than being confronted by his mother. Bollocks. I finally had something really great and I've managed to piss on it. You're a grade A wanker, George.

Words far beyond curse or blessing in any language spouted from Lupin's lips

love your malfoy, love that he smells like broom polish and that it keeps coming up, love his expression I'll be a dragon's druid (another of yours?)

love the little bit on filch too....

love, love, love it....

Re: bril

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

Thank you, thank you!!! You're my one person fanclub!! :)

And so glad that the descriptions worked for you. I did make up "I'll be a dragon's druid." I keep trying to come up with things that they might say... George and his keen sense of smell are things I like to keep as constants, and I thought it would be hilarious that Draco would smell of something that George wouldn't expect. You should have seen me google searching for native English trees, finding an appropriate scent!

Poor Filch. But it only seemed appropriate. *wince* Don't know where such awful things come from, but oh well. At least George, Remus, Ron and Hermione are all still around. And are having a grand time in France in the next story!!