Gift Fic for the Community (Part 9/10)

[hpgeorgemods]

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:: (9900 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!!



*****

"This all sounds rather bleak," said Percy as Healer Lethe concluded her preliminary report. He was visiting George, who hadn't objected when the Healer had asked if it was all right to speak with him present. Because who cared, really. It wasn't like his family had ever had any sense of privacy even in the best of times, and the concept had entirely gone out the window with George's hospitalization.

"I've seldom seen a bond this strong," Lethe said, "and I have worked with many twins. A strong bond would normally be a very good thing. The more powerful the bond, the better magic works; it becomes greater than the sum of its parts. The success of your shop, for example; there was a great deal of hard work and creativity that went into, but it also benefited from the strength of your combined magic. Upon the death of one of the twins, however..."

Tell me something new, George wanted to say, but couldn't be arsed to. He gazed out the window of the small corner of the common room that the Healer had brought them to. Somebody had spelled the windows to show a lakeside beach in summer, of all things. Judging from Percy's heavy robes, it was freezing cold outside, but outside this window, teenagers were playing Mermaid Madness in the shallow water. It was pretty enough, but in terms of not confusing some of the poor sods who lived on this floor...

"So I take it a strong bond isn't a good thing in terms of making George better?" asked Percy.

"Unfortunately, no."

"How do you quantify the strength of the bond?"

"Partly by magical means, measuring George's aura, seeing how much of his magic is being interfered with, and examining Wheezes products he's made since Fred's death. Partly by talking to all of you. There are also other tests..."

George yawned, not terribly interested. Funny how having tried to off oneself, and being locked up inside the Nutter Ward, markedly diminished one's ability to give a damn about anything. Some days he didn't even bother to get out of bed, though he did have to admit that having someone who might know how to help was making him feel a bit better despite everything.

"...did already know before talking to you that it was likely to be fairly strong," Lethe was saying, and George tried to show some semblance of interest. "Just because of you being here, and knowing a few basic facts about your life circumstances. Normally the separation of magic is helped along by events that change a person's aura, especially rites of passage having to do with growth. The basic ones we track are puberty, age of majority, living apart, loss of virginity, marriage, and the birth of the first child. So that would mean that you - unless either of you was secretly married or had fathered children?" George shook his head. "You only had three of the major six rites of passage, so--"

"Two," George corrected her dully.

"Pardon?"

"Puberty and age of majority. Fred was a virgin when he died. So am I."

There was an awkward pause. "You're twenty years old."

"I noticed. Late bloomers. Thanks for pointing it out, by the way."

"What..."

"We'd both done just about everything but," said George, and smiled slightly, remembering Fleur's Veela cousins. "But neither one of us had found anyone special yet." And bloody hell, of all the times they could have chosen to listen to Mum's advice, they had to listen to her when she told them to be gentlemen when it came to girls.

"Why should it matter?" Percy asked Lethe.

"It doesn't, obviously, unless it matters to you. If the age of majority were twenty-one, for example, you wouldn't have that. As for loss of virginity, it probably wouldn't matter overall, if it didn't matter to you." Lethe paused. "Did it?"

George lowered his head. "Yeah. It did." He sighed deeply. "You know, if Fred wasn't already dead, I'd kill him."

"Why?"

"Oh..." George thought for a long moment. Then he shrugged. "He'd probably kill me for sharing, but that would be a neat trick." He took a deep breath. "After I lost my ear, he was... he was different. We didn't talk about it much, but it upset him. One night I decided I'd had enough of him being all careful and quiet," George had to smile at Percy's reaction to his description of Fred as quiet, "and said we were going to go out." He bit his lip. "And pick up."

"I take it you didn't," said Percy.

"He talked me out of it. Gallant sod. Didn't do either of us any good, apparently."

"And not since?"

"Since Fred died, and I spent weeks at The Burrow and then worked day and night at the shop and got hospitalized twice? Surprisingly, no. Dating opportunities have been few and far between."

Percy nodded. "There's plenty of time for that kind of thing. I'm sure you'll meet a nice girl some day and--"

"In here?" George blinked. "Well there's Marie Antoinette, she keeps begging me to play Louis XVI with her. And there's Phylicia, she's a wonderful girl - thinks she's a teapot most of the time, of course - but quite charming. You can probably fill in your own brewing and warming up and pouring innuendos without me. That's a smashing idea, Perce. Probably shouldn't say 'smashing' around Phylicia though. Not if I hope to get lucky with her, anyway." He chuckled bitterly. "In the meantime, I'll just stay pissed off at Fred."

"You know, anger at the person who has died is often a normal part of mourning," said Lethe. George rolled his eyes. "I will do a bit more work and finish testing a few more Wheezes. I will see you in a week or so, with my prognosis and recommendations." She got up and excused herself.

George watched the door swing shut behind her. "I swear if that woman says 'It's a normal part of the grieving process' one more time I'll..." he trailed off.

"You'll what?" asked Percy.

George chuckled. "Come to think of it, it might be that she's a brilliant Healer and this is all part of her master plan. Because I was about to say I'll stop thinking of slitting my own wrists and concentrate on trying to slit hers."

Percy made a small sound of distress. "How can you joke about that?"

"Hey, days when suicide is a passing thought are pretty good days."

"Why is that?"

"Because then it passes," George said tersely.

He gazed out at the beach, at the children playing around the bushes, and wondered where the scene he was watching came from. Somewhere not British, from the preponderance of dark hair and light tan skin on the children playing. Looked like somewhere he wouldn't mind going.

He sighed. "You know, it's too bad we didn't have a wake for Fred," he mused. "He would've wanted one. A party. I couldn't, at the time, but it doesn't seem right to never have done it at all."

"It's all right. I'm sure he would've understood." Percy paused. "I wish he was here right now," he said, his voice low. "It's for damn sure he'd be a lot more help here than I am."

George looked away from him. "You know... back when I said... what I said, to you, at The Burrow." Percy nodded; it wasn't as though either of them needed George to repeat it. "I didn't just wish that about you. I've wished all of you had, at one point or another. I'd look at Mum and Dad and think, we would've missed them, but you know you have to lose your parents some day. Bill, Charlie, Ron, Ginny - all of you. I felt like shit, thinking that about the people who loved me."

Percy sighed. "You're not shit. You're human."

"Don't feel like I am any more. I feel like I'm... half alive, not even that. I can't concentrate on anything, everything's wrong. I don't know who I am and I don't know what to do, and I don't know how to get rid of this and I'm starting to hate him, really hate him. I think I'm going mental, which isn't a long trip, but it's scary." He turned away from the beach scene and dropped his head into his hands. "God, I can't live here for the rest of my life," he said, his voice muffled.

Percy pushed his glasses up his nose nervously. "The Healer will have a recommendation in just a few days. Things will get better after that."

"Yeah? What if they don't?"

*****

"And she wanted to?" Lee had said eagerly.

"Yeah."

"And you didn't," said George.

Fred had blinked. "Didn't want to? I think everything's in working order, of course I wanted to."

"But you didn't do it?"

"Why not?" Lee had asked, baffled.

"Because... I dunno, I just think it should mean more than just having fun. It's supposed to be something you do with somebody you love. It's supposed to be, I dunno, special." Fred had gone from pale to pink to maroon by the end, and George and Lee had teased him mercilessly for days. It hadn't been until Fred had muttered something like, 'See if I ever say anything sensitive around you two wankers again' that they'd relented.

"No, come on, we're just having fun," said George.

"So why do I feel like Percy around here lately?"

George choked, but tried to put his serious face on. "Serious face," he said. "No, I'm not yanking your wand. I think the same thing. I'd like to, but... I can wait."

"Not like you'll get the chance," Fred said, still somewhat peeved.

George narrowed his eyes. "Yeah? Who got to feel up Margie Petrie last year?"

"Last year? I dunno, that was so long ago. Who got to feel up Angelina last week?"

"I dunno, I heard it was some poor pathetic git who hadn't even snogged anyone until last week."

Lee crowed with laughter and Fred threw a pillow in George's general direction.

"Shut up."

"I would have to say this round goes to George," said Lee.

"You shut up too," muttered Fred, chuckling despite himself.

*****

Well, there you go, thought George, as he panted underneath Marie Antoinette. One more thing that wasn't supposed to happen the way it did. Score one for Rites of Passage. He helped Marie get off his lap and started to pull up his trousers.

"Oh now that was spectacular." Marie pulled her ruffled knickers back up and re-tied her corset. She yawned. "The Earth didn't exactly move, did it, Milord?"

"Not really," said George.

"Anyone would think you were a bloody virgin."

"I was."

Marie laughed derisively. "Right."

He shrugged, pulling his shirt back on.

"You're not serious. Really?"

"Yeah."

Marie raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. "So. Everything you'd hoped it would be?"

"No." He stood and buttoned his trousers, tucking in his shirt.

"Cheeky. I would've expected more thanks from a young boy I just initiated into manhood."

He laughed humourlessly. "You didn't initiate anything. I've been a man for a while. Just hadn't had sex. Now I have. Thanks, by the way." He left her room, heading for the shower. He quickly stripped down and stepped into the hot water, and sighed in appreciation as the water sluiced away Marie's cloying vanilla perfume.

So, was that what you wanted?

He shrugged, rinsing his hair.

Why?

Why not?

You wanted to wait for someone special.

She's certainly special, mate. Not a lot of birds literally believe they're a reincarnated French Queen, yeah?

Special in a good way, George.

He slid down the wall of the shower stall and sat on the floor, arms around his knees, eyes closed and face turned up into the comforting spray.

George?

You waited. Didn't do you much good, did it?

*****

"No, seriously. Let's go get drunk. It's been a while."

"Nah, I'm going to bed," said Fred.

"It's Friday night."

"Delivery tomorrow at eight," Fred reminded him. "Go on your own, if you want to."

"Without you? Not a chance. I can't pick up on my own, I'm earless!"

Fred's eyebrows went up. "You're going to pick up?"

"Why not? Might as well. The end is nigh, eat drink and be merry and... do other things, and all that, right?"

"Like what other things?"

George grew serious. "I don't think I want to die a virgin."

Fred's mouth dropped open.

George smirked. "What? You do?"

"You're not going to die, Lugless," Fred said slowly.

"I could've." George moved to the window, looking out at Diagon's busy night-time bustle below. "So could you."

"You're not going to die."

"Can you guarantee that?"

"I'll kick your arse and take off your other ear if you do, and they'll have to bury you earless."

George laughed.

"Look, if being afraid of death is the only reason you want to go find somebody tonight--"

"That's not the only reason," said George.

"What else?"

"Come on, mate, you're not that much of a monk. It's been a tough year. It's going to get tougher. Seize the day, you know? And enjoy what life gives you. And unless Lee - and everybody else - is a hell of a liar, we've been missing out on a very nice part of life for nineteen years."

"We'll have time for that," Fred said quietly. "I want it to be with someone I love. Or even someone I like. Not some anonymous tart I meet at the Leaky because my earless brother's suddenly gained respect for the concept of death and I don't want him to forever lord it over me that he's Done It and I haven't." He stirred his tea. "If you want to, go ahead. I'm staying home. The reasons I had are just the same now as they were before."

George sat back down. "Fine. I don't really want to anyway."

Fred smirked.

"All right, yes I want to. I won't, though."

"Nineteen's not that old, you know," said Fred.

"We're almost twenty."

"Yeah, and wizards live a bloody long time," said Fred. "We've already done loads more than most people our age. So what if we haven't done that one particular thing? We've got plenty of time."

*****

So, he wasn't crazy after all, mused George as he stared out the window of the Janus Thickey Ward onto a scene of people skiing down a dark slope. Looked like somewhere in Scandinavia, maybe. He was relatively sane; he just had part of a dead twin embedded in his brain and that was part of what was making him want, so badly, to die. He wasn't crazy, and he shouldn't be here, locked up among blokes who tried to eat the furniture, or birds who thought they were kitchenware. He shouldn't be next door neighbour to a handsome, charming idiot who signed his name onto anything that stood still long enough, and he shouldn't have Neville's mum giving him gum wrappers. He shouldn't be here; he should be out there, living his pointless life.

No, he shouldn't. He should be with Fred - the real Fred, not Fred-in-his-head.

Instead, he was locked up for his own protection, because of Fred. He hated Fred, sometimes. For leaving behind a complete mess. For doing his part in not allowing them to separate while they were alive, and for not somehow letting George know that he had to stay at Hogwarts until Fred was well and truly gone. For making George who he was, since who he was didn't work at all without Fred.

"George?" said Luna softly, coming into the empty common room.

George didn't turn from the window. "Yeah?"

"I don't want to be alone," she said. "Can I sit here?" George nodded absently. "Good. I think there are Grindylows in my sink."

George looked at her askance. "Really?"

"No, not really. Dad thinks so, though. I don't think they'll be letting him out any time soon."

She drew a chair close to him and sat down, gazing at the skiers with interest.

She was so crazy. So bloody crazy. And Fred had liked her. Which was probably why George found himself attracted to her these days. Same with Angelina, and Hermione. Fred's unconscious desires, making themselves known through George. Thanks, mate.

Then again, the pleasant feeling he got around Luna was pretty much the only bright spot in this stupid ward. And crazy as she was, her fears and anxieties were pretty normal compared to other people here.

George leaned his forehead against the window. "Nobody's going to be letting me out any time soon either," he said.

"You never know," said Luna.

"I wouldn't let me out if I were them."

"Don't sound so hopeless," Luna said. "There's always hope."

"Why are you here, then?"

"Because my Dad doesn't think there's hope, and that scares me. Because sometimes I don't either." She paused. "Some days, like today."

"Thought you were supposed to be released again tomorrow," he said.

"I am. Only I don't know how long I'll stay out this time."

George nodded.

"The Quibbler's going under, you know."

George's eyebrows went up. "Is it?"

"Yes. Despite that article you helped to write on the Oily Ooliphaunt. It was immensely popular, you know. Daddy was very pleased, even though he still thinks we're wrong and it does exist." She sighed. "But then he thought the parchment makers we used were trying to resurrect You-Know-Who through Cartoon Magic, and the next issue didn't come out, and now..." she trailed off.

"I'm glad I could help, for what it's worth," said George. "It was interesting."

"Was it?" Luna tilted her head at him. "I'd thought you might be bored."

"No, I always liked doing research."

She nodded. "You're very good at it. Have you done a lot?"

"Mostly for Wheezes. Although I found myself doing some research with Hermione for myself, when my magic went wonky."

"Did you figure it out?"

"No, and we never would've. It was the Fred thing."

Luna nodded. "Ah, yes, I suppose so."

He watched a skier take a tumble and thought of Hermione and the odd interest he'd felt for her, in the Hogwarts library. Well, that was one feeling at least that could be safely ascribed to Fred and put away. Luna was quirky and unique and he might have felt some attraction to her all on his own, without Fred's influence. Hermione had never been more than a friend to him. Besides, she was Ron's girl, and had helped bring him into the hospital the day he'd tried to kill himself; out of his league, in every conceivable way.

"Were you really hearing your brother's voice, then?" asked Luna.

"Close enough, yeah."

"Was it comforting at all?"

"Sometimes."

She leaned against him. "I heard my mum once, you know. I heard her voice beyond the veil, in the Department of Mysteries." She gazed into nothingness. "I heard her," she repeated, and he wondered which one of them she was trying to convince. "The ones who love us never really leave us, Harry told me once."

George's lips twitched in a half-smile. "You know who said that to Harry?"

"Who?"

"Sirius Black."

"That's not encouraging," said Luna after a few moments, and for some reason all of a sudden George felt like a bit of a prick. Why had he said that to her? If it helped her to think that way, why not just let her? Who was he to decide what other crazy people should or shouldn't believe? He put an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

"I know you've had sex with some of the women here," said Luna.

George blinked. "Erm. Yeah?"

"Why haven't you asked me?" asked Luna, and he looked down at her, surprised.

"You? But you're a friend," he blurted. "And you know about the undead-Fred thing; I don't even know if I really want you, or if it's only that Fred did."

Luna blinked. "Did he?"

George opened his mouth and then closed it. "I - yeah, okay, he found you attractive. I don't know if that's why I do. Now. Find you attractive, that is." Merlin, being institutionalized and sort of possessed by your dead twin and trying to have a conversation with Luna Lovegood meant you had no chance of making any sense whatsoever.

"So you are? Attracted to me?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," said George.

"Well, I'm here now. And I keep having to come into the hospital, over and over. I don't know if I'll ever be out of this place for good. I don't know whether I will ever do it. Have sex, that is. With anyone."

"It's really not that big a deal," said George wryly, thinking of all the empty kisses and meaningless embraces he'd had in the corners and broom closets of the ward in the last little while.

"It could be," said Luna. "If it was with a friend."

"Maybe."

She put a hand on his arm. "I'm a friend. I care about you. You care about me."

This was rapidly getting out of hand. "Erm."

"I don't know if it's you or Fred who's attracted to me, but I know there's something there. Do you want to see where it might go?"

George found himself nodding, bemused, and then Luna was moving into his arms. He looked around briefly, seeing if any of the staff were about, but the coast was clear. Mr. Willikins from Room 3 had apparently done his Voldemort Is My Minion And You All Will Die thing again; the mediwizards were likely to leave easy cases like Luna and himself to their own devices for a while.

"I don't know if this is..."

"Shh," said Luna, kissing him. "Don't think."

It actually felt good, holding her. She smelled fresh and clean, the institutional soap they all used overlaid with something like peppermint, and she wasn't likely to start singing La Marseillaise at the top of her voice, like Marie had. Nor suddenly start thinking her skin was disappearing. That was the nice thing about the world of the Janus Thickey Ward: being a suicidally depressed walking mausoleum, or pathologically anxiety-ridden like Luna, was really not all that impressive in the grand scheme of the place.

Luna stood up, holding out her hand, and he stood too, taking it. They made their way to her room, and she closed the door behind her.

"Huh. Mine doesn't close for me," George noted.

"They don't worry about what I'm doing when they can't see me," said Luna. She pulled him closer, took his mouth again, and he melted into her embrace. She stroked his face, her breath coming faster, her eager hands everywhere, and it all felt good, nothing but good - no self-disgust, no sense that he was losing out on yet another thing that should have been wonderful and had instead become nothing but weary plodding through a meaningless act. Just warmth and tingling and the taste of Luna's mouth and a rush of excitement, and joy, coursing through a body that seemed to have forgotten how to feel anything remotely joyful in months.

She lay back onto her bed and pulled him down with her, on top of her, and he smiled as she gasped at the hardness between them. He nuzzled her neck and rocked against her, his body clamouring for release, and ran a hand down to her waist - and then pulled back. "I - no wait," he panted. "Hang on."

"What?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Why would you hurt me?" she said, reaching down.

"Luna." He took a breath, stilling her hand on his fly, forcing himself to ignore the ache that told him to shut up already and just go with it. "Don't you want your first time to be something special?"

Luna nodded.

"I did too," he told her gently. "And after I'd done it, and it wasn't how I'd wanted it to be, I regretted it."

"I won't regret you," said Luna, and kissed the side of his head, near where his ear should have been, sending a shiver down his spine. "I always wanted it to be with somebody who cared about me. Somebody who wouldn't mind that I was different. Somebody who wanted to be with me, not necessarily forever." She pulled him close again. "Someone like you."

George felt his chest tighten. He kissed her, caressing her hair, and moaned as she slipped a hand into his trousers.

"I've never seen one," she said. "Can I?"

He chuckled breathlessly. "Bit difficult not to, unless we could make it dark in here, and considering we're not allowed wands..." He helped her unbutton his trousers, and sighed as the pressure eased a bit. She touched him carefully. He caught his breath as her stroking fingers drew another shiver from him, and tried to stay grounded enough to manage to slip her remaining clothing off of her. He drank in the sight of her, her small breasts heaving, her long hair spread out on the bed, her head thrown back as she pressed herself into his touch.

"Mmm," she hummed happily, then reached down to encircle him with her hand. "It's a lot warmer than I thought. A lot harder." She stroked him, and a groan escaped him. "Does that feel good?"

He laughed and kissed her again. "Oh, you have no idea. Oh! Oh, God, yeah. Very good."

It was so incredibly different, being with her. She was so forthright, and eager to learn, and it was so different, doing this with somebody he actually gave a damn about. She had him laughing with her observations ("I knew they didn't actually turn blue!"), amused at her high-pitched keen when he first tongued her nipple, and charmed by her well-meaning attempts to reciprocate ("But I'm sure I read that was an erogenous zone!"). And when he finally entered her and she gave a slight cry of pain, he caught his breath.

"God, Luna, you all right?"

"Oh yes!" she said. "That didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought - ooh, that's quite nice, isn't it?"

He pulled her close, keeping himself from going too fast, and part of him noted that all the pointless fucking around he'd done in the last little while might not have helped with his little possession problem, and might have felt cheap and tawdry and disappointing, but it wasn't a total loss, if it had taught him enough to be able to make this good for Luna.

And then she was urging him on, putting all her passion and enthusiasm into their kisses and caresses, thrusting up against him and letting go completely, and it was impossible for him not to do the same. He groaned at the feel of her small hands pulling him closer, her warm mouth locking with his, her odd blue eyes closing with delight at what he was doing to her, and thrust hard into her, feeling her body tightening around him. And it was a bloody good thing her door closed, because she was rather loud as she reached completion, and then, to his surprise, so was he, as he was pulled along and let himself do nothing but feel--

"Isn't this worth holding on to?" asked Luna quietly, a long time later, as they rested together. "If you can still enjoy things, doesn't it make you feel like trying to get better?"

George tucked her hair back behind her ear and smiled at her. "It's worth a lot." He had to drop his gaze. "Dunno if it's enough, but it is worth a lot."

She snuggled against him, a contented smile on her lips, and he stroked her hair and tried to not think.

That wasn't so bad, was it?

Oh God Fred, not now.

She didn't make weird chirping sounds, she never once mentioned Peenpoppies...

You're the one who wanted her, not me.

Looked like there was quite a bit of you doing the wanting a few minutes ago, mate. And if you're going to blame me for your sex life, isn't it nicer to blame me for leading you to her bed, rather than the bed of Teapot Woman?

D'you know something? I have it on good authority that it's only me putting words in your mouth; you're about as sentient as a satsuma. I'm not going to listen to you any more.

He held Luna tightly, and closed his eyes.

*****

Dad had had The Talk with all of them at age twelve. Well. No, not really. Dad had The Talk with Bill, and Bill, dutiful big brother that he was, had filled each of the rest of them in at the appropriate time. Except in Fred and George's case, Dad had felt he needed to step in and provide a bit more guidance. Who knew why, but he seemed to feel they couldn't be trusted. Shocking, that.

"You're going to become men, soon," he said, after asking them to come to his shed and help him rebuild a lawn mower. "And sometimes it'll be frustrating and difficult." He examined the blades, marvelling at the way they fit together perfectly, without the use of magic or even eckeltricity. "You're going to feel things and want to do things, and as long as you're not hurting anyone, it's fine. George, lift that piece up, there. I think it's supposed to push the blades around, but it's not moving. What you think and feel and dream, you don't have any control over, so there's no need to be embarrassed. Besides, believe me, other boys are thinking and feeling and dreaming the same things. Fred, can you maybe try to see if that black bit is supposed to go there - careful! Those blades are sharp!"

George had exchanged an amused look with Fred.

"You do have to be careful, though," said Dad.

"I'm not doing anything--" Fred began, and Dad shook his head.

"No, not with the turny-whatsis blades. I mean with girls. Your Mum and I have raised you to be respectful of girls. Every girl you see, whatever you want to do to her is fine. You don't need to be ashamed of feeling it, but before you actually do anything about it, remember that girl is somebody's daughter. Possibly somebody's sister. Whatever you're going to do, before you do it, ask yourself whether you would be able to face her older brothers with a clear conscience afterwards. Imagine each girl has six older brothers, and think about what you would do to any boy who tried any of that with Ginny."

"Merlin, Dad, that's a mental image I really don't think we need," said Fred, grimacing.

"Yeah, that alone is probably enough to put anybody off doing anything," George said, feeling vaguely ill.

Dad laughed. "Excellent. Keep it, then. Oh! That's what was stuck!" He took a clump of grass out from between two of the blades, and they all had to jump back as the blades suddenly spun free, and the lawn mower zoomed right off the table and into a very bewildered microwave.

*****

The head mediwitch strode briskly into George's room. "Mr. Weasley...oh dear." She blinked at Molly and Arthur. "Erm, I'm sorry, would you mind giving us some privacy here?"

"Actually, I'm pretty tired," said George with an indifferent glance at his parents. "They can go."

Arthur's heart sank, but he started to stand. Not much point being here if George didn't want them here. Then again, he never seemed to want them here.

"But we just got here," Molly started to protest.

"No, you don't have to leave the building, only the room, for a few minutes," said the mediwitch. "This is of a delicate personal nature."

"Well they're not terribly delicate and they don't much care about personal," said George dryly.

The mediwitch glanced at her watch and blew out her breath. "Very well, then. Mr. Weasley, we have to ask you to stop engaging in relations with the other patients."

Arthur and Molly blanched, and George snorted. "Oh yeah? Why?"

"It's disruptive to the ward."

George shrugged. "Your ward. Your problem."

Arthur took a breath. All right, they really should go. Molly shouldn't be here to listen to this, shouldn't have to hear their son sounding so callous and uncaring about any girl - let alone girls who were in trouble, as his fellow patients were.

This wasn't George. They'd raised him better than that. George was sick, he wasn't himself, but they were still his parents, and shouldn't be hearing this. He rose and tugged on Molly's sleeve, but Molly shook her head.

"They're not well," said the mediwitch. "Ms Lovegood has been released, but Ms Simpson is as you know very unstable, and can be violent. Ms Edwards is not herself, and Ms Dochuk--"

"Thinks she's a teapot, I know. How is that my problem?"

"We'd like you to help your fellow patients feel safe here."

"Listen, if you're going to ask me to not do one of the only entertaining things around here, I'd say you need to start by asking them not to drop into my lap several times a day. Not only is safeguarding their virtue not my problem, but I'm not a monk, yeah?"

"You can politely ask them to not attempt to engage you in--"

"And you're even more mental than I am if you think I'm going to do that. If you give them some sort of potion or something, I'll stay away from them, no problem."

"We can't, sir. Ms Edwards, yes. Ms Simpson has refused the potion and we cannot force it on her, and Ms Dochuk is on potions that would react negatively to the libido-inhibitor."

"Then I'd say you're screwed. Or rather..." he smirked. "No, I probably don't need to say it, do I?"

"It wouldn't interfere with your potions."

"What wouldn't?"

"The libido-inhibitor."

George paused. "Would it mean I can't do anything, or I just wouldn't want to?"

"You wouldn't want to."

George shrugged. "Fine, then."

"What?" the mediwitch asked, looking a bit nonplussed at his abrupt change of attitude.

"I said all right. The only girl I was all that interested in is gone for now anyway. D'you have some?"

"Erm. Yes." The mediwitch held out a small vial and held it out to him.

Arthur glanced at Molly, reflecting that in any kind of normal situation Molly would've jumped at the chance to find out more, and to hope that maybe George could find love and ease his pain through that, if nothing else. But Arthur couldn't imagine a single girl here who would actually be good for George - or who might benefit from having George in her life either, for that matter.

"Mud in your eye," George said dully, and knocked back the contents of the vial.

"When will Healer Lethe have her recommendation?" asked Molly, striving for a casual tone despite the spots of colour on her cheeks.

"The day after tomorrow."

"I can hardly contain my excitement," muttered George.

"Your family has asked to be involved in the meeting. And I would like to recommend they be there as well. Healer Lethe has determined that you are competent to make medical decisions on your own, but she would like you to listen very carefully to what your family says."

"Fine." George shrugged. "I couldn't care less."

*****

"Essentially, we need to remove the piece of Fred's soul - or magic, however you wish to think of it - that is caught within you. The English translation of the name of the ritual is the Sundering."

"Remove Fred's magic or soul," repeated George. "Right, I think we all figured that."

"It's not that easy, though. It's... frankly, it's very difficult. Your reserves are quite low, from having been fighting this as well as natural grief for so long. It will be painful, physically and emotionally, it will take a long time, and in the end you may not be much better off than you are now."

"Fantastic," said George wearily.

"Why wouldn't he be better off?" asked Mum.

"Because the process itself will be so difficult, and once it's over, he will still be feeling the aftereffects of the procedure, and the aftereffects of having had a dying soul inside him. And Fred's 'voice' will be gone. It will be as though he died again."

George winced.

"And the natural grief is bad enough, even without everything else added on top." She paused. "As well, George lost a part of himself, literally. His soul is damaged, and there is nothing we can do about that because that part of him went with Fred."

"What are the odds against me?" asked George.

"The likelihood of surviving the Sundering ritual and the first year following it is somewhere between forty and sixty per cent."

There was a horrified silence.

"That's not acceptable," said Mum.

"No, it's not," said Healer Lethe.

"What about doing nothing?" asked George.

"You will die," Lethe said. "Within a year." Mum covered her mouth in dismay. "There is one other alternative."

"What?"

"I can remove the piece of Fred's magic, and also remove his memory from you. Remove all influence of him on you."

"What?"

"It's called the Reawakening. I have seen it done twice in Nigeria, and have read of one other case where it was done in Cameroon. It's an extraordinarily tricky piece of magic, and would take a long time. In essence what happens is that you undergo a spell that asks what you would have been like if you had never been a twin. When you awaken from the spell, the piece of Fred's magic that was in you will be gone. And so will all memory of him, all knowledge of having had a twin brother."

George stared at her.

"You would be who you would have been if you had grown up a singleton."

"That's impossible," said Ginny.

"False memories, you mean?" asked Hermione.

"I suppose you could think of them that way, yes. I suppose, a bit like what Obliviators do: manufacture what could have happened instead of what the witnesses actually witnessed. But of course, much, much more detailed and tricky."

"That's ridiculous," said Ginny. "You can't do that for an entire lifetime."

"On the contrary; Ms Granger told me she was able to manufacture an entire fictitious life for her parents. One in which their own daughter did not exist."

"And it was hellish, reversing that," said Hermione. She bit her lip, and glanced at George apologetically.

"What are the odds on surviving that spell?" asked Ginny.

"Close to one hundred per cent success, if the literature can be believed. All three of the patients who have undergone it in this century have survived with no residual trauma whatsoever - to themselves, anyway. It's not an easy situation to live with for their families."

"Would it be reversible?" asked Mum.

"No. Technically, yes, but in reality, no. Ms Granger's parents - and Ms Granger - had a horrible time reversing things, and that was without accompanying emotional trauma such as Mr. Weasley has. By the time he was strong enough to make an attempt at reversal possible, the new memories would be too deeply set to be removed without great risk and emotional harm. I would never perform it. No ethical Healer would."

"So if he agrees... that would be the end of it? A difficult spell, and then he'd be better?"

"It would work." Lethe turned back to George. "It would be painful, but you would not remember it."

George was silent for a long time. "And I'd lose Fred?"

"You've already lost him," said Mum quietly.

There was another long silence. "Mum," said George. "His memories are all I have left."

*****

"He's given up, Mrs. Weasley," said Healer Lethe gently. "Now he's just waiting."

"For what?"

"To die." She paused while Molly and Arthur and Ron tried to digest that. "He's exhausted. He's done a remarkable job, but I think he's reached the end of his strength."

"What are you going to do now?" asked Ron.

The Healer pressed her lips together. "Nothing."

The silence in the room was absolute.

"What do you mean, nothing?" asked Arthur, taking one of Molly's hands in his and holding it tight.

"George is an adult. He has decided he doesn't want any more intervention. No Sundering, no Reawakening. We cannot, therefore, force him to do anything else, or force any more treatment on him."

"But he's not mentally sound enough to make that decision," said Molly.

Lethe gazed at her with compassion. "Mrs. Weasley... he's sane enough. And if I could ethically force him to undergo an extremely painful and difficult treatment with low odds of success, it wouldn't do any good. Even without the magical dysfunction, even without the piece of Fred's soul that wants to just stop being, he's deeply depressed and in a great deal of emotional pain. Strong as he is, he might have committed suicide months ago, just from the emotional trauma of losing someone that close to him." She shook her head. "Putting him through the Sundering ritual without his full consent would be worse than useless."

"You said the Reawakening would work," said Molly.

"It would, yes. If he chose to go through with it. Which he does not."

"You're just going to let him lie there until he starves to death?" said Ron, his voice hoarse. "Just let him commit suicide right in front of you?"

Lethe bowed her head. "There isn't another choice, Mr. Weasley."

Molly stared at her. "I didn't want to believe it," she said, her voice low.

Lethe sighed. "Unfortunately, it's true."

They were silent for a few moments, as the Weasleys tried to fit this into their minds, and Molly could feel Arthur's grief tearing at her, could feel Ron's anger and frustration at having saved his brother's life, only to lose it in the end anyway.

"May I see him?" asked Molly.

The Healer sighed again. "You can. I doubt he'll respond, though. He's shut himself down almost completely."

Molly nodded.

"Mrs. Weasley... please don't try to talk him out of it. It'll cause you nothing but pain. He knows what he's doing. He knows how much you love him, and he knows how much his passing will hurt all of you, but he just doesn't have the strength to keep fighting."

Molly nodded, tears in her eyes. She slowly made her way to George's room, tapping on the door and pushing it open when no permission to enter was forthcoming.

She went to George's bed, where he lay with his eyes closed, looking for all intents and purposes as though he were merely sleeping.

She sat down next to the bed. "Georgie... please. Let me be here."

George's eyes didn't open.

Molly took her son's hand in hers. "George." She cleared her throat. "I'm not here to bother you. I'm not here to ask you to reconsider." She pushed down sobs that threatened to break through. "I'm... I just want to spend time with you. Maybe... maybe to say goodbye to you."

George didn't answer.

She reached down and stroked his hair. It was long now; the twins had both let their hair grow longer after George's accident; and Molly had never known whether it was deliberate, to enable them to obscure George's missing ear, or simply due to the fact that they weren't terribly concerned with appearances. There was so much she hadn't known about her two most difficult and infuriating children.

She stroked back a tendril of red from his face. Not so many freckles there now, but there was a line between his eyebrows, and dark shadows under his closed eyes, his pale eyelashes dark against paler skin. His hair and Fred's was the darkest among her children; Percy's was browner but lighter, and Ron's had been almost blond in the summer when he was a child. George's hair didn't seem so dark any more...

She peered closer. It was paler. There were white hairs in among the strands of red, on her twenty-year-old son.

Molly took a deep breath. "I don't understand. I can't understand how much you hurt. I know that. But... but it's going to hurt everyone, so much, to lose you too, so soon after losing Fred. I don't know if we can bear it."

George didn't respond.

*****

"I am so sorry," said Healer Lethe to Mum, who shook her head quickly. "I honestly thought..."

"It's all right," said Mum.

"I honestly did not think there was a way to change his mind. From everything I had learned about your family, and about him, and from my experience--"

"Fred and George never lived up to expectations," said Dad.

Ron winced. Fred and George. He'd grown up with Fred-and-George as one word, and as difficult as it had been to get used to just George, this... this would be the end of Fred-and-George forever.

Lethe turned to George, who looked pale and weak. "Do you understand what you're doing?" Lethe asked, her voice gentle.

"Yes," George said softly.

"You understand that if you do this, it can't be undone? Your family may tell you about Fred, but you won't remember him yourself. Their stories will sound like things that happened to somebody else."

George nodded.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," George said, and looked up as Mum gave a small sob.

"All right, then." Lethe chewed her lip for a moment. "The other Healers and I will discuss amongst ourselves how to proceed. It's fairly complex magic, and we will need time to organize ourselves. The procedure will take approximately three days, with recovery time normally a few weeks." She gave George a level gaze. "You do understand that it will be painful. You will not remember the pain afterwards, but while it's going on it will be very difficult."

George nodded.

"The Social Counsellor will discuss this with your family." She turned to Mum and Dad. "You will have to make certain decisions about what to do with George's belongings, and Fred's. And how to deal with telling him about Fred afterwards. Do you mind, Mr. Weasley," she asked George, "if they go through your things?"

George shrugged. "Whatever they want."

"You could have them either tell you right away, or decide for themselves."

He looked at Mum. "Whatever they think is best," he said dully.

"All right, then." Lethe stood up. "I would suggest that you bring everyone who is close to George, both friends and family, together in the next few days, to discuss how to go forward."

Mum nodded. "I'll do that--"

Ron shook his head. "No. Mum, I'll do that. You stay with Dad, and with George."

George merely sat quietly, looking down at his hands, seeming exhausted but somehow at peace, and Ron felt completely lost.

What had changed George's mind? How could he have decided to get rid of even the memory of the other half of himself? Of course it certainly beat the rest of them having to watch him die as well, but...

God, please, let this work, thought Ron. Let this make George better.

It didn't really matter why George had changed his mind, and it didn't matter how much it hurt the rest of them; this had to make George better.

He touched his brother's arm comfortingly, and left to call the rest of the family.

February

"D'you think we should..." Ron held up one of Fred's trainers. He looked around the room. God, it was like Fred had never left. Apparently George had just left the door closed, and the place smelled musty but also... still like Fred.

"We were going to go through this room eventually," said Lee, looking around. "We tidied a bit when he first came back, picking things up that the Death Eaters went through."

"Was there a lot of damage?"

Lee shook his head. "I think they were too traumatized from the jinxes in the living room and kitchen. By the time they hit the bedrooms, they don't seem to have had the heart to really do a thorough job of looting. Probably had something to do with the DinkShrink hexes."

"I don't even know what's important here and what isn't. Only George would know." Ron ran his finger along the books on Fred's shelf. Ethelbercht's Sensuals. Positively Impossible Potions. And a book of love poems... was that something Fred actually bought and read? Or a memento from some girl he'd dated? Or a place to find some of their ideas for WonderWitch? Only George would've known.

Fred, you enormous git, I LOVE you! said the tag on a stuffed Puffskein that was wedged between Fred's desk and the wall. From whom?

A ticket stub for a Weird Sisters concert from two years ago on the floor near his bed. Was it something that held deep significance? Or just something Fred had forgotten to take out of his trouser pockets, and had ended up on the floor before the Death Eaters gave up ransacking and returned home with their tails between their legs, literally?

"None of it will mean anything to him when he comes out," said Ginny bitterly. "Why don't we just dump it all?"

"No, we can't," said Mum. She looked around, distressed. "We can't go through this. We'll... we'll hide it away. For when George can look at it himself." She ushered them out of the room, spoke a few words, and Fred's room disappeared.

They still had to go through the rest of the flat, though.

"What do we do with these, Mum?" Ginny asked, sorting through the books and magazines in the living room. No idea which were Fred's and which were George's. Advanced Potion-making, highly technical Charms books, Transfigurations Today, some Runes books with questionable drawings, marketing, research, advertising, accounting, and various magazines that the siblings hid from Mum.

Mum exchanged a helpless look with Dad.

"I mean, assuming we can figure out whose is what, we put them in these boxes, and then... what?" asked Ginny. "And how long do we keep Fred's room a secret? I mean, George will come out eventually, he's going to ask - people are going to ask him--"

"We just won't let him be around anybody who knows. Not for a while."

"Mum, I really don't think that's going to work," said Bill. "Not for long, anyway."

Mum bristled. "It will if we make it work."

"He's barely awake yet and already getting restless. He knows there's something going on. 'You had an accident in the lab' won't cut it for much longer."

"He needs more time," said Mum. "He's still confused. He won't be coming home for another few weeks at least."

"And what then?" said Bill. "You can't protect him forever."

"You saw him," said Mum. "He's doing well. He's recovering."

"Yeah, he's recovering. But he's still George, Mum. He's not going to just accept being told there's blank spots in his memory and he shouldn't ask too many questions. He's going to want to come home - to the home he knows - and he's going to want to figure things out."

"The Healer said that other families have been able to--"

"Maybe the Healers in Nigeria dealt with people who weren't as naturally curious as Fred and George," said Bill. "Or less suspicious."

"We don't know George will be all that curious any more," said Ginny. "We don't know anything about what he's going to be like."

Ron swallowed hard at the tone to her voice. "Ginny."

Ginny abruptly turned on her heel and left, her footsteps speeding up as she went down the stairs. Ron started after her, but Lee shook his head and went after her himself.

"You know, I really think he should go travelling," said Mum. "Perhaps go with Charlie to Romania."

"Mum, I'd love to take him, you know I would," said Charlie, "but the Healers want him here for the six-week mark, when they do their final examination of him."

Mum pressed her lips together.

Ron's eye fell on a photograph, tacked onto a bulletin board, of Fred and Lee laughing and throwing snowballs at whoever was taking the picture - probably George.

What would Fred have thought of this? Ron wondered. What would he have thought of all of them going through the detritus of his life, wiping him clean off the face of the earth?

It didn't matter. Fred was gone. He deliberately pushed his mind away from all memory of Fred, and tossed the picture into the nearest box.

*****

Good old Janus Thickey Ward for Mental Maladies. Ron sighed as he and Percy entered the ward. Merlin, but he hated this place.

"Hi, Luna," he said, and Luna gave him a scornful sneer and turned away. He and Percy looked at each other, puzzled. "What the..."

It was still so weird, coming here. George hadn't wanted visitors the first time he'd been in, back in September. He'd been unwontedly quiet and almost shy - frequently done in by the potions he was on, embarrassed to be there, and almost invariably eager to see his visitors leave. And he hadn't cared about visitors after his suicide attempt; just been sullen and angry and depressed.

Now, he was happy to get guests. As he recovered and woke up a bit more, it was both easier and harder to see him. He was so open, cheerful, and untroubled - except by restlessness, as his body healed and his spirit longed to leave St. Mungo's. Percy knocked on George's door and went in, and Ron paused in the doorway, glancing over the ward with its shuffling, subdued bathrobe-clad patients. George looked completely out of place.

"Oi, Earth to Ron," called George from the room. "Come in."

"Sorry," said Ron, and came in. "How are you?"

"Bored!" said George, rolling his eyes. "Bloody hell this place is killing me. Did you bring any books?"

"Books?" said Percy.

"Damn, Hermione didn't tell you? It's the only thing keeping me halfway sane in here, mate. I'm halfway through bloody volume seven of the Goblin Manifestoes, can't keep going though. Don't tell Hermione, she highly recommended it."

"Oh. I can certainly get you some," said Percy. "Just let me know what kind."

"Erm, you had said you wanted to know what's going on in the shop," said Ron, and brought out a catalogue scroll. George's eyes lit up, and he reached for it. "Are you... d'you think you're all right to do this now?" Ron asked, and chuckled when George grabbed the catalogue and smacked him across the head with it.

"Am I all right to do this now?" George repeated. "I've only been asking you to bring it in for three days. Git." He unrolled the parchment, scanning down the list of products and prices. He frowned.

"How much d'you, erm, remember?" Ron asked. George had been told that there were blank spots in his memory due to 'the accident', but they never knew when they were likely to come up.

"Bollocks, this is messed up," muttered George. "I feel like I remember everything, but then you show me this and half the things in it I can't recall for the life of me. And the rest feel like I just saw them yesterday." He pressed his lips together. "Merlin, whatever the fuck I was doing in that lab, I will never ever do again. This is too messed up for words."

Ron swallowed and tried to keep his face impassive, but George wasn't looking at him; he was frowning at the name emblazoned across the top of the catalogue. "Hang on. That's bad grammar."

"What?"

"Bad grammar. The apostrophe's in the wrong place."

Ron looked at him, baffled.

"In Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" said Percy. "That's Ron and me. We're the other Weasleys," he said smoothly. "You're the founder, but we helped. And Harry gave you the money to start it. You insisted on it being a family operation."

George grimaced. "Fuck me, sorry, yeah, I do know that. I'm sorry. I remember Harry giving me the money, but not you two being so much a part of it that you were in the name." He threw the scroll down on the bed. "Bugger all this for a lark!!" He got up. "This is fucking infuriating, is what it is!"

"It's only been a few days," Percy pointed out. "You know it'll get better."

"But what the hell happened?" George asked.

"Listen, just trust us, all right? Remember the Healer said we weren't supposed to give you too much too soon." George nodded reluctantly. "So trust us. Please. And..." Percy picked up the catalogue," come back to this, because I'm not doing your inventory after you come back if you feel it's an excuse to say, 'Oh I don't remember what's in my own catalogue.'" George chuckled, temporarily mollified, and went back to work.

So, obviously George still remembered building and running Wheezes, thought Ron. But without Fred. And since when had George cared about grammar?

Once more Ron wondered what had happened during the Reawakening sessions with George and the Healers, but knew he really didn't want to know. And Mum and Dad certainly didn't want to talk about it. They'd been there through all the sessions, and come out looking pale and on the edge of collapse. Mum even had to be tranquilized one day. Ron hadn't wanted to know why.

And yet George himself seemed unscarred. He was so much the way he used to be, and it was unbelievably disconcerting to see him that way. To see that he honestly didn't realize there was anything wrong, and was only puzzled as to why he was in the hospital and couldn't go home.

Ron observed George as Percy explained one of the apparently Fred-created products in the catalogue. George, but not George. His appearance was changed; his hair was lighter now, and his eyes somehow looked lighter as well, which made no sense. His voice was a bit rougher; apparently he'd screamed himself raw during the ritual. The blue shirt and dark grey trousers were new; the first day he'd been awake, George had looked askance at the electric-green shirt and orangey-brown trousers he'd found in his hospital closet, and asked for something that didn't clash so badly.

And he wasn't George. Or rather, he was, but... it was disconcerting how little he joked around, and how his jokes were usually gentle humour, with little of the biting wit that had characterized both twins. And he read. A lot.

He was still George, though. Mostly. George from before the war. No brooding, no angry silences, no dark cloud over him. Just George.

"He's doing well, isn't he?" said Mum in a low voice, coming into the room, her eyes troubled as always.

"Yeah," said Ron, pushing down his misgivings. George was doing well, but he wasn't the same George, and Ron had no idea how he would fit into his old life.

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