Title: Iniquitous.

George knew what it was like to have a childhood, knew what memories of baked cakes and ginger ale, slightly warm pumpkin juice and ice cold cream, tasted like; what candy floss felt like stuck to hairless chins as parents tut tutted and whipped with a spit dampened hanky.

George knew what the damp earth felt like under his fingertips, the rough feel of bark, how the ocean would echo in his ear through a shell (for all the wizarding magic in the world George had never been able to explain that). George knew what punishment felt like, with apologies and soft sniffling whimpers, wet tears and trembling lips, knew the feel of a hand smacking swift across sensitive legs.

George knew what it was like to be loved, to be loved in a complete way, with gentle kisses and hugs and stolen moments; white-hot heat and passionate cries, thrusting, sweat, the smell of semen, sex, hanging in the air. George knew that most boys of his age, the extraordinary age of 12, didn't know how to love completely, how to lick, suck, grasp, just so, George realised his love was special.