Gift Fic for the Community (Part 5/10)
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:: (9540 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!!
*****
"Mum sent you, didn't she?" George said as soon as he opened the door.
Lee shook his head, smiling, though his heart sank a bit. Not the best way to start the visit. "Why? Can't a mate drop by to say hello?"
"Yeah. Of course." George smirked. "Nice timing, though."
Lee sighed, and entered the flat. Mrs. Weasley had said George seemed "distant" and "prickly", and there had been some sort of blow-up with his brother Charlie the other day, and he supposed he was now going to find out what all of that meant. He glanced about the flat, noting the books piled all over everything. The place was otherwise ridiculously clean and tidy, and Lee kicked himself for letting George's excuses keep him from visiting more often. George didn't want people near him, and Lee could understand that, but the flat looked like all he ever did was sleep and read here. No inventions, no magazines, no half-baked projects hanging off every shelf.
Nothing like when he and Fred had lived here together.
Once again he wished George had said yes when Lee had asked to move in. But the look on George's face, the slight panic at having someone other than Fred in their space, had disabused him of the idea almost immediately.
"Where are you getting all these books?" Lee asked, glancing at the closest pile. When Magic Goes Wrong, The Adventures of Cassandra the Curious Cormorant, On Death and Dying, and Pickle Potions. Interesting.
"Mostly Hermione. She Owls them out to me."
"You never did much reading before," said Lee. "Other than for developing Wheezes."
George shrugged, taking out two goblets and some Firewhisky. "D'you want a drink, or did Mum also tell you she thinks I'm drinking too much?"
Lee shrugged as well. "Yeah, she's probably worried. Didn't say anything about my drinking, though, so go ahead and pour."
George gave him a humourless smile and poured for both of them.
"So how are you?" said Lee, once they were sitting, glasses poured.
George shrugged again. "Well enough, I suppose. The shop's doing good business."
"I've heard."
"How's the Wireless treating you?"
Before Lee could stop himself, he was being drawn out into a long, detailed discussion about his radio contract, of all things. He had to admire George's talent in deflecting anything to do with him. He glanced at the spot on the living room wall where Fred had once thrown a bottle of Veela Vodka that had left a pungent odour of roses and seagulls in the place for weeks afterwards. From the vodka or from the cleaning solution, Lee had never remembered to ask.
"How's Megan?" George asked, startling Lee.
"Megan? Oh, gone. Last month."
George nodded, no reaction to not having heard from Lee in that long a time. "Rotten luck, mate."
"It wasn't going to go anywhere. She's from a pureblood family. They didn't want a Half-blood in-law."
George's eyebrows went up. "Still, now?"
"Yeah, still, now. You ought to know. Blood status matters."
"Never mattered to us," said George.
"I'm not that into girls anyway, you know that," said Lee. "What about you? Seeing anyone?"
George chuckled. "When would I?"
"Point. Still, don't you ever go out anywhere?"
"Nah, don't feel like it."
Lee glanced around the flat and briefly considered telling George it was deeply creepy to be in the home of a bloke who lived alone and had his place looking so spotless it made Lee itch to spill something in it.
No, probably not a good way to get him to let his guard down.
"The truth is, I do have a nefarious purpose for coming here," he admitted. "Remember how Monica from Eeylops quit and went to work for a Muggle who designs games? She says he's getting ready to market it to Muggles, and she wants to see if it could sell to wizards as well. You still have the Muggle corner in the shop, right?"
"Yeah."
"D'you want to test it? It's about building little cities and roads and things. No magic, just little tiles."
George's head tilted to the side, and his eyes lit up. "Really? No magic at all?"
"None. Oh and she wants to test whether anybody can put magic into it. Either to cheat at it, or to expand it for the wizarding market."
Percy had said that George was fine as long as you could get him doing something. "Let's sit and chat" was right out; "let's do something totally unrelated to talking" just might work.
And, good, excellent, George was relaxing and sitting forward, eager to see Monica's game. Please, let me not fuck this up, thought Lee, as he explained the game to George and set up the pieces, and they began to play.
Bless Percy, this had been a good idea, thought Lee as the game progressed and George started to get into it. Though it was odd, still, to do something like this without Fred here. Lee felt a sharp pang of loss as he suddenly got a very vivid image of Fred and George both bending their heads over the pieces, flicking the tiles at each other, maybe casting spells on them to make them change design.
It wasn't fair. Suddenly all Lee wanted was his friend back. The friend who would've made it impossible to actually help Monica, because the tiles would've ended up a congealed mess, most probably stuck to the table, and the players would've ended up with major hangovers the next morning. With Fred there, Lee's report to Monica would've been something along the lines of "my fellow testers agreed there aren't enough breasts and firm, rounded buttocks on the tiles, the monasteries should get plagues every so often, oh and they've rigged the city walls to randomly explode. Also, sorry about turning all the roads sparkling pink."
But those days were gone. Lee cleared his throat and brought his attention back to the table, where a bunch of small towns were taking shape, and concentrated on the game.
Much later, the last tile finally placed, he wrote down some of their observations and put away the tiles as George poured some more Firewhisky. Only their third goblets so far; the game had improved George's mood even without alcohol. Lee gazed at him, weighing his mood. Relaxed, as he hadn't been when Lee had come in. As he probably hadn't been when he was near his family, for a long, long time. Perhaps he should suggest board games to the Weasleys.
Here went nothing, then. This would either get George to open up, or completely shut down. "So, seriously, mate," said Lee. "How are you?"
"What d'you mean?"
"George, please," Lee said, and finished putting the tiles in their box.
"What, you think now, catching me off my guard, I'll let you in on how I'm doing? Dirty pool, mate."
"Want some more Firewhisky?"
"D'you want me to have more?"
"Would it help?"
"Dunno." George grinned. "Might."
Lee picked up his goblet and downed it in one go. He coughed. "Don't give me the same rubbish you give your family, mate."
George's eyes narrowed. "Don't you give me the same rubbish they give me, then," he said, his smile becoming less friendly.
Lee blew out his breath. "Look, I just want to know, all right? You won't talk to them--"
"Trust me, they wouldn't like what I'd have to say."
"Why's that?"
George frowned at him. "Look, it's rough, and it's going to be rough, all right? Let it go."
Let it go, he said. Bugger this for a game of soldiers, they'd all been letting it go, and it hadn't done George any good. "Why wouldn't they want to hear that?"
"You tell me."
"This is like talking to a Sphinx, y'know," Lee groused, and George smirked at him.
"You never could weasel anything out of us, y'know."
"What is that, a point of pride for you?"
"Shouldn't it be? Besides, you're a journalist, right? If you want a story, you have to work for it."
"Then what can I do?" Lee asked, and dropped the easy banter. "George. Your mum's dead worried about you, and so's your sister, and I can see why. You've lost weight, you're a nasty bugger, and you're never far from a drink."
George drew up an eyebrow.
"Your mum's scary, George. Sorry, but you saw her with Bellatrix Lestrange. And your sister - I don't care what you say, I may be a Gryffindor but I've got a healthy respect for Weasley women and I'd really rather keep my bollocks where they are." He gave George a tentative smile. "I get the feeling if I let them down the Aurors'll never find my body."
"So avoid them," George said evenly. "Works like a charm for me."
Lee scowled. "I just want to know if I should be telling your mum she's off her nut or not! All right? I want to know if I can tell her you're fine, and know it's true, or if I'm going to lose the only best friend I've got left!"
George glared at Lee.
Lee closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself. "Look, it doesn't compare to what you lost. I know that. What you lost, I can't even imagine, and I knew you both better than anybody else including your own family. I was there, I saw what happened, I was with you right after, I want to help." He paused to steady his voice. "I need to know if you're thinking of topping yourself and I need you to be honest with me and not give me the shite you give your family - and it's fucking dirty pool but I'm asking you, for Fred's sake, to be honest with me."
George stared at him darkly.
"Think what Fred would want," Lee said quietly.
"I don't know and I don't care what Fred would want," George said softly, dangerously.
"You do know, and you care."
There was a long, long silence, and Lee waited on edge, trying to read George's expressionless face.
George sat back. "Right. You want to know." George laughed softly. "All right, then. I'm a fucking mess."
Lee swallowed hard. "How much of a mess?"
George stirred his drink, then moved his hand away and wandlessly made the swizzle stick dance in the twinkling light. Lee forced his eyes away from the mesmerizing display of amber light.
"How much of a mess?" he insisted.
George shrugged. "Enough of one."
"Your mum. Is she... should she be worried?"
Long silence.
"Yeah. Probably."
Longer silence, and Lee tried to feel his way through this. God, it was like walking through a minefield. Help me, Fred, he thought fervently. God, what would Fred have done? He cleared his throat. "Why?"
George shrugged.
"She's afraid you'll... hurt yourself."
"I know."
"Will you?"
George shrugged again.
Lee braced himself. "Have you thought about it?"
George nodded slowly.
"What do you think about?"
George shrugged again. "Dunno. Maybe about not having to... not having to miss him any more."
Lee let out a slow breath. "Anything else?"
"Like what?"
"Have you done anything about it?"
"What, ending it?" George said lightly. "I'm still here, right?"
"You're drinking a hell of a lot. You've shut everybody out." Lee floundered about, casting for his reporter voice. God, what a time to have his eloquence leave him. "What else have you done? Made any plans?"
"All the time. It's not a passing fancy."
"Like what plans?"
"Did you know I'm three floors up here?" George said lightly, and then he swallowed hard. "It's... I'm tired. So fucking tired." He rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin in his hands, and Lee was forcibly reminded of George and Fred trying to come to terms with their lifelong Quidditch ban. They'd been so bloody angry, full of impotent rage at the unfairness, and Lee would've given anything for that to be the case again. For there to be two identical faces, both sitting the same way, same set expressions in their eyes. Of course then they wouldn't be in this mess.
"Cry myself to sleep almost every night," George admitted softly. "It's... it's really hard, knowing it's been another day and there's not much to look forward to tomorrow. I've done it for one more day, but I don't want to wake up and do it all again. And I don't want to go to sleep, it doesn't help." He took a shaking breath and Lee shivered at the eerily soft tone of his voice. "I wake up from nightmares where he dies and it's not a relief when I wake up, y'know, because I dream about it a different way every time and it's really weird, you know, like I've got to figure out a more dramatic way because remember Percy found us and I'd just said 'I wonder where Fred ended up' and Percy was there and he was crying, and I could tell--" Lee shuddered, remembering how Percy's weeping had felt like a kick in the groin, how George's wand had fallen from his hand as his smile of recognition turned to open-mouthed shock without Percy having said a word.
George was still speaking, and Lee had lost the thread - "... like it wasn't dramatic enough, like I had to see it, so I do, and then I wake up and I know that's not how it happened but it's no better at all because even if he wasn't slashed to bits or blown up or AK'd he's just as dead, but you know, that's not the worst of them..." he trailed off, took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly.
"The worst is when I dream he's not dead. I'm going mental," he whispered. "He's not dead, almost every other night, everything's all back to normal and then I wake up and I bloody well can't face it any more and the only thing that helps is getting so smashing drunk I can't remember what I've dreamed about and wake up spewing instead of crying - again." He took a deep breath. "I'm so fucked."
"What d'you do when you wake up?"
"Mostly just lie there till I can face the day, or take a few potions."
"Have you done anything?"
"Like what?"
"More than making plans?" George's startled eyes met his before he looked back down, and the swizzle stick began its dance again. "Have you?" Lee insisted, and held his breath, waiting for the answer.
"Yeah."
"Like what?"
George closed his eyes, seeming to shrink into himself.
"You've... what've you done? Have you hurt yourself? Made any serious attempt?" Lee could almost feel Fred next to him, see the angry, scared look on his face, feel his need to somehow, somehow reach through George's defences, past where nobody had gone.
"Yeah."
"What have you done?"
George met his eyes and then looked down. Slowly pushed his sleeve up a bit, then hesitated, then pushed it up further and whispered Finite Incantatem, and Lee's stomach turned over.
George's arm was an unholy mess.
Freckled skin faded away and exposed a mass of scar tissue, and Lee swallowed bile as George pushed the sleeve farther up and Lee saw that the scar tissue reached up to his elbow and beyond, and it looked rather creative - burns, small cuts, ragged gashes, sores, all sorts of things that Lee thought he was used to seeing, from back when Fred and George were hard at work inventing and producing. They'd sometimes been a bit of a mess during peak times at the shop, but this--
The testing lab. The fucking testing lab. Bloody hell.
Lee sucked in his breath as George pulled the sleeve back down over the cuts, and on instinct he reached out, grabbed George's other hand and pushed the sleeve up there - shit, same story, and he looked up at George's scared eyes.
"Is that all, or is that just the bit where you want to know if I'm going to bolt out of here?"
George frowned.
"Is there anything else?"
George looked away, pulling his hand from Lee's, and Lee shifted closer. "Did you bloody well hurt yourself anywhere else? Burn anything else? Take any poisons - fuck, why am I bothering to ask you, you and Fred used to do this for a lark, didn't you? To see how tough you were, what you could sell to other people--"
"Not much of a lark any more," George said quietly.
"No, it's not. And you two always worked together when you were testing or making dangerous things. And you always healed anything that went wrong. You've... you don't let Ron into the testing lab, do you?"
George shook his head.
"And it's not just because you don't want him to try to replace Fred," Lee said, his mind whipping way ahead, seeing all the excuses George must have given Ron, and himself. "And it's not just because you don't want him to get suspicious wounds that the Ministry might come to investigate, and it's not because he's got shoddy Charms work. Is it? How many reasons have you made to keep him out of the lab?"
George shook his head again.
"Fuck!" said Lee. "You stupid wanker, you've always been pants at healing spells and I'll bet you good money that's another reason you've kept Ron out, isn't it? Because he's being taught healing at the Aurors? God, why am I even asking?" He swallowed. "Is there anything else?"
George shrugged. "It's not all from - some of it really is from testing products from before, I mean--"
"Like that makes any difference," Lee said angrily, and realized he wasn't going to be able to hold back the bile rising in his throat, not even wanting to imagine what else George's clothing was covering. He turned away barely in time to avoid spewing on George's shoes, keeping a shaking hand on George's as his stomach heaved over and over.
"God," he spat, shuddering. "Stupid bastard, how could you--" he retched again and George started to pull away.
"NO! You arse, don't you dare--" Lee heaved again, tightening his grip on George's arm. He spat again, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sat up shakily. "FUCK. Don't you dare pull away. You showed me, you trusted me enough to let me know and don't you dare bugger off now, just because I've gone and spewed on your floor. You've probably done worse, haven't you? Bled and spewed all over the place and then just spelled it away?"
George shrugged.
"Jesus, George. Oh Jesus, why the hell didn't you tell anybody?" Lee pulled George close, shaking, and George stayed stiff in his arms while Lee tried to pull himself together. "Merlin, forget your mum and Ginny, Fred'll come back from beyond and haunt me for the rest of my life if I let you pull away now."
George laughed, a shaky, uncertain sound, and Lee sat back, keeping a hand on him.
"George, you need help. Serious help, mate, we've got to get you to St. Mungo's or something." He gripped harder as George shook his head, and cursed himself as his voice broke. "I can't help you - I mean I'll go with you, I'll be there every bloody step of the way but I can't - I don't know what the hell I'm doing, mate, I'm just a stupid reporter, this is way beyond anything I can do. God, please, just--" and he wiped away the tears that were starting to spill from his eyes. "God, please, mate, forget your mum and the rest of your family. This is you we're talking about, you need help so fucking badly it's a miracle you're still alive."
George hesitated, then nodded shakily.
"All right." Lee wiped at his mouth again. "God. Let's go. I'll Apparate us both-"
"No, I-"
"Right, we'll pack first-"
"No I don't want to-"
"I know you don't want to! But you're not in any shape to decide anything! Merlin, you've got your mum worried that you're losing weight and feeling blue, when what you're actually doing is trying to commit Suicide By Joke Shop, George, for fuck's sake!"
George chuckled shakily. "OK."
"OK." Lee breathed again. "OK. Let's pack some stuff for you. I think, erm," Lee swallowed, waved his wand at the mess he'd made on the floor. "Ugh. All right, some changes of clothing. Anything else?"
George shrugged and moved off, and Lee felt an odd disconnect watching him automatically smooth down his sleeves and whisper a word to put the glamour back on, then look around his flat and pack a few changes of clothing, toothbrush, hairbrush--
"Should we call anyone in your family?" Lee asked.
George shuddered and shook his head.
"In case the hospital wants to know."
"Percy," George said after a moment.
"All right. I'll Owl him after we're there, all right?"
"I'm all right, Lee," George said quietly.
"No you're bloody well not."
George shrugged. "I am right now."
Lee shook his head. "Bloody hell, mate. This is just not on, d'you understand me? Not on at all. Let's go."
*****
"He's just been being a bit careless," said Healer Radstone, the St. Mungo's psychiatrist. Psychiatrist, noted Arthur. Not Cheering Charms Specialist. "He's taken a few risks he shouldn't have. Unfortunately we've seen this rather a lot since the war; some people get a bit paranoid and over-cautious, others take things a bit too far in the other direction. It's good when they come in before it gets out of hand, like George did," he told them reassuringly. "You should be very proud of him. He's got a good support system, and he's got good insight into his own motivations and danger zones. He'll be fine."
"They were always invincible," said Molly, her voice thick with tears. "How could... they were always so strong, together."
"He's still strong," said Healer Radstone. "This has nothing to do with strength. There are many things he could have coped with; losing his twin just wasn't one of them."
"I should have separated them," said Molly. "Made them be more independent when they were growing up."
"We tried, Molly," said Arthur. "They wouldn't let us. When they were babies, they wouldn't sleep in separate cribs. When they were older, we couldn't take one anywhere without the other one."
"This isn't your fault, Mrs. Weasley," said the Healer gently. "And you won't help George any if you go in there with the attitude that you've done something wrong - or that he has. He's done the responsible thing, coming here."
"But... you won't even tell us why he had to come here. What happened?"
"He simply felt that he couldn't keep himself safe at home. His friend Lee helped him to see that coming in here might be beneficial."
"Why couldn't he come home? We'd take care of him--"
"Mrs. Weasley," Radstone broke in. "He's not a child. He doesn't need to be taken care of by his parents. He's a grown man."
"But what can you do that we can't?"
"We can give him a safe place to deal with his grief without feeling as though he has to be careful of anybody else's. No disrespect intended, Mrs. Weasley, but you are also suffering from Fred's loss. George either cannot, or feels he cannot, burden you with his own problems."
"It wouldn't be a burden--"
"Mrs. Weasley," the Healer broke in again, his tone becoming impatient. "I will not allow you to see him if you cannot accept that this is where he wants to be, and needs to be."
Molly swallowed. "Yes. Yes, of course." She cleared her throat. "When can we see him?"
Radstone hesitated. "I would like to suggest that Mr. Weasley come in first. Then you can come in, if it's all right with George."
"Of course," said Arthur, and Molly stared at him. "It'll only take a moment, Molly," he said. "We don't want to overwhelm him, right?"
Molly sat back.
"Come this way," said the Healer, and led Arthur down a short hallway, stopping at the third door. "George?" the Healer said, knocking on the door, then pushed it open to reveal a small, cosy light yellow and white room. George was on his single bed, a copy of The Prophet before him. He sat up as Arthur came in, looking at his father warily.
"George, thank God," said Arthur, and enfolded his son in a hug.
George hugged him back, hard. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said quietly.
Arthur shook his head. "It's all right, you've got nothing to be sorry about." He pulled back a bit, keeping an arm around George's shoulders. "Your mum's here." He paused. "We weren't sure - Healer Radstone and I - if you'd want her to come in."
George frowned. "Why?"
"She's having a difficult time understanding why you're here," he said. "She's not angry at you - far from it. But Healer Radstone wasn't sure it would be a good idea for her to come in. What with her probably wanting to ask you a million questions you might not feel like answering."
George scowled. "Dad, I'm not a complete invalid," he said stiffly. "I can take Mum's questions."
Arthur hesitated. "She'll also most probably ask you to come back to The Burrow."
George's eyes widened and he looked away, obviously trying not to visibly recoil.
"George, you don't have to," said Arthur. "I don't think you should. Unless you want to." George gave him a cautious glance. "It didn't do you any good to be cooped up with us right after the Battle. If this is where you need to be to feel better, I'm behind you. Muggles are very much into going into the hospital when they're having troubles like this, did you know?"
George gave him a small smile. "Yeah, Lee said something like that." He took a deep breath. "You don't mind? That I'm here?"
Arthur shook his head, his throat tight. "Do you want Mum here?"
George nodded.
"All right, then." Arthur stood, going to the door and gesturing to the Healer. Molly made her way into the room, her eyes overflowing as soon as she saw George.
"Georgie," she whispered, and took him into her arms.
*****
"You'll come visit tomorrow?" said Fred, his tone too casual to be casual. Though George was sure that if called on it, Fred would attribute the tone to all the hair that was supposed to be on his head growing out of his nose instead.
"Yeah," said George. "Of course."
"Going to be dead boring here," Lee sympathized. "Weird that nobody's here overnight tonight. Every time I've stayed over, there's been at least three other kids here too."
"Ah, it'll give me time to be alone with my thoughts," said Fred with a barely-visible grin.
"You gonna use your left hand or your right hand for that?" said Lee.
"Weasley, Jordan, it's past time to clear off," Madam Pomfrey called from her desk. "Go on with you now."
George and Lee nodded and turned to go, but George stopped short of the door. "Oh, hang on - no, actually, go on ahead, Lee, I'll be right there, only we have to agree on what we're going to tell Mum."
Lee nodded and gave Fred a wave and then headed out.
"You'll be all right?" George asked.
"Yeah," said Fred cheerfully
I know you're scared, George wanted to say. I'd be scared. Neither of us has ever slept so far away from everybody else.
But he couldn't. They were twelve. Any of their mates would piss themselves laughing if they suspected either Fred or George was scared of sleeping alone.
Besides, maybe Fred didn't mind.
"Wish you could stay," said Fred. "It'll be deadly dull."
"I could ask," said George.
"Nah, Lee'll be lonely. Go home."
"'Night, Fred."
This was different from George's stay at St. Mungo's at age five. Fred was seven years older than they had been. He would not spend the entire night shaking in terror at the strange sounds, at the wrongness of being in the dark without his twin. And George was not going to go home and then spend the night making everyone around him miserable until the staff agreed to let him stay at the hospital too, the way Fred had.
They were big boys. They could handle a bit of discomfort. Besides, Pomfrey had said Fred would most likely be out tomorrow or the day after, depending on how long it took the potion to work.
He pasted a smile on and ran to catch up with Lee.
*****
Finally, finally, the visit was nearing an end. It was strange, thought George, how he used to love being with other people, especially his family. Now, a two hour visit with his parents had drained him completely.
Mum stood up as the mediwitch on duty tapped her watch. "So, tomorrow when we come--"
George felt a pang of alarm. "No, Mum it's all right. You don't need to visit every day."
"Oh don't worry, dear, it's no bother."
"By which I mean I'd really rather you don't."
Silence.
"Oh."
George winced at the hurt in his mother's voice. "Damn. Sorry, I'm - they've got me on all sorts of potions, I'm a bit off." He cleared his throat. "Another reason you probably shouldn't come visit too much."
"What are they giving you?"
George shrugged. "Things to make me want to eat again, help me sleep." Help me not want to drink.
"That's good, dear. That's good."
"I'm pretty tired, Mum. I'm glad you came, but... not too much all at once, yeah?"
"But everyone... everyone has asked to see you. Can they..."
"Mum, I don't know, I'm... I'd really rather not. I mean, if it's Percy or Ron, that's all right. But honestly, other than that, I'd really rather not. I'll see everyone when I get out."
"When will you get out?"
George shrugged. "I dunno, Mum. Whenever the Healers say it's a good idea." Can't make a guess about that, don't have a lot of experience being locked up in a mental ward, he thought, but had the good sense not to say out loud.
Molly nodded. "All right, dear. That's... that's something to look forward to then, all right?"
George nodded tiredly. Look forward to. Yes.
*****
"You weren't intentionally hurting yourself, which is good," said the Healer Radstone at George's first session after being fully assessed. "You were doing what you have always done, at work at least, which is also good. I'm not calling this a case of self-harm."
George frowned. "Is that good or bad?"
"Well, self-harm is a serious thing. People do it for many reasons. For example, to stop the pain they feel inside by replacing it with pain they feel outside; or to feel as though they have some control over their lives, if only with respect to the pain they can cause themselves; or to punish themselves for perceived failures. All sorts of reasons, really."
George gave him a skeptical look.
"I don't think those reasons apply here. You simply continued to do what you have always done, but with less concern for health and safety than before."
"You mean... because we always almost killed ourselves in the lab as a regular part of our lives, I'm not a nutter? And that's a good thing?"
The psychiatrist pressed his lips together. "I wouldn't put it quite like that."
"I am a nutter, then."
Radstone rolled his eyes. "No, that isn't what I meant. What I meant is that it would be somewhat more concerning to me if you had gone from never hurting yourself, to doing so deliberately."
"All right. So having 'less concern for health and safety' is better, then?"
The psychiatrist looked rather uncomfortable. "I wouldn't say that, necessarily. You could have done yourself serious permanent damage." He paused, fidgeting with his quill. "Unfortunately, we'll both simply have to excuse my inexperience here; wizarding psychiatry is in its infancy, and a lot of what I'm working with comes from Muggle research and practice. Which does not, strictly speaking, always translate well into our world."
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, the thing is, risk-taking and self-harm of this type in a Muggle would be cause for much alarm, as Muggles cannot heal as we do. That said, perhaps it's more alarming because you could have healed yourself, and didn't."
"I'm not terribly good at Healing charms. And I'd already been here too many times."
"Yes, fair enough. Also, what you were doing was something fairly easy for you to justify to yourself as simply going about with daily business. If you were, say, cutting yourself, there would be no excuse for it, but the fact that testing products is part of your livelihood..." he sighed.
"You don't know what the hell to think, do you?"
Radstone pressed his lips together. "No. I don't."
"Are there any other wizard psychiatrists you could go to for a second opinion?"
"I am the only wizard currently practicing psychiatry," said Radstone with a thin smile. "So, no."
George nodded. "Marvellous."
*****
It was good to not be in the shop. It was good to not have to deal with relatives dropping in on him randomly, and he'd insisted on a maximum of one visit per day. Ron and Percy had been all right; Mum, not so much. Plus apparently she was on a tear because it seemed quite a few people had suspected he'd been in trouble, but she hadn't seen it, and apparently it was their fault for not telling her.
And then The Prophet got in on it.
Hogwarts Hero in Trouble? Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Surviving Owner Checks In to St. Mungo's!
George groaned as he caught the headline at breakfast. It was on page three, so hopefully it wouldn't be read by everybody and their Kneazle, but still. That was going to make a bit of a dent in their business. He pushed away his breakfast and went back to bed, only to be wakened an hour later by an apologetic mediwitch saying that Verity had sent an urgent message: they needed to access the vault to buy more ingredients, since there had been a huge surge in customers.
Any publicity is good publicity, thought George bleakly. The idea of anyone buying his products because they thought he was a tragic nutcase was more than he could stomach, so he signed off on the Gringott's authorization, took another sleeping draught, and went off.
He woke up to see Lee at his bedside.
"Oh God, not another visit." He rolled over and covered his head with his pillow.
There was a silence. "I've been told that if you don't toss the visitor out of the room, it means you don't really want them to leave," said Lee.
George chuckled tiredly.
"So you don't want me to leave?"
"No, you may as well stay. Won't be much entertainment, though."
"No?"
"No. Too many sleeping potions."
They were silent.
"You saw the papers, yeah?" George asked, his voice muffled.
Lee groaned. "Yes." He hesitated. "Are you angry at me?"
This was so bizarre that George turned over in bed. "What?"
"For getting you to come here."
George blinked. "Merlin, Jordan, for a moment there I thought you'd gone to the papers. No, mate, of course I'm not angry at you. Don't be daft."
Lee let out his breath. "You all right?"
"Dunno." He turned over again. "Least I'm not flirting with death in the testing lab every day, yeah? Because in retrospect even I can recognize that dying of a botched Wheeze might be a little embarrassing. But I'm bored as hell."
"What are you doing?"
"Trying different potions. Charms. Talking with the psychiatrist."
"Any of it helping?"
"S'ppose so," he said listlessly. "'M on some potion, s'posed to be relaxing. If I get any more relaxed I'll be in a coma."
"How's the psychiatrist?"
"Decent bloke. Says apparently I miss Fred. So glad St. Mungo's has a psychiatrist now, or they'd never have been able to figure it out."
Lee chuckled.
"Merlin, c'n you picture Fred in a place like this?" George asked, his voice very low.
Lee shook his head. "Not unless you'd snuffed it instead of him."
George snorted. "He wouldn't have ended up here."
"You don't think so?"
"He would've been a lot better able to deal with it."
Lee shook his head. "I can't believe I'm actually telling you something you don't know about Fred, but you're wrong, mate. He was worried about you, scared pissless that you'd die, and leave him alone. I believe his words were, 'He'd be able to go on, I wouldn't.' He told me he knew what his Boggart would look like, and it wasn't Madam Pince's knickers any more."
"He told you that? When?"
"Yeah. After your ear. He talked to me a few times."
George blinked. "I knew that. Don't know how I knew that." He sighed. "I always thought he was a lot stronger than me."
"No, but apparently he was a lot wiser than you."
George shrugged.
"How's it going, in here? D'you feel any better?"
Ah, the question everyone wanted to know. Was he better. "I don't have to deal with the shop. That's nice."
"Are they making you eat?"
George grimaced. "Ugh, yeah."
"Well, that's good, isn't it?"
He didn't know what was supposed to make things better in here, though the potions and the sleep and the lack of responsibility were supposed to be 'refreshing' and 'healing'. And everyone was being cautious and supportive and that was also supposed to help, and he was going to hex somebody before much longer.
He needed to get out of here. He needed to just appreciate that he'd been able to rest for a while, get some steady, dreamless sleep, and solid food. He needed to stop hoping St. Mungo's would be able to help him feel like he used to, before. Stop hoping for something that wasn't going to happen and just be grateful for the respite he'd had, and go back to his life. No matter how buggered up that life was.
"I think... I think I'm going to ask to go home," he said.
Lee's eyebrows went up. "You're serious?"
"I've been here two weeks," he pointed out.
"And you feel you're better?" Lee said skeptically.
"Healer Radstone thinks I'm better. I think."
"Well, if he say it's all right, maybe you're right," Lee said slowly.
George nodded, reassuring himself. He'd tried. He'd given this a shot. And he did feel better. He did.
Half-dead was still half-alive, right? He supposed it would have to be enough.
October
"All I'm asking for is to get out of the next two days, all right?" said Ron tiredly. "I'll make it up, I swear. I wouldn't ask, only--"
"I know, Weasley," said Auror Geffen, idly tapping his gold-nib quill against his inkpot. "You've been putting in longer hours at the shop while your brother's been... away."
Ron found himself biting his lip not to snap at the man. 'Away'; a polite word for 'locked up on the mental ward'. "Yeah."
"He's out, now, though, I heard," said Geffen.
Heard through the bloody Prophet, and Ron was some day going to torch their offices if there was any way he could make it look like an accident. "Yeah."
"He's been back for two days," said Geffen. "And yet you're still asking for time off? And your partner agrees with the request?"
"It's just while George is getting back on his feet," said Harry. "It's only been two days."
"I understand," said Geffen, leaning back in his chair. "We all understand it's been difficult for you all." Ron pressed his lips together and swore once more that if he ever found out who'd leaked the story to the paper he was going to use all that the Aurors had trained him in to make them pay. "I do understand that you want to be there for him. But--"
"Look, I'm just saying that I need--"
"Look, Weasley, if you don't want this job," said Geffen, "we can certainly get somebody else to fill it."
"You're firing me?!" Ron said, his voice rising in disbelief. Beside him, Harry leaned forward, his hackles immediately rising, and for a brief moment Ron could practically hear him growl in protective anger.
Geffen shook his head, but leaned forward earnestly as well. "That's not what I meant. But we need you here, Ron. We're short-staffed as it is, and if this isn't going to be your top priority then you need to--"
"You know what?" Ron stood up, suddenly feeling perfectly calm. "You're right. It's not my top priority." He started to unbutton his Auror robes.
Geffen and Harry gaped at him.
"I beg your pardon?" Geffen finally said.
"It's not my top priority," said Ron, handing over the robe and Trainee badge he'd worked so hard to get. "It's not going to be, not for a long time, possibly not ever. If things aren't working out, I know which commitment I need to drop, and it's bloody well not my brother."
"Ron," Harry began.
"You're short-staffed among the Aurors?" Ron said to Geffen, ignoring Harry. "Well, guess what. We're a little short-staffed among the Weasley siblings; we kind of lost one seventh of our workforce, and it shows. And George is a bit short-staffed too, what with having lost one hundred per cent of his partners at the shop."
"Weasley," Geffen began, putting up a conciliatory hand, "you can't - you know how badly the wizarding world needs people like--"
"NO!" Ron slammed his hand down on Geffen's immaculate desk, suddenly furious, and Geffen and Harry jumped. "Don't you dare try to guilt me into tossing over family for your precious job! My family has given enough already! Go find yourself another poster-boy recruit. I quit."
He turned on his heel and walked out of the Geffen's office, Harry scrambling to get up and follow him.
"Ron, wait!"
"No. I'm done."
"You can't--"
"Yes I can."
Harry grabbed his arm, spinning him around. "All right, yes you can," he said. "And you have every right to, and you're probably right." Ron's eyebrows went up. "Mate, you know I'm behind you, no matter what you do, yeah?"
Ron let out his breath. "Yeah."
Harry nodded. "Only, let me... let me talk to him for you, all right?" He put up a hand as Ron opened his mouth. "Not so he'll let you stay. I told you, I agree with you. If you really feel you need to quit so you can be there for George, I'm behind you all the way. Only don't burn your bridges."
Ron hesitated.
"You've wanted to be an Auror for a long time, Ron," Harry pointed out. "So what if you can't keep going in this training session? There'll be other sessions."
Ron thought for a moment and then nodded.
Harry gave him a smile. "All right then. I'll go talk to Geffen. I'll see you tonight?"
Ron nodded, and turned to go.
He had quit, he thought as he made his way out of the almost-deserted Ministry. Up and quit, no longer training, no longer going to see Harry every day, no longer going to study whenever he got a spare moment. No Illegal Potions exam to study for tomorrow. No Disguises class, no Restraining charms to recite in the loo and in the shower, no Non-Magical Combat to train for.
He checked his watch. Almost ten. George would be closing up soon. He went through the Floo and into Diagon Alley, slowing as his steps brought him closer to Wheezes, realizing he was none too sure how he was going to explain his presence here. Bracing himself, he stepped in, the noise and laughter of Wheezes warming him, and glanced around for George or Naomi.
"Mr. Weasley!" Naomi called out to him, and he turned to see her charming away a pair of donkey ears from a giggling child, to his mother's evident relief, and handing the mother a bag full of Ear-Ring Surprises. "I thought you were observing the night shift this week?"
"I was. How was business?"
"Busy. Got a group of tourists from Spain; apparently Wheezes are becoming famous in Madrid. They wanted to see our Paella Portkeys."
"Where's George?"
Naomi's smile faltered slightly. "He's... in the lab."
Ron frowned. "Is he all right?"
Naomi looked away. "It wasn't a bad day, mostly," she said quietly. "Only about an hour ago three kids came in and started using the Decoy Detonators, playing War. Re-enacting the Battle at Hogwarts."
Ron winced.
"They're kids, you know. Kids play war games. Mr. Weasley didn't get angry at them or anything, just told them they'd have to pay for any merchandise they used. And then two of them were pretending to be Death Eaters and 'killed' the one playing Auror, and..." she shook her head.
"What happened?"
"It was their mum," said Naomi. "Stepped in and told them off, asked how could they make a game of it, how would they feel if they'd lost one of them for real. And how could they play that here, of all places, where poor Mr. Weasley had lost his brother. Said it was an insult to both twins - and to all of you, and your parents - and Mr. Weasley tried to get her to stop, but she was relentless. Made them apologize to him. Even made the littlest one cry."
Ron groaned, picturing George's face at that.
"Mr. Weasley was all right; seemed to be, anyway. Stayed for an hour or so. Finally went into the lab a few minutes ago, but he wasn't looking so good."
Ron nodded worriedly, and headed towards the lab. He paused before the door, noting a distinct lack of explosions from the other side of it. He tapped on the door, and eased it open slowly.
"George?" Ron's eyes adjusted to the gloom and he sighed as he spotted George, at the work table, head buried in his arms, shoulders shaking.
"George." Ron sank down and put an arm around him, and rested his chin on George's shoulder. "No, come on, just let it out," he said quietly, as George tried to suppress his tears.
George made a noise in his throat and shook with sobs again. Ron held him, letting him cry until he couldn't any more, until all that were left were soft shuddering breaths, the calm after the storm.
This was bollocks, thought Ron, his own throat aching. George had been in the bloody hospital for weeks, and was still beyond miserable. Why couldn't they do something for him? Make this better, somehow? Sometimes it seemed like all the hospital had done was make him more fragile. The brother Ron had known never would've burst into tears over a stupid customer in the shop. Never would've let Ron see him cry.
The brother he'd known wasn't ever going to come back, Ron was starting to realize. He'd begun to suspect it not long after the Battle, but it was finally beginning to sink in. He wiped his own eyes, and sent his mind in another direction.
"You all right?" he said once George had been quiet for a while.
George shook his head. "Bad day," he said, his voice still muffled by his arms.
"Naomi told me about the kids playing Battle of Hogwarts."
George shook his head again. "Wasn't just them. Just a bad day in general."
"You're taking your Cheering Potions?"
George nodded, sitting up and wiping at his eyes, his chest still shuddering a bit. "They don't seem to do much good."
"You know they said at the hospital, it'll take time."
"Sod the bloody hospital," George muttered. "Useless tits."
Ron gave him a sympathetic clap on the back and then stood up. "Come on. It's almost closing, Naomi can handle the place. I'll make us some soup or something and get you to bed."
"No, I'm all right, only--"
"Shut it. You're not all right, neither am I, and I don't feel like arguing with you while you do your macho 'I can take care of myself' rubbish. I'm going to put you to bed and then I'm going to finish up the trollbogey potions, we're going to run out otherwise."
"That'll take hours."
"Let me worry about that, all right?"
"Hang on, aren't you supposed to be on night shift at the Ministry?"
"Will you bloody well shut up," Ron said irritably. "And let me do my fucking job. Eat the soup I make, go to bed, and let me not worry about you for one bloody night. Oh bugger, I'm turning into Mum, this is depressing."
George chuckled, standing up. "You have a hero thing, do you?"
"I've been hanging around with Harry too long, mate. It's catching. You'd better watch yourself or you'll find yourself doing it too."
"Don't think so," said George glumly. "Can't even save myself."
Ron nodded wearily, and headed up the stairs.
"Ron." George opened the door to the flat. "Look, all right, I'll go to bed, but you need to get some sleep too. You can't go into class tomorrow, feeling like shit run over by a troll, and get all confused about which parchments to fill in for faulty-cauldron-sellers--"
Ron pushed past him and into the flat. "Look, I told you--"
"And if you get hurt in Non-Magical Combat because you were working here and not getting enough rest, Mum'll kill me."
Ron finally stopped and turned around, annoyed. "All right, yeah, about that. I sort of... quit the Aurors today."
George blinked. "What?"
Ron shrugged. "Wasn't working out. They only wanted me as a poster boy anyway. Present a good face to the public, show things are getting done."
"You quit? Seriously?"
Ron went to the pantry, looking for soup ingredients. "It was getting on my nerves."
George followed him slowly. "What happened?"
Ron cleared his throat. "Geffen told me I had to get my priorities straight. So I did."
George gaped at him. "Working here? Instead of being an Auror? Why?"
Ron set his jaw. "Look, you're welcome to toss me out whenever you don't need me any more, I'll find another job. But right now, you need me."
"I can get somebody else to--"
"To help you stock, yeah. And follow directions and maybe help with the customers. You need more help than that, George."
George looked away.
"Even if everything was working just fine with you, you'd need somebody else here. Fred didn't just follow directions and he didn't just chat up the customers. He invented and he helped troubleshoot and he kept the books and did advertising and put in insanely long hours. I can't do most of what he did, but I can at least try to help. You need me, George."
George sighed.
"What?" said Ron.
"Why do you care?" George said softly. "You've got your own life to lead, you've got Hermione and Harry missing you, your Auror Training's suffered--"
Ron was suddenly right pissed. "Why the hell do you think I'm here, then? He was my brother too, you know!"
George's eyebrows went up. "I never said he wasn't."
"He didn't just fight for an end to Voldemort. He wanted a world where people could laugh. He died for this-" Ron swept his arm in a wide arc, taking in the shop. "We have to live for it. I can't bring him back, but I'll be damned if I stand by and watch what he built fall apart because you can't do the work of two people. I know I'm not him. But I'm doing this for him." He paused. "Besides, he'd never forgive me - or any of us - if anything happened to you."
*****
"Where do we start?" asked George, as the Gryffindor common room erupted into a buzz of fear and speculation.
"Start what?" asked Percy, still staring at the Gryffindor common room's door, where McGonagall had just stepped out.
"Looking for Ginny," said Fred.
"What?!" said Percy, turning to the twins. "Are you mad?"
"She's been taken by some bloody monster, Percy!" said Fred. "She's our responsibility; we have to try to find her!"
"McGonagall told us to stay here," said Percy firmly, his pale face flushing.
"To hell with that," said George.
"I'll go get the map," said Fred.
"What map? Where are you going?" Percy said, stepping in front of them as they headed for the boys' dorm rooms. The common room grew quieter as the other students started to notice their conflict.
"To our room," Fred said, pushing him away. Percy stepped in front of them again.
"You are not going anywhere," he said. "We were told to stay in our Houses."
"Ron and Harry must know something, yeah?" said Fred to George, ignoring Percy. "That's why they disappeared."
"Yes, Ron and Harry disappeared," said Percy. "And that's also why there's a teacher outside our tower, guarding us, and teachers looking for them too. Taking valuable resources away from the search for Ginny. You cannot compound their error."
"Percy, drop the Prefect crap, and grow some balls!" said Fred. "She's your sister too! How can you stand there and--"
"I can stand here because I was told to!" Percy shot back. "Going off half-cocked and making more trouble is not bravery. It's foolishness." He paused. "Besides, we don't know that Harry and Ron went to look for her."
"What else would they be doing?"
Percy glared at them. "You think it's a joke, don't you? That Harry may be the Heir of Slytherin? What if he is? What if he's got both Ginny and Ron?"
George and Fred gaped at him, speechless for a moment.
"Are you serious?" Fred finally asked.
"He can talk to snakes. His behaviour has been very suspicious."
"Harry is not the enemy, you pompous prick!" said Fred furiously.
"Shut your gob!" added George.
"Sit down!" Percy said loudly, grabbing George's shoulder and pushing him towards the common room couches, and now the entire Gryffindor common room was frozen, watching the three of them.
"We're supposed to be Gryffindors!" Fred shouted. "When there's something like this going on, we're supposed to go to battle, not sit safe and wait for other people to save us!"
"It's not a question of courage! It's a question of not making things worse, the way Ron and Harry may have done!"
"They're helping!"
"Because of them, there is a teacher who can't be out looking for Ginny, but has to stay here instead and guard us in case any of us get the brilliant idea to follow them. Guard you, I should say, because they know that I know better!"
"You'd just let our sister get killed because you're a Prefect--"
"SHUT UP!!" shouted Percy. "I want to go look for her, do you think I don't? She's my sister too! And I'm a Prefect, I'm sure if I asked, they'd let me! But instead, I have to sit and babysit the two of you--"
"We don't need your fucking babysitting," said George. "And you bloody well can't make us--"
"You are going to stay here if I have to put you in a body bind," said Percy.
"Oh yeah?" sneered Fred, and moved to take his wand out, but before he could even complete the move Percy made a quick movement and then there they were, both of them rooted to the spot, their hands bound behind them, their wands in Percy's hand.
"PERCY! You fucking weasel, let us out!" yelled Fred, struggling.
"NEWT-level Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Percy grimly, then performed a few more passes and put the twins behind a shield. He turned to the Quidditch team, Oliver and Katie and Angelina and Alicia all standing together and glaring at him. "And don't think for a moment I won't put a bind on the rest of you, too, if you make any move towards them!"
"Some day we won't be kids," said Fred angrily. "And nobody will be able to tell us to just sit still and wait. Some day, we'll be able to fight. Like Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon."
"Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon died, you idiot!" said Percy.
"I'd rather do what's right and die young than die an old man who never did a bloody thing because he didn't have the guts!"
"What is it Dad says?" said George. "A coward dies a thousand deaths. The brave man only dies once."
"Quoting Dad's Muggle authors, George," said Percy, his lip curled into a sneer. "Good for you. Did Shakespeare say anything about an idiot who dies for nothing?"
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 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:: (9540 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!!
*****
"Mum sent you, didn't she?" George said as soon as he opened the door.
Lee shook his head, smiling, though his heart sank a bit. Not the best way to start the visit. "Why? Can't a mate drop by to say hello?"
"Yeah. Of course." George smirked. "Nice timing, though."
Lee sighed, and entered the flat. Mrs. Weasley had said George seemed "distant" and "prickly", and there had been some sort of blow-up with his brother Charlie the other day, and he supposed he was now going to find out what all of that meant. He glanced about the flat, noting the books piled all over everything. The place was otherwise ridiculously clean and tidy, and Lee kicked himself for letting George's excuses keep him from visiting more often. George didn't want people near him, and Lee could understand that, but the flat looked like all he ever did was sleep and read here. No inventions, no magazines, no half-baked projects hanging off every shelf.
Nothing like when he and Fred had lived here together.
Once again he wished George had said yes when Lee had asked to move in. But the look on George's face, the slight panic at having someone other than Fred in their space, had disabused him of the idea almost immediately.
"Where are you getting all these books?" Lee asked, glancing at the closest pile. When Magic Goes Wrong, The Adventures of Cassandra the Curious Cormorant, On Death and Dying, and Pickle Potions. Interesting.
"Mostly Hermione. She Owls them out to me."
"You never did much reading before," said Lee. "Other than for developing Wheezes."
George shrugged, taking out two goblets and some Firewhisky. "D'you want a drink, or did Mum also tell you she thinks I'm drinking too much?"
Lee shrugged as well. "Yeah, she's probably worried. Didn't say anything about my drinking, though, so go ahead and pour."
George gave him a humourless smile and poured for both of them.
"So how are you?" said Lee, once they were sitting, glasses poured.
George shrugged again. "Well enough, I suppose. The shop's doing good business."
"I've heard."
"How's the Wireless treating you?"
Before Lee could stop himself, he was being drawn out into a long, detailed discussion about his radio contract, of all things. He had to admire George's talent in deflecting anything to do with him. He glanced at the spot on the living room wall where Fred had once thrown a bottle of Veela Vodka that had left a pungent odour of roses and seagulls in the place for weeks afterwards. From the vodka or from the cleaning solution, Lee had never remembered to ask.
"How's Megan?" George asked, startling Lee.
"Megan? Oh, gone. Last month."
George nodded, no reaction to not having heard from Lee in that long a time. "Rotten luck, mate."
"It wasn't going to go anywhere. She's from a pureblood family. They didn't want a Half-blood in-law."
George's eyebrows went up. "Still, now?"
"Yeah, still, now. You ought to know. Blood status matters."
"Never mattered to us," said George.
"I'm not that into girls anyway, you know that," said Lee. "What about you? Seeing anyone?"
George chuckled. "When would I?"
"Point. Still, don't you ever go out anywhere?"
"Nah, don't feel like it."
Lee glanced around the flat and briefly considered telling George it was deeply creepy to be in the home of a bloke who lived alone and had his place looking so spotless it made Lee itch to spill something in it.
No, probably not a good way to get him to let his guard down.
"The truth is, I do have a nefarious purpose for coming here," he admitted. "Remember how Monica from Eeylops quit and went to work for a Muggle who designs games? She says he's getting ready to market it to Muggles, and she wants to see if it could sell to wizards as well. You still have the Muggle corner in the shop, right?"
"Yeah."
"D'you want to test it? It's about building little cities and roads and things. No magic, just little tiles."
George's head tilted to the side, and his eyes lit up. "Really? No magic at all?"
"None. Oh and she wants to test whether anybody can put magic into it. Either to cheat at it, or to expand it for the wizarding market."
Percy had said that George was fine as long as you could get him doing something. "Let's sit and chat" was right out; "let's do something totally unrelated to talking" just might work.
And, good, excellent, George was relaxing and sitting forward, eager to see Monica's game. Please, let me not fuck this up, thought Lee, as he explained the game to George and set up the pieces, and they began to play.
Bless Percy, this had been a good idea, thought Lee as the game progressed and George started to get into it. Though it was odd, still, to do something like this without Fred here. Lee felt a sharp pang of loss as he suddenly got a very vivid image of Fred and George both bending their heads over the pieces, flicking the tiles at each other, maybe casting spells on them to make them change design.
It wasn't fair. Suddenly all Lee wanted was his friend back. The friend who would've made it impossible to actually help Monica, because the tiles would've ended up a congealed mess, most probably stuck to the table, and the players would've ended up with major hangovers the next morning. With Fred there, Lee's report to Monica would've been something along the lines of "my fellow testers agreed there aren't enough breasts and firm, rounded buttocks on the tiles, the monasteries should get plagues every so often, oh and they've rigged the city walls to randomly explode. Also, sorry about turning all the roads sparkling pink."
But those days were gone. Lee cleared his throat and brought his attention back to the table, where a bunch of small towns were taking shape, and concentrated on the game.
Much later, the last tile finally placed, he wrote down some of their observations and put away the tiles as George poured some more Firewhisky. Only their third goblets so far; the game had improved George's mood even without alcohol. Lee gazed at him, weighing his mood. Relaxed, as he hadn't been when Lee had come in. As he probably hadn't been when he was near his family, for a long, long time. Perhaps he should suggest board games to the Weasleys.
Here went nothing, then. This would either get George to open up, or completely shut down. "So, seriously, mate," said Lee. "How are you?"
"What d'you mean?"
"George, please," Lee said, and finished putting the tiles in their box.
"What, you think now, catching me off my guard, I'll let you in on how I'm doing? Dirty pool, mate."
"Want some more Firewhisky?"
"D'you want me to have more?"
"Would it help?"
"Dunno." George grinned. "Might."
Lee picked up his goblet and downed it in one go. He coughed. "Don't give me the same rubbish you give your family, mate."
George's eyes narrowed. "Don't you give me the same rubbish they give me, then," he said, his smile becoming less friendly.
Lee blew out his breath. "Look, I just want to know, all right? You won't talk to them--"
"Trust me, they wouldn't like what I'd have to say."
"Why's that?"
George frowned at him. "Look, it's rough, and it's going to be rough, all right? Let it go."
Let it go, he said. Bugger this for a game of soldiers, they'd all been letting it go, and it hadn't done George any good. "Why wouldn't they want to hear that?"
"You tell me."
"This is like talking to a Sphinx, y'know," Lee groused, and George smirked at him.
"You never could weasel anything out of us, y'know."
"What is that, a point of pride for you?"
"Shouldn't it be? Besides, you're a journalist, right? If you want a story, you have to work for it."
"Then what can I do?" Lee asked, and dropped the easy banter. "George. Your mum's dead worried about you, and so's your sister, and I can see why. You've lost weight, you're a nasty bugger, and you're never far from a drink."
George drew up an eyebrow.
"Your mum's scary, George. Sorry, but you saw her with Bellatrix Lestrange. And your sister - I don't care what you say, I may be a Gryffindor but I've got a healthy respect for Weasley women and I'd really rather keep my bollocks where they are." He gave George a tentative smile. "I get the feeling if I let them down the Aurors'll never find my body."
"So avoid them," George said evenly. "Works like a charm for me."
Lee scowled. "I just want to know if I should be telling your mum she's off her nut or not! All right? I want to know if I can tell her you're fine, and know it's true, or if I'm going to lose the only best friend I've got left!"
George glared at Lee.
Lee closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself. "Look, it doesn't compare to what you lost. I know that. What you lost, I can't even imagine, and I knew you both better than anybody else including your own family. I was there, I saw what happened, I was with you right after, I want to help." He paused to steady his voice. "I need to know if you're thinking of topping yourself and I need you to be honest with me and not give me the shite you give your family - and it's fucking dirty pool but I'm asking you, for Fred's sake, to be honest with me."
George stared at him darkly.
"Think what Fred would want," Lee said quietly.
"I don't know and I don't care what Fred would want," George said softly, dangerously.
"You do know, and you care."
There was a long, long silence, and Lee waited on edge, trying to read George's expressionless face.
George sat back. "Right. You want to know." George laughed softly. "All right, then. I'm a fucking mess."
Lee swallowed hard. "How much of a mess?"
George stirred his drink, then moved his hand away and wandlessly made the swizzle stick dance in the twinkling light. Lee forced his eyes away from the mesmerizing display of amber light.
"How much of a mess?" he insisted.
George shrugged. "Enough of one."
"Your mum. Is she... should she be worried?"
Long silence.
"Yeah. Probably."
Longer silence, and Lee tried to feel his way through this. God, it was like walking through a minefield. Help me, Fred, he thought fervently. God, what would Fred have done? He cleared his throat. "Why?"
George shrugged.
"She's afraid you'll... hurt yourself."
"I know."
"Will you?"
George shrugged again.
Lee braced himself. "Have you thought about it?"
George nodded slowly.
"What do you think about?"
George shrugged again. "Dunno. Maybe about not having to... not having to miss him any more."
Lee let out a slow breath. "Anything else?"
"Like what?"
"Have you done anything about it?"
"What, ending it?" George said lightly. "I'm still here, right?"
"You're drinking a hell of a lot. You've shut everybody out." Lee floundered about, casting for his reporter voice. God, what a time to have his eloquence leave him. "What else have you done? Made any plans?"
"All the time. It's not a passing fancy."
"Like what plans?"
"Did you know I'm three floors up here?" George said lightly, and then he swallowed hard. "It's... I'm tired. So fucking tired." He rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin in his hands, and Lee was forcibly reminded of George and Fred trying to come to terms with their lifelong Quidditch ban. They'd been so bloody angry, full of impotent rage at the unfairness, and Lee would've given anything for that to be the case again. For there to be two identical faces, both sitting the same way, same set expressions in their eyes. Of course then they wouldn't be in this mess.
"Cry myself to sleep almost every night," George admitted softly. "It's... it's really hard, knowing it's been another day and there's not much to look forward to tomorrow. I've done it for one more day, but I don't want to wake up and do it all again. And I don't want to go to sleep, it doesn't help." He took a shaking breath and Lee shivered at the eerily soft tone of his voice. "I wake up from nightmares where he dies and it's not a relief when I wake up, y'know, because I dream about it a different way every time and it's really weird, you know, like I've got to figure out a more dramatic way because remember Percy found us and I'd just said 'I wonder where Fred ended up' and Percy was there and he was crying, and I could tell--" Lee shuddered, remembering how Percy's weeping had felt like a kick in the groin, how George's wand had fallen from his hand as his smile of recognition turned to open-mouthed shock without Percy having said a word.
George was still speaking, and Lee had lost the thread - "... like it wasn't dramatic enough, like I had to see it, so I do, and then I wake up and I know that's not how it happened but it's no better at all because even if he wasn't slashed to bits or blown up or AK'd he's just as dead, but you know, that's not the worst of them..." he trailed off, took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly.
"The worst is when I dream he's not dead. I'm going mental," he whispered. "He's not dead, almost every other night, everything's all back to normal and then I wake up and I bloody well can't face it any more and the only thing that helps is getting so smashing drunk I can't remember what I've dreamed about and wake up spewing instead of crying - again." He took a deep breath. "I'm so fucked."
"What d'you do when you wake up?"
"Mostly just lie there till I can face the day, or take a few potions."
"Have you done anything?"
"Like what?"
"More than making plans?" George's startled eyes met his before he looked back down, and the swizzle stick began its dance again. "Have you?" Lee insisted, and held his breath, waiting for the answer.
"Yeah."
"Like what?"
George closed his eyes, seeming to shrink into himself.
"You've... what've you done? Have you hurt yourself? Made any serious attempt?" Lee could almost feel Fred next to him, see the angry, scared look on his face, feel his need to somehow, somehow reach through George's defences, past where nobody had gone.
"Yeah."
"What have you done?"
George met his eyes and then looked down. Slowly pushed his sleeve up a bit, then hesitated, then pushed it up further and whispered Finite Incantatem, and Lee's stomach turned over.
George's arm was an unholy mess.
Freckled skin faded away and exposed a mass of scar tissue, and Lee swallowed bile as George pushed the sleeve farther up and Lee saw that the scar tissue reached up to his elbow and beyond, and it looked rather creative - burns, small cuts, ragged gashes, sores, all sorts of things that Lee thought he was used to seeing, from back when Fred and George were hard at work inventing and producing. They'd sometimes been a bit of a mess during peak times at the shop, but this--
The testing lab. The fucking testing lab. Bloody hell.
Lee sucked in his breath as George pulled the sleeve back down over the cuts, and on instinct he reached out, grabbed George's other hand and pushed the sleeve up there - shit, same story, and he looked up at George's scared eyes.
"Is that all, or is that just the bit where you want to know if I'm going to bolt out of here?"
George frowned.
"Is there anything else?"
George looked away, pulling his hand from Lee's, and Lee shifted closer. "Did you bloody well hurt yourself anywhere else? Burn anything else? Take any poisons - fuck, why am I bothering to ask you, you and Fred used to do this for a lark, didn't you? To see how tough you were, what you could sell to other people--"
"Not much of a lark any more," George said quietly.
"No, it's not. And you two always worked together when you were testing or making dangerous things. And you always healed anything that went wrong. You've... you don't let Ron into the testing lab, do you?"
George shook his head.
"And it's not just because you don't want him to try to replace Fred," Lee said, his mind whipping way ahead, seeing all the excuses George must have given Ron, and himself. "And it's not just because you don't want him to get suspicious wounds that the Ministry might come to investigate, and it's not because he's got shoddy Charms work. Is it? How many reasons have you made to keep him out of the lab?"
George shook his head again.
"Fuck!" said Lee. "You stupid wanker, you've always been pants at healing spells and I'll bet you good money that's another reason you've kept Ron out, isn't it? Because he's being taught healing at the Aurors? God, why am I even asking?" He swallowed. "Is there anything else?"
George shrugged. "It's not all from - some of it really is from testing products from before, I mean--"
"Like that makes any difference," Lee said angrily, and realized he wasn't going to be able to hold back the bile rising in his throat, not even wanting to imagine what else George's clothing was covering. He turned away barely in time to avoid spewing on George's shoes, keeping a shaking hand on George's as his stomach heaved over and over.
"God," he spat, shuddering. "Stupid bastard, how could you--" he retched again and George started to pull away.
"NO! You arse, don't you dare--" Lee heaved again, tightening his grip on George's arm. He spat again, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sat up shakily. "FUCK. Don't you dare pull away. You showed me, you trusted me enough to let me know and don't you dare bugger off now, just because I've gone and spewed on your floor. You've probably done worse, haven't you? Bled and spewed all over the place and then just spelled it away?"
George shrugged.
"Jesus, George. Oh Jesus, why the hell didn't you tell anybody?" Lee pulled George close, shaking, and George stayed stiff in his arms while Lee tried to pull himself together. "Merlin, forget your mum and Ginny, Fred'll come back from beyond and haunt me for the rest of my life if I let you pull away now."
George laughed, a shaky, uncertain sound, and Lee sat back, keeping a hand on him.
"George, you need help. Serious help, mate, we've got to get you to St. Mungo's or something." He gripped harder as George shook his head, and cursed himself as his voice broke. "I can't help you - I mean I'll go with you, I'll be there every bloody step of the way but I can't - I don't know what the hell I'm doing, mate, I'm just a stupid reporter, this is way beyond anything I can do. God, please, just--" and he wiped away the tears that were starting to spill from his eyes. "God, please, mate, forget your mum and the rest of your family. This is you we're talking about, you need help so fucking badly it's a miracle you're still alive."
George hesitated, then nodded shakily.
"All right." Lee wiped at his mouth again. "God. Let's go. I'll Apparate us both-"
"No, I-"
"Right, we'll pack first-"
"No I don't want to-"
"I know you don't want to! But you're not in any shape to decide anything! Merlin, you've got your mum worried that you're losing weight and feeling blue, when what you're actually doing is trying to commit Suicide By Joke Shop, George, for fuck's sake!"
George chuckled shakily. "OK."
"OK." Lee breathed again. "OK. Let's pack some stuff for you. I think, erm," Lee swallowed, waved his wand at the mess he'd made on the floor. "Ugh. All right, some changes of clothing. Anything else?"
George shrugged and moved off, and Lee felt an odd disconnect watching him automatically smooth down his sleeves and whisper a word to put the glamour back on, then look around his flat and pack a few changes of clothing, toothbrush, hairbrush--
"Should we call anyone in your family?" Lee asked.
George shuddered and shook his head.
"In case the hospital wants to know."
"Percy," George said after a moment.
"All right. I'll Owl him after we're there, all right?"
"I'm all right, Lee," George said quietly.
"No you're bloody well not."
George shrugged. "I am right now."
Lee shook his head. "Bloody hell, mate. This is just not on, d'you understand me? Not on at all. Let's go."
*****
"He's just been being a bit careless," said Healer Radstone, the St. Mungo's psychiatrist. Psychiatrist, noted Arthur. Not Cheering Charms Specialist. "He's taken a few risks he shouldn't have. Unfortunately we've seen this rather a lot since the war; some people get a bit paranoid and over-cautious, others take things a bit too far in the other direction. It's good when they come in before it gets out of hand, like George did," he told them reassuringly. "You should be very proud of him. He's got a good support system, and he's got good insight into his own motivations and danger zones. He'll be fine."
"They were always invincible," said Molly, her voice thick with tears. "How could... they were always so strong, together."
"He's still strong," said Healer Radstone. "This has nothing to do with strength. There are many things he could have coped with; losing his twin just wasn't one of them."
"I should have separated them," said Molly. "Made them be more independent when they were growing up."
"We tried, Molly," said Arthur. "They wouldn't let us. When they were babies, they wouldn't sleep in separate cribs. When they were older, we couldn't take one anywhere without the other one."
"This isn't your fault, Mrs. Weasley," said the Healer gently. "And you won't help George any if you go in there with the attitude that you've done something wrong - or that he has. He's done the responsible thing, coming here."
"But... you won't even tell us why he had to come here. What happened?"
"He simply felt that he couldn't keep himself safe at home. His friend Lee helped him to see that coming in here might be beneficial."
"Why couldn't he come home? We'd take care of him--"
"Mrs. Weasley," Radstone broke in. "He's not a child. He doesn't need to be taken care of by his parents. He's a grown man."
"But what can you do that we can't?"
"We can give him a safe place to deal with his grief without feeling as though he has to be careful of anybody else's. No disrespect intended, Mrs. Weasley, but you are also suffering from Fred's loss. George either cannot, or feels he cannot, burden you with his own problems."
"It wouldn't be a burden--"
"Mrs. Weasley," the Healer broke in again, his tone becoming impatient. "I will not allow you to see him if you cannot accept that this is where he wants to be, and needs to be."
Molly swallowed. "Yes. Yes, of course." She cleared her throat. "When can we see him?"
Radstone hesitated. "I would like to suggest that Mr. Weasley come in first. Then you can come in, if it's all right with George."
"Of course," said Arthur, and Molly stared at him. "It'll only take a moment, Molly," he said. "We don't want to overwhelm him, right?"
Molly sat back.
"Come this way," said the Healer, and led Arthur down a short hallway, stopping at the third door. "George?" the Healer said, knocking on the door, then pushed it open to reveal a small, cosy light yellow and white room. George was on his single bed, a copy of The Prophet before him. He sat up as Arthur came in, looking at his father warily.
"George, thank God," said Arthur, and enfolded his son in a hug.
George hugged him back, hard. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said quietly.
Arthur shook his head. "It's all right, you've got nothing to be sorry about." He pulled back a bit, keeping an arm around George's shoulders. "Your mum's here." He paused. "We weren't sure - Healer Radstone and I - if you'd want her to come in."
George frowned. "Why?"
"She's having a difficult time understanding why you're here," he said. "She's not angry at you - far from it. But Healer Radstone wasn't sure it would be a good idea for her to come in. What with her probably wanting to ask you a million questions you might not feel like answering."
George scowled. "Dad, I'm not a complete invalid," he said stiffly. "I can take Mum's questions."
Arthur hesitated. "She'll also most probably ask you to come back to The Burrow."
George's eyes widened and he looked away, obviously trying not to visibly recoil.
"George, you don't have to," said Arthur. "I don't think you should. Unless you want to." George gave him a cautious glance. "It didn't do you any good to be cooped up with us right after the Battle. If this is where you need to be to feel better, I'm behind you. Muggles are very much into going into the hospital when they're having troubles like this, did you know?"
George gave him a small smile. "Yeah, Lee said something like that." He took a deep breath. "You don't mind? That I'm here?"
Arthur shook his head, his throat tight. "Do you want Mum here?"
George nodded.
"All right, then." Arthur stood, going to the door and gesturing to the Healer. Molly made her way into the room, her eyes overflowing as soon as she saw George.
"Georgie," she whispered, and took him into her arms.
*****
"You'll come visit tomorrow?" said Fred, his tone too casual to be casual. Though George was sure that if called on it, Fred would attribute the tone to all the hair that was supposed to be on his head growing out of his nose instead.
"Yeah," said George. "Of course."
"Going to be dead boring here," Lee sympathized. "Weird that nobody's here overnight tonight. Every time I've stayed over, there's been at least three other kids here too."
"Ah, it'll give me time to be alone with my thoughts," said Fred with a barely-visible grin.
"You gonna use your left hand or your right hand for that?" said Lee.
"Weasley, Jordan, it's past time to clear off," Madam Pomfrey called from her desk. "Go on with you now."
George and Lee nodded and turned to go, but George stopped short of the door. "Oh, hang on - no, actually, go on ahead, Lee, I'll be right there, only we have to agree on what we're going to tell Mum."
Lee nodded and gave Fred a wave and then headed out.
"You'll be all right?" George asked.
"Yeah," said Fred cheerfully
I know you're scared, George wanted to say. I'd be scared. Neither of us has ever slept so far away from everybody else.
But he couldn't. They were twelve. Any of their mates would piss themselves laughing if they suspected either Fred or George was scared of sleeping alone.
Besides, maybe Fred didn't mind.
"Wish you could stay," said Fred. "It'll be deadly dull."
"I could ask," said George.
"Nah, Lee'll be lonely. Go home."
"'Night, Fred."
This was different from George's stay at St. Mungo's at age five. Fred was seven years older than they had been. He would not spend the entire night shaking in terror at the strange sounds, at the wrongness of being in the dark without his twin. And George was not going to go home and then spend the night making everyone around him miserable until the staff agreed to let him stay at the hospital too, the way Fred had.
They were big boys. They could handle a bit of discomfort. Besides, Pomfrey had said Fred would most likely be out tomorrow or the day after, depending on how long it took the potion to work.
He pasted a smile on and ran to catch up with Lee.
*****
Finally, finally, the visit was nearing an end. It was strange, thought George, how he used to love being with other people, especially his family. Now, a two hour visit with his parents had drained him completely.
Mum stood up as the mediwitch on duty tapped her watch. "So, tomorrow when we come--"
George felt a pang of alarm. "No, Mum it's all right. You don't need to visit every day."
"Oh don't worry, dear, it's no bother."
"By which I mean I'd really rather you don't."
Silence.
"Oh."
George winced at the hurt in his mother's voice. "Damn. Sorry, I'm - they've got me on all sorts of potions, I'm a bit off." He cleared his throat. "Another reason you probably shouldn't come visit too much."
"What are they giving you?"
George shrugged. "Things to make me want to eat again, help me sleep." Help me not want to drink.
"That's good, dear. That's good."
"I'm pretty tired, Mum. I'm glad you came, but... not too much all at once, yeah?"
"But everyone... everyone has asked to see you. Can they..."
"Mum, I don't know, I'm... I'd really rather not. I mean, if it's Percy or Ron, that's all right. But honestly, other than that, I'd really rather not. I'll see everyone when I get out."
"When will you get out?"
George shrugged. "I dunno, Mum. Whenever the Healers say it's a good idea." Can't make a guess about that, don't have a lot of experience being locked up in a mental ward, he thought, but had the good sense not to say out loud.
Molly nodded. "All right, dear. That's... that's something to look forward to then, all right?"
George nodded tiredly. Look forward to. Yes.
*****
"You weren't intentionally hurting yourself, which is good," said the Healer Radstone at George's first session after being fully assessed. "You were doing what you have always done, at work at least, which is also good. I'm not calling this a case of self-harm."
George frowned. "Is that good or bad?"
"Well, self-harm is a serious thing. People do it for many reasons. For example, to stop the pain they feel inside by replacing it with pain they feel outside; or to feel as though they have some control over their lives, if only with respect to the pain they can cause themselves; or to punish themselves for perceived failures. All sorts of reasons, really."
George gave him a skeptical look.
"I don't think those reasons apply here. You simply continued to do what you have always done, but with less concern for health and safety than before."
"You mean... because we always almost killed ourselves in the lab as a regular part of our lives, I'm not a nutter? And that's a good thing?"
The psychiatrist pressed his lips together. "I wouldn't put it quite like that."
"I am a nutter, then."
Radstone rolled his eyes. "No, that isn't what I meant. What I meant is that it would be somewhat more concerning to me if you had gone from never hurting yourself, to doing so deliberately."
"All right. So having 'less concern for health and safety' is better, then?"
The psychiatrist looked rather uncomfortable. "I wouldn't say that, necessarily. You could have done yourself serious permanent damage." He paused, fidgeting with his quill. "Unfortunately, we'll both simply have to excuse my inexperience here; wizarding psychiatry is in its infancy, and a lot of what I'm working with comes from Muggle research and practice. Which does not, strictly speaking, always translate well into our world."
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, the thing is, risk-taking and self-harm of this type in a Muggle would be cause for much alarm, as Muggles cannot heal as we do. That said, perhaps it's more alarming because you could have healed yourself, and didn't."
"I'm not terribly good at Healing charms. And I'd already been here too many times."
"Yes, fair enough. Also, what you were doing was something fairly easy for you to justify to yourself as simply going about with daily business. If you were, say, cutting yourself, there would be no excuse for it, but the fact that testing products is part of your livelihood..." he sighed.
"You don't know what the hell to think, do you?"
Radstone pressed his lips together. "No. I don't."
"Are there any other wizard psychiatrists you could go to for a second opinion?"
"I am the only wizard currently practicing psychiatry," said Radstone with a thin smile. "So, no."
George nodded. "Marvellous."
*****
It was good to not be in the shop. It was good to not have to deal with relatives dropping in on him randomly, and he'd insisted on a maximum of one visit per day. Ron and Percy had been all right; Mum, not so much. Plus apparently she was on a tear because it seemed quite a few people had suspected he'd been in trouble, but she hadn't seen it, and apparently it was their fault for not telling her.
And then The Prophet got in on it.
Hogwarts Hero in Trouble? Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Surviving Owner Checks In to St. Mungo's!
George groaned as he caught the headline at breakfast. It was on page three, so hopefully it wouldn't be read by everybody and their Kneazle, but still. That was going to make a bit of a dent in their business. He pushed away his breakfast and went back to bed, only to be wakened an hour later by an apologetic mediwitch saying that Verity had sent an urgent message: they needed to access the vault to buy more ingredients, since there had been a huge surge in customers.
Any publicity is good publicity, thought George bleakly. The idea of anyone buying his products because they thought he was a tragic nutcase was more than he could stomach, so he signed off on the Gringott's authorization, took another sleeping draught, and went off.
He woke up to see Lee at his bedside.
"Oh God, not another visit." He rolled over and covered his head with his pillow.
There was a silence. "I've been told that if you don't toss the visitor out of the room, it means you don't really want them to leave," said Lee.
George chuckled tiredly.
"So you don't want me to leave?"
"No, you may as well stay. Won't be much entertainment, though."
"No?"
"No. Too many sleeping potions."
They were silent.
"You saw the papers, yeah?" George asked, his voice muffled.
Lee groaned. "Yes." He hesitated. "Are you angry at me?"
This was so bizarre that George turned over in bed. "What?"
"For getting you to come here."
George blinked. "Merlin, Jordan, for a moment there I thought you'd gone to the papers. No, mate, of course I'm not angry at you. Don't be daft."
Lee let out his breath. "You all right?"
"Dunno." He turned over again. "Least I'm not flirting with death in the testing lab every day, yeah? Because in retrospect even I can recognize that dying of a botched Wheeze might be a little embarrassing. But I'm bored as hell."
"What are you doing?"
"Trying different potions. Charms. Talking with the psychiatrist."
"Any of it helping?"
"S'ppose so," he said listlessly. "'M on some potion, s'posed to be relaxing. If I get any more relaxed I'll be in a coma."
"How's the psychiatrist?"
"Decent bloke. Says apparently I miss Fred. So glad St. Mungo's has a psychiatrist now, or they'd never have been able to figure it out."
Lee chuckled.
"Merlin, c'n you picture Fred in a place like this?" George asked, his voice very low.
Lee shook his head. "Not unless you'd snuffed it instead of him."
George snorted. "He wouldn't have ended up here."
"You don't think so?"
"He would've been a lot better able to deal with it."
Lee shook his head. "I can't believe I'm actually telling you something you don't know about Fred, but you're wrong, mate. He was worried about you, scared pissless that you'd die, and leave him alone. I believe his words were, 'He'd be able to go on, I wouldn't.' He told me he knew what his Boggart would look like, and it wasn't Madam Pince's knickers any more."
"He told you that? When?"
"Yeah. After your ear. He talked to me a few times."
George blinked. "I knew that. Don't know how I knew that." He sighed. "I always thought he was a lot stronger than me."
"No, but apparently he was a lot wiser than you."
George shrugged.
"How's it going, in here? D'you feel any better?"
Ah, the question everyone wanted to know. Was he better. "I don't have to deal with the shop. That's nice."
"Are they making you eat?"
George grimaced. "Ugh, yeah."
"Well, that's good, isn't it?"
He didn't know what was supposed to make things better in here, though the potions and the sleep and the lack of responsibility were supposed to be 'refreshing' and 'healing'. And everyone was being cautious and supportive and that was also supposed to help, and he was going to hex somebody before much longer.
He needed to get out of here. He needed to just appreciate that he'd been able to rest for a while, get some steady, dreamless sleep, and solid food. He needed to stop hoping St. Mungo's would be able to help him feel like he used to, before. Stop hoping for something that wasn't going to happen and just be grateful for the respite he'd had, and go back to his life. No matter how buggered up that life was.
"I think... I think I'm going to ask to go home," he said.
Lee's eyebrows went up. "You're serious?"
"I've been here two weeks," he pointed out.
"And you feel you're better?" Lee said skeptically.
"Healer Radstone thinks I'm better. I think."
"Well, if he say it's all right, maybe you're right," Lee said slowly.
George nodded, reassuring himself. He'd tried. He'd given this a shot. And he did feel better. He did.
Half-dead was still half-alive, right? He supposed it would have to be enough.
October
"All I'm asking for is to get out of the next two days, all right?" said Ron tiredly. "I'll make it up, I swear. I wouldn't ask, only--"
"I know, Weasley," said Auror Geffen, idly tapping his gold-nib quill against his inkpot. "You've been putting in longer hours at the shop while your brother's been... away."
Ron found himself biting his lip not to snap at the man. 'Away'; a polite word for 'locked up on the mental ward'. "Yeah."
"He's out, now, though, I heard," said Geffen.
Heard through the bloody Prophet, and Ron was some day going to torch their offices if there was any way he could make it look like an accident. "Yeah."
"He's been back for two days," said Geffen. "And yet you're still asking for time off? And your partner agrees with the request?"
"It's just while George is getting back on his feet," said Harry. "It's only been two days."
"I understand," said Geffen, leaning back in his chair. "We all understand it's been difficult for you all." Ron pressed his lips together and swore once more that if he ever found out who'd leaked the story to the paper he was going to use all that the Aurors had trained him in to make them pay. "I do understand that you want to be there for him. But--"
"Look, I'm just saying that I need--"
"Look, Weasley, if you don't want this job," said Geffen, "we can certainly get somebody else to fill it."
"You're firing me?!" Ron said, his voice rising in disbelief. Beside him, Harry leaned forward, his hackles immediately rising, and for a brief moment Ron could practically hear him growl in protective anger.
Geffen shook his head, but leaned forward earnestly as well. "That's not what I meant. But we need you here, Ron. We're short-staffed as it is, and if this isn't going to be your top priority then you need to--"
"You know what?" Ron stood up, suddenly feeling perfectly calm. "You're right. It's not my top priority." He started to unbutton his Auror robes.
Geffen and Harry gaped at him.
"I beg your pardon?" Geffen finally said.
"It's not my top priority," said Ron, handing over the robe and Trainee badge he'd worked so hard to get. "It's not going to be, not for a long time, possibly not ever. If things aren't working out, I know which commitment I need to drop, and it's bloody well not my brother."
"Ron," Harry began.
"You're short-staffed among the Aurors?" Ron said to Geffen, ignoring Harry. "Well, guess what. We're a little short-staffed among the Weasley siblings; we kind of lost one seventh of our workforce, and it shows. And George is a bit short-staffed too, what with having lost one hundred per cent of his partners at the shop."
"Weasley," Geffen began, putting up a conciliatory hand, "you can't - you know how badly the wizarding world needs people like--"
"NO!" Ron slammed his hand down on Geffen's immaculate desk, suddenly furious, and Geffen and Harry jumped. "Don't you dare try to guilt me into tossing over family for your precious job! My family has given enough already! Go find yourself another poster-boy recruit. I quit."
He turned on his heel and walked out of the Geffen's office, Harry scrambling to get up and follow him.
"Ron, wait!"
"No. I'm done."
"You can't--"
"Yes I can."
Harry grabbed his arm, spinning him around. "All right, yes you can," he said. "And you have every right to, and you're probably right." Ron's eyebrows went up. "Mate, you know I'm behind you, no matter what you do, yeah?"
Ron let out his breath. "Yeah."
Harry nodded. "Only, let me... let me talk to him for you, all right?" He put up a hand as Ron opened his mouth. "Not so he'll let you stay. I told you, I agree with you. If you really feel you need to quit so you can be there for George, I'm behind you all the way. Only don't burn your bridges."
Ron hesitated.
"You've wanted to be an Auror for a long time, Ron," Harry pointed out. "So what if you can't keep going in this training session? There'll be other sessions."
Ron thought for a moment and then nodded.
Harry gave him a smile. "All right then. I'll go talk to Geffen. I'll see you tonight?"
Ron nodded, and turned to go.
He had quit, he thought as he made his way out of the almost-deserted Ministry. Up and quit, no longer training, no longer going to see Harry every day, no longer going to study whenever he got a spare moment. No Illegal Potions exam to study for tomorrow. No Disguises class, no Restraining charms to recite in the loo and in the shower, no Non-Magical Combat to train for.
He checked his watch. Almost ten. George would be closing up soon. He went through the Floo and into Diagon Alley, slowing as his steps brought him closer to Wheezes, realizing he was none too sure how he was going to explain his presence here. Bracing himself, he stepped in, the noise and laughter of Wheezes warming him, and glanced around for George or Naomi.
"Mr. Weasley!" Naomi called out to him, and he turned to see her charming away a pair of donkey ears from a giggling child, to his mother's evident relief, and handing the mother a bag full of Ear-Ring Surprises. "I thought you were observing the night shift this week?"
"I was. How was business?"
"Busy. Got a group of tourists from Spain; apparently Wheezes are becoming famous in Madrid. They wanted to see our Paella Portkeys."
"Where's George?"
Naomi's smile faltered slightly. "He's... in the lab."
Ron frowned. "Is he all right?"
Naomi looked away. "It wasn't a bad day, mostly," she said quietly. "Only about an hour ago three kids came in and started using the Decoy Detonators, playing War. Re-enacting the Battle at Hogwarts."
Ron winced.
"They're kids, you know. Kids play war games. Mr. Weasley didn't get angry at them or anything, just told them they'd have to pay for any merchandise they used. And then two of them were pretending to be Death Eaters and 'killed' the one playing Auror, and..." she shook her head.
"What happened?"
"It was their mum," said Naomi. "Stepped in and told them off, asked how could they make a game of it, how would they feel if they'd lost one of them for real. And how could they play that here, of all places, where poor Mr. Weasley had lost his brother. Said it was an insult to both twins - and to all of you, and your parents - and Mr. Weasley tried to get her to stop, but she was relentless. Made them apologize to him. Even made the littlest one cry."
Ron groaned, picturing George's face at that.
"Mr. Weasley was all right; seemed to be, anyway. Stayed for an hour or so. Finally went into the lab a few minutes ago, but he wasn't looking so good."
Ron nodded worriedly, and headed towards the lab. He paused before the door, noting a distinct lack of explosions from the other side of it. He tapped on the door, and eased it open slowly.
"George?" Ron's eyes adjusted to the gloom and he sighed as he spotted George, at the work table, head buried in his arms, shoulders shaking.
"George." Ron sank down and put an arm around him, and rested his chin on George's shoulder. "No, come on, just let it out," he said quietly, as George tried to suppress his tears.
George made a noise in his throat and shook with sobs again. Ron held him, letting him cry until he couldn't any more, until all that were left were soft shuddering breaths, the calm after the storm.
This was bollocks, thought Ron, his own throat aching. George had been in the bloody hospital for weeks, and was still beyond miserable. Why couldn't they do something for him? Make this better, somehow? Sometimes it seemed like all the hospital had done was make him more fragile. The brother Ron had known never would've burst into tears over a stupid customer in the shop. Never would've let Ron see him cry.
The brother he'd known wasn't ever going to come back, Ron was starting to realize. He'd begun to suspect it not long after the Battle, but it was finally beginning to sink in. He wiped his own eyes, and sent his mind in another direction.
"You all right?" he said once George had been quiet for a while.
George shook his head. "Bad day," he said, his voice still muffled by his arms.
"Naomi told me about the kids playing Battle of Hogwarts."
George shook his head again. "Wasn't just them. Just a bad day in general."
"You're taking your Cheering Potions?"
George nodded, sitting up and wiping at his eyes, his chest still shuddering a bit. "They don't seem to do much good."
"You know they said at the hospital, it'll take time."
"Sod the bloody hospital," George muttered. "Useless tits."
Ron gave him a sympathetic clap on the back and then stood up. "Come on. It's almost closing, Naomi can handle the place. I'll make us some soup or something and get you to bed."
"No, I'm all right, only--"
"Shut it. You're not all right, neither am I, and I don't feel like arguing with you while you do your macho 'I can take care of myself' rubbish. I'm going to put you to bed and then I'm going to finish up the trollbogey potions, we're going to run out otherwise."
"That'll take hours."
"Let me worry about that, all right?"
"Hang on, aren't you supposed to be on night shift at the Ministry?"
"Will you bloody well shut up," Ron said irritably. "And let me do my fucking job. Eat the soup I make, go to bed, and let me not worry about you for one bloody night. Oh bugger, I'm turning into Mum, this is depressing."
George chuckled, standing up. "You have a hero thing, do you?"
"I've been hanging around with Harry too long, mate. It's catching. You'd better watch yourself or you'll find yourself doing it too."
"Don't think so," said George glumly. "Can't even save myself."
Ron nodded wearily, and headed up the stairs.
"Ron." George opened the door to the flat. "Look, all right, I'll go to bed, but you need to get some sleep too. You can't go into class tomorrow, feeling like shit run over by a troll, and get all confused about which parchments to fill in for faulty-cauldron-sellers--"
Ron pushed past him and into the flat. "Look, I told you--"
"And if you get hurt in Non-Magical Combat because you were working here and not getting enough rest, Mum'll kill me."
Ron finally stopped and turned around, annoyed. "All right, yeah, about that. I sort of... quit the Aurors today."
George blinked. "What?"
Ron shrugged. "Wasn't working out. They only wanted me as a poster boy anyway. Present a good face to the public, show things are getting done."
"You quit? Seriously?"
Ron went to the pantry, looking for soup ingredients. "It was getting on my nerves."
George followed him slowly. "What happened?"
Ron cleared his throat. "Geffen told me I had to get my priorities straight. So I did."
George gaped at him. "Working here? Instead of being an Auror? Why?"
Ron set his jaw. "Look, you're welcome to toss me out whenever you don't need me any more, I'll find another job. But right now, you need me."
"I can get somebody else to--"
"To help you stock, yeah. And follow directions and maybe help with the customers. You need more help than that, George."
George looked away.
"Even if everything was working just fine with you, you'd need somebody else here. Fred didn't just follow directions and he didn't just chat up the customers. He invented and he helped troubleshoot and he kept the books and did advertising and put in insanely long hours. I can't do most of what he did, but I can at least try to help. You need me, George."
George sighed.
"What?" said Ron.
"Why do you care?" George said softly. "You've got your own life to lead, you've got Hermione and Harry missing you, your Auror Training's suffered--"
Ron was suddenly right pissed. "Why the hell do you think I'm here, then? He was my brother too, you know!"
George's eyebrows went up. "I never said he wasn't."
"He didn't just fight for an end to Voldemort. He wanted a world where people could laugh. He died for this-" Ron swept his arm in a wide arc, taking in the shop. "We have to live for it. I can't bring him back, but I'll be damned if I stand by and watch what he built fall apart because you can't do the work of two people. I know I'm not him. But I'm doing this for him." He paused. "Besides, he'd never forgive me - or any of us - if anything happened to you."
*****
"Where do we start?" asked George, as the Gryffindor common room erupted into a buzz of fear and speculation.
"Start what?" asked Percy, still staring at the Gryffindor common room's door, where McGonagall had just stepped out.
"Looking for Ginny," said Fred.
"What?!" said Percy, turning to the twins. "Are you mad?"
"She's been taken by some bloody monster, Percy!" said Fred. "She's our responsibility; we have to try to find her!"
"McGonagall told us to stay here," said Percy firmly, his pale face flushing.
"To hell with that," said George.
"I'll go get the map," said Fred.
"What map? Where are you going?" Percy said, stepping in front of them as they headed for the boys' dorm rooms. The common room grew quieter as the other students started to notice their conflict.
"To our room," Fred said, pushing him away. Percy stepped in front of them again.
"You are not going anywhere," he said. "We were told to stay in our Houses."
"Ron and Harry must know something, yeah?" said Fred to George, ignoring Percy. "That's why they disappeared."
"Yes, Ron and Harry disappeared," said Percy. "And that's also why there's a teacher outside our tower, guarding us, and teachers looking for them too. Taking valuable resources away from the search for Ginny. You cannot compound their error."
"Percy, drop the Prefect crap, and grow some balls!" said Fred. "She's your sister too! How can you stand there and--"
"I can stand here because I was told to!" Percy shot back. "Going off half-cocked and making more trouble is not bravery. It's foolishness." He paused. "Besides, we don't know that Harry and Ron went to look for her."
"What else would they be doing?"
Percy glared at them. "You think it's a joke, don't you? That Harry may be the Heir of Slytherin? What if he is? What if he's got both Ginny and Ron?"
George and Fred gaped at him, speechless for a moment.
"Are you serious?" Fred finally asked.
"He can talk to snakes. His behaviour has been very suspicious."
"Harry is not the enemy, you pompous prick!" said Fred furiously.
"Shut your gob!" added George.
"Sit down!" Percy said loudly, grabbing George's shoulder and pushing him towards the common room couches, and now the entire Gryffindor common room was frozen, watching the three of them.
"We're supposed to be Gryffindors!" Fred shouted. "When there's something like this going on, we're supposed to go to battle, not sit safe and wait for other people to save us!"
"It's not a question of courage! It's a question of not making things worse, the way Ron and Harry may have done!"
"They're helping!"
"Because of them, there is a teacher who can't be out looking for Ginny, but has to stay here instead and guard us in case any of us get the brilliant idea to follow them. Guard you, I should say, because they know that I know better!"
"You'd just let our sister get killed because you're a Prefect--"
"SHUT UP!!" shouted Percy. "I want to go look for her, do you think I don't? She's my sister too! And I'm a Prefect, I'm sure if I asked, they'd let me! But instead, I have to sit and babysit the two of you--"
"We don't need your fucking babysitting," said George. "And you bloody well can't make us--"
"You are going to stay here if I have to put you in a body bind," said Percy.
"Oh yeah?" sneered Fred, and moved to take his wand out, but before he could even complete the move Percy made a quick movement and then there they were, both of them rooted to the spot, their hands bound behind them, their wands in Percy's hand.
"PERCY! You fucking weasel, let us out!" yelled Fred, struggling.
"NEWT-level Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Percy grimly, then performed a few more passes and put the twins behind a shield. He turned to the Quidditch team, Oliver and Katie and Angelina and Alicia all standing together and glaring at him. "And don't think for a moment I won't put a bind on the rest of you, too, if you make any move towards them!"
"Some day we won't be kids," said Fred angrily. "And nobody will be able to tell us to just sit still and wait. Some day, we'll be able to fight. Like Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon."
"Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon died, you idiot!" said Percy.
"I'd rather do what's right and die young than die an old man who never did a bloody thing because he didn't have the guts!"
"What is it Dad says?" said George. "A coward dies a thousand deaths. The brave man only dies once."
"Quoting Dad's Muggle authors, George," said Percy, his lip curled into a sneer. "Good for you. Did Shakespeare say anything about an idiot who dies for nothing?"
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10