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Chapter 11: Love & Obsession
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The morning sunlight streamed through the window of their room in the Three Broomsticks, landing on George's face. He flung his arm over his eyes to block it and tried to turn over, but a weight on his chest held him down. As he blinked away the last vestiges of sleep, he saw that Kira had her head on his chest. One arm lay over his stomach and her leg was flung across his, effectively imprisoning him in his spot.
If it was a prison, however, he had no wish to escape from it. The sunbeam caught the copper highlights in her hair, making it appear as if tiny, glowing embers were flickering on his skin. He softly began to play with her hair, trying to touch the embers much like a child tries to gather sparkling ice crystals on a sunny winter's day. She was...perfect, he thought. He couldn't even begin to describe her hair. Depending on the light, it was dark honey blonde, light reddish brown, or honey brown. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks at the realization that he would get to wake up like this with her every morning for the rest of his life.
He felt her begin to stir. Her lips touched his chest in a light caress as her hand slid up to his neck, causing him to sharply draw in a breath. Already, her scent covered him, her touch was engraved on his soul.
He heard her stifle a giggle. He turned over, flipping her onto her back, pinning her beneath him. "You are a fraud," he said. "You're only pretending to be asleep."
Kira caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked up at him, laughter in her eyes. "I was only trying to...awaken you," she said coyly, her words rich with double entendre.
"You 'awaken' me without even trying," he said. "Didn't I prove that last night?" He buried his mouth at her neck and breathed in her scent.
"A gentleman wouldn't mention something so indelicate to his blushing bride."
"Gentleman? I don't recall ever laying claim to that title, or wanting to," he said. "So, what did you want to 'awaken' me for?"
"Food. I'm starving to death."
"So am I, but not for breakfast," he said, moving his mouth lower, and smiling as, this time, the sound of a sharply drawn breath came from her.
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Later, George got up and began to throw on his clothes, planning on going downstairs to order breakfast, even though it was closer to lunch time.
"George," Kira said. She was sitting up in the bed with the covers pulled up to her shoulders. "Would you throw me my nightgown from our bag?"
"I'd really rather not," he said, with a devilish smile.
"Fine, if you want me to waltz down the hall to the bathroom stark..." Kira smiled smugly as he pointed his wand at the open bag and, with a fast sweep, aimed it toward the bed, sending the nightgown flying right into her hands.
Leaving the Three Broomsticks, George led Kira up the street to once more assess the old Zonko's building. He stared at it a couple minutes, remembering how much fun he and Fred had in that place. The windows were dirty, and one was broken. The sign outside the door was faded and hung haphazardly from one corner, but you could still make out the name on it.
"You should keep that sign and put it up inside, as a nostalgic wall decoration," Kira said.
"You know, that's a great idea, Kira," he replied. "This place was awesome back when Fred and I were at Hogwarts," he said. "It was what inspired our genius. We could make a killing here, Kira, especially during the school year, when the kids are around. I was even thinking of maybe building a secret tunnel to the school to help with deliveries. I could hire a few students to help with distribution without Filch—he's the caretaker—being any the wiser. And a lot of families are moving here now, building new houses just so they can be near their children."
"What happened to the former owners? Might they be willing to stay on?"
"I asked. They live here in town," he said. "But they're getting up in years. They only want to do it on a part time basis. Eventually, Ron would have to move here. I had been thinking of building a house in Hogsmeade and working out of this location myself, but living here would be too hard on you. There's no electricity and stuff you're used to. I want you to have everything you need."
Kira pushed him against the rough wooden wall of the entryway of the shop and looked up at him. "I already have everything I need," she said. "I have you, and I have our baby, yours, mine, and Fred's. For the first time in my life, I feel safe, like nothing bad can ever touch me again. You are the one who has given me that, George. I want you to be happy too. I'll never do anything to make you regret marrying me. If you want to live here, I will manage. I actually love it here. The Muggle world holds nothing for me. My parents have turned their backs on me—even my mother; that's what really hurts."
"You'd catch me snogging a Dementor before you ever hear me regret marrying you," said George.
"Oops, there you go. You said that word again," she teased.
"What word is that?" he asked.
"Snogging," she said, pulling his face to hers.
They made a stop in Honeydukes, where George spoke with Mr. Flume for a while. Then, he bought Kira a huge bag of chocolate for the trip back to London and Diagon Alley. She began eating them as they walked back up High Street toward the Hogwarts Express.
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Back in Ottery St. Catchpole, Nathan Lockslip was deeply agitated. He had been watching the Benning Butcher Shop for the past few mornings, arriving early, buying meat that he'd never eat. Each day since Thursday, he'd arrived at the butcher shop at opening. Although on Thursday he'd been the sole customer, others had come in to make purchases on Friday and Saturday. Buford Benning did not open the shop until eleven on Sunday, and it enjoyed a brisk business. He had to act at a time when no witnesses would be around.
He walked into his darkroom and looked at the photos of Kira that hung there. He had taken them in the library when she was not looking, her nose in a book. He gently touched the telltale traces of bruises the Beast had inflicted on her. She was so special, so helpless, and in so much pain, like his mother had been. He had seen how Kira would step in and try to draw her father's rage away from her mother, onto herself, just like his mother used to try to protect him.
Nathan began to break out in a cold sweat as he relived that horrible night. He had been only ten years old. He had been born handicapped, his legs weak. His father had been a large, strapping man who had dreamed of having a healthy, athletic son. He had blamed Nathan's mother for Nathan's handicap, had berated her for giving birth to a cripple. On that fateful night, his father had lost it. He had pushed Nathan down, grabbed one of his crutches and had been about to beat him with it. His mother had stepped between them and the blow had fallen on her head. She'd fallen on top of Nathan, her head split open. Her blood had quickly soaked Nathan's clothes as her sightless eyes stared up into his.
His father had stood, looking down at them, shock etched in every line of his face. He'd ignored his son as he paced. Nathan's did not remember anything after that. Months later, Nathan finally became aware of his surroundings again. He was in St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. His father had said that Nathan had done it, claimed the boy was subject to fits of uncontrollable violence. Nathan had been catatonic, covered in blood, his face frozen in a scream his throat refused to give sound to. They had taken Nathan away to the hospital.
At the hearing, Nathan had been judged not responsible by reason of insanity and sent to St. Brutus's where he had been drugged and given shock treatments. It had taken nearly three years for him to regain the ability to speak. Then they'd worn him down with their demands that he admit to killing his mother and show remorse. He had just wanted to get out of there so he played along, told them what they wanted to hear.
Having always been highly intelligent, Nathan had excelled in the classes he took and, when he was awarded a scholarship, St. Brutus's administrators had made him their poster child for the success of their methods. They released him and he had gone on to college, becoming a librarian, a career chosen because it offered quiet. His mind needed quiet. That's why he had fallen in love with Kira Benning. She had a soft, quiet voice, and sad eyes, so like his mother's. His years of physical and Occupational therapy had paid off handsomely. He really didn't even need these crutches anymore. They were basically just a prop now, to lull people into feeling sorry for him. Coming out of the horrific memories of his past, he looked down at the photo he held in his hand. It was torn into pieces.
Nathan got his keys and left his small house, making his way back to the library. It was closed on Sunday, but he loved it best then. The dark, cool, quiet interior welcomed him like a lover. He made his way down to the basement, to Shelter. He stood in the safe cell he had created for her, imagining her laying on the bed, looking up at him, gratitude shining from her eyes.
Yesterday, he had brought a radio in here. He had turned it up full blast, just to see if anyone upstairs would hear it. He had even added his own shouts to the din. Then, he'd stopped and waited. Nobody had heard a thing. The thick stone walls would keep her safe. Nobody would hear her scream. Eventually, she would settle down and accept her new life. She would realize he did it to keep her safe and would learn to please him. She would learn to love him. After all, her very survival would depend on him. He forgave her for marrying that boy. She was innocent. She did not know how to make good choices for herself. He stooped to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from the counterpane on the bed they would eventually share.
He decided the time had come to act. Not too much longer now, he thought. Less than two months. This would be her birthday present. He knew, from her library card record, that she would be twenty on October 30th. On her birthday, he would give her Shelter.
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George and Kira stood on the walk in front of the Leaky Cauldron.
"What do you say we have dinner in the Leaky Cauldron again, love," asked George. "Getting dinner on the table this late would be too much work."
"I am going to start wondering if you simply don't like my cooking," she said. "We've been married for four days and the only thing I've gotten to make for you is breakfast and that roast." She slid her hands around his waist and adopted a petulant pout.
"You could serve hag's gruel and I'd love it," said George. "I'm just hungry and exhausted tonight. After all, it's not like you let me get much sleep last night." He cracked up laughing as Kira's jaw dropped & her face turned red.
She suddenly dug her fingers into his ribs, tickling him until he collapsed onto the sidewalk, begging for mercy.
"Aha," she said, "I've discovered your weakness. You're ticklish. You'd better watch out. I've discovered how to punish you for being bad."
"You win," he said, reaching out his hand to her. She grasped it to help him up, but it came off in her hand. She screamed and dropped it, garnering more than one censuring stare from passersby.
George cracked up laughing again as he stood up. "It's an extendable hand," he said, stooping to pick up the very realistic looking hand. "I found it in the pocket of these robes you packed. I'd forgotten all about it. Fred and I had been planning on expanding our extendable body part line. I came up with the idea of the extendable hand, for crude jokes. We were trying to come up with other uses for it."
They walked into the Leaky Cauldron and found a table in the corner.
"Is that the only one you have?" she asked.
"So far, why?" he asked.
"Well, you could sell them as a pair, and enchant them so they could do simple, repetitive tasks, like washing dishes or giving a massage, going to fetch things, or even," she smiled blissfully, "laundry."
"That's bloody brilliant," he said. "We could sell them as a household helper."
"I think it would be better to make them so they are task specific. That way, everyone would need to buy several pairs, one for dishes, one for a massage, one for laundry, and so on. You could even make them for the school kids. Enchant them to do homework, carry books or take notes. You could call them Weasley's Helping Hands Laundry Helpers. And for fun, you could create an extendable foot. A witch or wizard could send it after someone they're pissed off at to give them a kick in the bum."
"I...I should be taking notes," he said, "I still haven't forgotten about that Hemorrhoid candies or the Diarrhea Drops either. I am humbled before you. Outside of me and Fred you are truly the most twisted person I've ever met. And you have a good head for business too."
"Thank you," Kira said, picking up her glass of milk. Then, she leaned forward conspiratorially. "George," she said, "can I ask one favor?"
"Anything," said George.
"When you make the Bum Kicker, could you test it out on my father?"
"It'll be my pleasure, love. I can't think of anyone more deserving," said George, picking up his pint of ale. They clicked their glasses together and drank, laughing at their own silliness.