Serpentarium

NO MORE TEARS
The following morning holds more challenges than she expected.

Lucy scans what she can see of the Slytherin table as slyly as possible, cataloging their faces and recognizing a few of them. All of those years before, she had never thought to glance over at the other tables. The Slytherins at their tables in the Great Hall had always been a sea of black and green. Not anymore. As she laid in bed the night before, she formed an Espionage To Do List. But Angelina had not left her side all morning, making it impossible to create a bit of distance to begin work. Her old friends are the perfect distraction from said To Do List, but also from the regret that shakes her every time she thinks about her conversation with George. The latter she is increasingly grateful for.

True to his word, Fred had saved her a seat… Right between him and George. Mercifully, Angelina stole her away for what she sited as ‘girl chat time.’ Angelina’s voice is like a strong cuppa for Lucy, bracing and comforting at the same time. Even as she launches from story about America to the next, Lucy can’t help but feel the dread growing inside of her. For distancing from Angelina is item number 4 on the Espionage To Do List.

Puffs of steam shoot out of Lee Jordan’s nose after Fred spikes his pumpkin juice with fire powder. The resulting playful squabble and laughter is like a soundtrack of home. Angelina is asking all about the boys in America as George shovels food into his mouth a couple of seats down. Her eyes keep being drawn back to him over Angelina’s shoulder as he laughs at the bickering between Lee and Fred, seemingly unaffected by the previous night’s awkwardness. Lucy can’t help but smile when he tosses a piece of toast at Ron, which earns him a stern word from the passing Professor McGonagall. Lucy half-heartedly curses how casually handsome he is, how his wavy hair is messy, how his jumper is just a bit too short when he stands to reach for more pumpkin juice, how his white button down underneath his jumper has a singed hole in one wing of his collar, how his red and gold striped necktie is loose around his neck. She doesn’t realize that she is staring wistfully in his direction until Angelina pokes her in the ribs.

“If you want to talk about what it is like to fancy a Weasley twin, I am all ears. Merlin knows that I am an expert in the matter,” she winks.

Lucy abruptly turns her gaze onto the plate of beans and sausages before her and shovels in two large spoonfuls.

“Hmmmm,” she sighs at the savory taste that she had been missing during her years in America.

“I saw how he looked at you last night. I fully expected the two of you to be attached at the hip this morning.”

Blushing madly, Lucy whispers, “Would you quiet down please? Those boys have ears like bats!”

Angelina only laughs and turns to Lee to ask about the parchments spread in front of him, offering a short reprieve for Lucy.

She lets the ambience settle her frantic mood. The entire Great Hall is filled with laughter and light, wholly abuzz with chatter about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. It seems as if not a single student isn’t chattering on about Harry or Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Triwizard champion. Just as Dumbledore had surmised, outside of her childhood friends, most ignored her appearance in favor of wandering looks to the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang tables.
If they aren’t looking to those newcomers, they are surrounding Harry and Cedric, asking for autographs. Lucy gives Harry a quick glance and wonders why Hermoine is sitting between Ron and him, a look akin to an annoyed primary school teacher on her face.

With every new bite of breakfast Harry takes, some new Hogwarts student appears, barraging him with questions about how he managed to put his name in the Goblet of Fire.

She focuses on chewing her breakfast while listening to Angelina prattle on about how childish Fred is, nodding supportively and giggling at her retelling of the twins’ best pranks. All the mirth in the Great Hall only serves to remind her what a dismal task lies ahead. Snape catches her eye as he passes the Slytherin table, sending a look that conveys his disapproval of her childish blither. It doesn’t take long after seeing him for her eyes to mist.

Lucy had missed them all so much, more than she had realized, more than she was ready for when she agreed to help Snape and Dumbledore. The thought of soon having to leave them behind is heartbreaking. Still, she is painfully aware that in order to infiltrate the possible Death Eaters, she might have to disown them altogether. She can feel the intent of George’s eyes on her as her smile fades away and she pushes away her plate. Feeling shaky and nauseated, Lucy excuses herself, telling Angelina that she needs to get a forgotten Potions class book from her room. She walks quickly enough to become winded, stalking through the corridors and avoiding the gaze of every person she passes. In the safety of her empty room, she collapses onto the bed the second she is inside, letting her arm fall over her face as tears leak free.

I can do this. They will forgive me one day, she tells herself over and over again.

By the time she catches her breath and calms down, a glance at her wristwatch telling her it is almost time for class. Another wave of sadness washes over her as her fingers trace the edge of the watch. Her father would have waited to give it to her when she turned 17 if he had had the chance. With a deep breath, Lucy forces herself up from the mattress and walks to the mirror. The memory of being given a bag of her parents’ personal possessions gets pushed down into that forbidden storage in her mind. She straightens her uniform and robes, patting her face dry. With one final cleansing, shaky breath, she lifts her eyes, only to see another pair in the mirror’s reflection, staring from the doorway.

“Merlin! George! You gave me a fright!” Lucy tries to yell, but her voice comes out strained and weak. Since her words fall soft, she grabs a pillow and pelts it at him. George, of course, seems unfazed. His entire focus rests on her puffy eyes.

“What’s wrong, Pocket?” he asks, moving closer, his hands tucked casually into his robe pockets, in complete contrast to his worried expression.

“I’m fine, George. I just…had a moment. I’ve got to get to Potions,” she explains in a small voice, attempting to brush past him. He stops her with a gentle grip on the bicep, his hand flexing softly on her arm and distracting her enough to halt her progress.

“I don’t think so, Pocket. You are going to tell me what is going on with you. I know that I…misinterpreted things last night but I am still your friend. Friends don’t let friends cry alone. Is it…is it your parents? Do you wanna talk about it?”

His eyes are too sad, his hand on her bicep too understanding. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows that she could never dream of resisting the urge to draw comfort from him, but she tries to fool herself regardless. All of the fear, the anxiety, and the stress of her mission cracks open her vault of resolve and she lets him pull her into a hug.

“Do you miss them?” he whispers in her ear, petting her hair soothingly.

She merely nods against his chest and lets her tears flow freely, hating herself for the half-lie. She could have walked right out of the room and not shed another tear if it wasn’t for the obvious kindness in his tone as he asked about her parents. She loathes how greatly she underestimated the need for these cherished people, these friends that are an unavoidable reminder of life before her parents’ deaths. Lucy hadn’t expected to feel so strongly about them; especially not this strongly about George. She wasn’t prepared for how being near them again reminds her so much of her parents and the time when they were alive and well.

“Shhh, just let it out. Class can wait. I’ll give you a Nosebleed Nougat to use if I need to. Free of charge, of course,” he says quietly, leading the both of them over to her bed and sitting with her in his arms.

She can’t help but huff at his suggestion. When her hand grips the front of his jumper, she doesn’t understand, can’t quantify how right it is to be held by him. For a fleeting moment, she wishes that she hated him, wishes that she felt nothing for anyone, wishes that she could focus 100% of her energy on her mission. It is then that she comes face to face with a realization that she had been avoiding. She made a choice, a choice to say yes, because just like she always did, she was running from feeling. She said yes to the mission because of purpose and duty, but also partly distraction. He could have been her distraction, though. She could have forgotten that grief laden pain whenever he holds her and teases her and makes her laugh, but she gave her word. Worse, she solemnly swore to go through with it. And now, she is stuck with no option other than to succeed.

With every soft stroke on her upper back, she becomes all the more consumed by the desire to confide in him, to take back her promise to Dumbledore and Snape. At her willpower’s limit, Lucy releases a long, shaky breath and pulls back slightly, still letting his arms loop around her. Time passes imperceptibly as he leans his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he rocks her ever so gently. Finally mustering the strength to put measurable distance between them, she unceremoniously scrubs a hand over her face, sniffling and gazing up at his waiting expression. Wordlessly, he passes her a handkerchief and she promptly rids herself of snot and tears, trying to find temperance.

“Being here, feeling like I’m home, it does make me miss them more. But there is something else,” she admits softly, voice raspy, nose and eyes red. He only nods, reaching to trace her cheekbone with his thumb. The tenderness in his touch crumbles the meager remains of her wall of determination.

“I have already finished school. I took my N.E.W.T.s and scored all Os. I came back on a special assignment for Dumbledore and Snape,” she spills out the words quickly before giving herself a chance to change her mind.

He says nothing, only looks at her with a slack jaw. She could have stopped there, but the weight of the secret is too heavy, the desire for honesty too strong.

“I am supposed to infiltrate upperclassmen groups that are possibly turning into Death Eaters. I am basically a spy that is supposed to either turn them or turn them in,” Lucy blurts, watching his eyes widen. A long beat of silence passes between them as he can only stare.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

“I pushed you away last night because I will have to push you all away, for the sake of,” she explains hurriedly, but he finishes the sentence.

“Your mission. I understand, Pocket. But I know now. I can help you, I can,” he offers and her heart plummets.

His face is stone cold serious. His eyes aren’t joking. His mouth isn’t kicked up in a mischievous smile. A part of her knew that he would suggest something like this, would sacrifice and put himself in danger for the sake of her. There is no way that she will allow him to put himself or his family in that type of danger, though. She won’t allow him to trade in his light heartedness for the responsibility that she took on. She will not allow herself to take away his laughter.

Giving in to cloying desperation, she stops his words and his train of thought by capturing his lips with hers. Shocked, his face flushes and he pulls back. It takes only a moment for him to grin and lightly grip her chin.

There’s that mischievous smile that I love.

George pauses for a moment to run the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, and then their lips are tentatively pressing together. He kisses her slow, sweet, and gentle, taking his time until she snakes her hand up his neck and into his hair. They connect as if they had kissed a million times before, as if they eat, sleep, and breathe each other. It is too soon in Lucy’s opinion when he breaks the kiss, pulling away slightly with a Cheshire grin.

“Alright then,” he winks, searching her face for his cue. She pushes everything to the back of your mind, all the responsibility and doubt, forgetting it all except for how good he feels, how right he feels.

“Kiss me, George,” she pleads, breathless with the newness of being held in this way.

He happily obliges.

George wordlessly pulls her onto his lap in one fluid motion. After a moment of confused limbs, she finds her way into sitting astride. He is grinning again, tucking her hair behind her ears before looping his arms to rest on her back. Just when she is about to ask again, he takes her mouth, now firmer and hungrier. They latch desperately onto each other, a bit too desperately at first in that way that novices sometimes do. The pair only smile and adjust, learning into the moment with every cautious tilt of the head and accidental, slight bump of teeth. Lucy forgets for how to operate her lungs when his tongue sweeps along her bottom lip, but before she calculates how to react to that sensation, he is plastering kisses along her jaw, then down her neck. She shivers at the sensation of his breath on the wet spots now adorning it.

George is not the last boy she had kissed. There was a boy in America that she thought she might be interested in, but when he kissed her, she could only think of George, so she ended things with him fairly quickly. Even then, though, she had never felt the butterflies swarming her stomach, never shivered with the thrill of being so thoroughly worshipped by soft lips. Even with the pair of them’s propensity for impishness, neither of them had explored this uncharted territory.

“Ouch!” she exclaims as his teeth grip onto her ear lobe far too roughly.

“Sorry, love; thought I’d try that out,” he quickly apologizes and they share a laugh before he returns his attention to her ear again, softer now.

George’s unsure lips drift along the back of it, making her shiver at the tickling sensation. He draws her ear lobe into his mouth again and she gasps at the pull of it, tightening one hand in his hair and one on his muscled shoulder. The absurdity of the moment has her giggling, and he joins in, chuckling against her neck. He plants tiny kisses there and up her jaw before finding her mouth again, only to move down the column of her throat. Lost in the foreign tingling on her skin and the way his fingers are pressing into her hips, Lucy lets her head fall back, lets her eyes drift closed. Neither are aware of how much time has passed or where one person begins or ends as they continue to teach each other with their lips and touches.

“You are bloody good at this,” she sighs as he moves his lips to softly kiss along her cheekbone.

“I have dreamt of doing it only a million times or so. I used to have dreams about flying in a muggle plane all the way to America and just kissing you senseless the moment I saw you,” he grins as she loops both hands behind his neck.

“I can’t believe this is happening right now,” she smiles at him and smooths her hands into the hair on the back of his head. He shivers and gives a quick peck of appreciation before speaking.

“I’ll help you. You don’t have to do this alone. We can be together and still complete your mission,” he whispers in her ear before taking her mouth again. Her butterflies turn to mushy caterpillars at the reminder and she ceases to parry his kisses with hers.

*“Remember, Dragana. Anyone who knows would be in grave danger,” Snape warned.*

Tears well up in her eyes again as her plan takes shape. Lucy pulls away from the melting kiss and flings her arms around him, pulling him as close and as tightly as possible. He holds her just as tightly, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back.

“Shhhh, shhhh. It’s okay Pocket. It’ll be okay,” he whispers and only then does she realize that she is sobbing against his neck.

All the rushing emotions fighting in her head are simply too much. Happiness, heat, frustration, anxiety; they all thrash about in her. She had allowed herself to become so stripped bare and vulnerable. She steels her will, knowing that if she does not act quickly, she will talk herself out of it. She pulls back and frames his face with her hands, shocked to see his eyes welled up with tears, as well.

“I love you, George Weasley. Always have, always will,” she whispers.

Three little words, one giant declaration. They hold so much meaning and so many different layers. She’d loved him for years, as wholly as any 16 year old could possibly dream. He’d been her best friend, her partner in crime, and her permanent crush.

“And I love you, Dragana,” kiss, “Luciane,” kiss, “Alexandra,” kiss, “Shafiq.”

“Somnus Nunc,” Lucy says firmly, watching as his eyes briefly widen in shock before drifting closed.

She can only sit there for a moment, holding his limp body and wishing he was holding her as well. His snoring head rests on her shoulder as she pets his hair with one hand and holds him fast against her with the other. Lucy can’t stop the tears from dripping off the tip of her nose as she lays him back on the bed, listening to his soft, sleep-breathing and knowing that she succeeded in the sleeping charm despite not using her wand.

“I’m so sorry, George. I have to protect you and your family,” she explains as if he is listening, as if waiting for a reassuring reply from him.

With his only response being a soft snore, she draws her wand from her robe’s pocket and takes a moment to shove every memory and emotion back into the locked trunks in her mind. She closes her eyes and pictures them snapping shut, one by one. Only after she manages to ground herself does she complete her plan.

“Oblivate!” she says firmly, gesturing her wand and stealing away his memory of their shared words and emotion-filled kisses.
A small cracking noise sounds in the room and she wonders if it is the sound of her heart breaking. Lucy sinks onto the floor like a bag of stones in the ocean and hugs her knees, telling herself that when he wakes, he will think that he sat on her bed, waiting for her to come to her room and accidentally fell asleep. She tells herself that she had no choice, that no one will ever know of the betrayal.

When she realizes that she is absently touching her lips, remembering how enthralling it was to kiss him again after all this time, she considers telling Snape what happened. He could easily perform Obliviate on her, and she would be able to look at George without thinking about how talented his lips and tongue are, how warm and accepting he is, how willing he is to help her despite the danger, but most importantly, how he told her that he loved her.

Overwhelmed with the urge to throw something or perhaps shatter something into countless pieces, she shoots to her feet and paces about the room until catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. So instead of destroying something, she uses a charm to correct her mussed up hair and swollen lips, doing the same to George.

No, I won’t tell Snape.

As painful as it will be, she doesn’t want to erase this memory with him, because sooner rather than later, they will all hate her. On lonely nights, she will cling to this memory of the morning he told her he loved her. It will help her sleep at night to remember him speaking those precious words. Determined, she straightens her shoulders, gathers her books and bag, and decides that she will no longer harp on the dimness of the situation.

I can’t have him, but I can do this. They need me to do this. No more tears.