annafugazzi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
annafugazzi) wrote2010-12-02 08:52 pm
annafugazzi) wrote2010-12-02 08:52 pm
Entry tags:
Leave Out All the Rest, Part 7b (Rock Bottom)
Pairing(s): George/Luna, hints of George/Angelina and George/Hermione, but mostly Gen.
Word Count: 80,000 words ::gulp::
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 Note: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
twistedm, tree00faery, and vanseedee for beta above and beyond the call of friendship.
Part 1, Hogwarts
Part 2, The Burrow
Part 3, Wheezes
Part 4, St. Mungo's
Part 5, You Can't Go Home Again
Part 6, Christmas Cheer
ooo000ooo
"I don't want to do this any more," said George quietly. "I can't."
"What do you mean?" asked Donald.
"I just want it to end."
"What does that mean to you? Wanting it to end?"
George shrugged. "I want to die. This isn't life. This is just existing with no purpose."
"What do you imagine would be better if you died?"
"Nothing. But it wouldn't be worse."
"Do you believe you will see your brother again?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Do you look forward to the afterlife?"
"Not really. I'm not sure I believe in it."
Donald blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I don't know if I believe in an afterlife."
Donald's forehead creased. "But you're a wizard. You've been to Hogwarts. You've seen ghosts."
"They're ghosts. Not people."
"What do you mean?"
"I know, most people believe that ghosts are people who chose not to go on to the afterlife, and instead chose to stay half-alive. I'm not sure I believe that."
"What do you believe?"
"I think ghosts are just bits of magic. The way magic portraits are magic. A magic portrait isn't real. It's not the soul of the person who died. It's just their likeness captured in magic. It can respond and react the way the person could, but it's not the person. Any more than a character on those Muggle telly shows is a real person. I think that's what ghosts are."
Donald seemed to be having trouble processing this. "Then... you don't believe in an afterlife?"
"Not really."
"Then why want to end your life?" Donald asked, baffled.
"It's just the end of your body. There's nothing after. No pain."
"And that's worth it, to you?"
"Yes."
ooo000ooo
"Where the hell is the git" Fred asked irritably, checking his watch.
"He'll be here," said George. "Unless he's got detention." He grinned. "Or he's snogging that girlfriend of his."
Fred sniggered, then checked his watch and drummed his fingers on the low wall they were perched upon. "Come to think of it, where is everybody? For a Hogsmeade weekend, this place is a bloody tomb."
"Yeah it's beginning to give me the willies. D'you think everyone's just too afraid to come out?"
"They may have cancelled it. Dad said they were considering it."
George nodded.
"Let's go ask Rosmerta. We've been here almost an hour and I haven't seen a single student."
"D'you have somewhere to be?" Fred gave George an annoyed look. "Oi, silly git," chuckled George. "Don't turn into Percy, upset because your perfect colour-coded schedule's been thrown off. It's a nice day out, we're out of the lab, Verity's got everything under control, we got to see Zonko's, and it'll be worth the wait to see him open up the InsideOuter."
Fred grinned. "I can't wait for him to try to Nosebegone, myself."
"He's not that thick, you know," George laughed. "He'll get someone else to try that one first."
"Nah, he'll be too shocked at us for telling him the effects of the rest of 'em."
"Two Galleons says he still gets Hermione to check every single one," said George.
Fred grimaced. "Mm-mm, Harry said it sounds like they're still not speaking."
"Well then maybe the Love Me, Love Me-knot will make them, erm, close again."
Fred sniggered. "And if they can trigger the Moonlit Serenader spell, we'll all be able to--"
"That one's a bit mean, don't you think?"
Fred shrugged. "Nah. He's a big boy. It's time he gets on with it, anyway."
George nodded and leaned back on the wall, closing his eyes and turning his face towards the sun. Fun as it was to live, breath and eat Wheezes, he had to admit that getting out of the constant noise and action, and just enjoying the feel of sun on his face and the soft hooting of owls at the Hogsmeade Post, was remarkably soothing. Especially considering the gloom and doom in the papers and the wizarding world in general. And the low nagging worry of the War, and the Order, and dealing with Mum's attitude over their recent induction into it. Suppers back at The Burrow just weren't the same with her fears constantly nagging at them.
He sat up, pushing thoughts of their first, near-fatal, mission out of his head. "This Lavender of his," he said. "D'you remember her at all? I know she was in the DA, but..."
"Ringlets and tits is all I remember, mate," said Fred.
"Not too big, but nice and bouncy - for both, if I recall."
Fred nodded. "She didn't seem the brightest candle in the chandelier, but then Ronnie's not exactly a shoo-in for that position either."
"Point. Think he's copped a feel yet?"
Fred laughed. "Think Hermione would've found a way to hex him if he had. 'Pervy bastard' in boils across his forehead?" He paused. "What d'you think she sent him at Christmas?"
"Who, Hermione? You just said they're not speaking."
"No, ringlet-girl. She sent him something, remember?" He scowled at George. "Something which you didn't let me use the Scope to peek at."
George shrugged. "The poor kid deserves some privacy. After all we've put him through."
"Oi, you're getting sentimental in your old age. Stop it."
George glanced around. "Call me old and you're only calling yourself older. Though I must say, being back here's bringing on an old age feeling like you wouldn't believe. I can feel my hairline receding."
They looked around. Somehow Hogsmeade seemed so much smaller than it had been less than a year ago. This time last year, Umbridge had been in full command of the school and they had been busily planning their escape from the educational prison that Hogwarts had become. Now...
"D'you miss it?" Fred asked suddenly.
"Miss what?"
"School."
"Why would I?"
"You liked studying. More than I did, anyway."
George shrugged. "Not enough to miss being at school. The shop's loads more fun."
"D'you ever wish we'd finished?"
"School?" George blinked. "Why would I?"
"Dunno, only it was my idea to leave, and--"
"And it was bloody brilliant. What did it take you, two seconds to wrestle me into agreeing?"
Fred grinned.
George grinned back and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "Out here's where we belong, mate. Masters of our own destinies, not still having to ask permission to wander about when and where we want."
Fred chuckled. "Freedom or die?"
"Exactly. Our intellectual brilliance and enterprising spirits cannot be contained within walls not of our own making."
Fred laughed. "Especially when those walls stop us from making gallons of Galleons."
George nodded. It still struck him as completely unreal, the sheer volume of money they raked in. The mere idea of having a Gringott's vault of their own was still heady business, never mind having the ability to fill it. A lifetime of poverty could not be erased by mere months of prosperity.
"No more scrounging. Or wearing Charlie's hand-me-downs."
Fred nodded, absently smoothing down the fine cloth of his cloak. "D'you know what we ought to do?"
"What?"
"We should get more nice things for Mum. She and Dad haven't been out in about a million years. In a few months we could probably pay for a trip abroad for them."
George's eyebrows went up. "Yeah! Dad always wanted to go to that Muggle place, what was it, EuroDinsey or something?"
"We'd have to figure out the exchange rate..." Fred chewed his lip. "You know, being around little kids can really make you appreciate how much they put up with from us. Also makes the thought of ever reproducing scare me silly."
"Scared of ending up with kids like us, are you? Hoping to avoid the curse by making it up to Mum and Dad?"
"There's not Galleons enough in the wizarding world for that, Georgie," laughed Fred. He thought for a moment. "We should get stuff for Ron and Ginny too."
"Speaking of trying to make up for being utter shits during our childhood..."
Fred waved a dismissive hand. "No, come on, that was all just standard big brother fare."
"With a few more explosions."
"And noxious smells, and risk to life and limb," Fred conceded. "But it's not like Bill and Charlie didn't torture the rest of us plenty too. What about the Dungeon? Remember Charlie always said he'd take us all once he was earning? He probably doesn't even remember. We should take Ron and Ginny."
"Ginny could us some new books, too," said George.
"And new school robes for Ron," said Fred. "He's shot up like a bloody weed."
"And they both need new broomsticks," they said at the same time, and laughed.
"And protection spells," said Fred. "Wish we'd thought to bring some of our Anti-Dark protecting charms."
"Where the hell is the git?" George said, checking his watch, then whirled around as the door of the Three Broomsticks slammed open.
"Rosmerta?" they both exclaimed. "What is it?"
"Oh Merlin - boys, the school's just fire-called me." She gulped. "It's your brother, Ron. He's been hurt."
"What?!"
"He's in the hospital wing," she said. "He's all right, but he's been poisoned--"
George's heart seemed to stop. "Poisoned?!" he repeated.
"Who'd want to poison Ron?!" asked Fred.
"The school's trying to reach your parents, but they aren't answering the Floo and your dad can't be located."
"Fred, the map--"
Fred was already scrabbling in his pocket for a piece of parchment kept there for emergencies. "We solemnly swear we're actually being good," they both muttered quickly, and a map of The Burrow appeared on the parchment. Thank you, Marauders, for the brilliant idea.
"He's in the shed," said Fred. "He can't hear anything going on in the house, and Mum's not home."
"We've got to go there."
Rosmerta nodded. "I'm sure Ron will be all right, boys," she said, her voice now taking on a soothing tone, and George took one look at Fred's face and realized his own must look like shit. Ashen was not a good look on them; made it look like their freckles had been daubed on like black paint, and clashed with their hair even worse than their WWW robes did.
"Here, come on, let's get you up to the school." She glanced at their presents. "I'm not sure he'll be able to appreciate those for a while, but you may as well take them along."
ooo000ooo
"Oh for Merlin's sake," groaned George. There went Mr. Riley, two people ahead of him in the dinner queue, suddenly deciding he was a swan, flapping and honking and stretching his skinny neck. And, of course, right on cue, Miss Manners behind him turned into a fish and started flopping on the floor. George blew out his breath and stepped aside as a couple of mediwizards rushed past. Now the entire ward staff would be embroiled in the mess, and the rest of them would have to sit and wait for supper. Which was just about the only thing anybody had to look forward to in this miserable place.
"Back off!" yelled the grey-haired witch behind him.
"There's nobody there, Mrs. Atchinson," said an orderly as he rushed past to the flopping fish and swan.
"There's an aquatic Nargle! It wants my dinner!" yelled Mrs. Atchinson.
"No there isn't," said Luna dully. "Nargles don't even exist. Aquatic or terrestrial."
George gave her a small smile. No idea why Luna tried; not only was it none of their business, but Mrs. Atchinson couldn't be reached.
The lineup dispersed as the patients waited for the staff to re-Transfigurate the fish and get the would-be-swan to stop trying to catch and eat her. George briefly considered going back to his yellow and white room, then looked down at Luna, who had slid her back down the wall and sat on the floor with her knees drawn up, arms clasped around them. He sat down next to her, leaned back against the wall, and watched the gasping fish. Only a lunatic Animagus would have a fish as their animal. He wondered if she'd once had another animal form, and it had changed into a fish when she went round the twist, the way some people's Patronus forms changed if they were under stress. Or maybe she had always been crazy, and the fish shape was just a sign of her insanity.
Or maybe she'd been perfectly sane once, and then gone mental after all her years of intense study to become an Animagus had earned her a thoroughly useless form. Who knew. Who really cared.
He briefly wondered if his own Patronus shape had changed. Not much use wondering; he doubted there was a single happy memory he could manage to call up that would enable him to cast a Patronus in this dismal place. And not that he could've, even if he'd been happy as a lark; they'd taken his wand when they'd admitted him.
He glanced at Luna beside him. She'd stopped watching the festivities and put her head in her arms.
"What's wrong?" he asked her gently.
"I don't want to be here any more," said Luna, her voice very small.
George laughed bitterly. "Don't think many of us do. D'you think I'd be here if I had any choice to leave, in any way possible?"
Luna shrank in on herself, hugging her knees, and something about her forlorn figure made George's heart hurt. Which probably meant they'd got his potions wrong, again.
"And how are we doing today, Miss Lovegood, Mr. Weasley?" he started as a bright-eyed young student mediwitch bounced to a stop before them.
"I am feeling like shit," he said curtly. "Think Luna's feeling the same, and I don't give a flying fuck how you're feeling."
The mediwitch's smile dimmed slighly, but remained in place. "You're probably just hungry, dear. Don't worry, we'll get you your dinner soon enough." She flitted down the hallway, where the fish had now been transformed into a reverse mermaid. George watched the skinny legs thrashing and the fish head gulping and absently wished he had enough magic to do something like that. Or do anything on purpose, really.
Luna stirred beside him. "Mrs. Longbottom, it's all right, I have enough," she said, gently pushing away Neville's mum's hand as she held out a cork. Mrs. Longbottom held the cork out again, and Luna sighed and took it. Neville's mum looked at George and reached for his missing ear.
He jerked his head back. "Piss off," he said sharply, and Mrs. Longbottom scooted back in alarm.
"Mum?"
Oh, wonderful.
"Mum, there you are - oh." Neville Longbottom stopped short at the sight of George and Luna with his mum, and it was almost amusing how his throat bobbed as he very obviously tried to figure out how to greet the two of them. "Hello George; Luna. Erm, how are you?"
"All right, Neville, how are you?" said Luna.
Neville's mum turned to him and held out her hand, trembling a bit as she pointed to her ear.
Neville gulped and looked at George. He squared his shoulders. "George, please don't upset my mum," he said.
George blew out his breath and got up, leaving Neville and his mum and Luna, and headed back to his infernally cheery room, stepping around Lockhart and his little choir and jerking his arm away from a choir member's insistent invitation to join them. Thank Merlin they were practicing far enough away from his room that even though he wasn't allowed to close the door their cacophony wouldn't be too audible. The man was an even worse singer than he was an anti-Dark Magic practitioner, if that was possible.
He lay down on his bed with the marigold patchwork bedspread and stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about how much he hated this place.
Because God, he hated this place. Hated his family for bringing him here. Hated them and the staff for their misguided attempts to "save" him. And he hadn't figured out which he hated more: the restraints and perpetual family suicide watch that had kept him from hurting himself for the first few days, or the spell they'd finally perfected that made him unable to do so.
"You're doing better now," the Healer had said. "The safety spell on you is solid enough, and your mood has shown some improvement. It's safe for you to be allowed out of your room on your own. And if you behave yourself and work with us, you can earn more privileges. Maybe even being allowed off the ward, with an escort of course."
She'd even looked pleased with herself. Like he should feel grateful. Grateful that he couldn't kill himself, couldn't go anywhere without permission, couldn't escape, and there was nowhere to go even if he did.
He hated this place. The staff might be awfully proud of how they'd met the sudden demand for mental maladies space and expanded the original ward into a bright, clean, homey place where every patient had their own room, but he hated it. Hated the multicoloured hallway, the relentlessly sunny yellow and white bedroom that was like living inside a bloody fried egg, the mediwizards and witches whose joy it was to Be There To Help. Hated the potions forced down his throat. Hated Mum and Dad for their desperation not to lose him like they'd lost Fred, hated Bill for trying to pretend to be so bloody matter-of-fact about the suicide watches, hated Ron for saving his life, hated Percy for the guilt on his face and the tears that ended up in his eyes every single time he saw George. The only person he didn't hate right now was Ginny, who hadn't been to see him at all. Apparently she was angry at him. She was in a lot of pain herself, the Healers had told him. Under pressure at school. She would come when she was feeling steadier, they said.
Not a problem, as far as he was concerned. He had no desire to see anyone, and it had nothing to do with the shame and embarrassment he'd felt the last time he'd been on the ward. He was beyond shame at this point; all he wanted was out. Escape, by any means necessary.
He'd struggled so hard against the invisible bonds, and his damned wonky magic had flared out of control, reacting with the magic of the bonds and making the room spark and smoke and fill with the smell of cinnamon, of all bizarre things. They'd had to Finite and use physical straps and by the time they'd finally wrestled him into them he was exhausted and Percy, who'd walked in for his suicide watch shift in the middle of the fun, looked like he wanted to be violently ill. He'd excused himself and come back a little paler but steadier. Lee and Ron and Dad, in on the next watches, hadn't known what to do, what to say to him. Which was fine, actually, as he was wiped out and sweat-soaked and in pain and hollow and didn't feel like chatting much either.
He rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. "Maybe you can't make it," you said, he thought at Fred-in-his-head. How was I supposed to make it if even you thought I couldn't?
Did you want me to lie to you?
Why couldn't you just shut up, even after snuffing it? Why do you just have to keep talking?
I'm sorry, said Fred. Bloody hell, I'm sorry. I'm tired too, you know. It's not easy living in your miserable head. You'd think I would've been able to stop having to take care of you after I was bloody well dead.
So sorry to be such an inconvenience.
George, fuck, I'm sorry!
Shut up!
He'd been so ready to die, so desperate to end the misery, held back only by the knowledge that he was going to cause his family pain no matter how obvious it was to everybody that he'd simply made a stupid mistake in the lab. It would still hurt them, he knew, and they would probably still ask themselves if he'd been deliberately careless... but then they would move on. He'd held on to that thought like a talisman. Held on to the hope that his passing would give his family as much freedom as it gave him. They wouldn't have to worry about him, wouldn't have to see him as a permanent reminder of Fred's absence, wouldn't be bogged down by his issues, and would be able to deal with their own grief and finally heal. He and Fred would become a - mostly - happy memory, and there would be Fred and George stories to tell the next generation, just like there had been Gideon and Fabian stories told to his, and hopefully they'd all eventually blur out in their minds the fact that Uncle George had gone a little off after Uncle Fred had kicked.
They'd probably even feel relieved, whether they admitted it to themselves or not.
He'd said goodbye to Ron so gladly that night. Made himself sound like it was just another regular night, See you tomorrow, don't forget to lock up. He'd allowed himself a small goodbye, telling Ron something like, "You've gone beyond brotherly duty," and it hadn't felt great to see slight surprise on Ron's face at that. Proof that George had been such a miserable bastard that he didn't even give his kid brother his due, after everything Ron had done for him.
He'd waited a few minutes, and then gone through all his preparations and drunk the misbrewed potion with relief. No more missing Fred, no more talking to him in his head and wishing he was real, no more worried looks from everyone else, no more being afraid of some day ending up locked up here.
And then he'd woken up. To restraints and weeping family members and Healers who forced potions down his throat. He'd struggled and fought, refused visits, refused potions, refused food, and to no effect; he was either restrained or accompanied by family and force-fed anyway. He'd lost all control over his own life, over his own body and magic and mind, and he swung unpredictably from being unable to give a damn to feeling so angry it was as if he was burning up from the inside. Impotent rage and hatred that made his magic flare unpredictably, crackling around him, causing the staff to dose and restrain him again, making Mum cry. Like there was too much in his body, trying to get out.
He could still hear chaos on the ward. The honking had died down, but Lockheart and his merry crew had apparently decided to regale them all with their artistic efforts, and the other patients weren't taking it well. More delays for dinner. Fine, then. He wasn't hungry anyway. Maybe they'd forget about feeding him and let him bloody well die already.
You're putting yourself and everyone else through hell, said Fred quietly.
So are you. Sodding bastard.
At least I managed to die before doing it.
D'you want a medal for that?
That didn't come out right. There was a pause. I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault. You wanted to die too. You had a good plan and you did your best. It just didn't work. Another pause. Maybe nothing will.
Aren't you a beam of sunshine.
What are you going to do now?
Weren't you always the one with ideas?
I'm all out, mate. And he hadn't heard Fred-in-his-head sound this sad since... since the day of his own funeral. I shouldn't even be here to talk to you about this; I'm supposed to be at peace, or at least at rest. And Fred's voice sounded as full of longing as he felt.
What do we do, then?
Stay in bed. Join Lockhart's chorus. I don't know. I don't give a fuck any more.
He clenched his eyes shut, feeling himself start to shake. What with the various potions and charms and treatments and this maddening place, and his own surging magic and turbulent emotions, he lost it so often, broke down so often, that it wasn't anything to be feared any more; only to be endured.
A soft tap on his door startled him, but didn't break the grip of the shaking. "George?" Luna's soft voice called in.
He didn't answer. Luna stepped into his room and sat down on the bed next to him, her small hand on his shoulder.
"Is he there?" Neville's voice seemed to be coming from the hallway.
"Yes," said Luna, stroking his hair.
Footsteps at the door. "Is... is he off his potions?" Neville asked. "D'you think he needs something?"
"He won't ask for anything," said Luna. "He never does."
There was a small silence. "George, I'm going to call the mediwitch and see if she can help you, all right?" asked Neville.
Quick steps to the door, Neville's soft voice calling out, Luna's hand smoothing his cheek, rubbing his back. Another moment and two sets of footsteps approached his door again. He didn't want to move, didn't want to get up, was sick of being buffeted from all sides by pain and fear and anger and hopelessness, like a leaf at the mercy of a violent storm, winds gusting at him in every direction.
"It's all right, you can leave it here," said Neville to the mediwitch. "I'll make sure he takes it."
"All right, Mr. Longbottom."
Luna leaned over him and kissed his cheek. "George. Please take the potion. It'll at least let you rest."
He sighed. It wasn't that he didn't want to. It was that he always either felt too much or not enough, and right now was a not-enough time, and if only everybody would just let him be...
"Come on, mate," said Neville quietly. "Sit up." He gently tugged George's shoulder and George gave up trying to ignore him and propped himself up on one elbow. "D'you want me to give it to you, or can you hold it yourself?" asked Neville.
George took the vial and Neville steadied his trembling hand. "Right, bottoms up," he said, and George drank it down.
"Neville?" Ron's voice came from the doorway. George lay back down and closed his eyes.
"He's all right," said Neville. "Don't think he'll be in much shape to visit though; I think this is going to knock him out. Always does that to my dad."
Ron sighed. "All right. Thanks, Nev. You can go back to your parents, if you'd like." George felt the bed shift as Ron sat down.
"It's all right, Dad's having a bad day and Mum's doing wrapper art," said Neville, and then his voice, and Luna's and Ron's, faded, as George fell into the potion-induced darkness gratefully.
ooo000ooo
"Weasley."
"Yeah?" Ron looked up from the hospital tea room's unappetizing biscuit selection and stared at the last person he had ever thought he'd have to speak to again. "Malfoy?"
Malfoy hesitated, and then held out a parchment to Ron. "Here."
Ron took it, bemused. "What is this?"
Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. "It's... I wasn't sure if you'd been able to contact any Healers outside of here, who might know something about... about your brother."
Ron's heart gave a pang. "What?"
"I know he's in trouble."
"How do you know?"
"Your dad. And I asked my aunt Andromeda. She knows him. She said he... she said a few things, and I thought maybe that this Healer might help."
Ron looked at the parchment. Luam Lethe, it said, and gave a Floo address that wasn't in Britain.
"What's this rubbish?" he asked, and his hand clenched around the parchment in sudden anger. Andromeda? Who the hell did she think she was, blurting out their family's dirty laundry to--
"Don't be angry at my aunt," said Malfoy. "She was only trying to help. She's worried about him."
"Why would you care?" said Harry, approaching to stand at Ron's side and crossing his arms.
Malfoy shrugged. "I'm not sure, to be honest."
Ron glared at him. "I think I can figure it out. This is still about my dad speaking for yours, isn't it?"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "No, Weasley, it's not about that. I did it because my aunt was worried about him. I just Flooed Healer Lethe about what I knew about your brother's condition. I haven't paid her, and I certainly don't intend to help you pay her."
"We don't need your bloody Healer," snapped Ron, and shoved the parchment back at Malfoy.
"We can take care of George ourselves," Harry said firmly.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Right, then. Good luck with that." He turned to go.
Ron reached out and grabbed him. "You bastard," he hissed, "you just want to rub our faces in--"
"Don't be a paranoid idiot," sneered Malfoy, jerking his arm away. "I don't know why I did it, except my aunt was upset about him. Obviously I shouldn't have bothered."
"You're bloody right you shouldn't have," said Ron.
"And since when are you even in contact with your aunt?" asked Harry.
"Since the war," said Malfoy impatiently. "She likes Weasley's brother - and the rest of you - God knows why. She was worried about him."
"Well you didn't need to stick your nose into our business," said Ron. "We can take care of him on our own."
"That's why he tried to off himself, is it?" Malfoy sneered. "Because you all can take such good care of him?"
Ron drew his breath in, furious. "You bloody--"
"Bastard, yeah. Forget I said anything," said Malfoy, and turned to go again, letting the parchment float to the floor.
"Why did you think your Healer would be any better than what we've already got here?" asked Harry.
Malfoy stopped. "She's not my bloody Healer, Potter. I believe I already told you that."
"What's she got that's any better than what's at St. Mungo's?" said Ron.
"Probably nothing. She's from Nigeria, though, and she has done a lot of work with twins."
Ron blinked. "What?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "Twins. Are considered lucky and magical in some parts of West Africa. Consequently there are rather more twins in the general African population than in Europe, and even more in the wizarding population. They know a lot about twin issues, apparently." He shrugged. "I've no idea if what's happened to your brother has anything to do with being a twin, but he didn't particularly seem the type to try to commit suicide. So maybe it does."
"Maybe," said Ron grudgingly. "You can keep her though. We don't need her."
"You'll just turn her away, without even letting her see him?"
"We won't take anything that comes from you," said Ron.
Malfoy stared at him for a long moment. "I see. Well, that's very noble of you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're too proud to accept my help? Even if the only help I give you is a referral?"
"As if you'd accept our help!"
Malfoy gaped at him in disbelief. "Are you really as thick as you look? I went to see your father to see if he could help mine! And you know exactly what my dad thinks of yours! I would've accepted his help in a second, if he'd offered it!"
"Would your dad?" asked Harry.
"Who cares?!" Malfoy shook his head. "I went to your father for help," he told Ron. "I swallowed my pride for my father's sake. It's quite heartwarming to see that your principles are stronger than your love for your brother."
"That's not what--"
"I suppose he'd be grateful, too, if he found out that you declined help for him because it was suggested by a Malfoy. He's probably having a grand time on the Barmy Ward."
Ron glared at him. "I don't even believe she's a real Healer, Malfoy."
"What?"
"She's probably going to suggest some kind of poison, make him even worse than he is."
"Oh, of course," said Malfoy. "With my entire family facing prison time, this seems like the perfect opportunity to take revenge on you for... what, exactly? Do you honestly think I've got nothing better to do?"
"Maybe revenge for my dad not speaking up for you."
"Right. Yeah. That makes a lot of sense. And nobody would ever figure it out. I wouldn't be putting myself in danger of getting thrown into prison for the rest of my life." Malfoy shook his head. "Bloody lot of idiots, all of you. I only hope your brother's as thick and stubborn as you are. That way if you reject my help and he ends up topping himself, at least I'll know that's what he deserves." He turned and strode away.
Ron clenched his fists to keep from grabbing his wand and reminded himself that, as satisfying as it would be to hex Malfoy into oblivion right now, doing so would almost certainly scrap any chance of ever being accepted back into the Auror program.
He had to do something, though. He took out his wand and pointed it at the parchment on the floor.
"Ron!" Harry grabbed his hand. "Wait. Don't destroy it yet."
"Why the fuck not?"
Harry turned to look at the door swinging shut on Draco Malfoy. "Look, mate, I can't believe I'm saying this, but...what if this Healer could help George? What if you missed the opportunity to make George well again, just because you didn't trust Malfoy?"
"Malfoy, actually helping anyone?" Ron scoffed. "Maybe you need to be locked up on the Thickey Ward yourself."
"Maybe. But maybe you should talk this over with your family anyway." He paused. "And with George."
George. Ron closed his eyes, a wave of sorrow washing over him at the thought of his brother, depressed and angry and hopeless and dying. George, his body limp, his head falling back as Ron pinched his nostrils closed to breathe for him. He stared down the corridor where Malfoy had disappeared, and then at the parchment on the floor.
ooo000ooo
Part 1, Hogwarts
Part 2, The Burrow
Part 3, Wheezes
Part 4, St. Mungo's
Part 5, You Can't Go Home Again
Part 6, Christmas Cheer
Part 7a, Rock Bottom
Part 8, Lethe
Part 9, Severance
Part 10, Wizengamot
Part 11, May 1
Word Count: 80,000 words ::gulp::
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 Note: Thanks to
twistedm, tree00faery, and vanseedee for beta above and beyond the call of friendship.Part 1, Hogwarts
Part 2, The Burrow
Part 3, Wheezes
Part 4, St. Mungo's
Part 5, You Can't Go Home Again
Part 6, Christmas Cheer
"I don't want to do this any more," said George quietly. "I can't."
"What do you mean?" asked Donald.
"I just want it to end."
"What does that mean to you? Wanting it to end?"
George shrugged. "I want to die. This isn't life. This is just existing with no purpose."
"What do you imagine would be better if you died?"
"Nothing. But it wouldn't be worse."
"Do you believe you will see your brother again?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Do you look forward to the afterlife?"
"Not really. I'm not sure I believe in it."
Donald blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I don't know if I believe in an afterlife."
Donald's forehead creased. "But you're a wizard. You've been to Hogwarts. You've seen ghosts."
"They're ghosts. Not people."
"What do you mean?"
"I know, most people believe that ghosts are people who chose not to go on to the afterlife, and instead chose to stay half-alive. I'm not sure I believe that."
"What do you believe?"
"I think ghosts are just bits of magic. The way magic portraits are magic. A magic portrait isn't real. It's not the soul of the person who died. It's just their likeness captured in magic. It can respond and react the way the person could, but it's not the person. Any more than a character on those Muggle telly shows is a real person. I think that's what ghosts are."
Donald seemed to be having trouble processing this. "Then... you don't believe in an afterlife?"
"Not really."
"Then why want to end your life?" Donald asked, baffled.
"It's just the end of your body. There's nothing after. No pain."
"And that's worth it, to you?"
"Yes."
"Where the hell is the git" Fred asked irritably, checking his watch.
"He'll be here," said George. "Unless he's got detention." He grinned. "Or he's snogging that girlfriend of his."
Fred sniggered, then checked his watch and drummed his fingers on the low wall they were perched upon. "Come to think of it, where is everybody? For a Hogsmeade weekend, this place is a bloody tomb."
"Yeah it's beginning to give me the willies. D'you think everyone's just too afraid to come out?"
"They may have cancelled it. Dad said they were considering it."
George nodded.
"Let's go ask Rosmerta. We've been here almost an hour and I haven't seen a single student."
"D'you have somewhere to be?" Fred gave George an annoyed look. "Oi, silly git," chuckled George. "Don't turn into Percy, upset because your perfect colour-coded schedule's been thrown off. It's a nice day out, we're out of the lab, Verity's got everything under control, we got to see Zonko's, and it'll be worth the wait to see him open up the InsideOuter."
Fred grinned. "I can't wait for him to try to Nosebegone, myself."
"He's not that thick, you know," George laughed. "He'll get someone else to try that one first."
"Nah, he'll be too shocked at us for telling him the effects of the rest of 'em."
"Two Galleons says he still gets Hermione to check every single one," said George.
Fred grimaced. "Mm-mm, Harry said it sounds like they're still not speaking."
"Well then maybe the Love Me, Love Me-knot will make them, erm, close again."
Fred sniggered. "And if they can trigger the Moonlit Serenader spell, we'll all be able to--"
"That one's a bit mean, don't you think?"
Fred shrugged. "Nah. He's a big boy. It's time he gets on with it, anyway."
George nodded and leaned back on the wall, closing his eyes and turning his face towards the sun. Fun as it was to live, breath and eat Wheezes, he had to admit that getting out of the constant noise and action, and just enjoying the feel of sun on his face and the soft hooting of owls at the Hogsmeade Post, was remarkably soothing. Especially considering the gloom and doom in the papers and the wizarding world in general. And the low nagging worry of the War, and the Order, and dealing with Mum's attitude over their recent induction into it. Suppers back at The Burrow just weren't the same with her fears constantly nagging at them.
He sat up, pushing thoughts of their first, near-fatal, mission out of his head. "This Lavender of his," he said. "D'you remember her at all? I know she was in the DA, but..."
"Ringlets and tits is all I remember, mate," said Fred.
"Not too big, but nice and bouncy - for both, if I recall."
Fred nodded. "She didn't seem the brightest candle in the chandelier, but then Ronnie's not exactly a shoo-in for that position either."
"Point. Think he's copped a feel yet?"
Fred laughed. "Think Hermione would've found a way to hex him if he had. 'Pervy bastard' in boils across his forehead?" He paused. "What d'you think she sent him at Christmas?"
"Who, Hermione? You just said they're not speaking."
"No, ringlet-girl. She sent him something, remember?" He scowled at George. "Something which you didn't let me use the Scope to peek at."
George shrugged. "The poor kid deserves some privacy. After all we've put him through."
"Oi, you're getting sentimental in your old age. Stop it."
George glanced around. "Call me old and you're only calling yourself older. Though I must say, being back here's bringing on an old age feeling like you wouldn't believe. I can feel my hairline receding."
They looked around. Somehow Hogsmeade seemed so much smaller than it had been less than a year ago. This time last year, Umbridge had been in full command of the school and they had been busily planning their escape from the educational prison that Hogwarts had become. Now...
"D'you miss it?" Fred asked suddenly.
"Miss what?"
"School."
"Why would I?"
"You liked studying. More than I did, anyway."
George shrugged. "Not enough to miss being at school. The shop's loads more fun."
"D'you ever wish we'd finished?"
"School?" George blinked. "Why would I?"
"Dunno, only it was my idea to leave, and--"
"And it was bloody brilliant. What did it take you, two seconds to wrestle me into agreeing?"
Fred grinned.
George grinned back and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "Out here's where we belong, mate. Masters of our own destinies, not still having to ask permission to wander about when and where we want."
Fred chuckled. "Freedom or die?"
"Exactly. Our intellectual brilliance and enterprising spirits cannot be contained within walls not of our own making."
Fred laughed. "Especially when those walls stop us from making gallons of Galleons."
George nodded. It still struck him as completely unreal, the sheer volume of money they raked in. The mere idea of having a Gringott's vault of their own was still heady business, never mind having the ability to fill it. A lifetime of poverty could not be erased by mere months of prosperity.
"No more scrounging. Or wearing Charlie's hand-me-downs."
Fred nodded, absently smoothing down the fine cloth of his cloak. "D'you know what we ought to do?"
"What?"
"We should get more nice things for Mum. She and Dad haven't been out in about a million years. In a few months we could probably pay for a trip abroad for them."
George's eyebrows went up. "Yeah! Dad always wanted to go to that Muggle place, what was it, EuroDinsey or something?"
"We'd have to figure out the exchange rate..." Fred chewed his lip. "You know, being around little kids can really make you appreciate how much they put up with from us. Also makes the thought of ever reproducing scare me silly."
"Scared of ending up with kids like us, are you? Hoping to avoid the curse by making it up to Mum and Dad?"
"There's not Galleons enough in the wizarding world for that, Georgie," laughed Fred. He thought for a moment. "We should get stuff for Ron and Ginny too."
"Speaking of trying to make up for being utter shits during our childhood..."
Fred waved a dismissive hand. "No, come on, that was all just standard big brother fare."
"With a few more explosions."
"And noxious smells, and risk to life and limb," Fred conceded. "But it's not like Bill and Charlie didn't torture the rest of us plenty too. What about the Dungeon? Remember Charlie always said he'd take us all once he was earning? He probably doesn't even remember. We should take Ron and Ginny."
"Ginny could us some new books, too," said George.
"And new school robes for Ron," said Fred. "He's shot up like a bloody weed."
"And they both need new broomsticks," they said at the same time, and laughed.
"And protection spells," said Fred. "Wish we'd thought to bring some of our Anti-Dark protecting charms."
"Where the hell is the git?" George said, checking his watch, then whirled around as the door of the Three Broomsticks slammed open.
"Rosmerta?" they both exclaimed. "What is it?"
"Oh Merlin - boys, the school's just fire-called me." She gulped. "It's your brother, Ron. He's been hurt."
"What?!"
"He's in the hospital wing," she said. "He's all right, but he's been poisoned--"
George's heart seemed to stop. "Poisoned?!" he repeated.
"Who'd want to poison Ron?!" asked Fred.
"The school's trying to reach your parents, but they aren't answering the Floo and your dad can't be located."
"Fred, the map--"
Fred was already scrabbling in his pocket for a piece of parchment kept there for emergencies. "We solemnly swear we're actually being good," they both muttered quickly, and a map of The Burrow appeared on the parchment. Thank you, Marauders, for the brilliant idea.
"He's in the shed," said Fred. "He can't hear anything going on in the house, and Mum's not home."
"We've got to go there."
Rosmerta nodded. "I'm sure Ron will be all right, boys," she said, her voice now taking on a soothing tone, and George took one look at Fred's face and realized his own must look like shit. Ashen was not a good look on them; made it look like their freckles had been daubed on like black paint, and clashed with their hair even worse than their WWW robes did.
"Here, come on, let's get you up to the school." She glanced at their presents. "I'm not sure he'll be able to appreciate those for a while, but you may as well take them along."
"Oh for Merlin's sake," groaned George. There went Mr. Riley, two people ahead of him in the dinner queue, suddenly deciding he was a swan, flapping and honking and stretching his skinny neck. And, of course, right on cue, Miss Manners behind him turned into a fish and started flopping on the floor. George blew out his breath and stepped aside as a couple of mediwizards rushed past. Now the entire ward staff would be embroiled in the mess, and the rest of them would have to sit and wait for supper. Which was just about the only thing anybody had to look forward to in this miserable place.
"Back off!" yelled the grey-haired witch behind him.
"There's nobody there, Mrs. Atchinson," said an orderly as he rushed past to the flopping fish and swan.
"There's an aquatic Nargle! It wants my dinner!" yelled Mrs. Atchinson.
"No there isn't," said Luna dully. "Nargles don't even exist. Aquatic or terrestrial."
George gave her a small smile. No idea why Luna tried; not only was it none of their business, but Mrs. Atchinson couldn't be reached.
The lineup dispersed as the patients waited for the staff to re-Transfigurate the fish and get the would-be-swan to stop trying to catch and eat her. George briefly considered going back to his yellow and white room, then looked down at Luna, who had slid her back down the wall and sat on the floor with her knees drawn up, arms clasped around them. He sat down next to her, leaned back against the wall, and watched the gasping fish. Only a lunatic Animagus would have a fish as their animal. He wondered if she'd once had another animal form, and it had changed into a fish when she went round the twist, the way some people's Patronus forms changed if they were under stress. Or maybe she had always been crazy, and the fish shape was just a sign of her insanity.
Or maybe she'd been perfectly sane once, and then gone mental after all her years of intense study to become an Animagus had earned her a thoroughly useless form. Who knew. Who really cared.
He briefly wondered if his own Patronus shape had changed. Not much use wondering; he doubted there was a single happy memory he could manage to call up that would enable him to cast a Patronus in this dismal place. And not that he could've, even if he'd been happy as a lark; they'd taken his wand when they'd admitted him.
He glanced at Luna beside him. She'd stopped watching the festivities and put her head in her arms.
"What's wrong?" he asked her gently.
"I don't want to be here any more," said Luna, her voice very small.
George laughed bitterly. "Don't think many of us do. D'you think I'd be here if I had any choice to leave, in any way possible?"
Luna shrank in on herself, hugging her knees, and something about her forlorn figure made George's heart hurt. Which probably meant they'd got his potions wrong, again.
"And how are we doing today, Miss Lovegood, Mr. Weasley?" he started as a bright-eyed young student mediwitch bounced to a stop before them.
"I am feeling like shit," he said curtly. "Think Luna's feeling the same, and I don't give a flying fuck how you're feeling."
The mediwitch's smile dimmed slighly, but remained in place. "You're probably just hungry, dear. Don't worry, we'll get you your dinner soon enough." She flitted down the hallway, where the fish had now been transformed into a reverse mermaid. George watched the skinny legs thrashing and the fish head gulping and absently wished he had enough magic to do something like that. Or do anything on purpose, really.
Luna stirred beside him. "Mrs. Longbottom, it's all right, I have enough," she said, gently pushing away Neville's mum's hand as she held out a cork. Mrs. Longbottom held the cork out again, and Luna sighed and took it. Neville's mum looked at George and reached for his missing ear.
He jerked his head back. "Piss off," he said sharply, and Mrs. Longbottom scooted back in alarm.
"Mum?"
Oh, wonderful.
"Mum, there you are - oh." Neville Longbottom stopped short at the sight of George and Luna with his mum, and it was almost amusing how his throat bobbed as he very obviously tried to figure out how to greet the two of them. "Hello George; Luna. Erm, how are you?"
"All right, Neville, how are you?" said Luna.
Neville's mum turned to him and held out her hand, trembling a bit as she pointed to her ear.
Neville gulped and looked at George. He squared his shoulders. "George, please don't upset my mum," he said.
George blew out his breath and got up, leaving Neville and his mum and Luna, and headed back to his infernally cheery room, stepping around Lockhart and his little choir and jerking his arm away from a choir member's insistent invitation to join them. Thank Merlin they were practicing far enough away from his room that even though he wasn't allowed to close the door their cacophony wouldn't be too audible. The man was an even worse singer than he was an anti-Dark Magic practitioner, if that was possible.
He lay down on his bed with the marigold patchwork bedspread and stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about how much he hated this place.
Because God, he hated this place. Hated his family for bringing him here. Hated them and the staff for their misguided attempts to "save" him. And he hadn't figured out which he hated more: the restraints and perpetual family suicide watch that had kept him from hurting himself for the first few days, or the spell they'd finally perfected that made him unable to do so.
"You're doing better now," the Healer had said. "The safety spell on you is solid enough, and your mood has shown some improvement. It's safe for you to be allowed out of your room on your own. And if you behave yourself and work with us, you can earn more privileges. Maybe even being allowed off the ward, with an escort of course."
She'd even looked pleased with herself. Like he should feel grateful. Grateful that he couldn't kill himself, couldn't go anywhere without permission, couldn't escape, and there was nowhere to go even if he did.
He hated this place. The staff might be awfully proud of how they'd met the sudden demand for mental maladies space and expanded the original ward into a bright, clean, homey place where every patient had their own room, but he hated it. Hated the multicoloured hallway, the relentlessly sunny yellow and white bedroom that was like living inside a bloody fried egg, the mediwizards and witches whose joy it was to Be There To Help. Hated the potions forced down his throat. Hated Mum and Dad for their desperation not to lose him like they'd lost Fred, hated Bill for trying to pretend to be so bloody matter-of-fact about the suicide watches, hated Ron for saving his life, hated Percy for the guilt on his face and the tears that ended up in his eyes every single time he saw George. The only person he didn't hate right now was Ginny, who hadn't been to see him at all. Apparently she was angry at him. She was in a lot of pain herself, the Healers had told him. Under pressure at school. She would come when she was feeling steadier, they said.
Not a problem, as far as he was concerned. He had no desire to see anyone, and it had nothing to do with the shame and embarrassment he'd felt the last time he'd been on the ward. He was beyond shame at this point; all he wanted was out. Escape, by any means necessary.
He'd struggled so hard against the invisible bonds, and his damned wonky magic had flared out of control, reacting with the magic of the bonds and making the room spark and smoke and fill with the smell of cinnamon, of all bizarre things. They'd had to Finite and use physical straps and by the time they'd finally wrestled him into them he was exhausted and Percy, who'd walked in for his suicide watch shift in the middle of the fun, looked like he wanted to be violently ill. He'd excused himself and come back a little paler but steadier. Lee and Ron and Dad, in on the next watches, hadn't known what to do, what to say to him. Which was fine, actually, as he was wiped out and sweat-soaked and in pain and hollow and didn't feel like chatting much either.
He rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. "Maybe you can't make it," you said, he thought at Fred-in-his-head. How was I supposed to make it if even you thought I couldn't?
Did you want me to lie to you?
Why couldn't you just shut up, even after snuffing it? Why do you just have to keep talking?
I'm sorry, said Fred. Bloody hell, I'm sorry. I'm tired too, you know. It's not easy living in your miserable head. You'd think I would've been able to stop having to take care of you after I was bloody well dead.
So sorry to be such an inconvenience.
George, fuck, I'm sorry!
Shut up!
He'd been so ready to die, so desperate to end the misery, held back only by the knowledge that he was going to cause his family pain no matter how obvious it was to everybody that he'd simply made a stupid mistake in the lab. It would still hurt them, he knew, and they would probably still ask themselves if he'd been deliberately careless... but then they would move on. He'd held on to that thought like a talisman. Held on to the hope that his passing would give his family as much freedom as it gave him. They wouldn't have to worry about him, wouldn't have to see him as a permanent reminder of Fred's absence, wouldn't be bogged down by his issues, and would be able to deal with their own grief and finally heal. He and Fred would become a - mostly - happy memory, and there would be Fred and George stories to tell the next generation, just like there had been Gideon and Fabian stories told to his, and hopefully they'd all eventually blur out in their minds the fact that Uncle George had gone a little off after Uncle Fred had kicked.
They'd probably even feel relieved, whether they admitted it to themselves or not.
He'd said goodbye to Ron so gladly that night. Made himself sound like it was just another regular night, See you tomorrow, don't forget to lock up. He'd allowed himself a small goodbye, telling Ron something like, "You've gone beyond brotherly duty," and it hadn't felt great to see slight surprise on Ron's face at that. Proof that George had been such a miserable bastard that he didn't even give his kid brother his due, after everything Ron had done for him.
He'd waited a few minutes, and then gone through all his preparations and drunk the misbrewed potion with relief. No more missing Fred, no more talking to him in his head and wishing he was real, no more worried looks from everyone else, no more being afraid of some day ending up locked up here.
And then he'd woken up. To restraints and weeping family members and Healers who forced potions down his throat. He'd struggled and fought, refused visits, refused potions, refused food, and to no effect; he was either restrained or accompanied by family and force-fed anyway. He'd lost all control over his own life, over his own body and magic and mind, and he swung unpredictably from being unable to give a damn to feeling so angry it was as if he was burning up from the inside. Impotent rage and hatred that made his magic flare unpredictably, crackling around him, causing the staff to dose and restrain him again, making Mum cry. Like there was too much in his body, trying to get out.
He could still hear chaos on the ward. The honking had died down, but Lockheart and his merry crew had apparently decided to regale them all with their artistic efforts, and the other patients weren't taking it well. More delays for dinner. Fine, then. He wasn't hungry anyway. Maybe they'd forget about feeding him and let him bloody well die already.
You're putting yourself and everyone else through hell, said Fred quietly.
So are you. Sodding bastard.
At least I managed to die before doing it.
D'you want a medal for that?
That didn't come out right. There was a pause. I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault. You wanted to die too. You had a good plan and you did your best. It just didn't work. Another pause. Maybe nothing will.
Aren't you a beam of sunshine.
What are you going to do now?
Weren't you always the one with ideas?
I'm all out, mate. And he hadn't heard Fred-in-his-head sound this sad since... since the day of his own funeral. I shouldn't even be here to talk to you about this; I'm supposed to be at peace, or at least at rest. And Fred's voice sounded as full of longing as he felt.
What do we do, then?
Stay in bed. Join Lockhart's chorus. I don't know. I don't give a fuck any more.
He clenched his eyes shut, feeling himself start to shake. What with the various potions and charms and treatments and this maddening place, and his own surging magic and turbulent emotions, he lost it so often, broke down so often, that it wasn't anything to be feared any more; only to be endured.
A soft tap on his door startled him, but didn't break the grip of the shaking. "George?" Luna's soft voice called in.
He didn't answer. Luna stepped into his room and sat down on the bed next to him, her small hand on his shoulder.
"Is he there?" Neville's voice seemed to be coming from the hallway.
"Yes," said Luna, stroking his hair.
Footsteps at the door. "Is... is he off his potions?" Neville asked. "D'you think he needs something?"
"He won't ask for anything," said Luna. "He never does."
There was a small silence. "George, I'm going to call the mediwitch and see if she can help you, all right?" asked Neville.
Quick steps to the door, Neville's soft voice calling out, Luna's hand smoothing his cheek, rubbing his back. Another moment and two sets of footsteps approached his door again. He didn't want to move, didn't want to get up, was sick of being buffeted from all sides by pain and fear and anger and hopelessness, like a leaf at the mercy of a violent storm, winds gusting at him in every direction.
"It's all right, you can leave it here," said Neville to the mediwitch. "I'll make sure he takes it."
"All right, Mr. Longbottom."
Luna leaned over him and kissed his cheek. "George. Please take the potion. It'll at least let you rest."
He sighed. It wasn't that he didn't want to. It was that he always either felt too much or not enough, and right now was a not-enough time, and if only everybody would just let him be...
"Come on, mate," said Neville quietly. "Sit up." He gently tugged George's shoulder and George gave up trying to ignore him and propped himself up on one elbow. "D'you want me to give it to you, or can you hold it yourself?" asked Neville.
George took the vial and Neville steadied his trembling hand. "Right, bottoms up," he said, and George drank it down.
"Neville?" Ron's voice came from the doorway. George lay back down and closed his eyes.
"He's all right," said Neville. "Don't think he'll be in much shape to visit though; I think this is going to knock him out. Always does that to my dad."
Ron sighed. "All right. Thanks, Nev. You can go back to your parents, if you'd like." George felt the bed shift as Ron sat down.
"It's all right, Dad's having a bad day and Mum's doing wrapper art," said Neville, and then his voice, and Luna's and Ron's, faded, as George fell into the potion-induced darkness gratefully.
"Weasley."
"Yeah?" Ron looked up from the hospital tea room's unappetizing biscuit selection and stared at the last person he had ever thought he'd have to speak to again. "Malfoy?"
Malfoy hesitated, and then held out a parchment to Ron. "Here."
Ron took it, bemused. "What is this?"
Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. "It's... I wasn't sure if you'd been able to contact any Healers outside of here, who might know something about... about your brother."
Ron's heart gave a pang. "What?"
"I know he's in trouble."
"How do you know?"
"Your dad. And I asked my aunt Andromeda. She knows him. She said he... she said a few things, and I thought maybe that this Healer might help."
Ron looked at the parchment. Luam Lethe, it said, and gave a Floo address that wasn't in Britain.
"What's this rubbish?" he asked, and his hand clenched around the parchment in sudden anger. Andromeda? Who the hell did she think she was, blurting out their family's dirty laundry to--
"Don't be angry at my aunt," said Malfoy. "She was only trying to help. She's worried about him."
"Why would you care?" said Harry, approaching to stand at Ron's side and crossing his arms.
Malfoy shrugged. "I'm not sure, to be honest."
Ron glared at him. "I think I can figure it out. This is still about my dad speaking for yours, isn't it?"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "No, Weasley, it's not about that. I did it because my aunt was worried about him. I just Flooed Healer Lethe about what I knew about your brother's condition. I haven't paid her, and I certainly don't intend to help you pay her."
"We don't need your bloody Healer," snapped Ron, and shoved the parchment back at Malfoy.
"We can take care of George ourselves," Harry said firmly.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Right, then. Good luck with that." He turned to go.
Ron reached out and grabbed him. "You bastard," he hissed, "you just want to rub our faces in--"
"Don't be a paranoid idiot," sneered Malfoy, jerking his arm away. "I don't know why I did it, except my aunt was upset about him. Obviously I shouldn't have bothered."
"You're bloody right you shouldn't have," said Ron.
"And since when are you even in contact with your aunt?" asked Harry.
"Since the war," said Malfoy impatiently. "She likes Weasley's brother - and the rest of you - God knows why. She was worried about him."
"Well you didn't need to stick your nose into our business," said Ron. "We can take care of him on our own."
"That's why he tried to off himself, is it?" Malfoy sneered. "Because you all can take such good care of him?"
Ron drew his breath in, furious. "You bloody--"
"Bastard, yeah. Forget I said anything," said Malfoy, and turned to go again, letting the parchment float to the floor.
"Why did you think your Healer would be any better than what we've already got here?" asked Harry.
Malfoy stopped. "She's not my bloody Healer, Potter. I believe I already told you that."
"What's she got that's any better than what's at St. Mungo's?" said Ron.
"Probably nothing. She's from Nigeria, though, and she has done a lot of work with twins."
Ron blinked. "What?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "Twins. Are considered lucky and magical in some parts of West Africa. Consequently there are rather more twins in the general African population than in Europe, and even more in the wizarding population. They know a lot about twin issues, apparently." He shrugged. "I've no idea if what's happened to your brother has anything to do with being a twin, but he didn't particularly seem the type to try to commit suicide. So maybe it does."
"Maybe," said Ron grudgingly. "You can keep her though. We don't need her."
"You'll just turn her away, without even letting her see him?"
"We won't take anything that comes from you," said Ron.
Malfoy stared at him for a long moment. "I see. Well, that's very noble of you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're too proud to accept my help? Even if the only help I give you is a referral?"
"As if you'd accept our help!"
Malfoy gaped at him in disbelief. "Are you really as thick as you look? I went to see your father to see if he could help mine! And you know exactly what my dad thinks of yours! I would've accepted his help in a second, if he'd offered it!"
"Would your dad?" asked Harry.
"Who cares?!" Malfoy shook his head. "I went to your father for help," he told Ron. "I swallowed my pride for my father's sake. It's quite heartwarming to see that your principles are stronger than your love for your brother."
"That's not what--"
"I suppose he'd be grateful, too, if he found out that you declined help for him because it was suggested by a Malfoy. He's probably having a grand time on the Barmy Ward."
Ron glared at him. "I don't even believe she's a real Healer, Malfoy."
"What?"
"She's probably going to suggest some kind of poison, make him even worse than he is."
"Oh, of course," said Malfoy. "With my entire family facing prison time, this seems like the perfect opportunity to take revenge on you for... what, exactly? Do you honestly think I've got nothing better to do?"
"Maybe revenge for my dad not speaking up for you."
"Right. Yeah. That makes a lot of sense. And nobody would ever figure it out. I wouldn't be putting myself in danger of getting thrown into prison for the rest of my life." Malfoy shook his head. "Bloody lot of idiots, all of you. I only hope your brother's as thick and stubborn as you are. That way if you reject my help and he ends up topping himself, at least I'll know that's what he deserves." He turned and strode away.
Ron clenched his fists to keep from grabbing his wand and reminded himself that, as satisfying as it would be to hex Malfoy into oblivion right now, doing so would almost certainly scrap any chance of ever being accepted back into the Auror program.
He had to do something, though. He took out his wand and pointed it at the parchment on the floor.
"Ron!" Harry grabbed his hand. "Wait. Don't destroy it yet."
"Why the fuck not?"
Harry turned to look at the door swinging shut on Draco Malfoy. "Look, mate, I can't believe I'm saying this, but...what if this Healer could help George? What if you missed the opportunity to make George well again, just because you didn't trust Malfoy?"
"Malfoy, actually helping anyone?" Ron scoffed. "Maybe you need to be locked up on the Thickey Ward yourself."
"Maybe. But maybe you should talk this over with your family anyway." He paused. "And with George."
George. Ron closed his eyes, a wave of sorrow washing over him at the thought of his brother, depressed and angry and hopeless and dying. George, his body limp, his head falling back as Ron pinched his nostrils closed to breathe for him. He stared down the corridor where Malfoy had disappeared, and then at the parchment on the floor.
Part 1, Hogwarts
Part 2, The Burrow
Part 3, Wheezes
Part 4, St. Mungo's
Part 5, You Can't Go Home Again
Part 6, Christmas Cheer
Part 7a, Rock Bottom
Part 8, Lethe
Part 9, Severance
Part 10, Wizengamot
Part 11, May 1