Gift Fic for the Community (Part 4/10)
Title: Leave Out All the Rest
Author: ????
Recipient: hpgeorgecentric
Pairing(s): George/Luna, hints of George/Angelina and George/Hermione, but mostly Gen.
Word Count: 80,000 words ::gulp:: (6540 in this part)
Rating: R
Summary: Nobody expected the year after Fred's death would be easy. But nobody expected George would have to lose so much, just to live through it. Or: George is doing his best to make his way after the war and Fred's death. Everyone is trying to help, and he wishes they would just stop. Especially Fred.
Warnings: Angst, suicide issues, and occasional inappropriate humour.
Author: Thanks to twistedm, tree00faery, vanseedee and ozma_katiebell for beta above and beyond the call of friendship. Hope you all like it!!
August
Wheezes was turning into an even wilder success than it had been before the war, and the place was always filled with laughter. Mum, Dad, Bill, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Lee - almost every friend and family member George had was there all the time, helping out. Ron turned out to be surprisingly useful, suggesting and helping to invent one product after another after another. He even invented Cat-Got-Your-Tongues, from ideation to creation to testing to marketing, all by himself, to great success. The place was flourishing.
Which was good, because George's magic was not getting any better, and his mood was, if anything, getting worse.
Angelina came by. It was awkward, talking to her, and it shouldn't have been. They had been friends since they were eleven, gone to classes together and lived in the same dorm, stayed friends through her fling with Fred and their break-up, and he'd never had any problem talking to her. But now there were gaps in their conversation. Gaps Fred should've filled.
They made small talk about the shop and Angelina's search for a nice flat and the state of Diagon Alley and looked good to move on to the weather next when Angelina said, "You remember Luna? I've heard she's having some trouble."
"Lovegood?"
"Yeah, she's not going back to school this year."
"Wish I didn't have to," muttered Ginny, who was stacking bottles of Yummy Mummy perfumes into a teetering pyramid next to them.
"Why isn't she going back?" asked George.
"Her Dad. He's gone a bit funny in the head, it seems, and it's set her off too."
How would anybody know the difference? said Fred-in-his-head, but Fred-in-his-head had never lived in the dismal world of Grief. He didn't know that really, there were times when it just wasn't funny.
Or maybe it was, and George simply couldn't see it any more. Couldn't figure out how to make this uncomfortable conversation feel better, flow more easily, maybe remind everybody that there was still laughter in the world. Because if you couldn't poke a little fun at the lunatic Lovegoods, what was the point of living?
"What's wrong with him?" asked Ginny, and the moment was gone.
"He's rather paranoid," said Angelina. "Seeing all sorts of sinister things all around him."
"He's always done that."
"Yeah, but now he's terrified of them. Gets notions like the Death Eaters are still in the Ministry, vampires and Dementors are staging a comeback, that sort of thing. Luna feels that she needs to take care of him until he's better. He had to be admitted to the hospital after he tried to hex Florian Fortescue for harbouring Heliopaths in his icebox, and Luna went in with him."
"How do you know?"
"I've been volunteering at the hospital."
"Damn, I should go visit her," said Ginny. "Poor Luna."
"And... you?" Angelina asked George. "How's your health? Lee mentioned something about you having magic trouble?"
And suddenly this wasn't something he wanted to discuss with her. Which was odd; it was a pain in the arse, but he didn't have much of a problem when his family and friends mentioned it. Angelina was different, though, and he couldn't figure out why.
"Yeah, a bit," George muttered. "Not that big a deal, though."
"Are you going to see a Healer?"
"Yeah, I go about once a month anyway." Angelina tilted her head. "Because of the ear," he clarified.
"You should really talk to them about the magic thing too," she said.
George nodded uncomfortably.
"Angelina! Fancy meeting you here!" said Lee, entering the shop. Angelina smiled at him, a genuine, relaxed smile. "How long has it been? An entire week?"
Angelina snorted. "Three days, you arse," and George felt a sharp pang, which didn't subside as they started to chat easily about a Quidditch game they'd seen recently, and a Hogwarts Rebuilding Fundraiser concert they'd attended, and a pudding Lee had dropped off at Angelina's.
Apparently they were spending a great deal of time together. So what? There was no need for this surge of... what was it? Jealousy?
So they were friends. Close friends. Might even end up dating each other, as Lee had been hoping for since about third year. So what? George and Lee were best friends, never mind that they didn't seem to have much to say to each other these days; it wasn't as though Lee would cut him out of his life just because he was dating Angelina. And the nagging feeling that these two dating was somehow disrespectful of Fred was silly; Angelina hadn't been with Fred in years. Besides, who could blame Lee for wanting her? If it hadn't been for Fred, George would've wanted her too. He was loyal to his brother, but he also wasn't blind.
*****
"How are you feeling, Mr. Weasley?" asked the Healer, examining George's missing ear.
Good, great, just the usual minor annoyances. He'd been saying that for over a year. "Fine," he said. "Other than hearing things that aren't there."
"I beg your pardon?" The Healer put down her wand, alarmed.
George blinked at her. "You know, echoes, or high-pitched sounds? I mentioned that last time I was in."
"Oh!" said the Healer, relieved. "Oh, that's all right, then."
"Why, what did you think I meant?"
"Erm, nothing," she said. "Only we've had a lot of people with mental maladies since the end of the war. We're even going to be hiring a Muggle-trained psychiatrist in here; our Cheering Charms specialists are getting a bit overwhelmed."
"Really?"
"Yes, people are hallucinating all sorts of things. We have a patient who swears she can see Nargles, if you can believe that, in our potted plants." She shook her head.
"That's too bad." Probably not the time to tell her about Fred-in-his-head. Thank God for having enough sanity to be able to tell the difference between real unexplained phenomena and mere vivid wishful thinking.
"All right, so we'll increase the dosage of the Hearing potion. And your dizzy spells: are they a bit more under control?"
"Yeah, nothing too serious there."
"Just remember the Balance Spell when it happens."
"I will."
"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" asked the Healer.
George hesitated. "I'm still having trouble with my magic."
"Still? What kind?"
"Same as before; it just feels as though there's less of it. Or suddenly sometimes there's more. I can't seem to control it very well."
"I did point out that that is normal after a loss."
George bit back the urge to snap, 'It's a death, not a loss. It's not like Mum'll find Fred behind the couch next time she tidies my flat.' "You also said it should begin to clear itself up within a few weeks. It's been over three months."
The Healer nodded. "It's just a combination of the ear and the loss, in all likelihood. Why don't I prescribe some Cheering Potions for you, and we'll see how you're doing next month." She scribbled on a prescription parchment and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Maybe I should run a couple of tests," she mused, then shook her head. "No. It's not causing you major distress, is it? You mentioned last time that your employees re-test everything you make."
"No, not major distress." Other than having to clean up blood in the lab a bit more than before. Best not say that either.
"Then why don't I wait till next time to do the tests, if this hasn't cleared up by then. They take a little long and I've a rather heavy schedule today."
"All right."
"Well then, you're free to go, Mr. Weasley. We'll see you next month."
"Thanks."
He put his cloak back on and left, musing distractedly on the Healer's attitude. There was no need to feel put off; if the Healer wasn't worried, in all likelihood there wasn't anything to worry about. This would clear itself up, eventually. He just had to be patient.
He stepped aside as a couple of Aurors with a Death Eater in magical chains between them went past him and down the hall to the Healer, and a sudden surge of fury rushed through him. George was suffering from wonky magic and a missing ear, Mum was brewing and taking far too many Cheering Potions, Fred was lying in the ground, and the Healer had to rush George through because she had a Death Eater to attend to?
He turned on his heel, strode off the Small Extremities Injuries Ward and headed for the lift, battling a growing impulse to slowly and painfully kill the chained man he'd just seen. Take all the bones out of his body and watch him writhe in agony, and all those Muggle anatomy books he and Fred had read for product research came back to him: the lungs couldn't breathe without ribs to expand and allow them to fill with air, the bowels would fall out without a pelvic girdle, the airway would collapse with no vertebrae to anchor it. Or maybe he could cast something to remove the upper layer of the Death Eater's skin and make his nerve endings shriek in agony as air hit them. Or maybe turn all organ tissues into glass so they'd shatter at the first breath, at the first heartbeat - no, then it would be over too quickly, that was no good--
"George?"
He blinked, startled, finding himself nowhere near the lift, Luna Lovegood's odd blue eyes staring up at him.
George shook his head, struggling to pull himself back from the disturbing place he'd just been in. He glanced at the sign on the wall: Janus Thickey Ward for Mental Maladies.
"What are you doing here?" George blurted, and felt sheepish for a split second before reminding himself that this was Luna Lovegood. Unlikely to be offended by minor social blunders.
"Daddy thinks I'm not right in the head," she said glumly. "Why are you here?"
"I was seeing a Healer on the Injuries Ward."
"Why?"
"I get dizzy and my magic isn't working well," said George.
"Is the magic because of your ear, or because Fred's dead?"
George blinked. That was rather direct. His family tended to avoid the words "dead" and "Fred" in the same sentence, and not just because of the unintentional silliness of the rhyme.
"Not sure, I don't think. Might not have anything to do with either."
"It might have to do with Umgubular Slashkilters," she said, her voice subdued. "Most people think they don't exist. My dad said Cornelius Fudge had one to diminish his enemies' magic. He says there's more of them around now."
"Do you believe that?"
Luna hesitated. "I think maybe he's wrong," she said softly. "I think maybe he's imagining things. I think maybe he has been, for a long, long time."
George nodded, still feeling utterly off-balance, and suddenly noticed that the girl before him didn't look much like the Loony Lovegood he'd known in the DA. She'd always looked dreamy and off in some bizarre world of her own, but happy to be there. Now, her eyes were downcast, her spirit almost visibly dimmed.
He wondered if he looked the same. Hastily pushed those thoughts away.
"Listen, are you allowed off the floor?" he found himself asking.
Luna nodded. "Yes, if I'm accompanied by someone else."
"D'you want to maybe get some tea on the fifth floor?"
Luna blinked, a small smile appearing on her face. She seemed to perk up a bit as they signed her out, and become almost herself again once they were in the tea room and she started to tell George a bit about her dad, and his problems, and their magazine. George sipped on his tea, finally feeling somewhat less murderous as she talked, though to tell the truth he wasn't really listening to her. That had been... rather disturbing.
Would Fred have been disturbed by that kind of thing? He really couldn't say. Sometimes Fred's impulses had scared George - and Fred too - because he didn't seem to see that there was such a thing as going too far. It was always George's role to put the brakes on - or, at least, try to - when they were going to make Ron take the Unbreakable Vow, when they were going to blackmail Ludo Bagman, when they were going to send Percy's office a package of dung that exploded and sang "Who's in love with Mr. Crouch?" when he first went to work at the Ministry. Without George there, would Fred have been able to see that Death Eater and not loose an Unforgivable or two in his direction?
Luna's chatter had slowed down, he realized. "That's really interesting," he said, though he had no clue what she'd been talking about other than it had something to do with Plimpies. "Where did you learn that?" he asked, and evidently it was the right thing to say, because she was off again and sounded almost happy. Or at least, not as subdued as when George had first run into her.
Well, for good or bad, he wasn't Fred. The Death Eater he'd seen was hopefully suffering horribly already, and he was here with a girl who was going through some difficult times, and if he could bring some kind of cheer into her life maybe that was a good thing. He tried to focus on her.
"So Daddy and I are both here now," she was saying. "I had hoped Daddy would let me help rebuild the magazine, but he's frightened of many of our writers." She trailed off, then focused on George, as if seeing him for the first time.
"How is your shop?"
"Wheezes? Doing well."
"Is it? Could I come by, once I'm allowed out?" she asked, and her eyes seemed lit up for the first time since he'd seen her. She was almost pretty in her own weird way, but now he was thinking of all the somewhat dangerous things in the shop that could be used to cause a fair amount of pain for men like the one he'd just seen--
"Of course," he said. "You'd be welcome." He cleared his throat, and asked Luna about her gnomes, pushing away all thoughts of the more violent Wheezes that could be used for all sorts of nefarious purposes. Wishing he could be fully here, talking to Luna, or back at the shop, or anywhere but in his own head right now, with violence wanting out. As though instead of being one person with two bodies, as he had often been with Fred, he was now two people in one.
*****
"You're mental. Runes instead of Charms?" said Fred, frowning at George's parchment.
"What? Runes is brilliant!"
"Not for what we're going to do, George," said Fred impatiently. "We've got to think of our future here, right?"
George sniggered. "Mum? Is that you?"
Fred snorted. "I'm serious, mate. We need Charms, Flitwick's brilliant, it's our best subject--"
"Yeah, it's our best subject. We could probably teach it. Besides, we're already taking Transfigurations and Potions and Herbology and bloody filling our time with the serious classes; can we not do something fun instead?"
"Runes? Fun?" said Lee in disbelief. "Since when?"
Fred rolled his eyes. "That's not the point, George. Yeah, I want to read Ethelbercht's Sensuals in the original Norse as much as you do, but come on."
"Well I can't believe you picked Charms on top of everything else we've got. We're not trying to outdo Percy, here."
"You just want to learn how to write dirty words in Futhark."
George chuckled. "Too right. Can't believe you don't."
"I don't want to waste my time, no matter how entertaining the course."
They glared at each other, and then blew out their breaths and gazed at their parchments.
"Toss a coin?" said George.
"You always cheat, you wanker," said Fred. He scowled at the parchment. "Too bad we can't be in two places at once."
Lee nodded and then blinked. "Hang on, what?" The twins looked at him, and he started to chuckle. "Bloody hell, you're not Siamese."
"What?"
"You canbe two places at once, you know," he said, and his chuckle grew into a laugh at their baffled expressions.
"Charms and Runes are offered in the same period, Lee," said George patiently. "We've got to pick one or the other."
"No you don't, you daft gits," said Lee. "Here, let me help you. Fred, you take Charms. George, you take Runes."
The twins' eyebrows shot up and they gaped at Lee, who laughed even harder.
"You're pathetic. It honestly didn't occur to you?"
*****
It was odd, the things that were being found as the wizarding world rebuilt itself, and the odd ways they were being put to use.
In August, just as Wheezes went to gear itself up for the busiest time of the year, the volunteers rebuilding Hogwarts found a stash of powdered fairy dung in the Carrow's rooms. They had no earthly use for it, but Hermione, who was involved in rebuilding (as well as trying to read ahead for her delayed Seventh Year, helping house elves who had lost their masters in the war, and helping her parents get back to their real lives again) mentioned it to Percy, who mentioned it to Ron. Who suggested that Wheezes take it off the school's hands to George, while pretending it had nothing to do with trying to get him out of the shop. It had been a particularly bad day, a week after the visit to St. Mungo's: George had melted a cauldron, caused the Pygmy Puffs to perform a kind of frantic jig for about an hour, made half the WonderWitch products go from shocking pink to puce, almost disemboweled himself, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.
"I'm so glad you can use this," said Hermione, greeting George at the Floo in McGonagall's office. "It's going to go to rot here otherwise. And frankly, we didn't know how to get rid of it."
"It's dead useful for Flashing Grins," said George, wishing he could feel some enthusiasm for it. "Why didn't you just send it to us by Floo, though?"
"There's nobody to send it, we're all quite busy."
"Huh." George didn't bother to point out that Hermione could've taken it through herself with far less loss of time than she was taking right now. It wasn't as though he was all that keen on being in the shop these days - other than in the testing lab, which was looking good to do him in one of these days if he didn't start being a hell of a lot more careful.
Inspecting the supplies and casting a charm to protect them from Floo ash didn't take much time, and soon enough they were heading back towards McGonagall's office, a large package floating along behind them.
"You know, now that you're here," said Hermione, "I wouldn't mind showing you some of what's been going on here. It's all come a long way since you were here last."
George nodded, and they left the package next to McGonagall's Floo. They walked through the castle, with Hermione pointing out places fixed and places still being rebuilt, and he tried not to flinch at each corner that screamed of him and Fred - the one-eyed witch, the pear you could tickle to get into the kitchens to get food from the house elves, the alcove where they'd hidden and cast a hex on Marcus Flint to give him boils on his arse the day before the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match...
Funny how much he'd wanted to stay here after the Battle. It should've felt horrible, remaining in the very place that had killed Fred, seeing their second home almost in ruins every day, but it had seemed necessary. Like there was something he needed to do here. Maybe help rebuild, heal the building as he couldn't heal Fred, maybe have a place where he could get used to being alone, maybe try to accept Fred's death as slowly as possible. Leaving had been a wrench.
But coming back was not pleasant either. Never mind that the school was mostly back on its feet; he felt nothing of what he'd felt in the first few days after the Battle. No comforting sense that his brother might just be busy on another floor.
"George, why don't we go to the library?" said Hermione, her voice just a tad too casual.
"Sure. For what?"
Hermione paused, then faced him and took a piece of parchment out of her pocket. "Erm. I've... I've got a list." She showed him. "Ron - I mean, you had mentioned that you were having some difficulties with your magic lately. So I thought I'd put together a list of topics you can maybe read up on, see if you can figure it out. I understand the St. Mungo's Healers are a little swamped right now."
George looked at her parchment. It was colour-coded, with a list of topics and possible sources of information: magical dysfunction, too much magic, grief, magical drain, sudden onset magical malaise.
He blinked. "Why in hell would I want to?" he said, and winced at her surprised, hurt look. "No, sorry." Bugger, he hated this; if Fred were here they would've just made a joke out of it and it would've been fine. "You're right, it's probably a good idea." He recalled Ron's relieved look as he'd pushed George into the Floo and out of the shop. "And it'll keep me busy, if nothing else," he muttered.
Hermione nodded, and they headed for the library. She smiled at him tentatively as they reached it. "Also, Ron says you've turned into a bit of a bookworm. You might just find something to read for fun."
She opened the doors, and he drew in his breath at its almost painful familiarity. Damn, there he went again. How many hours had they spent here, looking for new Potions ideas, Charms to use, ways to annoy Pince?
"Here," said Hermione, and flipped over the parchment, showing a map she'd made of the library's stacks, with circles around the ones that might hold resources for them. Defence Against the Dark Arts, Advanced Charms, Magical Theory, Medical Magic, Divination.
"Divination? What for?" asked George.
Hermione shrugged. "I'll admit, it's a long shot, but perhaps it's something we can try to figure out from the future. Look into the future to see whether you discover what's wrong, or are able to fix it."
George felt a stab in his chest. "And what if we find I didn't fix it?"
"It might be useful to see that, too," said Hermione, her mind still clearly fixed on the intellectual challenge and not fully registering what he'd said. "I don't think that's terribly likely, but if so, it might be better to simply concentrate our efforts on mitigating the effects."
George shook his head, dizzy all of a sudden. Damn. Damn. He was going to throw up, right in Madam Pince's cherished Advanced Charms section, because the idea of seeing the future filled him with cold dread.
"I've always thought Divination's pure bosh," he said harshly.
"Well, to be honest, so have I," said Hermione, a little startled. "I thought... you're usually fairly open-minded, though. It was just a suggestion."
"Thanks. Erm. I'll pass," said George, and hoped she couldn't hear his voice shaking. "Can I see that map?"
"Of course," she said. "Why don't you take this section, and I'll take Magical Theory?"
It was interesting, spending time with Hermione without Ron or Harry around. Watching her mind at work firsthand, instead of only hearing about it from his brother. They quickly discarded most of the books they found as useless, but within half an hour, they had a respectable stack growing next to them. He settled in to try to figure this out.
He was a bit distracted, though, and he glanced at the Divination shelves he'd shunned. Why had that bothered him so? Wouldn't it be good to find out he'd fixed this? And wasn't Hermione right, that if he found he hadn't, he might want to start figuring out what to do about it?
It wasn't that big a deal. Provided it didn't get worse, he could continue what he was doing long-term. He'd learned to live without an ear; he could learn to live without full control of his magic.
But what if he didn't see any future?
He shivered. That was ridiculous. Nobody died from magic dysfunction.
No, but they die of other things, said Fred-in-his-head helpfully, and George shushed him.
He didn't want to think of those other things. Such as Apparition or flying accidents, or lab accidents like the one that had killed Luna Lovegood's mother.
And he definitely didn't want to think of the surge of longing that rushed through him at the thought. He got a hold of himself and plunged into a Defence Against the Dark Arts text, looking for symptoms resembling his own.
Magical dysfunction that manifests itself in sudden bursts of unexpectedly strong magic
Magical drain: random lack of ability to do a spell previously mastered
Magical dysfunction that occurs when a witch or wizard is under emotional stress.
Well, he was emotionally stressed, but the bursts happened somewhat randomly.
Ah, a section on what kinds of spell malfunctions indicated what kinds of things might cause them:
Animal-controlling Spells - fear of the animal, or fear of animals in general
Enlarging Spells - lack of magical power, usually chronic
Ordering Spells - lack of motivation to do housework
General Transfiguration Spells - lack of confidence in self
Emotional charms - emotional turmoil
Potions - lack of attention
"This is bloody fucking ridiculous and completely useless," he said abruptly, slamming the book closed and causing Hermione to jump a bit. He pushed away his parchment.
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said.
"I'm not afraid of animals, nobody likes to clean, emotional turmoil is right but it's not just emotion charms that are going wrong, nobody ever accused us of 'lack of confidence', our magical power is fine--" he cut himself off because Hermione had that look on her face. "All right, my magical power is fine," he amended.
"Would you mind if I keep looking?" asked Hermione cautiously.
"All right, fine." He took a breath and closed his eyes briefly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bark at you like that." He glanced at his watch. "Listen, I'm sure Ron's not exactly missing me right now, but I do have to get back to the shop some time. Thanks for... thanks for your help."
Hermione nodded, and they organized and shrank down the rather large stack of books they'd ended up putting aside before he set off back home.
He shouldn't have snapped at her like that. She was only trying to help. And she was certainly far easier to deal with than other people who wanted to "help" him, like Mum. Or Bill or Charlie. Not that bad to be around. Pretty in her own way, too. He could certainly see why Ron had fallen for her.
Pretty. Hermione Granger. When I said that once, you nearly pissed yourself laughing. You are in serious need of some distraction, mate.
Would you like me to consider Angelina pretty, then?
If it was possible for a hallucinated voice to project sheepish silence, somehow Fred-in-his-head was doing just that right now.
George blew out his breath in irritation. What the hell was with him, anyway, all of a sudden noticing girls the way he was? He didn't have time for anything romantic these days, and nothing to offer anybody anyway. Besides... seriously? Angelina? Luna Lovegood? Hermione Granger?
You need a girlfriend, mate.
I don't need a girlfriend, Fred.
Boyfriend, then.
Shut up, Fred.
All right, then, someone you can talk to.
Why?
It can be good to talk to somebody. Helps, sometimes, you know?
Since when?
Oi, I talked to Lee, you know.
Right. Now I know I'm imagining you. You and I were never ones for sharing our innermost thoughts with anyone.
We never had to, George.
We went through some pretty shitty things.
We had each other, though.
Yeah, well, so much for that.
*****
"Awake?" George yawned, shuffling into the kitchen around three in the morning and finding Fred at the table, a long-cold cup of tea by his side and a long piece of parchment in front of him with a dozen doodles marching down the margins.
"You all right?" asked Fred.
"Yeah," said George. "Couldn't sleep, though. Somebody probably woke me up."
"Sorry," said Fred, not sounding particularly sorry. "Had a thought for the Allentebber contract."
"You're working on that?"
"Yeah," said Fred, doodling on the parchment some more.
"Impressive," said George, examining the doodle. "Add a beard to Mrs. Allentebber's moustache. That'll be sure to charm them into giving us the discount."
Fred flicked a piece of Puff feed at him.
George went to get himself some warm milk. "Want any?"
"No thanks."
George stumbled a bit and stifled a curse.
"You all right?" said Fred.
"Yeah, just dizzy."
"When's your next appointment?"
"Next week, Mum," George muttered. "The Healer said there's not much she can do. Tonks is helping. It's getting better."
Fred shook his head. "I still don't want you going on the trip out to Harkness next week."
George set the milk bottle down with a thump. "What? It's my turn! You did the last mission."
"'Mnot the one who might fall off a broom, Lugless," said Fred. "Why don't you just sit back and let the uninjured do the rest of the dirty work in this war?"
"Uninjured, my arse," George retorted. "I'm not the one who has screaming nightmares, mate."
Fred's eyes went blank, and George kicked himself. "Think I'll go see if I can sleep a bit more," Fred said, standing up.
"Fred--"
"Night." Fred started out the door.
"Oi, Fred." Fred paused but didn't turn around. "You haven't finished the contract, you lazy sod. Turns out I'm knackered after all. I'll take your morning shift, yeah?"
Fred took a breath and then turned around, accepting the olive branch being held out to him. "All right, fine. Go to bed. God knows you need all the beauty sleep you can get, not that it helps at all."
George chuckled and headed off, but reflected as he got back to bed that it would be really, really nice if he and Fred could deal with the ear thing like mature adults. He wished they could talk about how Fred was too overprotective of George since it happened, or talk about how George didn't want to be coddled or fussed over, and felt like he needed to prove himself. Or talk about something, anyway.
It would also be completely foreign to them. Besides, denial and teasing each other had worked so far. With any luck, if his ear was the worst they had to deal with in this war, he'd say they were going to do all right.
*****
George wasn't getting better. If anything, he felt worse. The dreariness, the flirting with thoughts of nothingness, the emptiness, just seemed to get heavier. Like there was something dead inside him. Or at least something that wanted to be dead. Something sucking what little life he had left in him, and some days, keeping up the cheerful front for his friends and family and customers was more than he could take.
"Come out with me and Angelina," said Lee.
"Too busy," said George, and disappeared into his lab.
"You're too thin. Come to The Burrow for dinner," said Mum.
"Expecting a big shipment early tomorrow," said George.
The excuses were getting flimsier, and the expressions on the faces of his friends and family were getting old. And there wasn't much he could do about it, other than avoid them and work and bury himself in books. He was reading phenomenal amounts of material these days: practical stuff for the shop, occasional swipes at his magical dysfunction problem, and even just reading for fun. Hermione was impressed.
Even the shop was seeing less and less of him these days. The more the shop flourished, the more the bright colours strobed and the more customers came and went, the less they all saw George. He produced and tested a phenomenal amount of merchandise, magic dysfunction or not, but nobody had really spent any significant time with him in weeks.
And when they did see him...
"George, you have to do something about this," said Charlie, who had dropped in unannounced and uninvited - along with Percy, Ginny, Harry and Hermione, oh joy - telling George he was only in London for the weekend and was going to take his younger siblings out, no excuses brooked.
George nodded irately, peering at the puddled remains of twenty-three batches of Slush Puppies on the storage room floor. He looked up at the ceiling, which was still dripping and yelping sporadically. Marvellous.
"What were you trying to do?" asked Hermione,
"Package them," he said, rubbing at a bloody spot on his hand where a Slush Puppie had bitten him before dissolving. "I've been doing it by hand, but it's a bloody nuisance."
"You were trying to levitate them into the boxes?"
"Yeah. Won't be trying that one again." He glanced at Charlie. "I told you I was too busy to go anywhere, didn't I? This is why."
"You can get Verity and Naomi to finish up here," said Charlie.
"Absolutely, Mr. Weasley, it's no problem," said Verity. "I'll stay late and start brewing a replacement set."
"I can stay too, Mr. Weasley," Naomi chimed in. "It won't take more than a few minutes to clean up."
"Come on," said Charlie. "I told you, we're going out. I've made reservations."
"Where?"
Charlie hesitated a moment, then lifted his chin and announced, "At the London Dungeon."
They all gaped at him. "For all of us?" asked Ron, glancing over the group crowded into George's gloop-filled storage room. "There's seven of us, mate. That's going to be steep."
"D'you mean the Muggle amusement park?" asked Harry. "My cousin used to go there. You know about it?"
"Yeah, it's brilliant," said Ron. "Dad took each of us there for our tenth birthdays, but he couldn't afford to do it more than once. So Charlie started taking us when he started work at the dragon reserve."
"I promised I'd take all you little ones again, you and all your significant others, once the war was over, even though you're not so little any more," said Charlie. "D'you remember, Fred said he didn't believe me, and I was a lying tosser who'd try to worm his way out of it if we did win?" The others laughed, and George felt a stab in his chest. Charlie glanced at George. "Why don't we invite Angelina too? And Lee, too, if you'd like. I'm going to prove Fred wrong."
"Very funny, Charlie," said George. The others' laughter petered off.
"George." Charlie took a moment. "I'm not trying to be disrespectful. I just think we don't talk about Fred much. We don't do things that might have included him. Maybe we should. Maybe we shouldn't forget him."
"That's a marvellous idea, Charlie," said George. "Yeah, no really. And the moment I can talk about him without wanting to off myself, I'll be thrilled to join your little romps through Sibling Nostalgialand. Till then, though, you won't mind if I excuse myself? I have some cleaning to do."
"God, George," said Ginny. "He's only trying to help."
"Did you mean what you just said?" asked Hermione. "About--"
"Topping myself?" George rolled his eyes. "No, I just said that because I thought it would be terribly funny - you know, light-hearted and totally appropriate humour, so you'd all stop worrying about me and looking at me like I'm about to shatter. Did it work?"
Silence.
"S'ppose not. Well, I've got things to do, so if you don't mind--"
"George, we're only trying to help," said Charlie.
"Didn't ask for your help, did I?"
"You--"
"No, seriously. I didn't ask you to help me, did I? I'm not asking you to invite me out all the time. I dunno if you've noticed, but I don't invite any of you back to our - to my place either. That's because you're not welcome there. Got it?" He glared at them all. "Ron works here. You lot don't. I don't want you here. I don't know how to make this any clearer."
He turned and went down to the cleaning supplies room, ignoring the fact that his family were all staring at him.
George, what the fuck was that?
Oh shut up, he told Fred-in-his-head. Shut up. Unless you want me to join you, bugger off and leave me alone. Your body already did it; do me a favour and let your soul do it too.
September
"I've told you, I don't care about that!" Fred's voice could be heard from the bottom of the stairs as Lee and George opened the door.
"I do!" Angelina's furious voice could be heard from a mile away too, and George and Lee winced. "My parents don't want me with you, Fred! That's all there is to it. And I'm not going to against them just because they're wrong. I would, maybe, if you weren't being an idiot who's going to get himself killed, or if you were in love with me or asking me to marry you, but Merlin, Fred, you left school without even telling me!"
"Bloody hell, are you ever going to stop bringing that up?!"
"NO! Go to hell!" A door opened, and slammed shut. George and Lee hastily stepped back as Angelina came storming down the stairs and pushed past them without a word. They shared a doubtful look and then heard a crash from the flat. George sighed and headed up the stairs.
He was halfway up before Fred came out of the flat and started down the stairs. He went past George and Lee with only a grunt of acknowledgement and continued down towards the cellar.
"You all right, mate?" said George as he went past.
"Fine," Fred bit out. "Fine. Also, single again. I'm going to get more larkspur for the Phillies. Don't go into the flat; I threw a rather expensive bottle of Veela Vodka against the wall. I'll clean it later, so we don't smell like a distillery."
George let him go.
"Ouch," said Lee some moments later.
"Yeah."
"Didn't see that one coming from a mile away like the Hogwarts Express with a troll riding on top of it."
"Utter and complete surprise to me, too."
"What now, then?" asked Lee.
George looked at his watch. "Eleven thirty. The Hopping Hippogriff will be in full swing."
"And if he says he doesn't want to go?"
"He can only say that if we ask him," said George.
"Are we going to Side-along him, then?"
"D'you have a better idea?"
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10
Author: ????
Recipient: hpgeorgecentric
Pairing(s): George/Luna, hints of George/Angelina and George/Hermione, but mostly Gen.
Word Count: 80,000 words ::gulp:: (6540 in this part)
Rating: R
Summary: Nobody expected the year after Fred's death would be easy. But nobody expected George would have to lose so much, just to live through it. Or: George is doing his best to make his way after the war and Fred's death. Everyone is trying to help, and he wishes they would just stop. Especially Fred.
Warnings: Angst, suicide issues, and occasional inappropriate humour.
Author: Thanks to twistedm, tree00faery, vanseedee and ozma_katiebell for beta above and beyond the call of friendship. Hope you all like it!!
August
Wheezes was turning into an even wilder success than it had been before the war, and the place was always filled with laughter. Mum, Dad, Bill, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Lee - almost every friend and family member George had was there all the time, helping out. Ron turned out to be surprisingly useful, suggesting and helping to invent one product after another after another. He even invented Cat-Got-Your-Tongues, from ideation to creation to testing to marketing, all by himself, to great success. The place was flourishing.
Which was good, because George's magic was not getting any better, and his mood was, if anything, getting worse.
Angelina came by. It was awkward, talking to her, and it shouldn't have been. They had been friends since they were eleven, gone to classes together and lived in the same dorm, stayed friends through her fling with Fred and their break-up, and he'd never had any problem talking to her. But now there were gaps in their conversation. Gaps Fred should've filled.
They made small talk about the shop and Angelina's search for a nice flat and the state of Diagon Alley and looked good to move on to the weather next when Angelina said, "You remember Luna? I've heard she's having some trouble."
"Lovegood?"
"Yeah, she's not going back to school this year."
"Wish I didn't have to," muttered Ginny, who was stacking bottles of Yummy Mummy perfumes into a teetering pyramid next to them.
"Why isn't she going back?" asked George.
"Her Dad. He's gone a bit funny in the head, it seems, and it's set her off too."
How would anybody know the difference? said Fred-in-his-head, but Fred-in-his-head had never lived in the dismal world of Grief. He didn't know that really, there were times when it just wasn't funny.
Or maybe it was, and George simply couldn't see it any more. Couldn't figure out how to make this uncomfortable conversation feel better, flow more easily, maybe remind everybody that there was still laughter in the world. Because if you couldn't poke a little fun at the lunatic Lovegoods, what was the point of living?
"What's wrong with him?" asked Ginny, and the moment was gone.
"He's rather paranoid," said Angelina. "Seeing all sorts of sinister things all around him."
"He's always done that."
"Yeah, but now he's terrified of them. Gets notions like the Death Eaters are still in the Ministry, vampires and Dementors are staging a comeback, that sort of thing. Luna feels that she needs to take care of him until he's better. He had to be admitted to the hospital after he tried to hex Florian Fortescue for harbouring Heliopaths in his icebox, and Luna went in with him."
"How do you know?"
"I've been volunteering at the hospital."
"Damn, I should go visit her," said Ginny. "Poor Luna."
"And... you?" Angelina asked George. "How's your health? Lee mentioned something about you having magic trouble?"
And suddenly this wasn't something he wanted to discuss with her. Which was odd; it was a pain in the arse, but he didn't have much of a problem when his family and friends mentioned it. Angelina was different, though, and he couldn't figure out why.
"Yeah, a bit," George muttered. "Not that big a deal, though."
"Are you going to see a Healer?"
"Yeah, I go about once a month anyway." Angelina tilted her head. "Because of the ear," he clarified.
"You should really talk to them about the magic thing too," she said.
George nodded uncomfortably.
"Angelina! Fancy meeting you here!" said Lee, entering the shop. Angelina smiled at him, a genuine, relaxed smile. "How long has it been? An entire week?"
Angelina snorted. "Three days, you arse," and George felt a sharp pang, which didn't subside as they started to chat easily about a Quidditch game they'd seen recently, and a Hogwarts Rebuilding Fundraiser concert they'd attended, and a pudding Lee had dropped off at Angelina's.
Apparently they were spending a great deal of time together. So what? There was no need for this surge of... what was it? Jealousy?
So they were friends. Close friends. Might even end up dating each other, as Lee had been hoping for since about third year. So what? George and Lee were best friends, never mind that they didn't seem to have much to say to each other these days; it wasn't as though Lee would cut him out of his life just because he was dating Angelina. And the nagging feeling that these two dating was somehow disrespectful of Fred was silly; Angelina hadn't been with Fred in years. Besides, who could blame Lee for wanting her? If it hadn't been for Fred, George would've wanted her too. He was loyal to his brother, but he also wasn't blind.
*****
"How are you feeling, Mr. Weasley?" asked the Healer, examining George's missing ear.
Good, great, just the usual minor annoyances. He'd been saying that for over a year. "Fine," he said. "Other than hearing things that aren't there."
"I beg your pardon?" The Healer put down her wand, alarmed.
George blinked at her. "You know, echoes, or high-pitched sounds? I mentioned that last time I was in."
"Oh!" said the Healer, relieved. "Oh, that's all right, then."
"Why, what did you think I meant?"
"Erm, nothing," she said. "Only we've had a lot of people with mental maladies since the end of the war. We're even going to be hiring a Muggle-trained psychiatrist in here; our Cheering Charms specialists are getting a bit overwhelmed."
"Really?"
"Yes, people are hallucinating all sorts of things. We have a patient who swears she can see Nargles, if you can believe that, in our potted plants." She shook her head.
"That's too bad." Probably not the time to tell her about Fred-in-his-head. Thank God for having enough sanity to be able to tell the difference between real unexplained phenomena and mere vivid wishful thinking.
"All right, so we'll increase the dosage of the Hearing potion. And your dizzy spells: are they a bit more under control?"
"Yeah, nothing too serious there."
"Just remember the Balance Spell when it happens."
"I will."
"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" asked the Healer.
George hesitated. "I'm still having trouble with my magic."
"Still? What kind?"
"Same as before; it just feels as though there's less of it. Or suddenly sometimes there's more. I can't seem to control it very well."
"I did point out that that is normal after a loss."
George bit back the urge to snap, 'It's a death, not a loss. It's not like Mum'll find Fred behind the couch next time she tidies my flat.' "You also said it should begin to clear itself up within a few weeks. It's been over three months."
The Healer nodded. "It's just a combination of the ear and the loss, in all likelihood. Why don't I prescribe some Cheering Potions for you, and we'll see how you're doing next month." She scribbled on a prescription parchment and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Maybe I should run a couple of tests," she mused, then shook her head. "No. It's not causing you major distress, is it? You mentioned last time that your employees re-test everything you make."
"No, not major distress." Other than having to clean up blood in the lab a bit more than before. Best not say that either.
"Then why don't I wait till next time to do the tests, if this hasn't cleared up by then. They take a little long and I've a rather heavy schedule today."
"All right."
"Well then, you're free to go, Mr. Weasley. We'll see you next month."
"Thanks."
He put his cloak back on and left, musing distractedly on the Healer's attitude. There was no need to feel put off; if the Healer wasn't worried, in all likelihood there wasn't anything to worry about. This would clear itself up, eventually. He just had to be patient.
He stepped aside as a couple of Aurors with a Death Eater in magical chains between them went past him and down the hall to the Healer, and a sudden surge of fury rushed through him. George was suffering from wonky magic and a missing ear, Mum was brewing and taking far too many Cheering Potions, Fred was lying in the ground, and the Healer had to rush George through because she had a Death Eater to attend to?
He turned on his heel, strode off the Small Extremities Injuries Ward and headed for the lift, battling a growing impulse to slowly and painfully kill the chained man he'd just seen. Take all the bones out of his body and watch him writhe in agony, and all those Muggle anatomy books he and Fred had read for product research came back to him: the lungs couldn't breathe without ribs to expand and allow them to fill with air, the bowels would fall out without a pelvic girdle, the airway would collapse with no vertebrae to anchor it. Or maybe he could cast something to remove the upper layer of the Death Eater's skin and make his nerve endings shriek in agony as air hit them. Or maybe turn all organ tissues into glass so they'd shatter at the first breath, at the first heartbeat - no, then it would be over too quickly, that was no good--
"George?"
He blinked, startled, finding himself nowhere near the lift, Luna Lovegood's odd blue eyes staring up at him.
George shook his head, struggling to pull himself back from the disturbing place he'd just been in. He glanced at the sign on the wall: Janus Thickey Ward for Mental Maladies.
"What are you doing here?" George blurted, and felt sheepish for a split second before reminding himself that this was Luna Lovegood. Unlikely to be offended by minor social blunders.
"Daddy thinks I'm not right in the head," she said glumly. "Why are you here?"
"I was seeing a Healer on the Injuries Ward."
"Why?"
"I get dizzy and my magic isn't working well," said George.
"Is the magic because of your ear, or because Fred's dead?"
George blinked. That was rather direct. His family tended to avoid the words "dead" and "Fred" in the same sentence, and not just because of the unintentional silliness of the rhyme.
"Not sure, I don't think. Might not have anything to do with either."
"It might have to do with Umgubular Slashkilters," she said, her voice subdued. "Most people think they don't exist. My dad said Cornelius Fudge had one to diminish his enemies' magic. He says there's more of them around now."
"Do you believe that?"
Luna hesitated. "I think maybe he's wrong," she said softly. "I think maybe he's imagining things. I think maybe he has been, for a long, long time."
George nodded, still feeling utterly off-balance, and suddenly noticed that the girl before him didn't look much like the Loony Lovegood he'd known in the DA. She'd always looked dreamy and off in some bizarre world of her own, but happy to be there. Now, her eyes were downcast, her spirit almost visibly dimmed.
He wondered if he looked the same. Hastily pushed those thoughts away.
"Listen, are you allowed off the floor?" he found himself asking.
Luna nodded. "Yes, if I'm accompanied by someone else."
"D'you want to maybe get some tea on the fifth floor?"
Luna blinked, a small smile appearing on her face. She seemed to perk up a bit as they signed her out, and become almost herself again once they were in the tea room and she started to tell George a bit about her dad, and his problems, and their magazine. George sipped on his tea, finally feeling somewhat less murderous as she talked, though to tell the truth he wasn't really listening to her. That had been... rather disturbing.
Would Fred have been disturbed by that kind of thing? He really couldn't say. Sometimes Fred's impulses had scared George - and Fred too - because he didn't seem to see that there was such a thing as going too far. It was always George's role to put the brakes on - or, at least, try to - when they were going to make Ron take the Unbreakable Vow, when they were going to blackmail Ludo Bagman, when they were going to send Percy's office a package of dung that exploded and sang "Who's in love with Mr. Crouch?" when he first went to work at the Ministry. Without George there, would Fred have been able to see that Death Eater and not loose an Unforgivable or two in his direction?
Luna's chatter had slowed down, he realized. "That's really interesting," he said, though he had no clue what she'd been talking about other than it had something to do with Plimpies. "Where did you learn that?" he asked, and evidently it was the right thing to say, because she was off again and sounded almost happy. Or at least, not as subdued as when George had first run into her.
Well, for good or bad, he wasn't Fred. The Death Eater he'd seen was hopefully suffering horribly already, and he was here with a girl who was going through some difficult times, and if he could bring some kind of cheer into her life maybe that was a good thing. He tried to focus on her.
"So Daddy and I are both here now," she was saying. "I had hoped Daddy would let me help rebuild the magazine, but he's frightened of many of our writers." She trailed off, then focused on George, as if seeing him for the first time.
"How is your shop?"
"Wheezes? Doing well."
"Is it? Could I come by, once I'm allowed out?" she asked, and her eyes seemed lit up for the first time since he'd seen her. She was almost pretty in her own weird way, but now he was thinking of all the somewhat dangerous things in the shop that could be used to cause a fair amount of pain for men like the one he'd just seen--
"Of course," he said. "You'd be welcome." He cleared his throat, and asked Luna about her gnomes, pushing away all thoughts of the more violent Wheezes that could be used for all sorts of nefarious purposes. Wishing he could be fully here, talking to Luna, or back at the shop, or anywhere but in his own head right now, with violence wanting out. As though instead of being one person with two bodies, as he had often been with Fred, he was now two people in one.
*****
"You're mental. Runes instead of Charms?" said Fred, frowning at George's parchment.
"What? Runes is brilliant!"
"Not for what we're going to do, George," said Fred impatiently. "We've got to think of our future here, right?"
George sniggered. "Mum? Is that you?"
Fred snorted. "I'm serious, mate. We need Charms, Flitwick's brilliant, it's our best subject--"
"Yeah, it's our best subject. We could probably teach it. Besides, we're already taking Transfigurations and Potions and Herbology and bloody filling our time with the serious classes; can we not do something fun instead?"
"Runes? Fun?" said Lee in disbelief. "Since when?"
Fred rolled his eyes. "That's not the point, George. Yeah, I want to read Ethelbercht's Sensuals in the original Norse as much as you do, but come on."
"Well I can't believe you picked Charms on top of everything else we've got. We're not trying to outdo Percy, here."
"You just want to learn how to write dirty words in Futhark."
George chuckled. "Too right. Can't believe you don't."
"I don't want to waste my time, no matter how entertaining the course."
They glared at each other, and then blew out their breaths and gazed at their parchments.
"Toss a coin?" said George.
"You always cheat, you wanker," said Fred. He scowled at the parchment. "Too bad we can't be in two places at once."
Lee nodded and then blinked. "Hang on, what?" The twins looked at him, and he started to chuckle. "Bloody hell, you're not Siamese."
"What?"
"You canbe two places at once, you know," he said, and his chuckle grew into a laugh at their baffled expressions.
"Charms and Runes are offered in the same period, Lee," said George patiently. "We've got to pick one or the other."
"No you don't, you daft gits," said Lee. "Here, let me help you. Fred, you take Charms. George, you take Runes."
The twins' eyebrows shot up and they gaped at Lee, who laughed even harder.
"You're pathetic. It honestly didn't occur to you?"
*****
It was odd, the things that were being found as the wizarding world rebuilt itself, and the odd ways they were being put to use.
In August, just as Wheezes went to gear itself up for the busiest time of the year, the volunteers rebuilding Hogwarts found a stash of powdered fairy dung in the Carrow's rooms. They had no earthly use for it, but Hermione, who was involved in rebuilding (as well as trying to read ahead for her delayed Seventh Year, helping house elves who had lost their masters in the war, and helping her parents get back to their real lives again) mentioned it to Percy, who mentioned it to Ron. Who suggested that Wheezes take it off the school's hands to George, while pretending it had nothing to do with trying to get him out of the shop. It had been a particularly bad day, a week after the visit to St. Mungo's: George had melted a cauldron, caused the Pygmy Puffs to perform a kind of frantic jig for about an hour, made half the WonderWitch products go from shocking pink to puce, almost disemboweled himself, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.
"I'm so glad you can use this," said Hermione, greeting George at the Floo in McGonagall's office. "It's going to go to rot here otherwise. And frankly, we didn't know how to get rid of it."
"It's dead useful for Flashing Grins," said George, wishing he could feel some enthusiasm for it. "Why didn't you just send it to us by Floo, though?"
"There's nobody to send it, we're all quite busy."
"Huh." George didn't bother to point out that Hermione could've taken it through herself with far less loss of time than she was taking right now. It wasn't as though he was all that keen on being in the shop these days - other than in the testing lab, which was looking good to do him in one of these days if he didn't start being a hell of a lot more careful.
Inspecting the supplies and casting a charm to protect them from Floo ash didn't take much time, and soon enough they were heading back towards McGonagall's office, a large package floating along behind them.
"You know, now that you're here," said Hermione, "I wouldn't mind showing you some of what's been going on here. It's all come a long way since you were here last."
George nodded, and they left the package next to McGonagall's Floo. They walked through the castle, with Hermione pointing out places fixed and places still being rebuilt, and he tried not to flinch at each corner that screamed of him and Fred - the one-eyed witch, the pear you could tickle to get into the kitchens to get food from the house elves, the alcove where they'd hidden and cast a hex on Marcus Flint to give him boils on his arse the day before the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match...
Funny how much he'd wanted to stay here after the Battle. It should've felt horrible, remaining in the very place that had killed Fred, seeing their second home almost in ruins every day, but it had seemed necessary. Like there was something he needed to do here. Maybe help rebuild, heal the building as he couldn't heal Fred, maybe have a place where he could get used to being alone, maybe try to accept Fred's death as slowly as possible. Leaving had been a wrench.
But coming back was not pleasant either. Never mind that the school was mostly back on its feet; he felt nothing of what he'd felt in the first few days after the Battle. No comforting sense that his brother might just be busy on another floor.
"George, why don't we go to the library?" said Hermione, her voice just a tad too casual.
"Sure. For what?"
Hermione paused, then faced him and took a piece of parchment out of her pocket. "Erm. I've... I've got a list." She showed him. "Ron - I mean, you had mentioned that you were having some difficulties with your magic lately. So I thought I'd put together a list of topics you can maybe read up on, see if you can figure it out. I understand the St. Mungo's Healers are a little swamped right now."
George looked at her parchment. It was colour-coded, with a list of topics and possible sources of information: magical dysfunction, too much magic, grief, magical drain, sudden onset magical malaise.
He blinked. "Why in hell would I want to?" he said, and winced at her surprised, hurt look. "No, sorry." Bugger, he hated this; if Fred were here they would've just made a joke out of it and it would've been fine. "You're right, it's probably a good idea." He recalled Ron's relieved look as he'd pushed George into the Floo and out of the shop. "And it'll keep me busy, if nothing else," he muttered.
Hermione nodded, and they headed for the library. She smiled at him tentatively as they reached it. "Also, Ron says you've turned into a bit of a bookworm. You might just find something to read for fun."
She opened the doors, and he drew in his breath at its almost painful familiarity. Damn, there he went again. How many hours had they spent here, looking for new Potions ideas, Charms to use, ways to annoy Pince?
"Here," said Hermione, and flipped over the parchment, showing a map she'd made of the library's stacks, with circles around the ones that might hold resources for them. Defence Against the Dark Arts, Advanced Charms, Magical Theory, Medical Magic, Divination.
"Divination? What for?" asked George.
Hermione shrugged. "I'll admit, it's a long shot, but perhaps it's something we can try to figure out from the future. Look into the future to see whether you discover what's wrong, or are able to fix it."
George felt a stab in his chest. "And what if we find I didn't fix it?"
"It might be useful to see that, too," said Hermione, her mind still clearly fixed on the intellectual challenge and not fully registering what he'd said. "I don't think that's terribly likely, but if so, it might be better to simply concentrate our efforts on mitigating the effects."
George shook his head, dizzy all of a sudden. Damn. Damn. He was going to throw up, right in Madam Pince's cherished Advanced Charms section, because the idea of seeing the future filled him with cold dread.
"I've always thought Divination's pure bosh," he said harshly.
"Well, to be honest, so have I," said Hermione, a little startled. "I thought... you're usually fairly open-minded, though. It was just a suggestion."
"Thanks. Erm. I'll pass," said George, and hoped she couldn't hear his voice shaking. "Can I see that map?"
"Of course," she said. "Why don't you take this section, and I'll take Magical Theory?"
It was interesting, spending time with Hermione without Ron or Harry around. Watching her mind at work firsthand, instead of only hearing about it from his brother. They quickly discarded most of the books they found as useless, but within half an hour, they had a respectable stack growing next to them. He settled in to try to figure this out.
He was a bit distracted, though, and he glanced at the Divination shelves he'd shunned. Why had that bothered him so? Wouldn't it be good to find out he'd fixed this? And wasn't Hermione right, that if he found he hadn't, he might want to start figuring out what to do about it?
It wasn't that big a deal. Provided it didn't get worse, he could continue what he was doing long-term. He'd learned to live without an ear; he could learn to live without full control of his magic.
But what if he didn't see any future?
He shivered. That was ridiculous. Nobody died from magic dysfunction.
No, but they die of other things, said Fred-in-his-head helpfully, and George shushed him.
He didn't want to think of those other things. Such as Apparition or flying accidents, or lab accidents like the one that had killed Luna Lovegood's mother.
And he definitely didn't want to think of the surge of longing that rushed through him at the thought. He got a hold of himself and plunged into a Defence Against the Dark Arts text, looking for symptoms resembling his own.
Magical dysfunction that manifests itself in sudden bursts of unexpectedly strong magic
Magical drain: random lack of ability to do a spell previously mastered
Magical dysfunction that occurs when a witch or wizard is under emotional stress.
Well, he was emotionally stressed, but the bursts happened somewhat randomly.
Ah, a section on what kinds of spell malfunctions indicated what kinds of things might cause them:
Animal-controlling Spells - fear of the animal, or fear of animals in general
Enlarging Spells - lack of magical power, usually chronic
Ordering Spells - lack of motivation to do housework
General Transfiguration Spells - lack of confidence in self
Emotional charms - emotional turmoil
Potions - lack of attention
"This is bloody fucking ridiculous and completely useless," he said abruptly, slamming the book closed and causing Hermione to jump a bit. He pushed away his parchment.
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said.
"I'm not afraid of animals, nobody likes to clean, emotional turmoil is right but it's not just emotion charms that are going wrong, nobody ever accused us of 'lack of confidence', our magical power is fine--" he cut himself off because Hermione had that look on her face. "All right, my magical power is fine," he amended.
"Would you mind if I keep looking?" asked Hermione cautiously.
"All right, fine." He took a breath and closed his eyes briefly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bark at you like that." He glanced at his watch. "Listen, I'm sure Ron's not exactly missing me right now, but I do have to get back to the shop some time. Thanks for... thanks for your help."
Hermione nodded, and they organized and shrank down the rather large stack of books they'd ended up putting aside before he set off back home.
He shouldn't have snapped at her like that. She was only trying to help. And she was certainly far easier to deal with than other people who wanted to "help" him, like Mum. Or Bill or Charlie. Not that bad to be around. Pretty in her own way, too. He could certainly see why Ron had fallen for her.
Pretty. Hermione Granger. When I said that once, you nearly pissed yourself laughing. You are in serious need of some distraction, mate.
Would you like me to consider Angelina pretty, then?
If it was possible for a hallucinated voice to project sheepish silence, somehow Fred-in-his-head was doing just that right now.
George blew out his breath in irritation. What the hell was with him, anyway, all of a sudden noticing girls the way he was? He didn't have time for anything romantic these days, and nothing to offer anybody anyway. Besides... seriously? Angelina? Luna Lovegood? Hermione Granger?
You need a girlfriend, mate.
I don't need a girlfriend, Fred.
Boyfriend, then.
Shut up, Fred.
All right, then, someone you can talk to.
Why?
It can be good to talk to somebody. Helps, sometimes, you know?
Since when?
Oi, I talked to Lee, you know.
Right. Now I know I'm imagining you. You and I were never ones for sharing our innermost thoughts with anyone.
We never had to, George.
We went through some pretty shitty things.
We had each other, though.
Yeah, well, so much for that.
*****
"Awake?" George yawned, shuffling into the kitchen around three in the morning and finding Fred at the table, a long-cold cup of tea by his side and a long piece of parchment in front of him with a dozen doodles marching down the margins.
"You all right?" asked Fred.
"Yeah," said George. "Couldn't sleep, though. Somebody probably woke me up."
"Sorry," said Fred, not sounding particularly sorry. "Had a thought for the Allentebber contract."
"You're working on that?"
"Yeah," said Fred, doodling on the parchment some more.
"Impressive," said George, examining the doodle. "Add a beard to Mrs. Allentebber's moustache. That'll be sure to charm them into giving us the discount."
Fred flicked a piece of Puff feed at him.
George went to get himself some warm milk. "Want any?"
"No thanks."
George stumbled a bit and stifled a curse.
"You all right?" said Fred.
"Yeah, just dizzy."
"When's your next appointment?"
"Next week, Mum," George muttered. "The Healer said there's not much she can do. Tonks is helping. It's getting better."
Fred shook his head. "I still don't want you going on the trip out to Harkness next week."
George set the milk bottle down with a thump. "What? It's my turn! You did the last mission."
"'Mnot the one who might fall off a broom, Lugless," said Fred. "Why don't you just sit back and let the uninjured do the rest of the dirty work in this war?"
"Uninjured, my arse," George retorted. "I'm not the one who has screaming nightmares, mate."
Fred's eyes went blank, and George kicked himself. "Think I'll go see if I can sleep a bit more," Fred said, standing up.
"Fred--"
"Night." Fred started out the door.
"Oi, Fred." Fred paused but didn't turn around. "You haven't finished the contract, you lazy sod. Turns out I'm knackered after all. I'll take your morning shift, yeah?"
Fred took a breath and then turned around, accepting the olive branch being held out to him. "All right, fine. Go to bed. God knows you need all the beauty sleep you can get, not that it helps at all."
George chuckled and headed off, but reflected as he got back to bed that it would be really, really nice if he and Fred could deal with the ear thing like mature adults. He wished they could talk about how Fred was too overprotective of George since it happened, or talk about how George didn't want to be coddled or fussed over, and felt like he needed to prove himself. Or talk about something, anyway.
It would also be completely foreign to them. Besides, denial and teasing each other had worked so far. With any luck, if his ear was the worst they had to deal with in this war, he'd say they were going to do all right.
*****
George wasn't getting better. If anything, he felt worse. The dreariness, the flirting with thoughts of nothingness, the emptiness, just seemed to get heavier. Like there was something dead inside him. Or at least something that wanted to be dead. Something sucking what little life he had left in him, and some days, keeping up the cheerful front for his friends and family and customers was more than he could take.
"Come out with me and Angelina," said Lee.
"Too busy," said George, and disappeared into his lab.
"You're too thin. Come to The Burrow for dinner," said Mum.
"Expecting a big shipment early tomorrow," said George.
The excuses were getting flimsier, and the expressions on the faces of his friends and family were getting old. And there wasn't much he could do about it, other than avoid them and work and bury himself in books. He was reading phenomenal amounts of material these days: practical stuff for the shop, occasional swipes at his magical dysfunction problem, and even just reading for fun. Hermione was impressed.
Even the shop was seeing less and less of him these days. The more the shop flourished, the more the bright colours strobed and the more customers came and went, the less they all saw George. He produced and tested a phenomenal amount of merchandise, magic dysfunction or not, but nobody had really spent any significant time with him in weeks.
And when they did see him...
"George, you have to do something about this," said Charlie, who had dropped in unannounced and uninvited - along with Percy, Ginny, Harry and Hermione, oh joy - telling George he was only in London for the weekend and was going to take his younger siblings out, no excuses brooked.
George nodded irately, peering at the puddled remains of twenty-three batches of Slush Puppies on the storage room floor. He looked up at the ceiling, which was still dripping and yelping sporadically. Marvellous.
"What were you trying to do?" asked Hermione,
"Package them," he said, rubbing at a bloody spot on his hand where a Slush Puppie had bitten him before dissolving. "I've been doing it by hand, but it's a bloody nuisance."
"You were trying to levitate them into the boxes?"
"Yeah. Won't be trying that one again." He glanced at Charlie. "I told you I was too busy to go anywhere, didn't I? This is why."
"You can get Verity and Naomi to finish up here," said Charlie.
"Absolutely, Mr. Weasley, it's no problem," said Verity. "I'll stay late and start brewing a replacement set."
"I can stay too, Mr. Weasley," Naomi chimed in. "It won't take more than a few minutes to clean up."
"Come on," said Charlie. "I told you, we're going out. I've made reservations."
"Where?"
Charlie hesitated a moment, then lifted his chin and announced, "At the London Dungeon."
They all gaped at him. "For all of us?" asked Ron, glancing over the group crowded into George's gloop-filled storage room. "There's seven of us, mate. That's going to be steep."
"D'you mean the Muggle amusement park?" asked Harry. "My cousin used to go there. You know about it?"
"Yeah, it's brilliant," said Ron. "Dad took each of us there for our tenth birthdays, but he couldn't afford to do it more than once. So Charlie started taking us when he started work at the dragon reserve."
"I promised I'd take all you little ones again, you and all your significant others, once the war was over, even though you're not so little any more," said Charlie. "D'you remember, Fred said he didn't believe me, and I was a lying tosser who'd try to worm his way out of it if we did win?" The others laughed, and George felt a stab in his chest. Charlie glanced at George. "Why don't we invite Angelina too? And Lee, too, if you'd like. I'm going to prove Fred wrong."
"Very funny, Charlie," said George. The others' laughter petered off.
"George." Charlie took a moment. "I'm not trying to be disrespectful. I just think we don't talk about Fred much. We don't do things that might have included him. Maybe we should. Maybe we shouldn't forget him."
"That's a marvellous idea, Charlie," said George. "Yeah, no really. And the moment I can talk about him without wanting to off myself, I'll be thrilled to join your little romps through Sibling Nostalgialand. Till then, though, you won't mind if I excuse myself? I have some cleaning to do."
"God, George," said Ginny. "He's only trying to help."
"Did you mean what you just said?" asked Hermione. "About--"
"Topping myself?" George rolled his eyes. "No, I just said that because I thought it would be terribly funny - you know, light-hearted and totally appropriate humour, so you'd all stop worrying about me and looking at me like I'm about to shatter. Did it work?"
Silence.
"S'ppose not. Well, I've got things to do, so if you don't mind--"
"George, we're only trying to help," said Charlie.
"Didn't ask for your help, did I?"
"You--"
"No, seriously. I didn't ask you to help me, did I? I'm not asking you to invite me out all the time. I dunno if you've noticed, but I don't invite any of you back to our - to my place either. That's because you're not welcome there. Got it?" He glared at them all. "Ron works here. You lot don't. I don't want you here. I don't know how to make this any clearer."
He turned and went down to the cleaning supplies room, ignoring the fact that his family were all staring at him.
George, what the fuck was that?
Oh shut up, he told Fred-in-his-head. Shut up. Unless you want me to join you, bugger off and leave me alone. Your body already did it; do me a favour and let your soul do it too.
September
"I've told you, I don't care about that!" Fred's voice could be heard from the bottom of the stairs as Lee and George opened the door.
"I do!" Angelina's furious voice could be heard from a mile away too, and George and Lee winced. "My parents don't want me with you, Fred! That's all there is to it. And I'm not going to against them just because they're wrong. I would, maybe, if you weren't being an idiot who's going to get himself killed, or if you were in love with me or asking me to marry you, but Merlin, Fred, you left school without even telling me!"
"Bloody hell, are you ever going to stop bringing that up?!"
"NO! Go to hell!" A door opened, and slammed shut. George and Lee hastily stepped back as Angelina came storming down the stairs and pushed past them without a word. They shared a doubtful look and then heard a crash from the flat. George sighed and headed up the stairs.
He was halfway up before Fred came out of the flat and started down the stairs. He went past George and Lee with only a grunt of acknowledgement and continued down towards the cellar.
"You all right, mate?" said George as he went past.
"Fine," Fred bit out. "Fine. Also, single again. I'm going to get more larkspur for the Phillies. Don't go into the flat; I threw a rather expensive bottle of Veela Vodka against the wall. I'll clean it later, so we don't smell like a distillery."
George let him go.
"Ouch," said Lee some moments later.
"Yeah."
"Didn't see that one coming from a mile away like the Hogwarts Express with a troll riding on top of it."
"Utter and complete surprise to me, too."
"What now, then?" asked Lee.
George looked at his watch. "Eleven thirty. The Hopping Hippogriff will be in full swing."
"And if he says he doesn't want to go?"
"He can only say that if we ask him," said George.
"Are we going to Side-along him, then?"
"D'you have a better idea?"
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10